Man, digging into 1980s Dubai felt like stepping into a dusty old photo album nobody opened for decades. Took me weeks just to figure out where to even start.
Tracking Down the Old Souk Vibes
First thing I did was hit up some antique dealers down in Bur Dubai. These old fellas sitting behind counters stacked with dusty radios and faded postcards – goldmines of gossip. Had to practically beg one dude, sipping his karak chai, to pull out his personal stash of black-and-white photos. “Nostalgia, habibi, makes my heart heavy,” he sighed, showing me pictures of Deira’s old fish market where everyone traded in sandals and dhow boats still ruled the creek. Bought a few crumbling posters of Dubai skyline circa 1980 – just a couple of low buildings near the coast.
Found some wild stuff:
- A rusty blue-and-white metal bus ticket stub from 1983 – cost like 2 fils!
- Someone’s faded handwritten grocery list in Arabic – dates, camel milk, dry limes.
- This chipped, hand-painted tin sign for a local tailor shop in Fahidi.
Chatted up an Emirati grandma selling woven sadu mats. Told me straight: “Back then, life wasn’t sandboarding and malls, ya habibi. We knew our neighbours. Doors stayed open.” She laughed remembering running errands barefoot across hot sand paths before roads paved over everything.
The Hunt for Vintage Dirhams (And Coffee Blunders)
Armed with info, tried living one day ’80s-style. Biggest shock? Cash. No cards back then. Scoured collector markets for actual pre-union UAE dirham notes – found crumpled UAE & Qatar Riyals used before the federation. Paid my morning karak vendor with a 1985 One Dirham note just to see his face – pure confusion, then a huge belly laugh. “This belongs in museum, brother!” he chuckled, swapping me for proper coins.
Attempted brewing gahwa like they used to – nearly burned my apartment down. Forgot cardamom sticks simmer too long. Thick black smoke billowed out the kitchen; neighbours banged on my door! “Ya Allah, cooking coal?” yelled Mrs. Khouri across the hall. Total disaster. Finally got it right using a tiny brass dallah pot over low heat. Learned patience isn’t optional.
Sikka Nightmares & “Landmark” Navigation
Stupidly decided to navigate like the 80s: no phone GPS. Used paper maps yellowed like old teeth. Got hopelessly lost near Ras Al Khor looking for the creek crossing. “Just head towards the twin minarets of Grand Mosque,” a shopkeeper advised. Except back then, that was the tallest landmark! Everything else was flat. Roamed alleys, ended up near Al Quoz industrial zone somehow. Sand crept into my shoes, diesel fumes choked the air. Finally flagged down an old taxi driver who spoke zero English – paid him with those vintage coins. His puzzled nod said it all.
The Unhurried Rhythm
Sat by the creek at sunset, watching replaced by glittering cruise terminals now. That grandma’s words hit hard. No frantic scrolling; just waiting for dhows unloading Persian carpets under dim kerosene lamps. Friends met up solely at Al Diyafah Street cafes, actually talking. Phones were rare brick things; important news traveled on foot.
What hit me hardest? The immense quiet between landmarks. Vast empty stretches where Dubai now blinks with towers. A dusty, patient city holding its breath before the boom. Slow, communal, grounded in sand and sea.
