A Day in The Dusty Emirate of Sharjah, The UAE: Exploring on Foot, Seeing Some of The Best Places to Visit in Sharjah
Sharjah is another emirate in the UAE. While flights have been rescheduled, as I mentioned in this subtly titled piece, I had more time on my hands. Of course, I wanted to see another one of the seven Emirates of the UAE, after visiting Abu Dhabi and Dubai.
Several ways were on my mind. Either I could go to Sharjah by bus for a day trip or stay overnight. I had booked one night in a hotel in Sharjah, thinking that I shouldn’t spend all my days in Dubai. That was a fully refundable booking as I was unsure of my plans. Then, while walking around the Old Dubai creek, I saw a board of the Sharjah tourism map, and next to it were mentioned ferries or water taxis to Sharjah.
That sounded too good! The Dubai Creek was fringed with boat stations and marine stations. These marine stations had the water taxi and ferry schedules. The particular boat station Al Gouibiba, which was near the Bur Dubai Marine station, had Sharjah on display. The first time I asked the counter, I only enquired about ferry times, not duration or price. Weekdays had a ferry starting from morning, 7:30 or so, and on weekends, the ferries only ran in the evening. I thought to go on the four pm ferry and return by the eight pm ferry. Or if I was going to stay in Sharjah, then take a one-way ferry.
Now, what happened was that I found a good hotel in Old Dubai. It was a tall building right at the creek, with a panoramic view of the canal. I was upgraded to a premium suite on the ninth floor, and I mostly had what I needed without having to ask. What more do you want?
The suite had a bedroom, a hall, and a spacious bathroom with a bathtub (about which guests complained in reviews that they couldn’t use). I didn’t even ask about it. I had a fridge, a kettle, a sofa, a small dinner table for two, four pillows, room slippers, all kinds of towels and toiletries, and so on. Housekeeping came every day, though sometimes they annoyed me by knocking at my door for cleaning multiple times. The metro station was five minutes away, the boat to cross the creek was also five minutes away, and the old souk was right next to me. While writing this, I was sitting on my dining table for two, all curtains open, while the Dubai lights glittered in what I would call a panoramic view. The moon wasn’t up, yet, otherwise, it added an inexplicable charm to the show.
Happy in my hotel, I decided to first check out Sharjah and not go to stay there. Who knew how it might be? The idea of seeing the Emirates on a day trip rather than moving there relaxed me.
I extended my stay in the hotel and cancelled the booking in Sharjah. I walked to the Goubiba station at around three pm, aware that I was a little late for the day. The earlier ferries had gone, and I was planning to catch the one at 4:15. Would I have enough time as the return ferry was at eight pm?
The staff at the marine station cleared all doubts. She said that due to the current situation (she meant the war), the ferry times had changed. Now their last ferry was running at 4:45, and not 8:15.
“So I would get like half an hour in Sharjah?”
She replied, her eyebrows raised in thought, “Not even that much. This ferry at 4:15 would reach at quarter to five, and that’s when the return ferry starts. That’s the last ferry.”
I smiled because I didn’t need to make a decision. I thanked her, reconfirmed the ferry timings for the next day, and confirmed a few more things. You get a seat on the ferry (unlike the abra, where you sit on a bench). You can carry luggage. The price was fifteen AED, and the duration was half an hour or thirty-five minutes.
I walked back towards the outdoor restaurants at the creekside, whose menu I had checked while walking to the marine station, and to whom I had promised to return. I went to Blue Babel, or something, for the first and the last time. All tables were on the pavement, next to the water, and I grabbed one. I ordered, after a few questions and contemplation, a falafel sandwich, a tabbouleh salad, and a pot of Irani tea with honey.
That was a nice one-hour meal, for now I had all the time in the world. We like to do things, but we also like to be free, to not have to go anywhere or show up for anything.
Afterward, I explored around the creek, went to a mall to buy bread and cheese from a supermarket, and ended up eating kadhi pakora and baingan aloo (eggplant and potatoes) with rice for dinner. The Indian meal wasn’t part of the plan at all, but an Indian restaurant in the mall was serving dinner thalis at a reasonable price, and kadhi pakora and eggplant is my favorite combination. Even in India, I can’t resist them on a plate.
