Dubai - Modern-day Orient by the sea

Like a mirage in the desert. With remote controlled camps. Bedouin boats as water taxis and oriental markets. Dubai, modern metropolis and Arabian nights. Dubai's artery, the creek, it penetrates more than 14 kilometers into the desert from the Gulf. The estuary is bustling with boats. There are in particular lots of abras, ancient water taxis made of teak. A single journey from one shore to the other costs one dirham, around 20 cents per person, from Bur Dubai to Dera or the other way. Mubashir Malik is captain of abra number 117. There's no bridge for pedestrians. Since time immemorial they've been ferried across on the boats of the old Bedouins. Mubashir is 22 and has been an abra driver for four years. Because there are too many competing for customers on the creek, the boat trips are allocated by number. Between times they must wait. I'll head to where I have to wait now to my friends. I'll wait there till it's my turn again. Mubashir is from Pakistan. His parents sent him here to earn money. He had never been in such a big city before. Everything was foreign to him then but he quickly found friends. The abra drivers stick together. When I came here in 2009 I was very afraid of driving the abra but then I did the boating course and passed the test and got the license. That was very good. I was very happy and I have him to thank for all this. My friend and teacher. Well let's say he passed the test second time round thank god. The small change and the boat's cash box turns into a musical instrument during the breaks. One could say the till is ringing. Mubashir and his friends have only come to Dubai to work. They know they will never settle here. The city is only a stepping stone for them like it is for millions of others. At the behest of the ruler Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum there will always be abras here. He wants to preserve the historic legacy of his forefathers at all costs as the modern age has moved into Dubai at breakneck speed. Seven Arabic emirates united in 1971. Abu Dhabi is the biggest emirate but Dubai is the largest city in the federation. Rich oil reserves turned the fishing community on the gulf into a glitzy metropolis that never seems to sleep. Dubai is rising into the sky, an art world in the desert, a sort of Arabian Las Vegas of the global business world and tourism. Hidden between the skyscrapers real life still goes on. The fish market in Dubai's Dera district. It's muggy under the iron roof even at 4 a.m. It stinks. Inside the traders are waiting for customers. Outside in front of the hall the deliveries are coming in. Here they're haggling for the produce. Dozens of lorries come from Oman every night. There are few native fishermen left. One of them is Faizal Matraoshi. The traders almost throw themselves at him. They all want to know his prices but he wants them to show a little patience. Everywhere there are fish brokers, middlemen, auctioneers. All are offering their services like there's no tomorrow. Now come on tell me your price. How much do you want? We can talk about it. Let's go over there. I bring the fish that my brother caught and hope to sell it at a good price. I have Hamor with me, Shari and Safi. If it is Allah's wish it will be a good trade. Where are we now? 750? That's a good price for the fish but really I want a thousand for the first load. So the bidding goes on. Flattery, brotherly kisses and shouting. All part of the oriental soup, the market. An old acquaintance has turned up and friendships are worth more than money. 8.50 is a good price. I'll take it all. But it's already at 8.70. Give me everything for 900. The first load has been sold. Hamor, a popular fish in the entire Gulf, well suited for grilling and frying. It's shortly after 5 a.m. Slowly a new day starts in Dubai. Dawn outside the gates of the desert town of Lebab. Ali Bin Ubai and his friend Rashid are testing their jockey robot. There are only a few minutes left to the start. Every weekend the Bedouins meet in Lebab for camel racing before sunrise. It used to be Pakistani child jockeys who sat on the saddles, slim and light. Following international protests this is now forbidden. Now the job is done by remote control with two walkie-talkies and an altered rechargeable power screwdriver. One walkie-talkie operates the switch that activates the whip. The second walkie-talkie is set too loud. In this way the owner can cheer on his camel. The first race starts at 6.30 a.m. Eight camels have three kilometers of racetrack ahead of them. Why have you only got one camel on the start line? We slaughtered the other one. The camels are on the course and next door is a motor race. Ali, Rashid and all the other camel owners try to stay as close to their animals as possible. They compliment each other on their camel's performance. Of course you have to know which animal belongs to whom. It isn't always easy. The technology only gets used on the last kilometer. Calling, whistling, whipping. The live commentary of the official race reporter is being broadcast on the radio. Things are looking up. The commentator is getting excited. Time for some encouragement by walkie-talkie. Ali Bin Obai is happy. Third place for him. 2,000 dirham in prize money. 