Dubai is fast becoming the world’s most popular resort - but is it really becoming better? In the new, clinical Dubai, is there really any room for the quintessential haven that first drew the pearl divers so many years ago? Val Skauf reminisces

I remember the first time I set foot on the ochre sand, it shifted and settled underneath my feet. Staring up at the cerulean sky, I came to the realization within a few minutes that this was somewhere I would one day like to call home. It came as a shock, but that comforting nostalgic feeling, like sleeping in your own bed after a week in a hotel, was impossible to deny. For the entire trip I was nothing but smiles, a barely suppressed grin that did a poor job of showing my elation.

But even when I first set foot on the richly carpeted cool floor of Dubai airport, all those years ago in 2001, the old Dubai was already slipping away, being pulled under by the behemoth that is the cacophony of mirrored buildings reflected in the azure gulf. There is no middle ground, and nowhere is this more apparent than in housing. On one hand, there is the lofty eloquence of the affluent, with houses encased in shining marble, and on the other, there is the tearing destitution of the relative slums. These feeble huts look pitiful next to the towering architectural feats, but they are the sort of shelter that has existed on this sand for many hundreds of years, without change. In some bizarre twist of fate, however, the mentality of the two clashing groups is exactly the same - I failed to meet a single person that was not happy or content.

I stayed with family friends, English ex-pats that live in the country because of the local aerospace, the typical family, with two sons and a daughter. On being shown round the house, we venture out onto the granite lined balcony, and not only have to pull the glass door back, but a mesh frame also. ‘It’s for the mosquitoes’ a ten year old Matthew, the youngest in his family, informs me, ‘so they don’t suck your blood while you're asleep’.

I am directed to look at a much larger house a little way down the road, just discernable in the growing dusk, with huge viridian leaves that shelter the emerald grass below. Security cameras are discreetly positioned on the walls, and high iron fences mark it out from the rest of the plots. ‘That's the British consulate’s house’ Hannah tells me.

This is a world where showing your status is not the jewellery you wear, or the bags you carry (as you can find almost perfect ‘genuine copies’ in any market), you show your status by water as if it were gold. The most impressive part of the Burj Al Arab, Dubai’s flagship hotel, is the enormous fish tanks, at least two stories high, lining the gold plated escalators, which are in turn serenaded by steppes of water that shoot overhead, but somehow manage to never drip on unsuspecting heads.

The next day I am woken to the sound of my name being hollered from somewhere downstairs. I pad blearily down the cool stone steps and am told that I should retrieve my swim wear as we are going to the beach. This suitably perks me up - my plane landed when it was fairly dark, and so a good view of the ocean was not one I enjoyed. When the Jeep approached the coast (everyone drives a Jeep, petrol was so cheap it was ludicrous, and it wasn’t uncommon for sand dunes to drift into the road, thus blocking the path), my breath was knocked out of my throat. The perfect beaches of the Mediterranean do not even begin to compare to the flawlessly porcelain beauty of the snow white sand and the seemingly painted waves, that gently lap the shore in tiny white tipped folds. But even this seemingly paradisiacal landscape is marred - there are deep tracks running parallel to the gulf from countless Land Rovers that have been casually driven at ridiculous speeds.

When I venture into the water, it is welcomingly warm – almost like stepping into a just run bath. The last time I had been at the beach, it was in Blackpool, and it was awful - stormy grey seas and horizontal rain, making it look like a scene in a disaster film. The all too apparent contrast between the two coasts only fuelled my desire to make my visit more permanent in the future. However, I was truly shown that the most beautiful is often the most potent, as hidden in the deep blue was a poisonous jellyfish.

Fortunately, I was alerted by one of the other swimmer, but the short glance I scraped still reverberates in my memory today.

When I left, that first time, I felt homesick for days afterwards, the city that was Dubai had etched a permanent mark on my soul.

When I returned three years later and stepped out of the airport, it was if I had arrived in a different city. Everything was that bit brighter, that bit cleaner, and there was a coating of gloss painted over every surface, every nook and cranny. When I went into the suburbs, however, I saw the true story. The western world – with their McDonalds and their Subways – had been superimposed on top of the quintessential world that I had so loved before. My Dubai was fast being pushed under the rug, the carefree mingling that was only lightly frowned upon before was being stared down, all for the purpose of making the tourists more willing to visit. The cause of the change? Oil. The United Arab Emirates own some of the highest profit making oil rigs in the world, however the reserves in them are fast depleting, and so the new industry of choice is tourism. These factors were already mildly apparent in 2001, but now they are painfully obvious. Some of it can only be considered positive for Dubai – the increase in tourism and the building only creates more jobs for the citizens, but at what cost?

Walking down the riverside, I come to the sudden realization that there is no sense of nostalgia anymore. Its like returning to your childhood home after building work has been done – you know it’s the same place, but it’s just too different. I still greatly enjoy the visit, and there is a part of me that recognises it for what it is – just an improved version of the older model – enough so that when I step onto the plane there is still a yearning for me to go back, but there isn’t the same sense of loss.

2005 was the last time I visited, but it has rarely been out of my mind, it is difficult for it not to be – Dubai frequently makes headline news, for a wide range of reasons, whether it be shopping or the latest skyscraper. I have talked with ex-pats that live there currently, and they say that the building work is now twenty-four hour, seven days a week. Dubai is a building site, and I cant help but think that the western world is not now superimposed, but rather it has blacked my beloved old Dubai out.

The bleached new world just isn’t somewhere I could call home anymore.