Chillin' with the Emir

Highways to Nowhere, Part 2

Mercure’s Grand Jebel Hafeet Al Anin Hotel is a beautiful perch high above the desert, and after a hellish drive in a Koenigsegg, was a welcome sight to a weary journalist. 

I was sitting outside at the hotel’s outdoor cafe by the pool, enjoying a glass of chilled flavored sparking water that tasted strangely like roses.  It was a local specialty, and Gary the Persian, who had arrived at the hotel earlier, recommended it.  I was expecting something rather horrible, but it was pleasingly refreshing.  For a second, I actually felt very cool and sophisticated.  

It was around 4 pm when the Emir finally arrived.  I was surprised to see him show up in a Bentley Arnage R instead of the Zonda.  What had happened to the poor Italian car?  “No more fuel!”, said the Emir cheerfully.  He had emptied the Pagani’s gas tank without even traveling 5 miles.  A spectacular feat, to be sure.  The good news is that fuel was the least of his problems.

The Emir reclaimed his two supermodels who came out of the hotel to greet him.  He linked arms with both of them, and with debonair flair, strolled through the palatial front entrance. Me, Gary the Persian, and the rest of his retinue followed respectfully behind. Gary informed me that dinner would be served at 8, with a “refreshening reception” beforehand and a visit to an “exclusive nightclub” afterwards.  I told Gary I would probably have to skip the nightlife, because I was needed back in Los Angeles at the Publication.  Gary smiled, and said, “Hopefully His Highness will understand, but I doubt.”  Bugga. 

The area where the reception took place was an incredible indoor/outdoor atrium of sorts, a vast terrace overlooking the desert.  The decor was modern and slightly art-deco with a Arabian flair, and just screamed of an excess of cold, wet cash.  The Emir was swimming in funds.  Extravagance was an understatement to this man’s expenses.  The bottled water was shipped in from a private bottling company in Austria.  The crisp, health-conscious hor d’oeurves were spectacularly expensive and fancy.  I half-expected butlers to serve us loafs of Parisian baguettes to dry our hands after we had washed them with Argentinean lemons.  All this excess somewhat offended my naturally Puritan soul, but I have to confess it was very easy to put up with.

During this “refreshening reception”, the Emir finally seemed relaxed and willing to engage in some conversation.  He spoke English better than some Americans, probably on account of his Harvard education.  He told me that his father was a partner in the multi-billion dollar transportation ministry in Dubai, and was responsible for creating the city’s “world-class” transit systems.  Apparently he also had a large amount of stock in some offshore oil drilling off the coast of Saudi Arabia and the UAE, accounting for his father’s “prosperous lifestyle”.  

The Emir continued by praising the United States for its commitment to do business with people like his father. 

“The United States is a beautiful place.  It is a country of so many colors, so many people.  But one thing unites them all: energy.  Energy unites the world, as well.  Energy makes countries become allies; energy makes us cross cultural borders in search of peaceful solutions.  God’s greatest gift to us is the earth’s energy.  We should use it for progress. ” 

I asked him what he thought about the United States attempting to achieve energy independence, and how so much public opinion in the US is against Middle East oil and favors alternative energy sources closer to home.

“There will always be a demand for petroleum.  It takes too long to come up with different energy sources.  Oil is the most reliable, it is the easiest to work with.  The whole world runs on oil, and it will stay that way.  And Americans must understand that the Middle East is most willing to do business with America.   I believe in capitalist societies, societies that run on business.  Money is not the root of all evil.  Money helps the countries protect and feed their people.  Without money, the world would collapse.”

I wanted to tell the Emir how cliched he sounded, but I acted like his words were golden, and furiously scribbled nothing in my notepad.  There I was, an obscure journalist guy who drove cars for a living, listening to the infamous side of world economics recite curiously hackneyed political prose while flanked by two Italian supermodels.  My job is overrated. 

It was time for prayer again, so I excused myself from the Emir’s presence, and went to the “bathroom”, which turned out to be a massive box of frosted glass panels, all backlit.  Very impressive.  I reached for my cell phone, only to realize that Vodafone doesn’t exactly have much of a clientele in the Persian Gulf.  Useless.  Thankfully, the concierge of the hotel was happy to assist my international call, and in a few minutes I was on the phone with my editor, begging for extraction.  

My editor took in my news with much amusement, and told me my flight left.... the following morning.  Ergo, I had no excuse to get out of the Emir’s nightlife plans.  

“Just roll with it,” said the Editor.  “Have fun and write up a good story when you get back.  And don’t get into any trouble.”   

I had no idea what he meant, and I didn’t really want to know.  When I got off the phone, Gary the Persian walked up and handed me my luggage and a room key.  “Go, rest, and prepare for dinner, with His Highness’ blessings.  He understands you are weary.”  

Thank Allah.  I booked it up to the room, and collapsed in a big leather chair.  I had 2 hours to rest before a night out in the world’s youngest and richest city.  

DISCLAIMER: EVERYTHING YOU JUST READ IS FICTIONAL.  I KNOW, IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE, BUT IT NEVER HAPPENED. DON'T GET ANY CRAZY IDEAS.