Four down, two to go. Dubai

The new seat allocations meant I now had someone better for a neighbour - no-one - although I couldn't sit closer to the repaired engine if I wanted and the smell of petrol fumes as we taxied was a little disconcerting.

For the third time the prayers came up and for the third time I wondered how appropriate was the line "and to our God surely we must return."

In the blackness we flew to Vietnam, then turned westwards across Asia to Dubai.

I adjusted my watch to claim back another 4 hours: it was to be a 32 hour day. I slid across to my non-existent neighbours working entertainment suite and watched some TV and Shrek 3. I was no longer on the list for Halal food apparently, my Moslemness having been revoked. It suited me fine, I was tiring of it already. I was tired in other ways too, so I contorted across the two seats, lay on my two pillows and snatched some sleep, despite my rediscovered skill of becoming fully alert whenever a food trolley hoved into view.

Dubai at midnight was 38 degrees centigrade and before we even landed I was in love with it. From the night air a sea of soft gold and sharp diamonds defined the city. Inside the transit lounge the impression stayed. So this was where money went to die! And lights. Constellations made up the runways. Everything that moved flashed yellow at the night. In an isolated part of the airport dozens of vehicles devoured the passengers of an Emirates plane, all its orifices open and attracting attention.

We parked at the end of the vast tube that was the arrivals hall. Inside time planners advised it was an hour's journey to the far end and back. My kids were right: it was huge.

Even at midnight the place was a cross between Terminal Man, Bladerunner and the Star Wars cafe scene: cosmopolitan, exotic and alive with new experiences.

I was glad, judging from the state of undress of several of my co-travellers ahead, that I broke my 100% record of looking suspicious, and the system spat me out into the city that was the transit hall proper.

For an hour I barely scratched the surface of it all. Gold was big - too popular to get through the two-deep queues - and so were cigars: dedicated shops, dedicated rooms within the shops and a dedicated humidor housing what must be the world's biggest stogie. As thick as my thigh and all of five feet long it was very clever. And totally unsmokeable.

Past the motorcycles and cars to the electronics store where again, I was made to feel like I was just not keeping up with technology and trends. All I wanted was a replacement for my cassette recorder which had decided to die. Recording ambient sounds, rather than dictation, was something nobody did anymore.

Just as casinos never have clocks, so the Dubai transit shopping area seems devoid of information screens. When I did find one, after leaving the shopping concourse, it was in Arabic. Flashing red was probably bad in any language, so I guessed which sequence of squiggles meant 'gate' and applying my knowledge of Arabic numbers, gleaned from three years of Asian and African studies, I headed for gate three. Almost immediately I heard an announcement of the final call for my flight, boarding at gate eight. My education was officially useless, again..