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The Dubai Diaries, Volume One

Published by racingweb on March 25, 2009

CHARL PRETORIUS, on his 2009 sojourn to Dubai, files Part 1 in another installment ofÂ “Dubai Diaries”, a behind-the-scenes tell-it-all from the Middle East’s centre of opulence.

Sunday, 22 March,

The huge Emirates A777-800 lands in Dubai at 00:30. The airport has enjoyed a facelift, again. Emirates Airlines have revamped Terminal 3 and it’s a space-age affair, complete with eye-scans for South Africans, who are no longer trusted due to our corrupt Home Affairs officials issuing false passports to aspiring bombplanters en route to the UK.

As always I am privileged to enjoy the comfort of the couch at Mike de Kock’s rented apartment in Al Barsha. I stumble in at 1.30 am and someone has left two chocolates wrapped in a ribbon on the couch pillow. It could be Kevin Shea’s wife Kim, who knows how to treat a man, but I suspect this is a gesture of mockery from De Kock and Shea and I’m right, because I woken up at 5:15 with my first snoring session already recorded on their cell phones and sneered at. They’ve worked on Kim too, the mockers. She reports later that she stood watching me snoring and was quite amazed at how the sounds of the jungle can emanate from someone’s throat.

Kevin naps on the couch after morning gallops.

When the boys return from stable Mike has bad news. Honour Devil has been diagnosed with a throat condition and will require surgery. “I’ve never encountered so many problems in a season, especially respiratory problems. This fine dust must have something to do with it,” he laments.

Later we return to stables for the regular afternoon stint and Mike is still concerned about the affects of the sand. “It’s worse this year,” he says. “The building operations at Meydan has made it worse, there is more dust and sand in the air. Just look at it.” A sand storm is in progress and we take photos of the track at Nad Al Sheba with the grandstand and the city skyline not visible.

A sand storm at Nad Al Sheba.

Emirates Racing Executive Martin Talty has brought Dr. John Peaterfield to the yard. He is a retired veterinary consultant from Australia who worked for the legendary Tommy Smith and now for his daughter, Gai Waterhouse.

For a full hour, Mike and the doc share ideas about training techniques and Martin and I sit listening attentively to theories on feed, long and short work, pre-race preparation and veterinary procedures.

Mike de Kock and John Peaterfield

We agree afterwards that if we had recorded this conversation we would have been able to start a training yard ourselves. We think we know everything about training now. We must look into this further. There is money to be made.

* * *

At 9pm, Kevin and Trevor Brown return from Abu Dhabi. Kevin has just won the evening’s listed race on Mr Brock, another first for the De Kock-Shea combination and for South Africa.

Kevin and Trevor after Abu Dhabi race.

We crack bottles of wine to celebrate. I brought in from Duty Free the Haute Cabrierre Chardonnay/Pinot Noir mix, R15 a bottle in 2005 and now R100, and Rust En Vrede’s Merot, a steal at 200 bucks. The wine is finished before Kim’s marvellous chicken curry hits the dinner table and we open a spare bottle of red left here by James Goodman on is visit a few weeks ago. Where did you buy this stuff, Jimmy?

Monday, 23 March:

Dubai is the city of my annual exercise, mainly due to the non-stop chirping about my oversized gut and because the gym is conveniently and privately situated on the roof of the building and is never busy.

This morning I am told I look like Mike Meyers starring as “Guru Pitke” in “The Love Guru”, a fat, bearded, joke of a character. I walk briskly on the treadmill for 20 minutes and then pretend to cycle next to super-fit Kim, who is going at double the speed. I must get a haircut and a shave soon.

After a solid workout a man deserves a solid omelette from Room Service, packed with cheese and mushrooms. Protein is important. I start updating the websites with news of Honour Devil and take a nap halfway trough as the afternoon apnoea sets in. One has to balance work with rest.

* * *

Mike decides it’s time to visits his regular suit store I town. Every year he kits himself out before World Cup night. We drive to a building in Bur Dubai owned buy his patron Sheikh Mohammed bin Khalifa Al Makoum and the affable Akram Khalifa shows us around.

