A projectile falls over Dubai during wide-ranging Iranian attacks on the Gulf on Saturday. Photo / Getty Images
The average Saturday night in Dubai involves spectacular fireworks – dazzling displays, costing small fortunes, to mark weddings and birthdays.
Drone displays, too, often light up the night sky, with three-dimensional ballet dancers, aeroplanes, bicycles and other happy images depicted in thousands of tiny fairy lights over the Arabian Gulf.
When far more sinister flares began to appear over the brilliant blue waters that separate the United Arab Emirates from Iran, it was hard to know what marked a threat and what was entertainment.
But as it emerged that the Fairmont hotel on the Palm Jumeirah had been hit, suddenly, Dubai – long seen as the safest haven in this most unstable of regions – became the wrong kind of exciting.
When Donald Trump gave his historic address from the White House, there was no mistaking the seriousness of what was coming to the Middle East.
Yet the notion that the Iranian regime, in its panicking death throes, might accidentally strike the United Arab Emirates as it hurled missiles around seemed far-fetched. After all, though relations between the two nations are not exactly warm, they are not openly hostile.
Supermarkets here are full of delicious Iranian produce, with the two countries, which may have very different interpretations of Islam, continuing to do business.
The Emiratis have no truck with Islamic extremism, but this is a place that flourishes precisely because of the leadership’s diplomatic pragmatism. Safety and security are prized above all else.
Nonetheless, by nightfall, one of Dubai’s best-known hotels would be ablaze – and panicking tourists would be sheltering in underground carparks.
That it has not been worse – thus far at least – is testament to the UAE’s excellent air defence systems and intelligence services.
In the immediate aftermath of the incident at the Palm, there was a widespread assumption among residents here that it must have been a mistake. Mad as they are, surely the mullahs would not be crazy enough to antagonise the Emiratis?
While confusion still surrounds exactly what happened, according to well-placed sources, whatever hit the Fairmont was most likely to have been headed somewhere else.
In the last few hours, thanks to the UAE military, I understand that some 300 drones have been downed, with around 90 missiles.
The assault is a stunning act of unprovoked aggression. Importantly, the UAE has not allowed its airspace to be used in the American campaign – so any deliberate targeting of civilian buildings would be particularly outrageous.
For the 250,000 or so British citizens who live here, and millions of other expats from all over the world, this is a very jittery moment.
There are signs of panic-buying in supermarkets, and talk of schools being closed next week. All day, we have heard the boom and thud of explosions that we hope will stay far enough away.
The squillionaires are leaving by yacht and road. Everyone else is staying put: the “partial and temporary precautionary” closure of airspace (as the authorities described it) over the UAE on Saturday afternoon (local time) marking the beginning of what is expected to be days of travel disruption.
When it all kicked off, I was in “old Dubai”, where what is now a sprawling, glittering metropolis first rose from the sand.
I was in the gold and diamond souk, trying to find a gift for someone while listening to rolling news on my AirPods and fielding anxious messages from the UK.
Nobody in the bustling market, which is especially popular with the Indian community (the single biggest nationality in Dubai) seemed remotely bothered by the geopolitical drama, though certain merchants were eager to point out that when the world gets more dangerous, the price of gold climbs.
“Buy today! More expensive tomorrow!” was the cheerful cry.
We expect more bangs and booms, for the Americans have a particular military advantage over the enemy after dark. Defence types like to say they “own the night”.
Across Dubai, the rooftop restaurants and sky bars still throng with beautiful people, dressed up to the nines, too busy partying to notice the sinister flashes of light.
Let us see whether the morning call to prayer brings a quieter day – or something worse.
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