400 euros quickly earned. An hour later the last race has gone through. It's much too hot now. Already over 40 degrees. First the off-road vehicles disappear. Then the camels and camel drivers disperse into the desert until the next race in a week's time. At the same time two speed boats are on their way into the gulf. The sporty jobs are called Dubai. Faisal Matraoshi successfully offloaded his catch at the market. Now he is going out with Abdul. In the neighboring boat is Faisal's brother Arif. They're on the move with 500 horsepower. Fuel is cheap in the emirates. They used to catch their fish close to land. Now they have to travel an hour and a half offshore. Fishing with traditional doables. Large baskets that look like crab traps is only worthwhile on the open sea now. Arif has 40 sacks with bread on board. Bread is the best bait he thinks. We used to use old fish as bait but bread doesn't smell so bad and the caught fish tastes better. Not so much of carrion. And all fish eat bread even carnivores. Also we have a surplus of bread. All the bakeries always have a lot left over. Arif uses 500 dirhams worth of bread for every catch. Even more important than the right bait is the position of the traps in the water. An old rule holds true. We always place the doables in the water such that the opening faces the sunrise due east otherwise we don't catch anything. Then Arif and his indian helpers collect the traps from yesterday. They too were facing due east but it isn't a huge catch. This is due to the artificial islands off the coast says Arif. The whole seabed was turned upside down. It will take a while until nature has calmed down again. Arif's brother Faizal wants to know what he can auction off tomorrow. A chat about the state of the catch. Not too bad it seems. But now they'll head out west where they have a few more baskets. They wish each other good luck. Faizal is still recovering from his early morning stint on the fish market. He likes to take things easy in the mornings. A little angling to relax. My brother and I share the work. He fishes professionally and I only do it for fun. But in return I go to the souk at night and sell his fish. You need to know your way around on the market with the people, the prices, otherwise you won't make a good deal. He doesn't mind himself if he catches a lot or a little. For Faizal relaxation on the water is the important thing and anyway it's all in Allah's hand. It took less than 40 years for Dubai to develop from a sleepy fishing village to a world metropolis. Somehow everything here is new and huge. Only the Abras, the water taxis, are just like they were 100 years ago apart from the motors. The antique boats need a lot of care above and below the water. He needs a knife. Old rope or plastic bags get caught in the propeller shafts and I have to remove all that so I have to go in there. Mubashi is the only one of the Abra skippers who can swim and who therefore dares go into the water. There's something here on the rudder blade, an old rope, give me a knife. I'll pass him a knife, main thing is that it's sharp enough. The work isn't easy, the current is strong and there are many dangerous stinging jellyfish. It got wrapped around the propeller shaft and it gets pulled tighter and tighter and eventually the motor gets hot. Mubashi's colleague Hassan on number 10 probably has the same problem but first there is jellyfish alarm. They need a stick to move it out the way. Right, all gone. The hinges on the rudder blades are covered in shells and there's another old rope on the blade. It's no use with the hammer, says Mubashi. He needs the knife again. At least the water in Dubai Creek is warm. Then Mubashi has fulfilled his mission. And he isn't in the mood for any more underwater cleaning just yet. On the opposite shore of Dubai Creek, Arabian does have moored. Freighters made of teak. They come from India, Somalia, but mostly from Iran. The Dawal Makkah has just been serviced at a dog yard in the Iranian port of Banda Abbas. Here in Dubai, it loads up everything that Iranian businessmen have ordered. Light bulbs from China, microwaves from Korea, crockery from India. Captain Mushtaba is trader, skipper and super cargo all in one. I have to take care of the ship's balance. The heaviest freight comes to the bottom. The lighter one to the top. Some things are fragile so they go to the front. For example, these bulbs. They are protected in the hull when the boat is moving. It takes days to load. All done by hand. And here in Dubai at least, still completely legal. On these small boats, the goods find their way past customs and trade restrictions to small ports where they're unloaded. Mountains of freight are still waiting. Fridges, televisions, coffee powder. Ibrahim is the ship's cook on the Al Makkah. Today they're having chicken korma with rice. Ibrahim is proud of his culinary skills, though he finds it a bit uncomfortable too. I learned to cook by watching. Well, my wife. It's unusual for us that men do women's work, but I like it. And the lads enjoy my food. It continues outside with Japanese car tires. Under no circumstances must a load slip at sea. The freighters are often out at night in bad weather in order to avoid the Iranian coast guards. Risky business. We've experienced many bad things at sea. You always have to keep an eye on the weather. Especially before you set off. We have got into terrible storms where we had to go back to the nearest harbour and wait for the weather to improve. Ibrahim, the cook and Hussein, the ship's owner, are getting comfortable up above. The heat is only just bearable now. A little break is just what's needed with the hookah, the chalim as they call it. I've just started to smoke these things. My friend here got me to do it. It's much better than cigarettes. The water filters the smoke. I built the top bit myself from a tin can with a lid because of the wind when we're at sea. It'd blow out the embers otherwise. It'll take many days before the Almaka is fully laden and can set off. Merchant shipping as it was a hundred years ago. Only a few kilometres away, the modern age is towering into