I Miss the Old Dubai: A Journey Back to Simpler Times

I wake up some mornings and for a brief moment, I'm transported back to the 1990s. Back to a Dubai that feels like a distant dream now—quieter, smaller, more intimate. The city I fell in love with all those years ago has transformed beyond recognition, and while I marvel at what it has become, there's a part of my heart that aches for what we've lost along the way.

When Sheikh Zayed Road Was Just a Desert Highway

I remember when Sheikh Zayed Road was nothing more than a long stretch of asphalt cutting through endless sand dunes. Originally called Defence Road, it took nine years to build and was completed in the early 1980s. Back then, you could drive for kilometers without seeing another car, just the occasional low-rise building dotting the horizon like lonely sentinels in the desert. Today, this same road carries over 200,000 vehicles daily and forms the backbone of Dubai's glittering skyscraper corridor.

Those evening drives were magical—the road stretching endlessly ahead, the silence broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional camel crossing. There was something profoundly peaceful about those vast empty spaces that made you feel both small and infinite at the same time.

The Heart of Old Dubai Beat Along the Creek

Dubai Creek was everything to us back then. It wasn't just a waterway; it was the lifeline that connected communities, cultures, and dreams. I would spend hours walking along the creek, watching the traditional dhows bob gently in the water, their wooden hulls weathered by countless journeys across the Gulf.

The creek was bustling with genuine commercial activity—fishermen preparing their vessels for expeditions, traders from India, Persia, and East Africa docking to exchange spices, textiles, and precious goods. The air was filled with the calls of merchants, the creaking of wooden boats, and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. It felt authentic, lived-in, real.

Walking through the souks was like stepping into an Arabian Nights tale. The Spice Souk would assault your senses with the most incredible aromas—cardamom, saffron, cinnamon, and exotic blends that I still can't identify. The Gold Souk gleamed with treasures, but it wasn't the tourist spectacle it is today; it was where locals came to buy jewelry for weddings and special occasions.

Photo by Kate Trysh from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/peaceful-afternoon-at-dubai-creek-waterfront-28515816/

Life Moved at a Different Pace

The Dubai of the 1990s had a rhythm that matched the natural world around it. Life was simpler, more homely, and felt like home. Driving around at night was cool with hardly any traffic. You could plan spontaneous trips across the city without worrying about gridlock or finding parking.

Everyone seemed to know everyone else. We were always inviting someone for dinner or going over to someone's place. It was a close-knit community where relationships were more personal, and entertainment was about bringing families and communities together rather than individual experiences. The pace was slower, but we didn't know any better, and we enjoyed it.

I remember more people on the streets selling cotton candy, water, and balloons. Neighborhood streets were still mostly sand, giving the city an authentic, organic feel. Butterflies were more common, a small detail that speaks volumes about how different the environment was.

The Magic of Simple Entertainment

Entertainment in those days was beautifully uncomplicated. Thursday nights at 10 PM were sacred in our household because that's when Channel 33 would show the latest Bollywood films. This was the only free-to-air English-language television channel, and it became our cultural lifeline. Families would gather around television sets, creating weekly rituals that brought us together.

Al Ghurair Centre was our version of The Dubai Mall—a massive, impressive space with elevators and enormous parking areas. Families from Abu Dhabi would plan weekend getaways just to visit this mall. It felt special, almost luxurious, to spend a day there shopping and watching people from all over the region.

The original Dubai Shopping Festival, launched in 1996, wasn't the commercial behemoth it is today. It felt more intimate and accessible, with a real community atmosphere. Global Village was a month-long pop-up that brought the world to Dubai in a way that felt genuine rather than manufactured.

When Everything Exciting Was in Deira

All the action happened in Deira back then—the big malls, the markets, the festivals. This area pulsed with life and commerce, serving as the true heart of Dubai's social and economic activity. The traditional souks weren't tourist attractions; they were living, breathing marketplaces where real business happened and communities gathered.

The Al Fahidi Historical Neighborhood still existed in its authentic form, with traditional houses featuring wind towers that served as natural cooling systems. Walking through those narrow pathways felt like traveling back in time, but it wasn't preserved history—it was simply how people lived.

The Environmental Differences

What strikes me most when I think about those days is how different the environment felt. The air seemed cleaner, the skies clearer. The city was quieter, more peaceful, and surprisingly less congested compared to today. You could breathe deeply and feel connected to the natural world around you.

The desert was closer then, more present in daily life. Sand would drift into the city during shamal winds, but it felt natural rather than intrusive. The transition between urban and desert wasn't as stark as it is now—Dubai felt like it grew organically from the landscape rather than being imposed upon it.

A Sense of Community We've Lost

Perhaps what I miss most is the sense of community that pervaded everything. Dubai felt like a large, close-knit neighborhood where everyone had a role to play. Trust was a handshake, and kids could roam free, building memories that still linger today. There was a quiet pride in being part of this growing city, a thread of community that we all carried.

The expat community felt integrated rather than transient. We weren't just passing through; we were building something together. The simple pleasures of weekend picnics, evening drives, and neighborly dinners created bonds that transcended cultural differences.

The Bittersweet Reality of Progress

Don't get me wrong—I'm amazed by what Dubai has become. The vision, ambition, and determination that transformed a quiet trading post into a global metropolis is extraordinary. The Burj Khalifa piercing the sky, the Palm Jumeirah reshaping the coastline, the world-class infrastructure—it's all remarkable.

But sometimes, as I sit in traffic on Sheikh Zayed Road, surrounded by glass towers that block out the sky, I close my eyes and remember when this was just desert. I remember when Dubai felt like home rather than a destination, when it was a community rather than a brand.

The old Dubai exists now only in our memories and in small pockets of the city where you can still feel echoes of what was. Those of us who lived through that transformation carry those simpler times with us like precious photographs, sharing stories with anyone willing to listen about the Dubai that was, hoping that something of its spirit survives in the gleaming metropolis it has become.

In quiet moments, I still hear the call to prayer echoing across empty spaces, smell the spices drifting from the souks, and feel the warm embrace of a community that knew how to be still. That Dubai may be gone, but it lives on in the hearts of those who were privileged enough to call it home during those magical, simpler times.