Dear Asma,
This Sunday, I decided to be a tourist in my own city, in Dubai. The richness of this place lies in its ability to let you get creatively lost in order to find, or rediscover, pieces of yourself. And I love rediscovering myself whenever life gives me the slightest excuse.
My friend Tomislav landed from Croatia just after midnight. I assumed he’d be deep asleep when I texted him, “breakfast in a new place?” But to my surprise, he was awake. Long story short: by the time we met,
breakfast naturally became lunch. It unfolded at Kulture House Dubai, a place I had seen on your Instagram stories earlier that morning.
Trying to navigate the GPS in my Mini, miniature from the outside, yet vast inside, as I like to say, I saw Tomislav redirecting cars that wanted to park in the space he was saving for me. These feel-like grand gestures disguised as small moments. I was, once again, grateful for my circle. It has become tiny over the years, natural selection at its finest, or simply the reality that as we grow older, our tolerance for nonsense thins.
As I was about to open the door of Kulture House Dubai, I noticed the handle was shaped like a giraffe. You know a giraffe has always been my favorite animal, somehow tied to that stargazing scene from the Seychelloise Diaries I previously sent you, the one I keep referencing. Perhaps it is a sign?
Inside, I wandered through a place that felt like a poem. Stitched together from the fragments of every journey my heart could have ever taken. Stepping through the blue, Indian-inspired archway, I could almost hear the soft sigh of doors opening onto memories not yet lived. This once-sleeping villa on Jumeirah Beach Road has been reborn into a melting pot of tastes and colors. I felt as if I was being carried gently from one corner of the world to another, without ever leaving Dubai. Every mosaic, every pattern tells a story, just like the souvenirs tucked lovingly on the shelves, regional designers, beautiful memorabilia, whispering of places seen and places dreamed.
And oh, the way they’ve breathed life into every corner, Moroccan yellow doors, tiles sourced from Lisbon and Capri, handpicked touches humming with the soul of faraway lands. The space isn’t merely a café, or a concept store, or an art gallery, it is a possibility for everything you’d ever wanted it to be. A home away from home. Each table feels like a bookmark in the story of the world. Over coffee and laughter, one might just taste home in every sip and a certain belonging in every breath.
Just as we were finishing lunch, and somehow chatting with the table next to us that was exactly tasting their homes through every bite, a lady asked whether I was the owner. I laughed loudly. “What made you think that?” I asked.
“The way you interacted with the staff. You look like you belong here.”
“I feel like I do,” Tomislav and I replied almost at the same time.
“I need to tell Asma I loved this place,” I told our waiter.
“Oh, she’s not here today, sir, but we’ll tell her,” he said.
“Why would she be here on a random Sunday? What are the odds?” I wondered aloud.
“Because this is her concept, sir, that she created with her childhood’s best friend Shiekha Jawahir Al Maktoum.”
And that, my dear Asma, is how I realized that Kulture House Dubai… is your house. Suddenly, everything made perfect sense. Every detail, every color, every piece of that magical mosaic in Jumeirah.
From your Kulture House, with Love,
Milo
