From this angle it looks like an icicle fashioned from obsidian, one stolen from the entrance to a fantastical mine and levered from the earth to pierce the clouds.
As the fountains shoot up light against the sky settling into night, I look up at the Burj Khalifa, a symbol of Dubai in all its monetized success and veiled irony. Before, I tried to storm the castle to no avail (security is tight). Tonight, we have a reservation.
Taking the elevator to at.mosphere, the bar and club near the top, I get the first sense that I’m one of the few women here not working. I’m with friends, not customers, for the evening. The Russian spoken by ladies in whispers around us as we walk past the bar confirms this.
One must to stake a healthy minimum number of dirhams for the privilege of the view from such a lofty perch, so we cover this with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. I smile as I look at the old widow Ponsardin on the capsule’s cage: the proprietress of one of the world’s greatest Champagne houses…a woman purveying the finest alcohol in the midst of the desert.
Worth the view, worth every drop.
Watch it…you could poke your eye out with that thing
Veuve Clicquot: perfect for covering our spread
Almost like flying yet you’re strangely detached from the world below