View of a Dubai souq ©

 

“Arise my Dubai, the sunshine goes to rest,

And pour into my heart the sweet fragrance of your breast.”

There are such cities, there are such flowers, that only bloom at night; in a murmur they wake up, treasures well-kept, the secret jewel of initiates. For he who lives only in the light of day sees but through his eyes – but when the sun has set and birdsongs hushed, there is naught to see but all to feel. There is more to Dubai than shards of steel spiring in the desert and strings of asphalt in the sands, more than gigantic malls shining still and cold amidst fountains tall.

Faraway from the city there is a place from which the Burj is but a fading mirage, an image of Babel standing thin in the fog; a place that lives only in the dark silence of night, to the rhythm of oars and jewelers’ cries. The real heart of Dubai where peoples from East and West mingle, speaking a common tongue, where traditions survive still in their own time. One must bear the winding streets and the endless rows of stalls and so to enter must forget both map and watch and all about one’s life. One must bear to lose oneself, to look not with  one’s eyes but rather with one’s nose.

Along the Khor where shadows walk, there is this stretch of land lined with countless mosques and off-white houses, wrinkled with alleys not wider than two men abreast, spewing fragrant fumes of Oud, bakhoor and rose. Follow these aromas and do not care about the dark arches nor the sneering looks. Walk until you reach at last the burning lights of the perfume souq, streets and streets of little shops lost in an eerie mist of frankincense, myrrh, sandal and vetiver. You will know neither where you have come nor where to go but follow with your eyes closed – follow your nose.

Traditional ornamental smoking pipes©

You will find there swarthy-skinned men of all races, wearing robes of white and beards the same, wafting in their hair the smoke of Indian, Cambodian and Malaysian ouds, humble in their age yet proud in their eyes with smiles like riddles. Rows of gold phials, vessels filled with mukhallats, each shop smelling of countless perfumes, of ward and of misk, of anbar and of khas. Rose and white Musk in glass bottles crystallized.

Tola Gulbadan smokes with the richness of colours; head turning sillage of princes as they pass you by and the simple opulence of nature’s hallowed treasures. Lose oneself in their intoxicating vapours and let time flow slower still, through jasmine blossoms and tea leaves, through pungent sumac and the zest of dried limes. Say nothing but listen as you walk to the song of incense tears as they burn on their pyres wrought in silverglass until at last you reach the sea again; the Creek creeping impassive through the desert like a snake. Its indigo waters bring in their warmth, they mirror the countless lights of the old town across, a wobbly pile of mosques and temples of clay walls sitting by the pond like a worn-out deity.

 View of the Dubai Creek at night ©

Breathe in the salty air, hop on a boat and cross and walk again through the cashmere shawls, impervious through the hawkers until you smell it – a swift wind comes from beneath an antic door, heavy with the scent of marigold and wilting indole, with davana and butter and narcotic flashes of champaca flowers. Pass through the door and behold a city built in the gutters of a Hindu temple, flushed with offerings, with faithful in ochre and burning lights. Walk through the shops and the watchful gaze of bronze idols – it is no longer the smell of oud that permeates the air but that of incense sticks twinkling bright and pink.

 Close view of Hindu offerings©

It is the bliss of Areej le Doré Kohinoor, a seamless blend of colours and textures oozing with the depth of nag-champa under the scarlet lights, unfading, of amber, benzoin and musk. A multifaceted jewel that mirrors all shades of light and Indian life. The night is now ripe, the hour of moontide and from the deserted rooftops where stray cats only walk, one descries the long road ahead to walk back home. Take it and follow your nose again, along the street rowed with glass buildings, through jasmine coppices which bloom at night, under the branches of Frangipani; along the stern walls of embassies, walk alone and walk adrift carried only by the fragrance of nightfall.

 Jardin Nocturne by Shalini photo taken at Jovoy Paris©

All is blue and dark and green in Dubai – the lights, the palaces and the shadow of tall trees. The horizon is bare and starless but for the shards of glass and might rising from downtown, looming over a sleepless you walking through the night. Breathe still the silence and the loneliness of Shalini Jardin Nocturne ere it fades into the newfound riches of this land.  Its waxy whiteness, immaculate petals in the moonlight shining akin to fireflies, a meditative perfume where oud and Jasmine pray together, a hieratic accord simple and luxurious like a slab of white marble.  A nocturnal bliss in which you bathe until the end of the road where the heart of the city restlessly beats.

 A cup of Karak Tea ©

 

One must follow the scented trail of saffron and Cardamom, of sweet milk and black tea until you reach it, a small kitchen sitting by a wasteland where day and night there brews endlessly a pot of karak tea. Remember Me, by Jovoy smells of what this feels – boiling hot condensed milk in a styrofoam cup, ginger, cardamom and sandy skin perfumed with incense.

Fluorescent lights fracture the dream. Cars, houses and crowded buses – the earthly delights broken. Away with the wise men of old, away with the princes and riches; away with the flowers, away with the myrrh. The streets reek now of oil, sweat, curry and rotting meat as if the world around, loud with neon lights, were festering. Yet, in the midst of this chaos, there is beauty still, a sullen fastness lost in a alleyway. I always sit there and watch, speechless and barefoot, the looming silhouettes of luxury hotels towering above me in the sand.

And there you have them.

And there you smell them.

And then you feel them.

The scents of Dubai nights.

– Alexandre Helwani,  Contributor

All photos are by Alexandre Helwani