When I Took The Tram to the Marina Beach Dubai, Walked the Dubai Marina Walk, Indulged in a Water Taxi and Falafel, Strolled in the Air Above the BlueWaters Island, and Finished the Day With Taking a Wrong Metro
The morning had started slowly. I had been sleeping on the couch at a friend’s home in South Dubai. They had been accommodating another family who had taken shelter in their home because they were too scared to stay in their own high-floor apartment in a downtown skyscraper. I woke up groggy, not having slept so well. While having tea at nine am, we heard loud interceptions.
The interceptions and the bangs had been dying down, though. My friends, Haninder and Aina, both agreed that it would be okay to go explore a bit of Dubai.
My plan was to go to Dubai downtown. My dear friend and college senior, Aina, said, “The bus will take fifty minutes. It’s just two kilometers. Better take cab.”
I checked the cab tariffs. They were in the range of forty dirhams and more. I didn’t say that to Aina, though. I am a long-term traveler, writer, and freelancer, and my friends have had jobs, startups, and multiple degrees. I spend within a budget, and I don’t want to always tell them that I travel differently from regular holidaymakers. My idea is to soak in a place, in addition to having fun. Learning to navigate a destination on my own is part of the adventure. My do-it-yourself, rugged readers also like to know how to take public transport, rather than always taking taxis. It was decided.
I filled two water bottles and got out of the house, hoping to walk to the bus stop quickly. After a sun-scorched ten-minute walk, I was at the bus stop, at least as per Google Maps. But I couldn’t see a bus stand anywhere. I had to ask the community’s security. He pointed across the road to a blue sign. I walked back a bit to a pedestrian crossing and crossed the road. The moment I arrived, the bus F8 arrived too. In the UAE, the bus numbers were displayed clearly on the front.
I got onto the air-conditioned bus and tapped my Nol card that I had already been using in Dubai. The bus reached the metro station within ten minutes, or so it felt. I thought perhaps Aina hadn’t taken a bus in a while, or maybe she didn’t go on that route.
At the metro, I took the red line to Dubai Marina. The idea was to chill around the area. My friends had also told me that I could ride the tram.
At Shobha Realty Metro, which was previously known as Dubai Marina, I got out. From Shobha Realty, the signs for the tram started coming up. I followed. At the air-conditioned tram station, two machines were put up with signs asking passengers to tap their Nol card before getting on and also after getting down. Failing to do so will incur fines. I tapped my Nol card.
The tram was, as said, a slow train running slowly through the city. It was driven by a driver, unlike the Dubai Metro, which was automatic. The tram curved through the city on a narrow track, the train’s whole length turning in front of me. I enjoyed the ride and got down at Marina Towers (or something like that). Probably I could have gone a little further with the tram, as I still had to walk more than a kilometer to the Marina beach.
Ah well! What’s to it!
The sun was shining brightly, and I went through roads, bridges, and sidewalks. The way to Marina beach was marked at a lot of places. On the way I stopped at a few restaurants, checking the menu. I would return if I didn’t find good food at a reasonable price at the beach.
While walking to the beach, I realized I had made a mistake. Women were wearing bikinis underneath their dresses. They looked fresh, their hair was freshly washed, and they bore a relaxed countenance.
I wasn’t carrying swimwear. No. I had not even thought about getting it. In the morning, I was only focused on getting out of the house. The past two days we had watched missiles burst like crackers in the sky, and swimwear was the last thing on my mind.
The Marina beach was full of tourists and some locals. Everyone was in a swimsuit, enjoying the Gulf of Arabia. The shore was a sea of colors, and I smacked my head for this stupid mistake. What could be done!
I do what I always do at the beach. I walked. The cool Arabian water immediately cooled my feet, and I kept my bag along with my shoes on the sand. Handsfree, I walked up to the end of the beach, crossing jet skis and other paraphernalia. Tall buildings stood upfront, and what must have been once water rides were now just plastic equipment sitting ballooned up in the middle of the sea. Further on, I walked as long as I could and turned around. Right at the shore, swarms of small fish bathed in the sun. At my approach, they skittered.
At least animal life was going on regularly. All of us looked up at the sky whenever we heard something. And we did hear jets, probably scouting the sky for enemy missiles. No one was bothered visibly, though, and the tourists, with their skin red in the sun and sand on their tanned feet, were enjoying as they would on a beach anywhere. I grinned along with them. Seeing others relax and rollick relaxes us too. The squeals of children and the laughter of adults filled the air along with the twitter of the seagulls, which I am told migrate here everywhere.
