Still struggling with the time zone adjustment I was up and ready to go at 5am. Problem was the rest of Dubai had only gone to bed just hours earlier. The shops were closed – many would open about 10am but some would remain closed until the late afternoon. Summer mornings in Dubai create a desolate post-apocalyptic landscape, kissed by the constantly shifting sands of the desert and enveloped with a suffocating haze from the dense sand and salt filled air. The enormous sun shines through the haze in all shades of red and orange looking like a ball of fire set to ravage the earth again. And the streets are deserted with only small reminders that people actually live here It is not a wonder so many religions have their genesis in this region – the question ‘why have you forsaken us?’ must have been asked on more than one occasion over the centuries. It’s also not a wonder that the Middle East and North Africa are the favoured destination for directors creating a postapocalyptic pastiche. Mad max could easily have been set in this part of the world. Oh wait…

We decided the best thing to do was to go and have a swim to cool down. The pool, while outdoor had some shade around it and as per the luxury you expect from Dubai, there were sun lounges covered with towels, plenty of spare towels a bar (that didn’t serve alcohol that early) and a lifeguard. Given I was there to swim a few laps and the pool was probably only about 15 x 10 metres, we mused that the life guard could probably take a break when the pool visitors were Australians. It’s near impossible to swim laps in such a small pool but it was months since I have been for a swim so I gave it a go. The water was warm and after a few laps I got the feeling that I was sweating underwater it was so hot in the open air – already about 37 degrees – the thick dense air also made it hard to breath (although the sore dry throat from the air conditioning and my lack of fitness may have contributed). The best part – the first five minutes when the hot dry breeze blows against the water on your skin. By the 10 minute mark though, you either have to go back in or escape to the aircon (and that’s when you’re sitting in a shaded area). (Black Hole Sun – Soundgarden – one of the bands in the world best able to create an enduring soundscape, this song reminds me of hot summer nights collapsing after a long day of Big Day Out frivolity or even just drunken summer night barbecues)

After the swim, we took a leisurely stroll down to the immense breakfast buffet. The thing I always remember about Dubai is the amount of options for breakfast in the top end hotels. Because they really are a world hub, they have to cater for cultural differences the world over. From falafel and hummus, to northern European cheese meats with all the trimmings – even capers -and breads to eggs and (veal) bacon, fruits, cereals and yoghurt to Asian noodle soups, curries and rice and the biggest variety of breads and pastries you are ever likely to see. Eggs and omelettes can be cooked to your specifications and you can even enjoy a smoothie or mango lassi with your breakfast. Breakfast is one of my favourite meals and booking a room that comes with an extensive buffet allows you a great start to the day and often means you can get through until dinner (more time for sightseeing or pool lounging).

After breakfast and a relaxed packing experience, we headed to the airport. The check in was relatively painless but nobody we dealt with seemed to be enjoying their job. Maybe they would prefer to be almost anywhere else during Dubai’s hot summer. With mixed messages about the validity of my Qantas Club membership, we headed to the Emirates lounge with some trepidation. Win, the membership worked and included an accompanying guest. Airport waits are much easier with free champagne and snacks and comfy chairs. The amount of ancillary staff in Dubai is no better evidenced than the penchant for cloth hand towels in upmarket restaurant, hotel and air lounge toilets. No paper towels here. (Paranoid – Black Sabbath – one of the most recognisable intros in the history of music – even if I didn’t recognise the lyrics straight away in the work quiz – it’s not Ozzy’s lyrical brilliance the average metal fan is listening for.)

Our Emirates flight to Frankfurt was relatively painless – six hours with plenty of leg room – I was even able to blog for a while before tiredness took over. The entertainment selection despite a lot of Arabic TV programs and Chinese movies was nowhere near as extensive as the Qantas flight to Dubai. There was a much more interesting view out the window though. The MH principle struck again (on our flight between Melbourne and Dubai I couldn’t help but think of MH370 as we flew for 10 hours across the vast (uncharted) waters of the Indian Ocean. On our trip to Frankfurt, it was MH17 that was top of mind as our journey skirted us east around the edge of Syria and Iraq (although Mosul still looked a bit close for my liking) and over Iran. Yep Iran. The world definitely has changed.

Frankfurt is one of the busiest airports in the world, and it shows. After a convoluted path through the airport we found ourselves at the immigration checkpoint. Our last trip we flew into Europe through Helsinki (where no one else goes). Off our flight I think there were maybe 10 people who weren’t Finns and the relaxed border guy had plenty of time to have a chat about the weather in Finland. Frankfurt is quite a contrast. There’s a big EU sign near the immigration checkpoint and EU citizens can just stroll through smart gates the way we do at home. The non-EU lanes were a different story with lines that snaked back and forth for ages. We were pretty tired by this stage and Dan doesn’t handle queues well at the best of times but we waited. Patiently. The same can’t be said for the (embarrassingly) older Australian couple in the queue behind us. Because most of those in the queue were from Asia, the Middle East, the sub-continent or Africa, They thought they should be able to go through the EU smart gate. The other thing you notice is that the immigration officials checking your passport have Polizei written on their uniforms and carry handguns.

Once we got through immigration and strolled through the nothing to declare lane in the Customs hall, it was a relatively painless process to collect our luggage. That is where the fun started. We exited the terminal to be almost knocked over by the heat. This is Europe people – in Dubai we were expecting to suffer but we weren’t expecting the temperature in Germany, where it snows in winter, to be 38 degrees! Dubai is set up for the heat, Germany not so much. Our next task was to find the bus that would take us to the train station. For an airport that relies so heavily on getting passengers to it by train from all over the country, you might expect that the bus would indicate that it went to the Bahnhof (train station) as well as the list of terminals. Eventually we made it to the station and caught a local S-bahn to Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof. In contract to the obsessively clean transport hubs in Dubai, the local part of Frankfurt station was old and grotty and full of junkies. As we walked out of the station, there were more junkies, drunks in the park and beggars (mostly gypsies) along the street as we walked to our hotel. Much, much worse than Dickson Woolies. (The Communicator – Madness – one of the liveliest of tunes off the 1999 album that also produced Lovestruck. It was a long time between drinks but despite disagreement from others I thought this an excellent precursor to the Liberty of Norton Folgate, carrying on the Madness tradition of telling London stories and covering other people’s tunes before they get snapped up for nappy ads.)

You really do get what you pay for in hotels. I had tried to keep this leg of the journey as cheap as possible, recognising we probably wouldn’t be in the hotel very much. Turns out that as well as being in a salubrious area, the cheap rooms at the Savoy come without aircon. In 38 degrees. The room was hotter than any house where I have endured a Canberra summer. Unfortunately all the air conditioned rooms were full. We opened up the windows to the street and went out to find somewhere to eat and cool down. Turns out most of the cafes aren’t air-conditioned either so al fresco dining was the best option. We wandered along one of the main restaurant strips near our hotel (which also doubled as the red light district) and found the Kakadu café. Germans are obsessed with Australia and this is the second café I have now found serving kangaroo, crocodile and emu – three things that the majority of Australians don’t eat – and topping the beer menu in a country that produces some of the best in the world with two of our worst –fosters and VB. Really? Anyway we ordered schnitzel off the German menu – Dan had a local beer and I took the safe option with a Corona (fosters and VB are not passing these lips – or emu for that matter). After dinner we wandered back along the street, past the obligatory Irish pub and back to our room where we sweltered out the night. On day two we were upgraded to an aircon room (at a surcharge) for the remainder of our stay.