This is a continuation of my journey through Dubai. The second day turned out to be completely different. If the first was about getting acquainted and forming first impressions, this one was about scale. About technology, the feeling of the future, and unexpected states that arise where you least expect them.
Museum of the Future
In photos, the Museum of the Future looks impressive. But standing in front of this enormous circular building in real life is an entirely different emotional scale. It feels unreal. Harmonious. Almost alien.
Behind it, there’s a courtyard with palm trees, a neat driveway, people strolling around. All of it together creates the feeling that you’ve stepped slightly beyond the present day – into a future that once existed only in films and video games. And suddenly you realize: it’s already here.
Inside, you’re greeted by a digital assistant – a virtual woman. She guides you through the floors and introduces the space. From the very first level, you begin to sense the magnitude of the idea. White minimalism, abundant light, flying fish and whales, robots. Even while standing in line, something is happening around you. The museum knows how to hold your attention.
The main feeling is pride for humanity. I used to think humanity had already invented everything possible. But here you realize that development continues and it’s moving fast.
What impressed me most was the hall dedicated to the DNA of living beings. I don’t know whether the samples are real or part of an artistic concept, but the idea itself is powerful. If a catastrophe were ever to happen, archives like these could become a chance for restoration.
The glass capsules glow in different colors, calm music plays, and around you is the micro-world of bacteria, plants, and life forms. It’s beautiful and slightly solemn. You feel as if you’re touching something important. As if you’re touching science – the kind of science that truly matters to humanity and on which humanity depends. Even if it’s symbolic, the idea behind this hall feels serious.
There was one moment that left me with mixed feelings. In one of the halls stood a robot girl. She blinked, moved her lips, reacted to presence. And I caught myself feeling slightly uneasy.
She looked like a machine, but if you imagined her with human skin, it would be hard to tell the difference. And suddenly a thought appears: one day, beings like this will be everywhere. And you alive, imperfect, with your wrinkles and memories. It’s both fascinating and a little unsettling.
After the museum, I didn’t feel like part of the future. More like an observer. But there was a sense that humanity is capable of so much. And somehow, that’s comforting.
AYA Universe
At AYA Universe, you first lose your sense of direction. It’s not immediately clear where you are or how everything works. At the entrance, they give you a “passport,” as if you’re setting off on a space journey. Each room is a separate planet, and you can mark your route.
Meditative music plays everywhere. Each room has its own mood. The spaces are very different, but they share one thing – they work through sensation.
What I remember most is the room with thin glowing “sprouts” resembling grass. They shimmer as if swaying in the wind. You hear the sound of rain and thunder. Everything around is dark; only this “grass” glows.
You could spend an hour there and not notice the time passing. The space seems to return you to a state of inner calm. A light nostalgia appears – not sad, but warm. As if you’re remembering moments when you truly felt peaceful and happy.
AYA is less about space and more about your own mind. About how you experience your emotions. If there were fewer people around, the immersion would be deeper. But even so, it’s an experience that stays within you.
The Desert and Sonara Camp
And then, in the desert, a simple thought arrives: yes, I’m in Dubai. Sand everywhere. Many people walk barefoot. You take off your shoes too and suddenly feel joy in this simple sensation – warm sand beneath your feet. It’s an incredible feeling of freedom and light childlike happiness – being slightly disheveled, with sand on your clothes, watching the sunset.
Music plays constantly, slightly mysterious, with Eastern motifs. Sometimes a meditation begins, and you sit directly on the sand, watching the sunset. Sand in your clothes, in your hair, but it doesn’t bother you. On the contrary, it creates a sense of the present moment.
We visited restaurant Sonara Camp, located among the dunes. First you look at it from above, then you walk down. Camels, falconry, tents with light white curtains gently moving in the wind. Everything looks carefully designed and very aesthetic.
When the evening show begins, the atmosphere shifts. Figures with flames appear along the edges, drums start beating. There’s something ancient about it, almost primal. Then the fire performance begins. And in that moment, you simply think: this is so beautiful.
For me, the desert isn’t just a trip for impressions. It’s a chance to truly exhale. I love states where you can withdraw a little into yourself, slow down, and hear your own thoughts.
In the desert, I seem to recharge. Calm appears, attention to detail returns. You begin to look differently at the people around you and realize how much work stands behind this evening, this light, this atmosphere. A sense of respect arises for those who create it.
The world suddenly feels clearer. As if something inside aligns and settles into place. You sit on the sand, surrounded by a vast horizon, the sky slowly darkening, and in that moment there is no rush. Just you and the quiet feeling that, overall, everything is okay.
It was there that Dubai became unexpected for me. Not in the skyscrapers, not in the shine of storefronts, but beyond the luxury. Beyond that boundary, it revealed itself differently – quieter, deeper.
This trip filled me with a sense of wonder, but not a loud one. A calm one. If it were a state, I would call it a state of absolute inner balance. And a gentle happiness that comes from simply living this life and tasting it fully.
