As I mentioned during 2018 Christmas’s trip (here), Gaz bought tickets for both of us for the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, the last race of the season and my fourth Grand Prix.
I still had sufficient Holiday Inn points from my time in Manchester that I could blag accommodation at the ‘Downtown’ Holiday Inn, where Val and I had stayed in October 2015 (here). I just needed to sort flights.
Etihad, who fly into Abu Dhabi, sponsor the Grand Prix and clearly wanted to capitalise on their investment; return flights for that period were about £2,000 economy class!
So I did some digging and found return flights on Emirates from Stansted to Dubai for less than three hundred quid, and Emirates run a free bus from Dubai to Abu Dhabi.
Result!
As planned, I left home at four-thirty on Wednesday afternoon, the journey took a little longer than usual, rush hour and all that, but I got to Stansted just before five-thirty. I’d paid for fast-track security and so was through in good time.
Stansted duty-free is laid out like an IKEA store; you have to run the gauntlet of all the duty-free shops to get anywhere. Once through, the departure area – one cannot call it a lounge – it resembles a shopping mall. I then had to queue to get into the ‘executive lounge’, but they were admitting people who had pre-booked, something to bear in mind for future trips.
Boarding was painless and I found myself with an empty seat beside me, but no ability to recline my seat – schoolboy error. There were several young ladies in ‘my’ cabin, I’d never seen so many inflated lips and other bits, mostly clad in clingy cat-suits. It was quite distracting and not in the least appealing.
I managed to get a few hours’ sleep on the flight, which arrived early into Dubai on Thursday morning, but we were stood in the apron waiting for our gate, so we had no benefit. Immigration, baggage claim, and customs were swift and efficient; I was through within an hour of reaching the gate. That left me an hour or so to kill before finding my coach to Abu Dhabi.
When I left Stansted, the temperature was a chilly five degrees; when I arrived in Abu Dhabi, it was a balmy twenty-two degrees.
The coach passengers, much like the earlier flight, were Formula One fans for the most part, although this time there were no empty seats.
We arrived in Abu Dhabi in good time, I grabbed a taxi to the Holiday Inn where I was warmly welcomed. They obviously had a system alert that I had visited three years ago, with Val.
They put me in a suite, which was very unexpected, but very comfortable.
I unpacked, showered and chilled for a couple of hours before taking a cab over to Gaz’s and then on to ‘Velocity’ – his usual Thursday ‘sports’ bar.
It was a strangely soulless place, with eighteen screens showing a variety of sports being ignored by all present, who were concentrating on their cut-price drinks.
From there we headed back to my hotel, and the basement ‘pub’. They’ve halved the size of it since my last visit, and it’s less welcoming than I recall.
I wandered over to the local shopping mall on Friday morning, I was looking for phone brackets to hold my phone with its larger battery case. I managed to get a couple, so that was a good result.
I took a taxi over to Gaz’s at lunchtime and we headed over to the Ritz Carlton for brunch, we were mob-handed, a dozen of us over two tables. The food and drink was as good as I remembered from my 60th birthday bash, but we hit the port rather hard. I confess I have no recollection of getting back to my hotel.
Indeed, reception called me on Saturday morning to confirm that they’d settled my taxi fare. Whoops!
I was feeling very fragile on Saturday morning, I overslept and missed breakfast, but Gaz cooked bacon butties when I went over at lunchtime. From there we took a taxi to the F1 circuit, arriving at about two and settled in to ‘The Oasis’ with some of Gaz’s colleagues.
Everyone was feeling jaded but perked up after a few Heinekens. They were selling three litre towers, which were more convenient than having to keep buying pints… although seventy quid for three litres (five pints) was sobering.
Qualifying was a little confusing, but I’d bought a small FM radio to listen to the commentary, a great result for the Mercedes boys, another front row lock out. After the qualifying we strolled over to the bar in the Crowne Plaza for a couple more beers.
This time I remembered to pay the taxi!
After a quiet Sunday morning we took a taxi to the circuit for about three, which gave us time to ‘socialise’ with Gaz’s colleagues before the race. The Emirates fly past gave us the warning that it was time to take our seats.
It was an eventful race, at least in the middle rankings. My radio helped keep me informed as to who was racing whom.
