This is the second installment of “My Priceline Staycation.” Read the beginning of the series.

II. A Full Dubai Immersion

I was a little confused the next morning, when we were supposed to depart on our Priceline Labor Day trip.  Upon waking up, my wife Lina had our bags packed and was Googling travel sites for tips. She then told me with a straight face that Century City was actually the capital of Dubai, as opposed to just some skyscraper-packed neighborhood west of Beverly Hills.

I was more than a little skeptical but I decided to indulge her.

“How are we going get there without plane tickets?” I asked.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I rented a car early this morning before you woke up,” gesturing to the window.

I looked outside. Her ‘05 Nissan Sentra, sans front-grill ornament, sat in our spot.

“Our rental looks terribly familiar,” I said.

“Of course it does,” she said. “In Dubai, they have to distinguish the tourists from the wealthy locals. Plus, this way, no one will know you’re a Famous Travel Writer.”

It then dawned on me: My wife was already on a vacation. Mental, physical, delusional: What was the difference? Would it behoove me to take a similar trip? I decided to give it a shot.

*  *  *

The drive to Dubai — from our neighborhood, at least — was pretty easy, and as we neared our destination, we also began to realize that this new land looked a hell of a lot like Los Angeles. For instance, they have a Hollywood sign in Dubai. It’s dirty and rarely visible because of the smog, but it’s there. Also, there’s a Santa Monica Boulevard. In fact, lots of the street names are similar.

Upon arriving at our Priceline home-away-from-home, the sort of grand 1960’s-style hotel that might have put up a few Mad Men ( had Dubai been the hotspot it is now), we were quickly encountered by two men in fancy hats and vests.

“Welcome to the Century Plaza,” one of them said.

“Wow, your English is amazing!” Lina said, tossing him the keys to her ride.

My face reddened, but given the fact that the valet was Caucasion it wasn’t exactly a racist comment.

“Take it easy with this one, ‘Jack,’” Lina yelled over her shoulder. “We just rented her this morning, but I can already tell she’s a gentle soul.”

The valet nodded professionally and said, “Will do, miss.”

It was clear to me that after just a few days on the job as a valet at a Dubai luxury hotel, he had likely encountered far crazier characters than my lovingly demented wife.

We entered the lobby and walked straight up to the Check In line.

“Isn’t it interesting how diverse the staff is?” Lina asked. “Not to objectify anyone, but check it out! There’s an African American lady behind the desk, and a guy from Mexico is carrying in our luggage.”

A very nice local called “Debbie” — I, too, thought it rather sensitive of the hotel to offer its employees American-style monikers — then called us to the counter. Within seconds of taking my credit card for incidentals, she offered us a room upgrade: not only did we get a king-size bed for our 100 smackers — what a generous exchange rate! — but a high floor with a view.

“The mall is right next door,” Debbie said. “You know, if you want to do some shopping like you would back home, in let’s see, where do you live? Ah, Los Angeles…”

She continued making nice with Lina, which I found rather heartening, especially given how far we were from home:  ”They have a Macy’s, a fantastic Bloomingdales, and a SephorIA! And if you’re really into pan-Asian, you should check out the acclaimed Rock Sugar restaurant next to the multiplex. They have, like, awesome ambience.”

“Wow, Sephoria,” Lina replied. “So is Rock Sugar where the locals go? No disrespect, but we’re after the authentic stuff.”

“Uh huh,” Debbie said in the way you might respond to a crazy person who asks you to board their rocketship.

I thanked Debbie and steered Lina along.

It was a long walk to the elevators in the oversized Dubai hotel — you would think they’d have motorized walkways like some of our better airports — but along the way, we began to feel really comfortable. It wasn’t surprising to see a Hertz rental car desk next to the bar, for instance, but a Starbucks? The globalization was inescapable, just like everyone had said.

“It’s really amazing how no one has accents here,” Lina said on our way up to floor 17, from which we could see the Middle East offices of MGM. “The hotel must employ some accent elimination service to make us feel at home.”

