That behaviour stands in sharp contrast to my own life since I became a smartphone owner nearly twenty years ago. Desert-dwellers do not hear a beep, read a message, follow a link and fall into a rabbit hole, only to wake up on YouTube hours later—unable to recall why.

I do, but I try to improve.

I am no longer one of those people who put off things until the last minute. These days, without pause, delay or hesitation, I instead procrastinate.

Now, THAT is what I call progress.

The Emiratis were also happy about their dunes, but for a different reason; one that had little to do with tranquillity.

Most Emiratis are what one might call regular, highly likeable people leading ordinary lives, far removed from the Oil Sheikh stereotype. But ‘most’ is not ‘all’, and the reputation of the Gulf Arab has not been conjured out of thin air.

The density of young males, ostensibly unburdened by fiscal woes, is high. The poorer among these will by default have a Rolex Submariner shining from their wrist—the more well-to-do something more respectable, such as an Audemars Piguet or a Patek Philippe.

Additionally, wealth is expressed through cars. The well-to-do Emirati likes their sports cars, and as with the timepieces, those of middling resources typically settle for some flavour of Porsche. Proper wealth, however, is more appropriately expressed through a Bugatti, a Maybach or a Koenigsegg of an unapologetic colour.

But the Emirati has a utilitarian streak to him and likes to keep an offroad vehicle, too. Unlike the European SUV-owner, who drives his car as if it was made of fine crystal, the Emirati has no need for paved surfaces.

‘Dune bashing’ is to Emiratis what skiing is to Norwegians; to those unfamiliar with the expression ‘dune bashing’, it is descriptive of a wide range of irresponsible driving malpractices in the desert.

At first, this was unusual to me. Still, after a time, I concluded that it would be wrong to dismiss this form of recreation purely based on its verifiable insanity.

Instead, I joined the Emiratis in their regard for sand driving and their disregard for their insurance companies.

The worst type of winter is the one that offers near-perpetual downpour, grey skies, short days and around-zero temperatures. That, incidentally, is the type of winter we have in Belgium – and indeed in most of the northern part of continental Europe.

Now, spring is never quite as far away here as it is back home in Norway. Still, the next two months will offer plenty of time and opportunity to reflect on the Belgian winter relative to that of other places; places that this winter will remain out of bounds.

I lived in Arabia for some years. There, I learned of another winter; a winter of pleasant temperatures, clear skies, perpetual sun, deserted beaches and indoor ski slopes.

So, as I ushered out 2020 by paying tribute to the nature of Belgium, I will work myself through the Belgian winter by reminiscing over warmer, sunnier days on the Arabian peninsula.

Initially, it had been my intention to spend only four weeks working in the United Arab Emirates. But, as time passed, one project turned into another and another until at the end of four years I was still there.

It was the nature that fascinated me the most about the Emirates. And, when talking about nature in Arabia, the mind quickly turns to the desert.

Desert is not the only type of nature in the Emirates, as I shall proceed to demonstrate over the next days and weeks—but admittedly the most prominent.

For that reason, I will start in the desert, with a sunrise view from the top of one of the vast sand dunes that mark the start of the Rub’ al Khali—the Empty Quarter—of the great Arabian Desert.

The sand dunes here are two-three hundred meters tall, creating an ever-shifting mountain landscape of red, orange, yellow, brown and grey sand that is set on fire by the sunrise and the sunset.

So, right now, while the rain is drizzling down on the Belgian winter dawn, join me here, albeit, for the moment, figuratively rather than literally.