I went to bed at 12:30 am, chilling and writing by the panoramic windows in my room.
The next morning I got up at 6:15 am. I had a ferry to catch at 8:15. The staff had asked me to show up fifteen minutes earlier.
By the time I got ready and was out walking, it was already 7:53 or so. I sprinted. By luck, an abra, the boat with which I had to cross to the other side, was waiting, and as soon as I stepped on it, the boatman started the engine.
The morning breeze tried to brush off the sleepiness of my face and my eyes. It didn’t succeed, but full marks for trying. The abra had only seven or eight people, and we were all quiet, just getting into the rhythm of the day along with the seagulls who had started screeching. The sky was cloudy; the sun was missing. It started to drizzle. Abras don’t have a roof; there was nowhere to hide.
As soon as the abra stopped, I jumped out onto the wooden platform. By 8:05, I was at the marine station, but not before I had stopped to pick up the banana that had fallen out of my bag. The zip of my bag had opened on its own.
Always buy good travel equipment. My hemp bag isn’t bad, but it has its own mind. I had decided that if it gave me more trouble, I would replace it with a better bag. No one wants to hear a banana falling out of their bag in public while they are running to catch a ferry.
I arrived, paid fifteen dirhams by card, and waited in the queue while the passengers from Sharjah deboarded. Most of them were in formal clothes. Maybe the office workers commuted between Sharjah and Dubai, and that was why the ferry ran more frequently on weekdays.
The journey was nice and quiet. You sit in a glass cabin with proper seats in rows of three. I chose the right-hand side of the cabin, which turned out to be a good decision. Only one other passenger was aboard, who was sitting on the left-hand side. The boat had more staff than passengers. The beginning of the journey was through the creek, and we passed big boats, ships, cargo containers, construction, and so on. We went from under the big bridge, one of the four that run over the creek. The air-conditioned water taxi was comfortable, and on my return journey, I would see that it had toilets as well.
We also passed ships loaded with cars. Many kinds of cargo must travel through the Gulf of Arabia, or Arabian Gulf, which we soon entered. The last ten minutes of the ride was through the open Gulf, the waves were higher, the water choppier, and our boat shook well. I felt the sway of the ocean the most during the last part.
We debarked, and I was at the Sharjah aquarium. Right at the marine station where new passengers were walking towards the ferry, I ran into someone who asked me, “How was the ride?”
“It was fun.” When he said he was from Georgia, I exclaimed, “I am going there after Turkey.” Leon, the Israelian who lived in Georgia and I, were both thrilled and going through the same things. His flight had also been canceled and was being rescheduled. He was flying to Tbilisi. He gave me his WhatsApp number and asked me to text him, which I did five minutes later.
That’s another story for another day.
At the Sharjah aquarium, which is where you get dropped off, I took out my phone. First, I messaged Leon, then I looked at Google Maps. I had to understand where I was in context with some of the things to do and places to visit in Sharjah. Could I take a bus or taxi or, hopefully, walk?
As I research for this article, even blog posts and the typical TripAdvisor and Thrillophilia kind of places have nothing good to say about Sharjah. They are listing ten or fifteen places, but you can see how hopelessly drab those things are. In general, in such articles, you find about 113 adjectives of exotic, cultural, and fun. The Sharjah articles are devoid of such adjectives.
I hadn’t even read one piece on Sharjah before visiting, so you can see why I was standing by the shore, the aquarium fountains running behind me, my eyes glued to Google Maps.
I figured that I was close to the Corniche walk, and that I could follow the circular Corniche around the Sharjah creek, yes Sharjah had one too, and visit many things in Sharjah while never leaving the shoreside. Islands, parks, and museums, were all by the creek. Alright, so that was what we would do.
Google Maps showed the option of buses as well, but I didn’t pay any attention to them. I wasn’t interested. When I could walk by the water, why would I get on a bus?
