I stared for a time at the museum-case model that portrayed early Abu Dhabi as a sandy flat with a loose scattering of mud huts, on which the most sophisticated architectural feature was the goat pens. I half expected to see tiny figures swinging crude stone tools.
That is, until I noticed the brass plaque.
“Abu Dhabi, 1959.” It appeared that the United Arab Emirates’ capital city, which from our ship looked like a solid wall of modern skyscrapers stretching for miles, had, well, grown up. I read the second part of the plaque and it all made sense.
“Pre Oil Era Model.” Fueled by the black gold under the golden sands, the major cities of the Arabian Peninsula’s emirates, kingdoms and sultanates have morphed in a few decades from rural villages to modern, sprawling, metropolitan hot spots, a task that took New York City at least three centuries.
But as these oil-rush boomtowns harbor world-class economies and indulge in fanciful architecture of the future (possibly to the point of obsession in the case of Dubai), what happens to the rich heritage of Arabia’s past? I boarded a Costa ship in spring to sail the Persian Gulf and the Sea of Oman out of Dubai – the first regular cruise in the region by any line – that included stops in three United Arab Emirates, the island nation of Bahrain and the still-off-the-radar sultan-ruled nation of Oman. The route seemed perfectly suited for sampling and exploring a part of the world most Westerners will never see, to peel back a few clichés and stereotypes associated with Islamic life, and to find out if it’s possible to ogle the modern marvels and experience the flavor of old Arabia through its people, places and rituals.
Arabia’s epic sands
The Arabian Peninsula is the size of Alaska, Texas and California combined (give or take Rhode Island), and 9 out of every 10 square feet belong to one of the most inhospitable patches of land on the planet. The Arabian Desert includes the largest contiguous stretch of sand anywhere and generously offers daytime temperatures normally associated with baking Bundt cakes or branding steers.
All of which makes it a perfect destination to explore by sea, bypassing the bone-bleaching heat and choking dust of land travel in the desert, and allowing casual travelers to experience a truly foreign culture – with the option of familiar surroundings at the end of the day.
Italian cruise line Costa launched the seasonal seven-night voyages last December, in part based on the growing buzz over the home port.
“Dubai was really an up-and-coming hot spot, not only for Europeans, but for customers around the world,” says Lynn Torrent, president of Costa Cruise Line America. “It has gone amazingly well. So much so that we doubled the capacity.” After a fully booked first season on Costa Classica, the line plans to base Costa Europa and Costa Romantica in Dubai to sail the same week-long itineraries (one day apart) starting in mid-December.
In most ways that matter – cabin size, basic amenities, public areas, food, bars and lounges – Costa’s ships are comparable to those of other mass-market brands, although the flavor is decidedly Italian. On a recent trip with my wife, Ann, Europeans accounted for all but a tiny fraction of the passengers (just 16 from the United States). If you’ve never been on a European-oriented voyage, idiosyncrasies include: later dining; measurements in metric; much better coffee; and announcements in five languages (English was typically toward the end). Europa and Romantica are older ships (although hardly vintage), and offer fewer of the high-profile bells and whistles, but those are less of an obsession for Europeans, who tend to care more about the ports.
Shipboard dining is traditional assigned seating in the evening, as well as several basic buffets that ranged from fair to mediocre in variety.
Service on our trip was genial, although it’s probably best to adopt a flexible attitude regarding time to match that of the staff.
Entertainment focused more on cultural acts (African dancers, for instance) than is typical for North American ships, where Vegas rules.
When not trying to experience a foreign culture on land, we were immersed onboard in Europe-ness as thick as brie, which made for educational and amusing people-watching. One afternoon by the pool, we looked on as seven pasty-white German boys stormed a hot tub the size of a coffee table, sending two French women fleeing (a historical re-enactment, maybe?), and then launched into a Teutonic-tinged version of a hip-hop tune by American artist 50 Cent. (I’m not convinced they understood all the words.) In the evenings, we repeatedly passed the same pair of chain-smoking Eastern European women who were either chatting about life or reciting really bleak poetry about something really, um, bleak.
Destination: obscure ports
The focus of this cruise, clearly, is on the ports, trophy destinations that offer a broad look at the eastern Peninsula – as well as the experience of sailing through the Strait of Hormuz, within 30 miles of the Iranian shore. The ports – Abu Dhabi; Dubai; Fujairah; Manama, Bahrain; and Muscat, Oman – are not entirely unknown to cruisers but are typically found only as occasional hits on the schedules of the ultra-luxury “Obscure Ports of the World” trips with lines such as Seabourn, Crystal and Silversea.
