111 degrees outside, 21degrees inside.

The $3 million Chillout ice lounge in Dubai, where nearly everything is sculpted out of ice. 

Chillout is the Middle East’s first ice lounge and the latest venture in this desert Gulf emirate that has been transformed by a mania for the biggest, first or most outlandish.Gulf men in traditional white robes with wives covered in black cloaks, teenagers eager to experience their first cold blast and Westerners who miss the chill are flocking to the bar-restaurant to hang out in what amounts to a freezer.

(more…)

Dubai has enlisted Rem Koolhaus for their masterpiece.

It will have the density of Manhattan, on an artificial island. Minaret-inspired towers will stretch eighty stories into the air. Mosques will dot the landscape, abutting a gigantic 44-story sphere. The whole thing would be ringed by a boardwalk, except in the northeast: there, the grid system would dissolve, into a traditional souk, filled with back alleys and shortcuts.

If anyone can do it, it’s Dubai. In recent years, Dubai has exploded, in seemingly every architectural direction possible. They already built the world’s largest artificial island, in the shape of the palm tree. The estimate that they are using one of every three of the world’s cranes, however, seems to be a slight exaggeration: it’s maybe only one out of five.

No one can predict who would actually live there. If current trends continue, Waterfront City’s future residents will probably turn out to be some of the richest people on the planet. Ever.

Once upon a time, off the coast of Turkey, a gigantic rock sat in the middle of the ocean. Unable to budge it, the local villagers summoned a man who was known to possess the ‘evil eye.’ ‘My,’ he said. ‘What a big rock that is.’ And with a deafening crack, the rock split in two.

This Turkish legend has given rise to nazar boncuk - the ‘evil eye stone.’ Forged out of an amalgamation of water, salt, iron, copper and molten glass, this deep-blue stone is used to keep ‘the evil eye’ at bay. When some people fall sick - even today, in the 21st century - people say, ‘Nazar touched them.’

In Turkey, these stones are everywhere. In major cities, you will see them over the tellers at Citibank. Mothers attach them to the lapels of newborns. It is actually the color itself that it supposed to deflect evil: even in the absence of the stones, doorways will often be painted blue.

These stones have been made for three thousand years. One small shop south of Izmir, for example, sells thousands of them, and nothing but. This shop is also home to a small zoo, including an albino peacock that will peck inquisitively at your Achilles’ heel.

A border dispute has become a daily party.

India and Pakistan share a single border that cuts straight through the town of Wagah: the eastern half sits in India, and the other half in Pakistan. Border conflicts killed countless people in both countries back in 1947 - and decades later, skirmishes still kill thousands.

At the sound of a bugle call, the representatives of both countries - the Pakistani Rangers, and the Indian Border Security Force – march quickly to the gates. Upon stopping, these guards throw forward one leg, as high as their own heads, and stomp it down to the ground. This is done while glowering fiercely at the opposite side. They than announce their contempt for each other with strong, emphatic displays of thumbs-down.

This is all done to the cheers of thousands, while quieter spectators sit nearby munching popcorn. Thousands folk to this gate every evening, to cheer on their respective teams on either side of the border. Tourists and locals alike relish the stylized dispute which, at least for a few moments, vents national tensions without the usual hail of bullets.

Equal amounts of rope are measured off on the flagpoles of both countries, so that both flags lower in tandem. Upon the lowering of the flags, the guards must give a few final stomps. Representatives of both countries then complete the ceremony with a quick, cursory handshake. The gates are then closed, sealing the border for the evening.

Buzkashi is Afghanistan’s national sport: it involves whips, horses, and a dead calf.

The calf itself has been beheaded, cut off the knees, soaked in cold water for twenty-four hours to make it tough, and occasionally filled with sand. It is placed into a shallow hole, and a circle of quicklime is drawn nearby: this circle is the hallal, or ‘circle of justice.’ At the signal, players grab the calf and sprint off into the distance on horseback. Their goal is to round two posts, set on either side of the starting point, and return to toss the calf into the hallal.

For centuries, this land of steppes has been populated by men who were born and raised in the saddle. In the old days - which is to say, back when Genghis Khan walked the earth - games could last for many days, countless miles, and through the occasional death of a player. Today, modern ‘rules’ keep the goal posts about a mile or so apart, but injured players still don’t stop the game. Injury is part of the game, actually: the players continually whip each other.

You cannot tie the calf to your saddle, hit another player on the hand in order to snatch the calf, or trip the players with a rope. These rules may or may not be observed.

Camels are amazing creatures. They are the sharks of the deserts, perfectly adapted to their environment: their thick foot pads can withstand the scorching sand of the Sahara, their blood cells can survive wicked dehydration, and their scat is so thoroughly drained of precious water that it can be used as kindling for fires.

And in Turkey, camels wrestle.

Camel wrestlers are the bodybuilders of their species - specially fed so as to be gigantic, and all the more majestic as they’re marched through Turkish villages ever winter. They are often decked out in majestic finery, if not armor. Camels, being camels, appear to take it all in stride. Camels always seem to be smiling, probably because humanity amuses them.

The wrestling itself is less like UFC, and more like Curly and Moe. More often than not, these gentle creatures simply lean into each other, quite half-heartedly, as villagers cheer them on. The real action, however, is when one turns and flees: weighing nearly a ton, bystanders have to leap out of their way before being crushed underneath a panicked dromedary.