This new terminal 3 at Dubai is visually stunning, a forest of pillars reminiscent of the “Dwarrowdelf” scene in the first LOTR film. The pillars are mirror-lined, and sit in a sea of marble and bright lights. To say it is ostentatious is to miss the point of Dubai.
All of the passport officials were surly and bearded young men in formal Arab dress, but interestingly, the rent-a-cop private security people manning the luggage scanners were female and all from the sub-continent or Asia – not an Arab in sight.
There is nothing in this place for people with the wrong coloured skin. No expense is spared, no courtesy neglected, in whisking me in air-conditioned comfort to my final destination – in this case, Abu Dhabi. The driver, despatcher and the desk clerk of the transport company were all from the sub-continent. As we tore along the freeway, we passed several bus-loads of migrant workers from India and Pakistan, being taken to or from their labours. There is no air-conditioning for those guys. It is approaching dusk at 7pm and the temperature is 35° C.
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