TRAVEL DIARY – ABU DHABI

With the positives of a safe flight, an efficient aiport, and being able to pay a fair price for a taxi, I soaked up some views as we sped our way through to my hotel. I was still a bit peeved with myself having booked a hotel for the day I was flying as opposed to the day I arrived, but this ultimately meant that I booked into a better rated hotel at a similar cost, which is where I was greeted by enthusiastic doormen and bellboys. I must have looked like a zombie to them. A zombie fisherman.

As explained, I hadn’t enjoyed much sleep beyond the 5 minute Freddy Kruger filled, semi-conscious, doze on the plane, and despite thinking I may kill some time waiting at passport control, or waiting for luggage, taxi, etc., it appears things run a lot smoother here and this efficiency meant I arrived at my hotel with more time to kill than I had foreseen.

My plan, through tired eyes, was to get to the hotel, throw my bags down, and then take on either Ferrari World or the Warner Bros. theme park. I could do a few hours there and then be back in time for check-in, a swim, maybe a nap, and have the evening to grab some dinner somewhere and try to adjust to the +3 hours time difference I’d just inherited.

I explained my plan to the lady at check-in, not in as much detail, but enough for her to be aware that she didn’t need to worry too much that my room wasn’t yet available, had a quick change and freshen up in the disabled toilet, and passed my bags over the bellboy for safe keeping. With little to no knowledge of the tipping culture here, I handed him what felt like an excessive tip, only for him to take my bags, turn around, and casually place them in a pile of bags just 2 meters away.

In the lobby, I settled into an awkward armchair frustratingly too far from a charging port to not have to lean over the armrest, and started planning my day. Taxi to Ferrari World or the WB theme park, 4 hours there, lunch, taxi home. Perfect. 

Ferrari World and WB opening time: 10am. Crumbs. 

Okay, plan B. Grab a coffee, and, owing to my hotel being adjacent to a shopping mall, wander around there until 9:45, and then proceed with my plans. 1 extremely expensive coffee later, I meandered into the shopping mall. It turns out not much opens before 10am in Abu Dhabi, shops included, so my plan of killing 90 minutes was fading as quickly as my ability to keep my eyes open. Plan C, grab another coffee, walk around aimlessly until 9:45, then press on. During the almost 2 hours until the city opened its eyes, I drank 2 coffees and a bottle of water, visited toilets about 6 times, drained my phone battery doom scrolling, and clocked around 6,000 steps acting surprised whenever I saw a familiar shop from back home. ‘Oh, they have a Boots here.’ As 10am approached, I bought a power bank to ensure my phone lasted the afternoon. A power bank that, as it turns out, didn’t come charged, doesn’t really hold its charge and was rather expensive. Annoyingly, this meant I needed to head back to the hotel to boost my battery.

Plan D: charge my phone for half hour, press on with plans.

“Sir, sir, we have a room ready for you. Very good room. Good view,” exclaimed the overly excited and youthful bellboy.

I guess they’d taken pity on the wearily wandering fisherman. Handing over my passport and bank card, I gathered my key and watched a different bellboy struggle to gather my luggage, walk me to the elevator and press floor 25. At this point, it’s worth mentioning that I am not fond of heights. An aversion to standing near the edge of anything with the need to block out views kind of fear whether this be on the second floor or higher. Not fond as in reaching the top of the tallest building in Chicago and the Empire State Building but refusing to venture away from the elevators. Still, I like rollercoasters, go figure.

So, up to the 25th floor we went. A quick shuffle beyond the glass windows facing out from the elevators, almost straddling the inner wall, and to my room. Looking out towards the somewhat distorted cityscape was enough to make my stomach turn, even with the blinds closed. I could have asked for a room on a lower floor, but for fear of it not being ready, coupled with being British and accepting my fate just to avoid asking a question, I said to myself that I can sleep facing the wall. I would have attempted to draw the curtains fully, but that would have involved me getting too close to the window. I handed over some cash to the bellboy feeling that he had at least earnt a tip, and drew up Plan E. I’ll have a nap now and then do something later. It wasn’t a really detailed plan and I was beyond really caring now that I had a bed in front of me.