The 800-pound gorilla in the room for Americans – and the likely reason Costa didn’t even bother to market the trip last season in the United States – is the Islamic factor, the painfully misguided assumption that all Muslims everywhere (especially those around the Gulf) despise U.S. citizens and all have some part in terrorism. It’s not entirely surprising – most of what we know of the Middle East comes from bombing and beheading reports on CNN or Fox News – but we are in the minority.
Most Europeans are familiar with the Arabian Peninsula’s vacation offerings, as are Australians, New Zealanders, South Americans, the Chinese and pretty much everybody but us and a small tribe of pig-hunters in rural northern Thailand who refuse to fly.
We felt safe, if for no other reason than because it was obvious at each stop that Western tourism is becoming a priority – and Allah help anyone who endangers that.
Art, culture, history merge
The Cultural Foundation in the city of Abu Dhabi is a contemporary fusion of art gallery, history and culture museum and university library, as well as an air-conditioned oasis from the hot, noisy city of 1.8 million people. Down the hall from the historical photos and displays (including the aforementioned model), women in full burka demonstrate traditional carpet-weaving, and a guy in sheikh’s robes lounges inside a tent and demonstrates, apparently, how past sheikhs historically lounged. It was a tiny window into the emirate’s heritage, but I couldn’t help but compare it to demonstrating U.S. heritage with a theme-park Wild West show.
After the demonstrations and displays about Abu Dhabi’s tribal and nomadic past, I set out to absorb authentic, living culture between the stalls of the city’s storied Central Market, where haggling is a beloved art and spicy shwarma is around the corner.
Ambling through the rotisserie-lamp heat of Sheikh Rashid bin Saeed al-Maktoum Street (commonly, Airport Road), I passed ancient-looking shops, venerable domed mosques dwarfed by ultra-modern skyscrapers and at least a half dozen streets that should have led me to the old souk, but that were blocked by a large-scale construction project.
Finally, after trudging a complete circuit without finding an entrance – and having random thoughts about spontaneous combustion – I ducked into a Pakistani grocery and asked.
The owner smiled. “Central Market is no more. All gone. Gone for one year.” Why? The plan is to build an upscale shopping mall called Central Market, he said, and he pointed at the construction pit I’d just spent the past hour walking around in Abu Dhabi’s springtime 98-degree afternoon.
No problem, I thought. I’ll just come back next year and see a demonstration of the old place at the Cultural Foundation.
A Bedouin “encampment”
Only the wisest and most learned experts have any idea if a camel is going to pitch forward or back when kneeling. If they collapse their back haunches first, you’re looking at blue sky and are easy prey to gravity’s will. If it’s the front legs, you’re in a small plane barreling into the ground at 45 degrees. The trick is guessing which.
This wouldn’t be an issue if we had been riding, say, a goat or a large pig. But when the beast trying to sway you off wears a saddle 7 feet off the ground, you start to wonder how soft the sand is.
Because we had spent a couple days in Dubai before the cruise, we opted for an excursion inland, specifically a jeep tour through Dubai’s signature orange dunes, ending at a “traditional” nomadic Bedouin encampment.
After our caravan of white SUVs trekked into the desert east of Dubai city – and then turned right and rolled around, over and astride the mountainous waves of sand (I passed out half a bag of ginger candy for motion sickness) – our driver delivered us to the encampment. It was a tiny Arabian theme park, complete with camel rides, henna tattoo artist and hookah booth – an easy, palatable (if somewhat shallow) entry point for the travelers into a foreign history and culture.
After a brief excursion atop a camel wearing a tea cozy on its snout (probably to hide its laughter at the tourists), we learned a bit: that henna tattoos don’t work well on hairy arms; that smoking shisha is just a really good excuse to do nothing for a while; and that nomadic Bedouin tribes stock Red Bull.
After a buffet of traditional Arabian delicacies, a belly dancer arrived and shared more sacred rituals, such as balancing a curved sword on any portion of her body that could act as a shelf. It was about this time, the crowd from the ship started to appreciate the whole culture and heritage thing.
During the late-night ride back to the ship, I considered cultural rituals and seemingly bizarre practices and wondered how they get started. Then I considered that later on I might end up among a gyrating mass of Europeans, using my body in a ritual spelling out the sacred mantra “YMCA” during ’70s night, and decided it was a topic best left alone.
