After Hours

A fat guy in a tight black vest and with the hairiest shoulders outside of the simian world has, in his stupor, collapsed on the Roman Emperor's foot, prompting a security man to escort him outside. Two green-haired witches in mini-skirts look on as they tuck into their pizzas. I look at my watch. It's almost 4.45am and the night - or, rather, morning - has taken a surreal twist.

The plan was to find out whether Dubai was a 24-hour city. Where could insomniacs, clubbers and wannabe vampires go when the last bar had shut for the night? Where could you eat, relax, and maybe check your email in the hours when most people are safely tucked up in bed?

I had low expectations. Friends said I'd end up circling the aisles of Spinneys like a chronically indecisive food shopper, or that I'd end up sleeping on a park bench, vagrant-style. How wrong they were.

My assignment starts off sedately enough at the Serayeh Café in Bur Dubai. In order to remain wide-awake, I decide to pump an obscene amount of caffeine into my system and order triple espresso. The place is pretty busy, even at this time.

I ask a young Dutch couple smoking a sheesha at the table next to me if they want to join me on my nocturnal mission. I could do with some company. They seem a little perturbed by the offer — as though I have made them some sort of inappropriate proposal — and hurriedly collect their bill. "Lightweights," I mutter to myself as they leave. "Weirdo", they reply - or maybe it's just caffeine-induced paranoia.

As I head out into the night I notice that Burger King up the road is doing brisk business. Hungry as I am, I decide to give it a miss. After a triple espresso I need something at least vaguely healthy, so I head for a billiards hall I've heard about in Hor Al Anz that serves fresh fruit juices.

At Emirates Billiards Centre a waitress - there are three in immaculate uniform, who'd have thought it in Hor Al Anz? - comes over and takes my order.

I claim a table, choose a cue and rack up the balls. It's been a while since I played billiards. I can't help thinking of Tom Cruise in the film The Color of Money, whirling his Balabushka cue around like a samurai warrior. That kind of thing probably wouldn't go down too well in here, but after the triple espresso, who knows what I'm capable of?

I've been playing alone for almost ten minutes and am thinking of switching to the video games instead, when I get offered a game by Majid, a 28-year-old Lebanese guy who lives a few streets away. I ask him why he isn't in bed like normal people. He says he's just finished the late shift at a restaurant in Deira and doesn't feel tired. We agree to play the best of five frames, with the winner buying the loser a fruit juice. Fast Eddie Felson would be proud.

Majid is a wily opponent but I manage to beat him thanks to a couple of flukes on the eight-ball. It's time to move on. I slurp down my prize juice, say farewell to Majid and, with several young Emirati guys still at the tables showing no signs of fatigue, off I go into the night.

The food court at the arrivals lounge of Dubai Airport is almost empty. I sit down and observe a Filipino family who are clearly excited about being reunited with some friend or family member, but the warm glow this gives me quickly fades. The place is soulless and a security man is giving me funny looks. I leave the airport alone and devoid of luggage, looking for all the world like I've been stood up.

Next up it's the legendary Al Mallah's on Diyafah Street. Although most of the restaurants here have closed, Al Mallah's is open until around 4am. There are three people in the restaurant.

I talk to Ohmid, an Iranian who has called in for a snack before going home. When I ask him where he has spent the night he shoots me a lascivious grin andhis English strangely deserts him. Maybe some things are best left unsaid.

After a few minutes I'm the sole diner and the waiters are looking at me with a mixture of sympathy and bemusement. Time to move on.

The French Bakery in Satwa is a Dubai institution and is open 24 hours. It's empty when I get there, aside from the staff, who are a little too eager to attend to me. The cakes and pastries look delicious, but I've had my sugar quota for the week thanks to the fruit cocktail. Despite my aching knees, I can't possibly sit down at a table without buying anything so, to the visible disgust of the staff, after several minutes of inspecting the cakes, I buy a small bottle of water — and leave. It's been hours since I checked my emails, so I decide to head for Kinkos in Bur Dubai. It's open 24-hours and has internet access.

At Kinkos I check my email and log on to Facebook. A mystified friend in the UK asks me why I'm awake at this time, and tells me to get a life.

I'm really starting to flag now. But first to my final stop: Zaatar W Zeit on Shaikh Zayed Road.

If Dubai isn't quite a 24-hour city yet, nobody told the Lebanese community. Sleep is apparently anathema for arguably the Middle East's most notorious hedonists. Zaatar W Zeit is so busy I have to wait five minutes for a seat.

When finally I am directed to a table something doesn't feel quite right. Standing in front of me is a cape-wearing Roman emperor, holding a sceptre, and a Japanese geisha. Next to them stand two women with short skirts and fluorescent green hair.

At first I think they're the victims of a botched bleach job at a dodgy Karama hair salon. Then I remember it's Halloween and they've probably just been to a fancy dress party. This is confirmed when two Michael Jackson lookalikes stroll in. I try hard not to stare, but it's no good.

I order a kashkawan cheese manakeesh and sit back to enjoy the spectacle. One man enters the restaurant and clumsily barges into the geisha, who is beautiful.

It is plainly obvious that this "accident" is nothing but a tactless ice-breaker, since he quickly apologises and asks her where she's from. Distinctly unimpressed, she turns her back on him. "Nee-hao-mah?"he blurts, as cringe-making as he is culturally clueless.

I collect the bill. Zataar W Zeit is still full, the music is still booming and flashy cars continue to pull up outside, disgorging well-dressed twenty-somethings. For some, the night is still young, but I need some serious shut-eye and in any case what started off as a serious journalistic assignment has descendedinto farce.

Clearly Dubai's insomniacs don't have it easy. Places to go between the hours of 2am and 6am are few and far between. But in any case that will be of little concern to most residents. According to a recent survey, most of us - 68 per cent - don't spend anywhere near enough time in bed as we'd like to.

If New York is the city that never sleeps, Dubai seems content to be known as the city that doesn't sleep enough.