Never have I experienced such incompetence and disrespect as we did at Dubai International Airport.
Most flights with Emirates will have a layover at the Dubai hub for refueling. We had a short stop in Dubai on both flights; going, it was only four hours, coming; it was eight (although the pain we experienced was tenfold).
Arriving in Dubai the first time, I’m not sure what I expected to find, but in retrospect it made complete sense. Imagine a scene from Joss Whedon’s futuristic TV series Firefly. Terminal 3 reminds me of one of the central planets; a bustling hub for international flights, and a melting pot of culture. Men wearing the traditional Arab thawb (white suit and headdress) as common as your jeans-sporting Aussie bloke, followed by their black-draped-wives, like shadows in glamorous heels and bling-bling rings herding the children along; the Indians with their turbans and sari-draped wives, aunts, and mother-in-laws in tow; the African natives in their vibrant colours; the holy men; and the lone geisha we spotted, trotting along so delicately in her exquisite kimono and wooden geta sandals.
The novelty didn’t last long.
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