Dubai & London: G's Birthday Trip

G's birthday fell in April and she wanted to do it big. The plan was Dubai for a week, then I'd fly home and she'd continue through Barcelona and Rome before coming back. Nearly two months of travel for her, two weeks for me. Different appetites for time away. G's is larger than mine. She always comes back charged up. I come back needing a nap.

We flew into Dubai and stayed at Rove at the Beach JBR for the first few nights, which is a smart-hotel brand that does clean, modern rooms at a price point that makes Dubai accessible. JBR (Jumeirah Beach Residence) is a beachfront strip with restaurants, shops, and a walk that runs along the water for about a mile. The beach is public and wide and the water in April is warm enough to swim without convincing yourself. We swam most mornings before the heat peaked.

Dubai in April is hot but not yet the furnace it becomes in July and August. Low 90s during the day, cooling into the 80s at night, which means outdoor dining is still possible after dark. The city operates on a different clock than most places I've been. Restaurants open late. The malls (which are enormous and air-conditioned and function as the city's living rooms) are busiest at 10 PM.

We did a Friday brunch, which is a Dubai institution. Friday is the start of the weekend there and brunch runs three to four hours with bottomless drinks at places that take it as seriously as some cities take dinner. Ours was at a hotel in the Marina and the spread was overwhelming: seafood stations, sushi, a roast carving station, desserts that belonged in a pastry shop window, and champagne that nobody was rationing. G paced herself. I did not. By 3 PM we were back at the hotel and I was horizontal on the bed rethinking my life choices. G went to the pool. She has a better relationship with excess than I do, which is to say she knows when to stop and I learn by overshooting.

The JBR walk at sunset became our evening routine. The boardwalk fills up after 6 PM with families, couples, runners, and an impressive density of supercars that cruise past at a speed designed to be noticed. The restaurants along the walk range from fast casual to proper sit-down, and we tried a different one most nights. One evening we ate at a Lebanese place right on the walk where the mezze spread (hummus, baba ganoush, fattoush, labneh, grilled halloumi) covered the entire table and the bill was about $40 for two. Dubai's reputation for being expensive is earned at the high end, but the mid-range food, especially Middle Eastern and South Asian, is excellent and affordable.

We moved to The First Collection Waterfront at Business Bay for the second stretch. Newer hotel, rooftop pool, views of the Dubai Canal and the skyline. The room was a step up from the Rove and the rooftop bar became our evening spot. G's birthday dinner was at a restaurant in DIFC (Dubai International Financial Centre) that a friend had recommended. Low lighting, tasting menu, a sommelier who paired each course without being asked. G wore the dress she'd bought for the occasion and I wore the only blazer I'd packed. The food was excellent but what I remember most is the walk after, through the DIFC art galleries that stay open late, looking at sculptures under streetlights, the city humming around us at 11 PM on a Tuesday.

Dubai's food scene operates at a level that surprises most first-time visitors. The city draws chefs from everywhere: Lebanon, India, Japan, France, the UK. Al Ustad Special Kabab in Bur Dubai has been serving kebabs since 1978 in a room that hasn't changed much since. The lamb kebab and the hummus are the orders. We also ate at a place in JBR whose name I've lost but whose shakshuka I haven't. G found it by walking past and seeing a line. She has good instincts about lines.

After about ten days I flew to London to see G's mom Iris and her sister Nora before heading home. Two nights, no hotel, stayed with family. London in late April was cool and grey after Dubai's heat, and the contrast was almost physical. I stepped out of Heathrow and the air felt different on my skin. Damp. Familiar in a way that reminded me of Toronto springs.

Iris made dinner both nights. The first night was plov again (the Uzbek rice dish she'd made in Hallandale) and the second was a roast chicken with potatoes that was so simple and so good that I asked her what the secret was and she said "butter and patience," which is probably the best cooking advice I've ever received. We ate at her kitchen table, which is small and round and has been in the family since before G was born. Iris doesn't do dining rooms. She does kitchen tables. The conversation is better when you can see the stove.

Nora and I went to a pub near her flat one evening and talked for two hours about London, about G, about Nora's work, about nothing in particular. Nora is easy to talk to in a way that makes you forget you're talking to your partner's sister. She's just a person you like, who happens to be family. She asked when I was going to propose. I changed the subject. She noticed. She didn't push it.

I flew home. G continued to Barcelona and Rome, sending me photos of Gothic Quarter streets, rooftop views of the Colosseum, and a plate of cacio e pepe in Trastevere that made me regret leaving. She was gone for nearly two months total. When she came back she was tanned, rested, and carrying two suitcases instead of the one she'd left with. Some things are predictable.