By the time we reached Bahrain, an island connected to Saudi Arabia by a 30-mile bridge, our best opportunities to experience traditional Arabian life had been in Muscat, Oman, where we toured the newish Grand Mosque (among the world’s largest) and the grounds of the Sultan’s Palace; and the emirate of Fujairah, where we toured the pool at the Fujairah Hilton and the burka aisle of a local hypermarket. (OK, so not all stops on the cruise are ready for primetime.) But in Bahrain, past the ultramodern skyscrapers taken from science fiction, and past the stately mosque next to a Kentucky Fried Chicken, is the Manama Souq. Inside the warren of alleys and narrow passages, there’s a point beyond the tourist zone where souvenir hats and toy camel-riding, guitar- playing sheikhs give way to abayas (women’s robes) and cookware, and where the smell of the McDonald’s gives way to the spice vendors’ cardamom and curry. Turn right and there’s a Bahraini coffee shop, extraordinary only by the fact that it doesn’t actually offer coffee.
In more traditional parts of the Arabian world, the coffee shop is little more than a collection of mismatched tables and benches in an alleyway or sidewalk, and a kitchen the size of a walk-in closet. When I found one in the souk, I waited until the crowd of sheyba (venerable men) thinned out before approaching. An older man in gleaming white dishdasha dress and traditional red- white-checked shumagg (head covering with the outer black bands) saw my hesitance and waved. “My friend, come. Sit down.” His name was Jawal, and he confessed that when he’s not at home, he’s at that coffee shop, talking and drinking tea. We chatted in stunted English about the weather, coffeehouses, his family and our hometowns.
“You like Bahrain?” I told him I did.
“Bahraini, they are nice, no?” I agreed.
“Kuwaiti, Iraqi, Saudi – they are not so nice. Too much fire.
“What for you need so much fire?” I assumed he was talking about religious and political fervor in more conservative societies, and I gave a noncommittal nod. It was not my place to agree too heartily.
I was as far as I could get from home (almost opposite California on the globe), but not as far as I expected culturally.
Men gathering to hang out, talk and drink: It was a nonalcoholic version of the corner bar. This is a ritual, I figured, that I could get behind.
By the time Jawal excused himself, wished me “al-salaam alaykum” (peace), the other benches had filled with men in dishdashas. Most were looking at me, not as a threat or an enemy, it seemed, but as a curiosity.
Tourists, one man said, do not take the time to sit and relax over a glass of tea.
Maybe they have too much fire, I said, and took another sip.
INSIDER’S GUIDE
Practicalities
Standards of dress are more casual in most of these ports than in, say, Saudi Arabia. Respectful travelers, however, will avoid short shorts, tank tops and other revealing clothing.
The weekend is Friday and Saturday; many businesses close from 1 to 4 p.m. (depending on local custom).
At every stop except Muscat, Oman, cab or shuttle transportation is required to get in and out of the port. No walking allowed.
Dubai visitors are issued a temporary visa at the airport, and single-day visas will be issued to passengers as they disembark at each port.
Stay hydrated. Water is available on most excursions, but buy water on the ship in case it isn’t.
Abu Dhabi
To tour the gargantuan Emirates Palace resort, take the ship excursion that includes it, or make a reservation for lunch well in advance and catch a cab. If you’re not with a group or have reservations, you won’t get through the front gate. Note: Cab fare between the shuttle drop-off and the palace can be hefty.
The Cultural Foundation and the adjacent Qasr al-Husn (White Fort) are about a block from the shuttle drop-off point. Very walkable.
The oasis city of Al Ain is about 100 miles from the port, so be prepared.
Dubai
Almost all maps of the United Arab Emirates lack an indicator for north, so don’t assume it’s up. The coastlines for Dubai and Abu Dhabi run at a 45 degree angle, southwest to northeast.
Manama, Bahrain
Traffic is epic. Know when the last shuttle for the ship is leaving, plan accordingly and leave extra time.
Muscat, Oman
Bring clothes that cover from neck to ankles if you’re visiting the Grand Mosque. Women should take a large scarf for head covering. Wear the wrong duds and you will be turned away.
Fujairah
Negotiate a price with cab drivers before you get in. Cabs are regulated (and cabbies wear a uniform), but there didn’t seem to be a standard rate.
The ship
For reasons only the company understands, the embarkation time is 9 p.m. on the first day (something about flight times). You can get on the ship in the afternoon, but you might not get into your cabin until 9 p.m. – or later.
Get there
Emirates Air flies nonstop from New York and London. Air France flies from San Francisco to Dubai via Paris.
The cruise
Costa Romantica (1,344 passengers) will run week-long round trips out of Dubai, described in the story, from mid-December to late March. Costa Europa (1,494 passengers) will sail the same route from mid-December to late February. Base fares start at $1,049 per person, double occupancy. Currency onboard is the euro; the ship charged 3 euros ($4 U.S.) for converting dollars.
More info
Contact a travel agent or Costa Cruises, 877-882-6782 or .
Spud Hilton is the San Francisco Chronicle’s deputy travel editor.