The walk began slowly. Sharjah was different from both Dubai and Abu Dhabi. The corniche in both these Emirates had been a joy for me. Clean promenades and walkways, greenery, quiet, and nothing to worry about. Here in Sharjah, the Corniche was next to the shore, lined by fishing equipment. Special platforms or buoys were only accessible by fishermen who had all their equipment and large circular nets scattered around the shore. On the opposite side of the road, a myriad of buildings were under construction. Some of the men in the passing by trucks and cars looked at me curiously.
First, I was walking on the pavement; soon, I went onto the sand. The sound from the fast cars was lesser there. Seagulls had made this shore home, too, but not in as many numbers as in Dubai. Their small group in Sharjah made me think if those were the lost or outcast ones. I would encounter their larger groups later.
A few young women were walking their dogs or walking alone, and one or two men were fishing. A woman was searching for something at the shore.
I had received a SOS as soon as I had started my boat trip, and another confirming that the threat had passed as soon as I disembarked. Loud jet sounds made me look up. There it was. A fighter jet. So far in Dubai, I had been hearing them only, and that was the first time I saw one.
So in Sharjah, you could see Jets. Okay!
I got used to the sound of the jets in those early morning hours. A missile threat had woken me up in the morning. Leon would text me at night that the UAE intercepted two missiles that day. I tried to ignore this information because I was hoping my flight wouldn’t be canceled, again.
I craned my neck to see the jets. Around the Sharjah Creek were tall buildings, and on my left was the road and stairs to get to the road above. I stayed below, turning along with the walk. Cafes, restaurants, and other experience stores were all shut for now. I reached the creek again. The idea was to go around it. So I kept walking, sometimes sitting on a bench.
I also searched for food and got onto the main road, hoping to pee and buy a falafel or zataar bread. Public toilets weren’t common in Sharjah. By the shore, plastics and discarded plastic bottles were thrown about. The streets weren’t that great either. There were no road crossing markings here, as I had gotten used to in the other two Emirates. I had to run across the streets. A bit of garbage was strewn around too. Everything was dusty, and pigeons flew everywhere.
The streets had no structure to them. Places looked shabbier than in Dubai or Abu Dhabi. I tried finding a restaurant for breakfast known for falafel sandwiches and local bakes, but couldn’t locate it after running down the street two times. I walked to another eatery I had deprioritized earlier.
This small place had a fire in an oven, and three men working inside were surprised to see me. When I asked if I could sit upstairs, they said yes, but as I started climbing up, one of them stopped me.
“No seating upstairs.”
“Only take away?”
I am not sure if they understood me. I sat down on a chair, grabbing the menu. The Indian guy questioned and answered me in Hindi, a language I have been avoiding using in the UAE. I didn’t want people, especially men, to be overly friendly with me. The lack of a common language allows me to distance myself from others (when I want).
They were baking breads with spinach, cheese, and so on. I asked about several things on the menu, tried to associate the items with photos, and ordered two small breads, one with spinach and another with falafel. Each cost me two dirhams. I wanted a small snack just to try. I had a sandwich in my bag and didn’t want to spend money. My stay in Dubai had extended, and the insurance only covered six days of delay. For the rest of the days, I was on my own.
Why did I need insurance when I was traveling, exploring, and making the most of the experience? Because Dubai was expensive, and it was not where I wanted to spend my time or money.
I packed the things, crossed the dusty road, and sat on a bench to eat. Both the breads were below average. The spinach bread, known as zaatar, was too lemony, and the falafel was definitely stale, probably it was from the day before. It was crumbly and not crunchy.
I walked further on, now the sun was getting hotter, the drizzle had of course stopped, and the sky was clear. Back onto the Corniche, I looked at the water and often stopped to see the seagulls. Over the phone, I was advising Leon on how to book a new flight. After a while, I arrived at an island. Two bridges connected to it, though I would find out that only one was open. A girl jogged onto one of those bridges, and I also got on behind her. I wanted to check out the small island.