I walked for more than an hour and sat down for a while. I had nothing to eat and not a towel to spread. I thought I would go back to swim another day. And by swimming, I mean, I will stand in the waves, lie down on the shore, and let the waves run over me. That’s my swimming for as long as I don’t learn to swim in the sea.
I was famished. I got up, my tongue imagining the taste of falafel. As soon as I got out of the bathroom, a falafel restaurant appeared in front of me like magic. Operation Falafel, it was called. Of course. I was on Operation Falafel. I checked the menu, it looked reasonable, and so I plonked into a chair. The kind waitress patiently took my order and smiled. Some tables were occupied by travelers and locals. The soft music relaxed me. I logged into my email. There was one from my airline, Ajet. My flight for March 4 to Istanbul was canceled. It was March 2.
I messaged Sagar, “The flight has been cancelled. At least I know now.”
He called immediately. We were relieved to have the clarity. I made a plan to reach out to my insurance, my online ticketing platform, Goibibo, and my airlines, Ajet (part of Turkish Airlines). For now, I focused on falafel.
I was served a huge plate. Eight crispy falafels, hummus, salad, jalapeños, and fresh warm bread. It was more than enough for me, and I ate slowly, savoring the taste. I’ve been a falafel fan forever, and being in the UAE, eating them there, meant a lot to me. Slowly, I started finding them a bit dry, though, and maybe one day they would lose my loyalty. Probably the trick is to order them with salad.
The plan was to go to Old Dubai after Marina Beach. But as I walked out of Operation Falafel, I was enchanted by the roads, the buildings lining the street, and the atmosphere. It was a cosmopolitan area of the city for sure. I went into some clothing stores and was relieved that I had bought a bikini at home because here they were not only more expensive but also of average quality.
Further on, a building’s entrance was so fancy, with cabs waiting outside it, that I decided to go in.
This was a pleasant surprise. I think it was a hotel premises attached to a spa, restaurants, and a small shopping area. Comfortable couches were put in the center, well-dressed people walked around, and soft piano music filled the air. When I walked towards the end of the hall, I saw the piano being played live by a woman. On the left was a fancy restaurant, and on the right was a hotel and spa. I plonked onto the couch, plugged my phone into the power bank, and closed my eyes. I wanted to listen to the piano. It was beautiful and soothing.
Maybe ten or fifteen minutes later, I got up and walked out. From the bridge, I looked down. There was a canal there and promenades on both sides. I would go down.
I didn’t know then, but now I do. Dubai Marina is a canal separating the Marina beach from the mainland. On the map you can see that the water has been brought inwards from the gulf, and I’ve heard that there have been instances of sharks and whales there too. Along the canal, there were several residential buildings, fancy shopping areas, and a seven-to eight-kilometer-long walk.
Once I started walking along the canal, there was no end to it. Locals, travelers, and delivery men went around the canal on bicycles and those small e-scooters you see everywhere in Dubai. Benches were put up for people to rest. Some boatmen cold-called for travelers to ride the boat. People were shopping, running, cycling, or resting on the benches. Everyone was going somewhere. Seagulls were perched on the railing. The white boats with black glass windows, with Water Taxi printed on them, caught my eye. At the Dubai Marina station, I asked for information and learned that the water taxis were running to the Bluewaters island.
I decided to get on. I didn’t want to rent a bicycle or the e-scooters or run around the Marina. I got a ticket for seven AED and soon got onto the fancy boat. A Captain drove it, and he had a lot of fancy controls. We arrived at the BlueWaters, and I learned that the taxi would run back at 7:20, and after that, every twenty minutes or so. I wouldn’t need it.
The BlueWaters island was a peaceful but quite artificial and weird place. You get down at one end of the promenade. A giant humungous wheel hovers over the island. It is not running like a roller coaster, but its blue glass cabins sit overhead. I thought it was an adventure ride that was temporarily dysfunctional, but as I approached closer, I realized that it never ran. For I saw the security standing underneath, options of ticketing further ahead, and display signs that said that you could experience a view or something. Perhaps you could dine in one of those cabins. That’s what I understood.
Walking alongside the promenade was therapeutic. Though on my left loomed the big wheel, buildings, and so on, on my right lay the Gulf of Arabia, as blue as it could get. Seagulls flew around, the water lapped against the island in gentle rhythms, and the glitzy Dubai was far away on the horizon. There was silence. Further along the walk, the number of people reduced. One or two people stood by the railing, gazing into the sea. I wanted a coffee or a chai, but I also wanted to just be. I walked slowly, reaching the end of the island, or what was the publicly accessible end. Further ahead were residences and signboards saying photography not allowed and to respect the privacy of residents.
