Dubai resident recounts simpler times two decades ago, when bread cost 75 fils

It used to be sunnier on Rolla Road. Bluer, too. I was nine when my mother first started sending me downstairs to get bread from Citi Mart. Seba bread was 75 fils for a whole loaf. And in front of Citi Mart was a cafeteria that sold hot garlic shawarmas for less than Dh3.

I remember when the parking lots were sand pits. And some of the places where buildings are today were also sand pits. We played cricket in those cinnamon pits, with Slazenger bats and Prince tennis balls. We'd sellotape the Prince tennis balls to give them the grip and bounce of real red cricket balls. And as a kid, trepidation meant hitting a sixer. The bat and ball rebounding their gunshot sound between our Bur Dubai buildings and roads. But also, what if that ball went through some car's window?

There was a Spinneys next to Al Ain Centre. And as a kid, that Spinneys felt like a warm new country you could walk into. There was a hotdog counter. Dh2 for thick, trench-charred franks, in fresh white rolls, lathered with yellow mustard.

And there was a blue light that came from the audio-video store. You could rent all ten seasons of Friends. You could listen to the latest Velvet Revolver album. I spent most of my time looking at GameBoy cartridges’ box art. One time K and I rented both Saw 1 and 2.

The right-end aisles of the department store is where they kept all the magazines and books. That area was quiet like a library hall. That area is where D and I first found the fashion magazines we liked.

I remember when Khaleej Centre was more than it is now. There was a McDonald’s with a jungle gym and after eating our happy meal or McChicken we'd go hide like little cats in the cool rubbery nooks of that jungle gym. I remember there was a toy store next to the Tissot watch shop. You'd find robo dogs barking and waddling in animatronic circles outside that shop. And there was a Pen Corner.

I remember when the KFC there opened up. All the footpaths from Al Rais to Choithrams smelt like the Colonel's 11 secret herbs. On weekdays from 12 to 1 they had an unlimited lunch offer. Dh24 for all the chicken and Pepsi you could stomach. One time my dad and I went there and had a competition on who could eat more. In the end, after five pieces each, both my father and I threw in the towel. He suspected that on these lunch offers they made the chicken pieces too big so the diners wouldn't eat too much.

But most legendarily, I remember (and many others will too) that Hallmark shop in the middle of Khaleej Centre. It wasn't really a Hallmark. It had the colour and merchandise of one. Orange or yellow walls and sunny ceiling bulbs. The shelves had board games like Monopoly, Scrabble, and Cluedo. The cash register was next to Tech Decks, Beyblades, and blue packets of Pokemon cards. And the shop clerk had James Dean hair and wore a white formal shirt.

There was a Network Games in Khaleej Centre where there is a BLS passport office now. But V and K and N and I went to the one in Atrium Centre. That's where you went if you were serious. That's where the walls were decorated with cool ads for Nvidia and AMD graphics cards. And clan party pictures from the previous year's Counter-Strike tournament. The nice short uncle there was called DK. He wore his hair slicked back over broad shoulders. He never told us his real name. But we called him Drift King because Tokyo Drift was the biggest movie of that year. He even played songs in the cafe from the film. Six Days. The Tokyo Drift Mix.

DK kept the place clean. No eating in front of the monitor. No greasing the keyboard with your burger fingers.

I remember skateboarding in the Golden Sands Area. The sky was the blue of marbles. And the buildings were clean beige like traditional souks. You could skate on the rocky brick footpaths. Or on the straight blacktop roads. There weren't too many cars, nor too many people. Nor too many businesses. Just residences with kids that went to Our Own English High School or Indian High School. And we all skated or cycled together, fearlessly on those empty footpaths and roads.

I remember some skaterboys who had long hair, baggy jeans and T-shirts with band names like HIM, CKY, and Slipknot. They would bring wax and a long modular rail to the Golden Sands 11 parking lot. They'd spend all morning and night trying to boardslide that rail the way they'd seen on Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater. I remember the underground parking slopes of the parking lots. We'd sit down, two of us on one board, and mine-cart down those slopes into the cool subterranean shade of the underground lot. The wind rushing past our ears. Our own free rollercoaster.

wknd@khaleejtimes.com