The island had buildings, restaurants, and a long walk, marked with the length of the perimeter. It was 850 meters or so, though it didn’t feel that long. In the middle of the small island stood an amphitheater. This theme would be repeated on most islands in Sharjah. An amphitheater, some weird-looking buildings, a track, workers sitting in the shade, and the feeling of apocalypse. Either everything was quiet, abandoned, and weird because of Ramadan, or maybe the places were always like that.
My guess is the latter option. When you have amphitheaters on an island, what would you expect?
I watched a grey heron with a shiny blue head catch a small silver fish, and that sort of made that half an hour detour worth it. On the road again, next to the corniche, I walked under the bright sun. Then I took to the grass where I walked under the palm trees, the breeze at times cool from the automatic sprinklers that were on.
Above me, a big road ran with cars whooshing by. Beyond the road were giant official buildings, with big UAE flags flying above them. The buildings were shaped like domes with tall facades, mirrors, and, I am guessing, thick walls. Their names were written on them in both Arabic and English. The petroleum department, the electricity department, and so on.
Quite fancy!
I also reached another weird island, which seemed to have many rides on it. They rose tall into the sky. Cars were parked in the parking lot. The main entrance was quite a walk away from the parking. Things weren’t designed in Sharjah for walkers. The new Nepali staff girl told me the park would open at six pm because of Ramadan. The theme park was the only thing on that island. You couldn’t enter before six. Not that I wanted to go.
The Flag Island was in front of this theme park island. A tall shaft had the UAE’s flag flying on it, and beyond it were the government buildings.
It wasn’t even noon. I decided to check out the flag island, though I had an idea of how disappointing it would be. The island had toilets, which I needed badly. I walked under an overhead bridge and crossed the parking lot again to reach the Flag Island. There were no instructions on it of any kind. What was it? The Flag Island with the flag? The restaurant on the island would open at six pm. Another amphitheater. Workers in the big garden. A family relaxing with their kids on the grass. Benches facing the government buildings, the creek underneath them.
The sun was strong. I went to the toilet and sighed with relief. Then I settled on a bench in the shade, my back to the buildings and the water.
From that little sad place, I decided to go to the local market, known as souk. The Central Souk, probably Sharjah’s biggest market, was close to me.
Walking to the market would be a big hassle. I retraced my path, walking on the side of the road, aware of the fast cars speeding by. But that was the only way. I got up on the highway, which had pavement. From the highway, I had another view of the buildings and the Sharjah Creek below.
The cars running on the bridge almost deafened me. They were so loud. I was thankful for the pavement. Then I took the stairs down to the road, following Google Maps. I arrived at a beautiful mosque and more traditional-looking buildings with mosaic work.
Men were praying in the gold-domed mosque. This was the month of Ramadan, and people were praying all day. I took pictures of the mosaic building to realize it wasn’t a mosque as I had thought. It was a gold souk, a gold market. Yes, it was a huge air-conditioned, mind-blowing gold market.
I strolled inside, taking pictures, while Indian men watched me. A lot of Indian customers and sellers thronged the market, even more than in Dubai or Abu Dhabi. I was stared at a lot, as if the Indians were wondering if I was a tourist, or a resident like them.
After I got out of the gold souk, I retraced my steps and walked towards the grocery souk.
It was a huge indoor market, air-conditioned, equipped with toilets and prayer rooms, like everywhere else in the UAE. The toilets in Sharjah were of far poorer quality than the Abu Dhabi or Dubai counterparts. No automatic taps or soap dispensers, narrow stalls, congested space, and so on. Sometimes they were unkempt too, unlike the pristine clean ones of the richer Emirates.
I walked around, thinking about what to buy. This souk felt more like my kind. Stalls of vegetables and fruits without price tags, like I was used to. Dates, spices, chocolates, honey, nuts, and dry fruits were also being sold. I strolled around, ignoring the calls of the Indian sellers in Hindi.
“Madam, what do you want?” “Buy vegetables madam?”
