As Day 11 began, our journey stretched from the cobblestoned charm of Cambridge via Heathrow to the buzzing energy of Abu Dhabi, from a land of academic grandeur and flat monotony to an entirely different world of speed, sand, and stars. But let's gloss over the cab ride that stood out in its own right—90 minutes of insightful chatter served piping hot with a generous side of wit, courtesy of our middle-aged cabbie, Balan.
Who knew the man behind the wheel had a story as layered as the UK countryside he zipped through? A maths teacher turned philosopher (at least for that hour and a half), Balan taught Maths to children with tough histories and learning disabilities. If that wasn't interesting enough, he had a remarkable knack for dissecting landscapes, equating their appeal to human temperament. "Good landscapes are never flat," he said, his voice lilting between nostalgia and pragmatism. "Flat land is boring to everyone. That's probably why some say Cambridge is boring."
The irony was on our faces! Cambridge, the "city of learning," reduced to the tedium of its topography. Genius grows on flat land—that's the punchline no one tells you during those walking tours. But the man had a point. Perhaps it is in the peaks and valleys, both in land and life, where adventure truly resides.
Balan and I lingered on philosophical meadows as he praised British drivers' trust in their roads. "The kind of trust where they know you'll signal every turn," he chuckled, no traffic horns in sight. I couldn't help but laugh, thinking of the beautiful chaos of Indian roads—a horn honked here, a scooter slithered there, and Jugaad ruled above all. Trust? Overrated. Give me improvisation any day.
I briefly lamented not driving myself; my Indian license was valid. But then again, where's the fun if you don't get lost at least once and question every road sign? That extra dose of confusion—it keeps me awake.
Soon enough, we landed in Abu Dhabi. From the quaint English countryside to a land of relentless modernity, the juxtaposition was stark. We checked in at the W hotel, elegantly perched beside the adrenaline-fueled Formula 1 race track. Our room, with its sprawling balcony (compared to those we experienced in the UK) overlooking the track, was the kind of space that whispered indulgence and causal lavishness in the same breath. Watching cars whip past below would have been phenomenal. But alas, I'd have to settle for imagining the symphony of engines roaring—speed always seems sweeter when it's just out of reach.
Abu Dhabi quickly flipped the switch on my mood. From the depths of Balan's reflective thoughts, I catapulted straight into Ferrari's shiny, roaring world. Ferrari World is one of those places that makes you ask absurd existential questions mid-ride: Can happiness be bought? Why, yes, in this case, it can. Strapped into the red monster of a ride, I experienced it firsthand. My cheeks stretched taut from sheer velocity as the car hurtled from zero to 140 km/hour in under three seconds. If controlled chaos had a soundtrack, it would be the Ferrari engine purring relentlessly beneath me.
And just when I thought life had sped up enough, we veered into an entirely different tempo—the desert safari, a ride far removed from the sleek simplicity of Ferrari but equally adrenaline-driven in its way. Before charging into the dunes, the first reality check quietly unfolded—the vehicle's tyres had to be deflated to just 40% of their regular pressure. Only then could the car glide through that shifting, sinking kingdom of tan. A desert may seem soft and giving, but its sand has its form of resistance that can trap even the sturdiest of wheels. Reduce the pressure, loosen your grip, allow room for adjustment, and you'll sail (pun intended) through. The metaphor was almost too obvious to miss. Sometimes in life, too, you've got to ease out, adapt, strip away your rigidity, and align with your surroundings. Once the sand is behind you and you're back on solid ground, pump that pressure—restore your firm footing, fill yourself up to full strength, and resume the straight and steady march forward.
Now, the desert is a moody poet. Underneath its apparent simplicity—the endless swirls of blistered sand—it harbours a symphony of contradictions. It's a place that humbles you, a reminder that nature, in all its starkness, has no time for vanity. Perched on the sand, dune bashing transforms the serene landscape into an adrenaline-laced theme park. The sudden dips, the steep climbs—it's like riding the earth's most unpredictable rollercoaster.
But the desert isn't just about the excitement of being tossed around in an SUV. It's also in the moments where silence stretches so deep you can hear your thoughts vibrating against the night stars. Watching the fiery sun fall into submission behind the horizon and the cool, glinting stars take over—it felt oddly… impartial. The desert doesn't ask who you are; it lets you figure that out as you trudge through its sand, stumble a little, and curse its scorching sun.
As I knelt to let the fine grains slip through my fingers, I laughed at how sand is both mercifully light and agonizingly persistent. It clings. Just like thoughts, just like people. You can try shaking it off, but it's resistant. As I struggled to keep my footing on shifting dunes, I realized this was no easy territory to navigate, neither in the literal sense nor the metaphorical one. It's a test of patience, resilience, and keeping your humour intact even as your shoes fill with sand.
By contrast, the UK roads and Cambridge flats flashed in my mind—the ease of their outlines, the reassurance of their predictability. Yet, I stumbled upon an epiphany under the infinite sky of the Abu Dhabi desert, careening across dunes and quiet landscapes alike. Adventure thrives in contrast. Aluminium skyscrapers glorify speed, but the sunset on the dunes slows time. Flatlands nurture structure, but rugged terrains spark curiosity. Trust governs orderly British streets, while Indian chaos pulses with creativity.
And perhaps Balan was on to something back in the car, cruising miles away from those Arabian sands. Like a good landscape, life is never interesting if it's too flat. So, here's to the bumps, the curves, the climb, and the sand that refuses to let go.
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