Gaz’s girlfriend, Nancy, was unimpressed, so after about ten laps she and Gaz went down to ‘The Oasis’ for a beer and pizza. Unfortunately, Gaz didn’t realise the two-hour race duration and so failed to return in time to see any more racing. Another whoops!
There were some touching scenes as Lewis, Alonso and Vettel drove back in formation, as did other teams such as Haas, who still had both cars running.
From the circuit we walked for an hour to the ‘du arena’ which sits between the ‘tails’ of the Ferrari World building. Guns and Roses were playing, although Axl Rose admitted to being under the weather.
Again, Nancy was unimpressed, so we left after half an hour or so, it was a twenty-minute walk and another twenty-minute wait for a taxi back into town.
Gaz had booked Monday off, so we took the bus to Dubai and the Hard Rock Café. I called him at ten thirty to check that he was alive, then took a taxi to his place for eleven. The bus station is close to Gaz’s place and, after buying tickets and queuing for a bus, we were on the way by 11:45.
The journey between Abu Dhabi and Dubai is straight forward, four lanes in each direction. We entered the ‘built up’ areas (and boy are they built up) after ninety minutes, but it was a further half hour before we reached the bus station, not far from the QE2 which sat shimmering in the sunshine.
From there it was a short taxi ride to the new Hard Rock Café, at ‘Festival City’. It’s huge and very glossy, with an impressive stage – and merchandise store. We’d visited the ‘old’ Hard Rock Café back in 2007.
There had been a campaign to save the old café, which had opened in 1988 on what was then the outskirts of Dubai, but had become hemmed in when it closed in 2008. 
Our journey back was uneventful, we arrived back at about eight and wandered over to a bar for a few beers, Gaz didn’t seem to be in a hurry to return home. It had been a good day and a great adventure.
Gaz was back at work on Tuesday so, after breakfast, I took a taxi to the Abu Dhabi Mall.
Val would have been seriously disappointed, several shops that she enjoyed visiting in the past – including Tiffany – had closed, and while there were signs proclaiming ‘new brands’, the place looked tired and run down; there are newer, shinier malls around. I left after an hour, empty handed, and returned to my hotel to try (unsuccessfully) to catch up on some sleep.
Gaz pinged me mid-afternoon, we’d arranged to meet at The Captains Arms, in the grounds of the Sofitel, not far from my hotel. We enjoyed several ‘Happy Hour’ drinks before making our separate ways just before eight. I grabbed a cheap pizza from the kebab shop next door and headed back to my room to pack.
Sue (who used to live next door to Jon & Jan) picked me up at 10:30 on Wednesday morning, and we drove through to Dubai.
She’d booked tickets to the gallery on the 124th and 125th floors of the Burj Khalifa and we arrived in good time. The elevator takes just sixty seconds to make the ascent and the views, despite it being hazy, were simply stunning.
From there we drove to Dubai Creek, close to Monday’s bus station, and enjoyed a light lunch at a waterside restaurant. From there we took an Abra (water taxi) across the creek and mooched the Spice and Gold Souks. I was pleased to see that Val’s favourite jeweller was still in business.
As we pulled in to ‘Arabian Ranches’ – the gated estate where she and Graham live – she suggested we call by their local golf club for a drink, we’ll, it would have been rude not to. Then back to their beautiful villa (so it should be for £45k rental per year – down from £49k a few years ago) and chilled until the taxi came to take us to dinner at the Dubai Marina.
Dinner was at “Scene” a ‘pub’ operated in the name of Simon Rimmer,on the fourth floor of a multi storey dining complex. It was pretty good with ‘traditional pub food’ – pies, burgers, fish & chips and so on – and overlooked the marina, which has blossomed since my last visit to Dubai. Even if many of the apartments appeared empty.
Then back home, an early night after a busy, but enjoyable day.
An early call on Thursday morning, the taxi arrived at six, I was at the airport by half past and in the lounge by seven fifteen, having visited the Hard Rock Café by gate 24 – my 46th.
The flight was busy, with very few empty seats; we arrived back at Stansted just after one and I was home by three, not bad going.
Layla was snuggled up next to me on the sofa by three fifteen, watching the F1. And from the TV coverage I learned that we had been sat after Turn 10, opposite Turn 16 and able to see from Turns 9 through to 18 when they go under the hotel that Val and I stayed at in December 2013.