The market was full of people. It had a huge parking lot, which was almost full but could have probably accommodated a hundred more cars. Even during Ramadan, locals were out and about shopping in full sun. They couldn’t eat a bite or drink a drop of water. Tenacious! One woman was quite tired in the bathroom, breathing in loud gasps, her face worrisome and sweating. I offered her help, and she replied that she would sit in the prayer room for a bit.
I decided what I would buy. When I am overwhelmed by things, I decide what I would focus on and ignore the rest. As that day was a self-eat day from the supermarket, and as I was missing fruits but had bought bananas and strawberries the day before, I decided to buy one more fruit. Perhaps a local fruit, and a hot snack, or bread, or something.
I bought 675 grams of red grapes for ten dirhams. Fifteen dirhams per kilo, only slightly more expensive than Calcutta, where I was before Dubai. I bought pickled turnips from a shop that sold dates, dry fruits, pickled veggies, olives, and so on. The local guy at the shop was unhelpful, didn’t know English, and wasn’t interested. Perhaps a lot of Indians visited his store, and he struggled to explain to them what was what. He didn’t speak English, and Indians won’t speak Arabic. He was a bit rude, for sure. He kept gesturing to the Indian helper at the shop or kept calling him so that he could instead explain to me.
The Indian guy was typical. He only wanted to sell me dates or dry fruits. He was going to give me a very bad patch of some sweet he was pulling off with his hands disgustingly. I said no. I went back to the pickled counter and asked for turnips. I asked for two hundred grams, and he gave almost four hundred grams. But it was already packed, and so I took it. I also got a sweet from a bakery from an Egyptian guy who said all savory production had stopped in Ramadan. Otherwise, I could have tried a local za’atar bread or pizza.
Equipped with food, I decided to walk back.
The walk was an hour and a half if I tried getting near the corniche. Otherwise, one hour. I followed the map, but I was nowhere close to Corniche on that route. The road was next to the shore but was blocked by buildings. Hotels, homes, and institutions. So I walked all the way back in the sun, hot, hungry, and confused about where to cross, which road went where, waiting for cars to pass, hoping to reach the calm shore, deafened by honks.
Mosques were everywhere. Homes were big but closed, big gates, multiple cars, no one outside. Those were quiet residential areas. At the end, at about four, I was close to the marine station. Just a ten minute walk away. An old tower on my right, that I had seen while going into the city, too, caught my eye again. It was the Al Khan area. The map showed a fort too. But the view was blocked from the roadside. They had put up barricades and tall sheets like the ones used in construction. I wasn’t sure if the Al Khan area would be connected to the Marine Station by the beach. Google Maps didn’t think so, and I didn’t think so either.
I ignored it, walked ahead, and ran to cross the road for one last time. Then I was at the aquarium where I used the toilet, sat on a bench to eat a bit of my cheese and bread, fed a cat, and took the 4:45 ferry back to Dubai.
More people boarded who were a bit too enthusiastic about the ride. They wouldn’t sit still. A local couple wanted to be shifted into the gold class (ten dirhams more) and kept saying that they didn’t know it was an option and kept asking how to pay for it. An old Indian man roamed around the cabin, taking pictures, selfies, and so on. I changed seats to the other side, away from the rest, and when I arrived at the shore, I sighed with relief.
I wouldn’t go to Sharjah again. It was a simple city with nowhere to walk and was dirty. Did I find it easy to navigate as a tourist? No. Would someone else find it easy? I think they would find it harder. People were less friendly, less used to tourists, and sellers were less interested. For them, I was another Indian resident, probably.
Was the visit worth it? Yes. It was another Emirate, and now I have a better understanding of the UAE as a country.
The UAE hasn’t been glitzy always. Dubai has had a phenomenal growth, and Sharjah reflects and carries the time Dubai and Abu Dhabi once lived too. Visiting Sharjah was like traveling back in time. I got a peek at the country behind its glossy curtain and saw some dirty laundry.
The shiny and bright pictures in this article might deceive you though. Won’t they?
Well, I am happy to have gone. I hope you enjoy your trip to Sharjah, too.
Have you been to Sharjah, too?
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