Soon, we had entered our stylish mid-century inspired room, replete with private lanai, and a sweet view of all four hotel pools. Very Dubai.

It was impressive, but we didn’t want to waste time gazing into the exotic haze — almost orange-tinted, like the glow from a fire — above the area’s arid landscape and luxurious hillside homes.

We quickly got into our bathing suits and scored two chaise lounges in front of all the poolside action.  Yet unlike Los Angeles — which can sometimes feel overwhelming to an average Joe — there were hardly any hot models, male or female.

That said, the clientele did appear really young. And by really young, I mean babies.

No judgment, but it seemed that this particular hotel was more family friendly than we had anticipated. We learned this by spending a lot of time watching one clan dip their diapered newborn in and out of a one-foot pool, which appeared rather unsanitary given that they would soon have to change the little guy. Who knew so many parents traveled with their kids to the Sin City of the Middle East?

To be honest, all this familiar U.S.-style activity made it hard to relax, especially with a rash-guard-wearing lummox-father who presided over a game of American football with a small band of kids, taking up the entire pool. Whenever the kids would miss a throw, for instance, the football would proceed to splash across the  surface of the water, drenching everyone in its path. Which included us. But no one in our vicinity seemed to care. Many looked European, and some even Arabic, as if locals vacationed here for the weekend via Priceline as well.  For example, one Arab boy, playing with a giant plastic shark the size of his leg, literally demanded the lummox let him play football; his father, a man in linen on the sidelines who could have easily owned his own country, did not seem the type to say no to anything. The lummox refused.

“What do you know?” said Lina. “They have douchebags in Dubai, too!”

Before we knew it, sundown was upon us on our first night in the desert. We planned to leave the hotel for dinner, but we axed the idea of Rock Sugar. We needed something that felt a little familiar. We wanted to ease into the foreign immersion experience. Luckily, the hotel had a fine, Spanish-speaking concierge, with whom Lina could easily converse, given the fact that she’d grown up speaking Espanol with a mom who hailed from Ecuador.

The concierge’s suggestion? A nearby neighborhood with less fancy Asian restaurants.

“Debes de ir ayi,” she said. “El sushi es fantastico. Y conoces Pinkberry? Es como helado.”

All I could understand, of course, were the words “sushi” and “Pinkberry.” But I was sold.

Later that evening, after a phenomenal course of shrimp tempura, albacore, spicy tuna, and California rolls, we began to feel adventurous and walked completely past the Pinkberry into what seemed like a neighborhood where if you didn’t speak Dubai-ese, you spoke Japanese.

This is when I knew that we were really enjoying Experiential Travel on a budget. As we strolled, oohing and ahhing at how exotic yet natural everything felt, we passed all kinds of shops and restaurants as Hundais and Acuras with tinted windows and giant spoilers zoomed by. The cultural mishmash was stimulating, and we ended up at an uncommonly delicious establishment, indigenous in these parts, most likely, called “Yogurtland.”

Apparently, in these Asian Dubai frozen desert joints, people line up around the block just for the chance to fill their own giant cups with all kinds of frozen yogurt, including flavors like Taro, S’Mores, and Green Tea.  The toppings were out of this world, too: forget about jimmies and mochi and chocolate chips and berries. This place had liquid Ghirardelli chocolate and brownie bits.

“I love Dubai!” Lina exclaimed.

But since we only had one more night in town, I stressed the importance of returning to the hotel for a good night’s sleep.

“Fine,” she relented. “But tomorrow you have to promise we can check out the city’s most famous closed-air market, where the local artisans sell their hand-made wares. It called ‘Cost Plus.’”

“You got it,” I said, pulling the Sentra up the hotel driveway. “Man, it is really easy to get around in this country.”

To be continued…

This is the second installment of My Priceline Staycation. Read the third and last episode or jump back to the beginning of the series.

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