“Well food for instance,” I ventured.

“Oh yes, it can be expensive to eat out, but when I am on duty I have no choice. I have to eat at the restaurant at the taxi rank.”

“So how much does that cost then?”

“In English money, maybe as much as two English pounds. If I get good tips I eat a good meal. If not…” he shrugged to indicate that not all things in life were in his hands.

“As much as two pounds, hey? The robbing bastards. Where exactly is this place then?”

It turned out that the taxi drivers, who were in the main impoverished Jordanians and Palestinians, used to congregate at a Palestinian run transport café just ten minutes walk from our hotel.

A stroke of luck indeed.

Later that afternoon we set up our exhibition stand and returned to the hotel in an air-conditioned courtesy bus. As we got out of the bus one of the crew from the Chamber of Commerce came over to ask which of the hotel restaurants we fancied trying tonight – they were also on expenses. There were three restaurants to choose from: European; Oriental and Middle Eastern, all staffed by the most beautiful Philippine waitresses I have ever seen It was love at first sight – I do love foreign food. The waitresses weren’t bad either. Sadly all beyond the reach of a wallet such as I was carrying. I was only carrying a Visa gold card. The rest of the hotel guests were paying with credit cards made of precious metals that I had never even heard of. Platinum? Old hat mate. I’m paying with a Rubicon alloy red metal Access card. Anyway, we had seen the menu prices and knew we were not eating in the hotel. Quick as a flash, dad avoided any potential embarrassment.

“Actually we rarely eat in hotels when we are abroad on business,” (this was our first overseas foray). “We like to get out and about and explore the local culture, get a feel for the place. Sean has been asking around and we have been recommended to try a local restaurant. Apparently the Arab chef is really something else. We are going to give it a try and we’ll let you know what it is like when we see you tomorrow.”

So after a showing and changing into casual clothes, dad and I set off. Eve this late in the afternoon the blast of air that hit you at the main entrance was still hot. Cooler than in the morning but still hot.

The immaculately attired Mogul style doorman asked would we like a taxi into town. No thanks, we like a walk before dinner – sharpens the appetite, you know.

He saluted us and wished us a pleasant evening. Really, I could get used to this lifestyle if I had to.

We walked down the street, across the junction, round the corner to the right and took our seats at ‘Greasy Ahmed`s’ transport café. Oh how the other half live!

The food was brilliant.

I should not have been surprised really considering where we were. For centuries Dubai has had trading links with India, Asia, Africa, Europe and the rest of the Middle East. All of these influences were reflected in Greasy Ahmed`s menu; onion bhajis, curried dishes, flat breads, pakoras, goat cheese dishes, lamb kebabs, vegetable pakoras, spicy spring rolls. Wonderful food, and dead cheap.

Greasy Ahmed`s became our restaurant of choice for the duration of our visit. The taxi drivers got to know us. They were a friendly hard working bunch, but they were definitely not happy with their lot.

There are two types of Arabs, they told us. Arabs-with-oil and Arabs-with-no-oil. Arabs-with-oil treat other Arabs like slaves. If you happen to be an Arab-with-oil and object to this statement, don’t take it up with me, go and talk to some Palestinian taxi drivers in the Emirates. I am sure they will be pleased to talk to you about how they are treated.