the sky. Since 2009, Dubai has had the tallest building in the world. The Burj Khalifa, 828 metres. The whole city is a colourful architectural mix. It's all strung out along the Sheikh Zayed Highway, which connects everything. Andrew Kennedy is out in the sky above Dubai every day. He's been living here for four years, flying his seaplane. Really, it's like a timeline. You know, starting in the 1970s here, 1960s up ahead, and everything south of this is like a timeline architecturally. You know, it's the 1980s on the right, at the end of the city is the 1990s, 2000s are down there. Yeah, so it's interesting. The city is a timeline of architecture, you know. Only once did the growth of the skyscrapers come to a brief halt, in 2008 during the financial crisis. These days, the building work continues. Andrew prefers to avoid the Burj Khalifa, not just because of the no-fly zone, but also for private reasons. I've been up and down it a couple of times now. I don't like heights, you know. No, I don't. I don't like heights. See, I'm moving now. I'm happy because I can look down and I'm moving forward. But in that thing, I'm standing still and it really gets me. It really gets me. I have to get away from the windows. I really can't stand it. I'm holding my daughter very close when I'm looking out the window of this building. Dubai can boast the world's tallest building. The most famous hotel, the Burj Al Arab, right by the coast. Or the Atlantis on the artificial island known as the Palm. They don't just show off with concrete and steel. They just splatter more and more islands into the sea. Belgian and Dutch excavating firms moved sand and stones for years and placed the world's largest artificial island project in the Sea of Dubai. For seven billion dollars. The world's 270 islands in the shape of the world map. But only one of them is being used at present. Its name, Lebanon. That's where Jeremy Samarasekera has to go. Jeremy is manager of the Royal Island Beach Club on Lebanon Island. He's been in Dubai for a long time and knows his way around ambitious projects. Today he has to organize an event on the party island. Time is short as ever in Dubai. He speeds toward the artificial island world at a rate of 35 knots. Sea, land, transporting 400 guests in the evening. Trying to arrange everything up front, the food, the drinks, x, y, z. Staffing to make sure that everything is on place. And on top of that, we have another 22 people coming around 12.30 just to enjoy the day. So it's interesting. It's 422 guests coming to the island. It's not easy. Jeremy has 200 kilograms of ice cubes on board that urgently have to go into a freezer. It's already late morning and searingly hot. Everything has to be transported to the island by boat because other than sand and water, there's nothing here. There's ice, ice for the function. Yeah, let me quickly. It's from the Abu Dhabi office. In 42 degrees Celsius outdoors, the ice slowly turns to water again and the staff are not very quick. The migrant workers from Bangladesh, Myanmar or Pakistan, poor people from small villages, simply cannot comprehend what this whole thing is about. Jeremy is also from a poor country, from Sri Lanka, but he worked his way up to become island manager. He has to put the pressure on all the time. It's not easy being event manager in Dubai. Very difficult. Different cultures, different nationalities, different languages. It's a bit tough, yeah. But at the end of the day, as long as the work is done, that's it. As long as we achieve the target on time, that's it. Without fertilizer, humus and constant watering, the palms and hedges perish immediately. Everything here is artificially planted. But it was always like this in Dubai. Even when Jeremy came here 17 years ago. I was a bit worried because it was full of sand and there was only a few buildings. And when I started working in Dubai in 1996, it was Emirates Golf Club. That was the only golf course in the entire region, in the Middle East. And over the years, it was like mushrooms. Every single day, there was a building popping up, you know. So it was like mushrooms coming up every single day. You can see something new, something new. You turn back, the following day, wow, another skyscraper. Jeremy knows about ambitious projects. He likes this. To do new things. Try mad things. To create something out of nothing. That's what he's been doing for 17 years. But now he has to shoot off again. Never stops. Since morning, 6 o'clock this morning. Now he travels back. The guests are already waiting for him in the city. And the rubbish from the last party also has to go back. Andrew, the pilot, watches the sea carefully during every flight. He's a passionate surfer. I love the sea. And when I took up seaplane flying, my good friend said to me, if you want to fly floats, you have to learn how to surf. Andrew used to be an airline pilot with Air Fiji on a Boeing 737. Learning to surf really cemented understanding of waves and how waves work and the sea, you know. Waves fit for surfing are only present on the Burj Al Arab hotel beach. Just coming up now to the Jumeirah Beach, where I surf when the waves are good. And today, in fact, they are good. It's frustrating. Because it's always usually when I'm flying on a nice day that the waves are in. So I would like to be there now. But Andrew can't just go down and start surfing. He's on duty. His nine-seat Cessna caravan is full of paying guests. Andrew is a sightseeing pilot. Much better, he thinks, than sitting in a regular airline jet for days. It's like you come into another parallel universe. Once you're on the ocean like this, everything slows down. You're on a boat and you go to a different