3 hours pass and I awake feeling pretty low. It’s clear that even Plan E, the most beautiful of plans owing to its simplicity, was too much of a stretch. I’ll go get some food, that’s my plan now. None of this local sheep’s eyeball type food either. I opted to stay in the hotel and go to their adjoining bar, Porters. I ordered a beer, perused the menu, and debated trying their food challenge. After researching the challenge and seeing a photo that showed off its true size, I just went for a burger. With all my plans for the day scrapped, I had to weigh up what I was going to do the following day. I had an evening flight but all day to do something. My options were the same as today, but I also had a ticket to a golf tournament in Dubai to watch Rory McIlroy

With exciting plans still on the agenda for day 2, I took a relaxing approach to the rest of day 1. So relaxing that aside from visiting the bus station to understand where I needed to be if I was to awake at 6am and head to Dubai, I ended up back in Porters that evening until approximately 3am, writing song requests on napkins for the live band to sing. They were terrific, and I was pretty good at shouting along in the background – a couple of 90’s/00’s boyband requests always go down well. So affable was I that I felt welcomed into the community of drunkards doing similar, even though some had wrongly bracketed me as a non-boyband music lover owing to my appearance. I even started to look up apartments to rent and cost of living there.

Stopping by reception on the way up, I remember requesting a later check-out the next day, which was granted, and asking if they’ll make me a pizza (they didn’t). Finally, an extended period of sleep. As for my plans for the next day, who cares!

Day 2

I woke up around 1pm grateful for my extended check-out and put on the TV the golf tournament I was supposed to be attending. My plans were thrown out of the very high window and I needed water. A swim would have been ideal, but having the pool on the 31st floor did deter me somewhat.

I went to check-in to my flight online and was told I was waitlisted, which had me in a minor panic, so figured I would head to Yas Island Marina, grab some lunch and get to the airport 3 and a half hours early for my 10pm flight to ensure I got a seat. A seat I’d already paid for. Maybe you’re waitlisted because you did something you shouldn’t have done in Porter’s and the police are going to be waiting at the airport. You’re going to feature in an episode of Banged Up Abroad and you’re not even going to be told what you’ve done, was the exaggerated hungover fear that haunted me throughout the day. Oh well, at least this was a plan I was finally able to execute.

The taxi journey to Yas Marina became increasingly frustrating as we encountered heavy traffic, and at regular intervals, my stomach insisted on the urgent need for a pit stop. Glancing at Google Maps, it indicated we still had 25 minutes to go, and I found myself envisioning an undesirable scenario of being arrested for public defecation on a street corner. Maybe this is why I’d appear on Banged Up Abroad? At least this time I’d have the unsettling knowledge of my actions. To distract myself from this worry, I immersed in a game of F1 Clash and held out.

Being an F1 fan, it was great to be so close to the circuit at Yas Marina. I had a decent meal and afforded myself a slow pit-stop by F1 standards at one of the local restaurants. Local to the track, not local as in pig cerebrum. There was some F4 testing happening that day, so hearing the cars race around as I watched the “riveting” Asia Cup match between Syria and Australia, had me planning a revisit in December to watch Lewis again. 

I jumped into my cab to the airport and headed towards my check-in zone, playing through the episode of Banged Up Abroad in my head, anticipating 20 police offers with cuffs open and police dogs foaming at the mouth rabidly. I decided I’d go willingly. Even as I approached the desk without having seen the throng of officers, I assumed they’d to the, “can you come with me, sir.” at the desk, or come abseiling in through the ceiling. Nothing. I was handed my boarding pass with a smile, passed over my luggage, and I was through.

With a few hours to kill, I headed to my first foreign lounge. Again, a little busy for my liking, but a more pleasurable experience compared to the Pearl Lounge in Heathrow. With some curry, juice, and coffee swirling around in my tired body, I made my way to my gate and it was time for flight 2. Abu Dhabi to Bangkok.