Notes from Dubai; love Karama , hate the metro...

Deep in old Dubai, across from Za'abeel park and far from the shining spires and glistening domes of Jumeirah, lies the crumbling and malodorous district of Karama.

But don't be put off by the smells and the broken pavements, because deep in the heart of this district lies an Aladdin's cave of decadence and desire; a cornucopia of treasures.  In short, a one-stop area of knock-off shops selling -- specifically -- replica designer handbags.

 I love handbags. And designer bags are even more loveable...

I'm not acquainted with the copyright laws here in the UAE, but I'm pretty sure there aren't any.  I know this because the Fairy liquid I bought recently only lasted a week.  And the Ben 10 figures purchased the other day -- so beloved by my three boys -- cost ten times more in Ireland.  'Ireland is a rip-off, look how cheap these are here' I told DH, until they fell apart and the paint peeled off.

However, when it comes to creating perfectly replicated handbags, boy do they know how to do it!

Last week I announced to DH that I urgently needed to visit Dubai to do some Christmas shopping (a sentence which just doesn't sound quite right when you're wearing flip flops and a pair of shorts);  I would be taking the credit card and would be back later.  DH, who was spending the weekend laying a lawn in the back garden, nodded and said 'well, who are you taking with you?'.

Oh I hate that question.

There is an unwritten rule that DH cannot, at any point, EVER, be left alone with four of them.  'OK, since you're laying the lawn, I'll take 5 year old boy (super annoying and sure to run on the new grass every 2 minutes) and 8 year old girl, (who becomes impossible when bored)'.

And so, our little trio headed off to Karama.  The mission was to buy Christmas presents for family and an early birthday present for myself.

The first shop we entered stocked an impressive selection of Mulberry, Juicy couture, Balenciaga and plenty more.  'We have more in the flat...you wanna come up and see?' invited the hirsute salesman with a lascivious smile. 'Err, no thanks, not today' I muttered as I beat a hasty retreat to the door.

The next shop was equally seductive.   The young, hip Lebanese salesman urged: 'you must come upstairs Miss, there is so much more...come, come..'  Swayed, I herded the children up the narrow staircase into a room with a ceiling so low I couldn't quite stand upright.

-'Oh coooool!' yelled five year old boy as he started rolling around and climbing into various alcoves and cubby-holes.

Before us were wave upon wave of beautifully made bags. 'Ooh I feel like Alice in Wonderland'  I giggled, to which a disembodied English voice replied, 'you haven't seen half of it yet'.  Rounding a corner into a corridor, I viewed the source of the comment - a middle aged gentleman with his wife, kneeling before a rack of Burberry goodies. 

At the end of this corridor was another door so small we were obliged to crouch to get through it.  In this room were more bags, wallets, suitcases.  'Come, come' urged the salesman as he disappeared -- white rabbit like -- through what can only be described as a trap door.  Tugging at my short skirt and wishing vehemently that I had worn trousers I grumbled 'this is ridiculous, what if there is a fire' as I clambered through the hole.   As I emerged into the room, I was silent for a second.

I was in handbag nirvana.

This room held the creme de la creme of handbags.  Mulberry, Mui Mui, Dolce & Gabbanna, Hermes, Chanel oh I could go on.  The Birkins were sublime; leather inside and out in a stunning array of colours.  Each bag was beautifully made, with perfectly replicated zips, fasteners, interiors and all (with some clever haggling) for not much more than the cost of a cheap, plastic copy from Next.

I was in handbag overload and needed air.  'Lets get out of here kids,' I panted -- my head reeling -- as we headed back through the labyrinthian path to the main shop.

I don't like choice.  Give me a choice out of two and I will dither for days  (I once had to choose between two boyfriends -- it took weeks of to-ing and fro-ing before I reached a decision).  But given the thousands of bags on offer my mind was in a spin; I was living in a Paris Hilton type hell.

-'I can't decide!!!' 

We went into every single shop along the parade until we stood, empty armed, outside the final shop. 'We have to get something in here!' I instructed the 8-year-old-girl. 'Make me buy something!!'

Feeling like Brangelina in an orphanage, I randomly plucked out half a dozen Juicy Couture bags for my nieces, before dithering before the Mulberry section for my own purchase.  'Red or green, red or green....'  I took the green bag over to the check out.

Juicy 

-'NO RED!' I yelped and quickly swapped them.

-'NO BOTH!...I'll give one to my sister in law!'  I grabbed back the green.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I handed over my credit card as if I were offering my wrists to be handcuffed, with the instruction, 'Just do it!' 

Mulberry 

We left Karama satiated and several hundred dirhams lighter, but oh what a place.  I am counting the hours until I can go and collect a little darling with my name on it...a pink leather Mulberry laptop case......Karama, I love you.

And the Metro...don't bother           

Returning to Dubai, we decided to follow the advice of 'Time out kids' and take the children on a memorable, magical and yet educational trip on the brand new shiny Dubai metro.

We boarded at the Mall of Emirates station, looking forward to a comfortable and spectacular journey through this amazing and burgeoning city.

It became quickly apparent that there weren't any seats available which meant we were obliged to stand in the central area, hanging on to various poles.  The almost-three-year-old disappeared into the crowd almost immediately, hotly pursued by DH.

Five-year-old-boy took one look at the man beside us and asked at the top of his voice 'why does that man look like a girl?' then threw himself to the ground and began snaking himself around the poles and fellow passengers legs yelling 'I'm Doctor Octopuss'.  Eight-year-old-girl whined 'this is rubbish, why couldn't we stay in the mall?' and seven-year-old-boy, anxious at the best of times, fretted that 'we should really go home now' as I was thrown violently against the door by the movement of the carriage.

DH reappeared with almost-three-year old, who began delightedly smacking an alarm button beside the doors.  A ticket inspector appeared and warned us 'don't let him do that ma'am, there is a fine of 2,000 dirham's'.  Myself and DH eyed each other and silently agreed that this wasn't quite what we'd had in mind and it was time to call it a day.

Silently we filed off the carriage at the first station available and made our way to the opposite platform where the return metro was waiting.

-'No sir, this is for women and children only' warned the guard as DH boarded the carriage.

-'What?? Are you kidding me?  Try and stop me' he blasted as he elbowed past the guard.  Inside another guard blocked the way.

-'Sir, this carriage is for women and children only...you may go on the next carriage down'

Defeated we stepped back onto the platform and boarded back onto the neighbouring carriage.  Arriving back at the mall some minutes later, we all heaved a sigh of relief.

Is it just us?  What made me think this would be fun?  Flying on a plane, where there is a telly and a guaranteed seat, is hell on earth, so why on earth would this be better?  Blast Time out kids and their sinister suggestions for a fun day out.  But a day in Karama....now that's a different story...