Tag Archives: gardening in Dubai

Flowers, cameras and whistles

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Last weekend my parents were with us, and as part of our entertainment schedule, I took them to Dubai’s Miracle Garden – a 72,000-square-metre riot of colour, growing on what was previously parched desert.

Sprouting just minutes from where we live, the Miracle Garden opened back in February, with 45 million flowers and topiary-style displays fashioned into hearts, pyramids, maypoles, igloos, birds and stars. It occurred to me when we first visited in March that the garden was really quite barmy – rather like walking round a giant hanging basket, or a set from Alice in Wonderland.

On our first visit, we found out what a giant breast implant made of petunias would look like; strolled under pergolas decorated with colourful garlands; and marvelled at the number of things they’d thought to do with the same flower.

"Mum, why has the car got grass growing out of it?"

“Mum, why has the car got grass growing out of it?”

But we’d had an enjoyable visit, so back we went last week, to see what they’d unveiled for the new season.

Well, what can I say? There’s a floral clock, an edible garden, displays made from Hannah Montana umbrellas, giant peacocks, vertical cars buried in flower beds (curiouser and curiouser) and houses covered in blooms.

A couple of different varieties of flower have even been added to the kaleidoscope of colour, as well as refreshment outlets serving ice cream, coffee, juices and the like.

Having paid the entry fee (Dhs 20 for everyone over the age of three), we stepped inside and realised immediately we’d chosen a busy day – the number of people, and cameras, meant the garden was quite literally crawling with life. But not only that, you quickly become aware that you’re being followed.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you step too close to the flowers, and the whistle-blowing starts. Woe-betide if you’ve come with a youngster who stops to smell the flowers. There’s a small army of over-enthusiastic, menacing guards, prowling round the garden, whistles at the ready, waiting to pounce on anyone who thinks this is just a park.

It’s not a park, they want us to know. It’s a work of art and while you’re free to enjoy the prettiness – and madness – of it all, you must.not.touch.

Looking around, I see a pregnant lady sitting on the grass, resting her weary feet, only to have a whistle blown at her by a guard clearly corrupted by all that power. Less than a minute later, I see another member of the visitor resistance jump out from behind the petunias to scare off a group of people looking too closely at the flowers.

A children’s play area and butterfly garden are promised, but we didn’t actually find them and ended up distracting our kids from the flowers by showing them the model elephants and giraffes over the fence, at the Dubai Properties office. The ice cream helped too.

If you go (joining the million people expected to visit this season), I have a few words of advice: pick a quiet day when the photo-taking petunia paparazzi aren’t out in force, and, above all, stick to the rules.

More information at: Miracle Garden Dubai

Our first visit: Dubai Miracle Garden

When the gardeners go berserk

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It’s no secret that in Dubai, most expat households enjoy perks in the form of housemaids and gardeners. It’s something that before you move to the UAE, you think you’d never partake in. Then, after a few months of living in our desert bubble, your long-held notions of self-sufficiency fly out the window.

We’ve had the same gardeners for four years now, which must be the equivalent of about a century in gardening years as most people change landscapers pretty frequently.

I’ve actually grown quite attached to our gardeners. They might have very little English and even less gardening knowledge, but they’re nice to my children, they’ve kept our garden not just alive but manicured in extreme temperatures for four summers, and, let’s not forget, they toil in the heat, with beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads.

They also have very few tools; I’ve watched them planting with their hands, literally scrabbling around in the dirt with their fingers, and have run out to offer them my trowel. When we asked them to prune some tall trees, we discovered their employer doesn’t equip them with a ladder either.

But it never ceases to amaze me what they can achieve with such rudimentary equipment. “We stand on the wall and cut as high as our hands can reach,” the head gardener from Pakistan, who speaks the most English, told me with a grin. And, somehow, this balancing act resulted in our trees being shorn into lollipops.

So, I should have known, when he mentioned to me yesterday that he was going to do some trimming on my favourite tree, that he’d get carried away. I turned my back for five minutes, while getting ready for Son2’s party, and, in that time, he must have grown scissorhands with a high-speed-bordering-on-massacre setting. Scalped is the only word for it.

Oh well, I guess it'll grow back.

The hack-job: Oh well, I guess it’ll grow back in a year or so

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“A Damas tree ate my house”

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I’ve posted before about turning the desert green and, despite not having green fingers myself, it’s been a real joy watching our garden grow over the past three years.

One of my favourite plants: our eye-popping bougainvillea

And grow it did, from humble sandpit beginnings into a fully-hedged, little oasis of green – helped by an automatic irrigation system that turns sprinklers on twice a day (“rain”, as the children hopefully call it) and drips water onto the thirsty flower beds.

As well as a real grassy lawn and some hardy plants, the other thing that completed our sand lot’s transformation into a lush garden was a wall of trees along the back boundary.

“We’ll plant ten trees,” the landscapers told us (omitting to tell us that they’d position the saplings less than ten inches apart).

“Very fast-growing trees. Very green,” he said, making bushy shapes with his hands.

The tree he was referring to is native to the Arabian Peninsula, has been planted (inexpensively) in communities all over Dubai, and does indeed shoot up to the sky rather like Jack’s beanstalk.

Called Damas trees, they can grow up to 15 metres high and in our garden certainly provided a lot of green foliage, as well as attracting birds and salamanders.

Hedge fund: Our unstoppable, leafy Damas trees, heading upwards at a rapid rate


We weren’t aware of the huge problems these trees can cause until they hit the media a little while ago – and killed my friend’s lawn (right behind us) due to totally blocking out the sun.

The Damas root system, it turns out, is so aggressive in seeking out water and nutrients that it can strangle underground pipes, crack walls, choke drains and stop other plants from growing.

You only have to do a quick search on Google to read headlines such as “A Damas tree ate my house” and to find out that a “Protect your home from Damas tree disaster campaign” was launched recently by a community management company.

Worried, I dug deeper online and on an expat forum read about a villa with 60 Damas trees that had “grown under the ground, around the pool, under our house foundations and are trying to come up in our central hallway,” cracking tiles.

Another post described how Damas roots had infiltrated their downstairs bathroom: “One day, I opened the cupboard under the sink to get some new toothbrushes out for the kids and found a lovely tree inside. The roots were also growing under the bath and had completely cracked the tub,” the post read.

Is it just me, or does this all sound like The Day of the Triffids to you?

I asked our gardeners, the very same people who landscaped our garden with the trees in the first place. “Yes, very bad,” they nodded – and it was agreed they’d topple half of them and prune the rest.

I’m pleased to say, the job is now done. Our Damas trees have been thwarted (for the time being), our neighbour’s lawn can see the light of day, and – after the gardeners went completely nuts with the saw – we’re left with…

Five lollipops!

Rasputin trees: You can’t simply lop the tree off above the ground as it just grows back, leading people to take extreme measures. One person I heard about chopped a Damas tree down, drilled a big hole in the middle of the trunk, poured petrol down and burnt the stump!

On a prettier note, you’d be amazed at the flora and fauna that grows in Dubai, creating explosions of colour in our desert garden