It was about 9.00pm on 24 November 1999
that I acquired my first glimpse of the Burj
Al Arab. Prominently visible from Dubai’s
main highway, it lit up the horizon, its sailshaped
façade emblazoned with three
sensational colours. I looked on from my
limousine with enthralment, intrigued by the
structure’s purpose. By the time I had arrived
at my destination I had managed to establish
that it was a hotel, and that it was opening
just a month after my return to the UK. This
was a hotel I just had to stay in.
Back home, I soon realised that I would
need to remortgage my house if I ever
wanted to stay at the hotel. Fast-forward
two years. One quick call to the mortgage
company - and one long argument with the
girlfriend - and we were ready to leave for
Dubai. I had not told Leah about the Burj Al
Arab, nor shown her any pictures. She had no
idea why I was refinancing the house and
was, unsurprisingly, none too impressed by
my apparent frivolity. I knew, or rather
hoped, that our trip would change all that.
