Far from the Gulf May. Dubai. The air vibrates, thick, as if the desert had decided to swallow the whole Dubai. Jumeirah Wasl 51. Far from the gentle breeze of the Persian…
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The Closed Door There’s a doorbell. Just a doorbell. In Dubai – a city that advertises everything in gold leaf and fifteen-metre-high letters – Björn Frantzén hid his restaurant behind an unmarked…
The Paradox of reality For years, I kept a cautious distance from Dubai. I saw it as a theatre of excess, a postcard of glittering skyscrapers and fabricated backdrops. But cities, like…