I think once you could have walked further on, but then they had blocked the promenade after a point. I passed by the giant wheel and came upon a supermarket further ahead of which were the residences. I didn’t go past the security guard who might or might not have stopped me. I had no interest in exploring the big wide streets of that island, which was starting to feel artificial. I turned back and passed many more buildings, some restaurants, and on my mind was the walk above the sea that I had seen while going in.
There was a long bridge over the sea. Lots of people were walking on it. The bridge seemed to hang in the air and connected Bluewaters Island back to the mainland. The lights were turning on, and the sun had set. I went along, passing many restaurants, used the toilet, and looked for the starting point of the boardwalk. A guard told me that the escalator, the steps, and another way up would all take me to the boardwalk. But first coffee or tea.
There were many cafes, as always, and many for bobba and matcha tea, etc as well. I had no idea what they were. I wanted tea but didn’t want to spend thirty dirhams on a black tea that I might not even like. I have enjoyed Sulemani tea pots and Arabic tea, but not a black cup of tea for thirty bucks. I asked at McDonalds and found that I could get a kadak chai for four dirhams. Kadak chai! I also took a chocolate croissant and, after a few minutes at one of the benches, walked onto the boardwalk.
Even if you don’t like the Bluewaters Island, the boardwalk would make the visit worth it. The pillars were at the end of the bridge, and along the middle, you would be above the ocean, with the water beneath you, hitting the rocks underneath at the same rhythm. The sound of the sea calmed me again. By then, all the lights were turned on, and all around me, the horizon was glittering. The bridge had many lights turned on, too. There were spaces to sit alongside and a bicycle track. People were jogging, cycling, and strolling. I sipped my tea, leaning on the railing, watching the water. I walked twice, finally getting down from the bridge at Marina.
So I didn’t have to take the water taxi back to town. As I had to get home, and I was at least a metro ride and a bus ride away, I started walking towards the nearest metro station, which was, I think, Shobha Realty or Jumeirah station. I got on. I had been navigating the metro quite easily in Dubai. While passing the Ibn Battuta Station, I realized I had made a mistake.
I was sure I hadn’t passed Ibn Battuta while going to the beach. When I was at the Energy station, I understood. I had to get off earlier at the Life Savings metro to interchange the train. To go to my friends’ house, I needed to take the one going towards Expo 2020, so a slight detour from the main red line. These stations were quite far apart as well. I got down, took a train back to Life Savings, and then got onto the metro going towards Life Expo. Still good to go. It was almost nine pm when I got off the Metro. My friend had messaged me. Haninder was on a call, and Aina was putting their kid to sleep.
The bus arrived, but I learned from the driver and two other men that it would take fifty minutes to reach my location. F8 is a circular bus, so while the distance to home was a few kilometers, the ride would indeed take me fifty minutes. I waited ten minutes for the bus and twenty minutes for the driver to start. The ride was fifty minutes long.
After getting down, I followed Google Maps while speaking to Sagar. I always send the location of my home to my WhatsApp. But I missed a turn and thought I would just turn left further ahead. Nopes. Sometimes you have to take that turn in Dubai, else you will have to go back all the way. A lesson learnt the hard way, for I found myself on a road with villas on my left and nowhere to get back to my friend’s house.
I asked security, but he wasn’t of much help. So I followed Google Maps again, and my friend sent me the location and the way over WhatsApp. Haninder had already slept, and Aina was almost asleep. I rushed in the dark, crossed their main gate, and found myself on the correct street, probably, but I couldn’t tell because it was dark. I couldn’t see the villa numbers on the back of the villas, and I was on the backside because that’s where I had landed, and my friend had said the back gate would be open.
I am sure Aina was quite sleepy because she had told me to check the gate and let her know if I couldn’t get in. One of their back gates was open. I got in, treaded softly over the grass, and tried the glass gate to the house, which we used to enter and exit for the garden. It was open.
I told her I got in. I was thankful to be back home after a three-hour endeavor of commuting back, and I hit the bed soon after brushing my teeth.
In the morning, the whole family had been wondering that how did I got in. They were sure the glass door was locked, as everyone, individually, checked that the glass door was locked every night. Finally, the mystery was resolved when the maid said she had left the door open, thinking Haninder was still outside in the office.
Well! All is well that ends well.
Have you been to Dubai too? Would love to hear your experience in the comments.
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