The Getaway

The sun was even warmer than the Instagram videos made it seemed. You've heard of other Brits moving here for a better life, so as you booked the trip here, you looked around carefully to see if things really are as they seem. The airport was orderly. Clean. Compared to the cacophony of languages you would see in Heathrow, the simple display of English and Arabic felt almost curated.

The streets under the harsh sunlight looked idyllic, yet also like the sterile landscape of a science fiction movie. But more obvious than the unease, you felt relieved that you did not see the squads of drill gang around, or the endless mass of foreigners that made you feel like a stranger in your own home.

The hotel was spotless. Unlike the simple, rustic hotels that seem run down, everything here, the doorframe, the table had gilded seams and marble body. It looked more luxurious than the best hotels in London that you cannot afford. Excited to get some tan, after dropping off your bags, you went to the rooftop pool.

There was a woman in the pool. The refractions only adorned her gorgeous proportions with more details, more enticing lights to look at. Her hair was a mix of blonde and brown, and her eyes a piercing, almost artificial shade of green. Seems like even the birds here are a class above the ones back home. As she got out of the pool, she took notice of you briefly and walked to her sunbed to dry herself.