Assault on the senses

The annual Arabian Nights party was spectacular as usual.

This year, the extravagant Thursday evening shindig was held at a resort complex in the desert about an hour south of Dubai. I will henceforth refer to it as Giants Stadium-Middle Eastern branch.

It is ENORMOUS with several levels of tiered seating and a huge oval arena in the center that holds a large stage for singers, dancers, and other performers that entertain throughout the evening.

The party is a true assault on the senses—and I mean that in the best possible way.

There is enough food to feed an army—mostly Mediterranean fare, seafood, and a plethora of desserts—which is good because the party typically draws several thousand racing fans and journalists from every corner of the globe.

There are henna tattoo artists—I got a killer falcon head this year that I think my kids would call “fierce”—camels to ride, shisha to smoke, all kinds of small shops and demonstration booths, and a fireworks display that puts most Fourth of July celebrations to shame.

But the best part for me each year is the opportunity to catch up with people I get the chance to see only once a year, colleagues from Australia, Great Britain, Ireland, France, Japan and elsewhere.

And this year, I met the lovely Susan, an editor for Racing International; Ursula, an editor for a South Africa-based dental publication who does some freelancing as a racing writer; and Glen, a funny young television producer from New Zealand. More international acquaintances to add to the Christmas card list!

The apple shisha was sweet, but not overly so, and very mild. The henna tattoo of a screaming eagle head on my upper left shoulder I belive would be called "fierce" by my two boys. The food was great, but the conversation and the stories and the inappropriate jokes were even better.

The only down part of the entire evening was that I did not come across owner Ken Ramsey to relive our adventure of 2005, when his Roses in May went on to win the World Cup.

I know he was there because I heard tales of him holding court--I was sure I heard him howling with laughter at one point, big surprise--but the place was so massive I just never came across him. Sorry Mr. Ramsey. Hope that doesn't affect your mojo and Furthest Land's race on Saturday.

It's this type of event that, along with the racing, keeps folks coming back to the desert for a week each and every year.

Racing—especially racing here in Dubai—truly does bring the world together.