rhythm. And so it's the pace you have above when you're flying over the city. Everything changes suddenly. You're now on the water. You can relax. He drops off his passengers in the centre of Dubai, on the creek near the old dollhouse. Everything is well with the Iranians on the Almaka. Now the top deck is filling up too, with curtains from Bangladesh, second-hand sewing machines from Oman and air conditioning units from Korea. He'd like us to land a hand. Tomorrow morning, they want to depart. But the weather forecast is lousy. It looks quiet here. But if we head out, we'll be in trouble after seven or eight hours. A lot of wind isn't a problem. But if it gets too strong, we'd rather not sail. A few friends are already stuck on an island out there. I don't want to risk that. Not to worry. Ibrahim, the cook, has reheated lunch and the small crew are having a good time in the crew mass. They're used to waiting. With the Iranians, everything is still real. Ship built at home, food cooked on board and backbreaking work. Off the coast, everything is artificial. The 270 islands of the World Project are barren. There is no infrastructure for electricity, water and sewage. Only the island of Lebanon, as big as a football pitch, is being used. The effort and expense are enormous. A 900-horsepower speedboat and 20 employees. Generators and air conditioning units are humming. The first guests have arrived. A tourist party from Switzerland. A boy's trip with a female leader. The visit to the party island is intended to be the highlight of their Dubai tour. This is for tonight, for the function. For the party or a wedding? And then you have... This is ready for you, the North Beach. Yeah, for the beach. With the towels and everything ready. Yeah, with towels, so the boys can use it. The only thing they have to be a bit careful is with island hopping. They are not supposed to go to the other island. Oh, okay. So they have to use this part of the sea. Yeah, which is over there. And then the lunch is over here. Seafood salad, French onion soup and spaghetti bolognese. A lunch buffet in over 40 degrees in the shade. Everyone is relaxing. Only Jeremy is always stressed. And the big question remains whether the island project has a future with dwindling interest by investors and rising sea levels. Jeremy remains optimistic. It's his job. For sure it will happen. It's in the right directions and there's no risk in Dubai. I'm sure if it doesn't happen today, it will happen tomorrow, for sure. Then Jeremy has to prepare his evening function. An international management consultancy firm has booked the island for the whole night for 400 guests, but they don't want any strangers present. Mubashir is still out and about on the creek on Isabra. His eighth trip today. He works every day. He only has one holiday a year when he goes to see his parents in Pakistan for a few weeks. Mubashir is tired. Thankfully, he lives quite close to his birth. He can have a nap while he's waiting or at least rest a little in his pad on the fourth floor in Banijaz Road, right by Dubai Creek. He doesn't live on his own up here. 20 Pakistanis share the two bedroom flat. 40 square meters, kitchen and bathroom. 10 men in each room. Five have a bed. Five sleep on the floor. We've spread out. We could fit 15 people in here. But we like to have a little comfort, so there's only 10 of us in the room. We're in a foreign country, so we stick together. If someone told me in Pakistan that I had to sleep on the floor or under a bed, that would be completely unacceptable. But everything's possible here. They even have air conditioning. And the flat is cheap for Dubai. 700 dirham a month, about 140 euros per person. There's also a balcony. They can hang out their washing to dry here and enjoy the view. Mubashir thinks it's almost like a tourist hotel. We have a great view from here. I can see the whole old town. I can see my boat from here. I can see where my number is up again. I can see over the whole creek, all the way over to the Iranian freight ships. It's the best flat I've had in the last four years. The muezzin calls for evening prayer in old Dubai. In the harbour, the Iranian dows await the signal to depart. A gentle mood pervades the creek. It's a different story over in central Dubai. 60-storey buildings, a 12-lane highway. Everything is in constant motion. And in the middle is Andrew, the surfing pilot, or the flying surfer. I've always thought I would never come and live in the Middle East, in Dubai, because I thought it was too hot, very dusty, too busy. There was no time. People weren't relaxing or enjoying themselves. It just didn't have the right pace, feel, you know. But after a few months, I got to see a different side of Dubai, the one where people live and you can negotiate a space for yourself. Today is Andrew's day off. He's using it, of course, to go to the beach of Jumeirah, where, from the air, such nice waves could be seen. The westerly wind is freshening up a bit and might bring good surf to the beach. Even if Andrew Canady is off duty and just wants to go surfing, the pilot in him is always there. I think you have to be patient with seaplanes sometimes in rough conditions. And it's much the same with surfing. You pick the right moment, you know. It's sort of working with the sea. I think that's a nice thing. You come to a working relationship, you know. This is the only place one can go surfing in Dubai. The rest of the coast is privately owned or built up with big construction projects. A strip of 500 meters, hardly any surf, but Andrew tries anyway. Sometimes a luxury yard passes and helps him along a little. With an artificial wave, it works. And that's how it is in Dubai.