Mike gets a new suit fitted.

I want a new suit too, as the sports jacket bought from “Burger Brothers” in Northcliff is on the tight side. Mike, predicting that nothing in the store that will fit me, finds a dark grey suit with a light stripe. He loves it, it will look good on TV Saturday night.
As predicted, I don’t find anything that fits. Akram gives honest advice. “Don’t eat dinner for one year,” he says. I vow to come back lean and mean next year.

* * *

Kevin has booked dinner at Frankie Dettori’s restaurant, “Frankies”, near the Dubai Marina. Frankie is going to a wedding, but says he will join us later.

It’s a real posh and expensive restaurant with no racing memoribillia on the walls as one would expect. This place is very well appointed and a South African called Rory tickles the ivories on a Baby Grand.

â€œFrankieâ€™s near Dubai Marina.

The food is good, though it’s the first time ever I eat a steak that costs 175AED (R525). Even in ultra-expensive England the steaks are cheaper, though on reflection I do remember that London’s steaks taste like wood, so for Frankie and my country I devour my sliced sirloin with abandon. Mike’s head is buried deep in his manger too, his Italian pasta must be good.

Frankie and Kevin are big mates

Our jovial host arrives, he is impeccably dressed in a black suit with pointy black shoes and a black tie. The girls get Frankie’s customary hugs and we move across to the bar area where Rory breaks into “Mr Bojangles” and some spontaneous drinking happens.

Frankie is very keen to return to his mate’s wedding and invites all of us to come dance and party the night away. He jogs out of his restaurant and lines up a few taxis.

The group want a picture with him and as usual I am the only one with a camera. And, as happens every time I have to take a photo including Frankie Dettori, I fuck it up. I tilt the camera slightly upwards to get in the bright “Frankie’s” neon sign, but of course bright neon and camera flashes don’t combine too well so the pic comes out dark. Kim Shea takes one of me with the group. It looks fine. She is keen to get the one I took of her with the group. I have to break the bad news and she will think I’m a muppet. Anyway, I decide, ‘the day Frankie remembers my name is the day I will get his pics right!’ I am a celebrity too, even if in my own mind!

Kim Shea knew how to handle my camera

My own photo, blotched.

Tuesday, 24 March:

Tuesday is my busiest working day of the week. I have to file a profile for The Citizen’s Racing Express and Johnny Murtagh fits the bill in World Cup week. I have much admiration for him and these kind of interviews are what racing journalism is all about. He’s a pro, Johnny, and he talks easily. I am well prepared too, I have read up on his background, so the interview flows and he opens up. He has the same message given by every successful person I have ever met. “Take responsibility for your life and stop blaming others.”

Plenty of media representatives are in and out of Mike’s stable office, including the prominent Marcus Hirsch from the Daily Racing Form, who is keen to visit South Africa. I promise to speak to Larry and Clyde from the Racing Association about an invitation. A US press representative will be a welcome sight at the next Jockeys’ International. So would Johnny Murtagh.

The new â€œTapetaâ€™ track with Meydan development in background.

We drive along to the new “Tapeta” training track, the exceptional quality of which makes one wonder why the brains trust in South Africa at the time of of construction decided on the vastly inferior surface at our own Vaal racecourse when “Tapeta” all-weather surface has been available for a decade. Must be the cost involved, I assume.

I pop in to Herman Brown’s stables to get a pic of Jay Peg. Marsh Shirtliff is there with his charming companion Karen, but they won’t pose for photos today. I understand because I’ve seen Marsh in Dubai before. He takes a bit of time to settle in.

Herman Brown with Jay Peg.

My mate Nico the Spaniard is Herman’s assistant and he struts over. He is actually from Argentina, but he’s as suave as Julio Iglesias so I refer to him as a Spaniard. He’s going to the party at Scarlett’s restaurant tonight and invites me to come see the girls, and to look and learn”. I am very shy in the company of women however, so I decide to skip Scarlett’s and watch “The Love Guru” on DVD instead.Â Mike Meyers is more than adequate company.