24H in Abu Dhabi

I 'll tell you how it went. I was going to Bali. But before starting this trip, I made a 24-hour stopover in the United Arab Emirates.

July 9, 2025: I leave for the airport, Tchoupi in my arms. Talleyrand said that "if it goes without saying, it will be even better saying it": I will miss my son. He is a little like that with me. It is 9:00 in the morning, I take off around 11:00.

I'm surprised, but I'm taking off from Terminal 2 in Nice, with Etihad. I know this terminal well. I like to drink my coffee upstairs with the view overlooking the runway. The morning light dazzles the immense window separating me from the tarmac. I think it's my plane waiting for me there in front of me. This machine is majestic, a giant whose wings don't prevent it from moving. Soon it will be in its place, where borders no longer exist, above everything and nowhere, in an ocean of possibilities, nestled above hundreds of thousands of ants who don't hear it, sheltering travelers who forget their vertigo.

I watch the morning fade into the romantic setting of the airport, and from time to time I glance at the display board. Without even having had the chance to see a Go to gate, I suddenly find myself facing a line that is far too clear, without nuances, which nonchalantly announces a tragic CLOSED . I know this irremediable status only too well, having already ostentatiously missed a flight (return, rather cool when you consider that I was not very motivated by the desire to return).

So I started running, to get through customs as quickly as possible, and I did. I rushed to the boarding gate, throwing my coffee at arm's length, risking spilling it on myself at any moment. There I found staff who informed me that the display was an error and that they had just requested a correction. Soon Boarding was displayed and allowed me to begin the first part of the journey.

There's nothing to remember about this most ordinary 6-hour flight that brought me to Abu Dhabi, where I would spend the next 24 hours. Except for starting to read a masterpiece I'd found on the shelves of a bookstore a few days earlier. When I booked my plane tickets on the Etihad website, they offered me one or two nights in a hotel, free of charge, on both sides. I opted for a night on the outward journey. I figured a short break would allow me to catch my breath and arrive in Bali less tired. And it would be an opportunity to take a trip to a city I don't plan on spending my vacation in, why not? I'll go see the famous immaculate Sheikh Zayed Mosque, home to the most Instagrammable photos of many social media users.

I arrived at the hotel late in the afternoon, which was highly overrated on Google. I got out of the taxi and entered a not-so-large lobby with a rather masculine atmosphere. I told myself it was only okay for one night. I went up to the seventh floor where my room was. The hallways smelled of damp. The room was clean and in its original state. I had imagined it to be more modern.

The first thing I do is video call my son. And then I hit a wall: calls and video chats are refused via WhatsApp from the UAE. I then ask my son's father to add me on Instagram to do the video chat. We then become "friends" what a paradox. The attempt is futile, calls and video chats are also blocked there. I find myself leaving voices for my son. I feel caught off guard. I quickly check if it's the same in Indonesia. Phew no: no such restrictions. Okay, it'll be fine, you're here for 24 hours.

I take a shower and go out. I ask where the neighborhood is where I can dine outside and go out. I'm directed toward the Corniche. I imagine a seaside with people on terraces. Sometimes I realize afterward that I'm completely off the mark. So I walk along these immense, almost empty streets, intrigued. Happy to be somewhere else. To walk without really knowing where I'm going. There are almost only men in the street, on the lawns, on the benches, at the pedestrian crossings. The city has a New York feel, but with something missing. It's damn hot this early evening. I imagine the Corniche by the sea. That's what I've almost understood. So when I see a sign telling me that my direction is on the boulevard on the left, I take the long avenue that stretches out in front of me because it smells of the sea. Of iodine.

I walk until I take an underpass to cross the dual carriageway, where the atmosphere is stifling. I find myself facing a beach that exists only in my imagination. The sea borders the roadway. The beach is elsewhere. The Corniche is a neighborhood on a parallel road. I head there, always looking for a corner where I'll run into peers. I finally understand that the restaurants are in the malls. I rush into the World Trade Center and go up to an Irish Pub, The Irish Vickers . The restaurant Chagpt recommended no longer exists (the now defunct Back Yard Bistro). Too bad, I'm hungry. They smoke inside. I don't smoke. The fries are exquisite, the burger too. I drink a Negroni, it's often my first choice when it's not a Spritz. I don't really want to be there. I watch the men play pool, darts. The only female presence is serving.

Soon I'll be back to my deserted streets, wandering, happy to be outside and free. I stop at a Starbucks at 1:00 a.m. to get an iced coffee. I don't know if I want to go to bed, but I don't want to wake up late, so I might as well enjoy myself and see what there is to see.

That night I fell asleep easily. I slept really well. The sheets were satiny, I love that.

As soon as I'm awake and ready, I grab a coffee to go at the Italian restaurant, the hotel. Then I jump into a taxi parked in front of the Sheikh Zayed Mosque.

I dressed in traditional Moroccan attire , a djellaba brought for the occasion. A beige outfit, classic there. The illusion was short-lived. I was quickly told that my arms and ankles would have to be completely covered to visit the famous. Upon my arrival at this majestic place which stands in the middle of a stiflingly hot desert, I got out of the taxi and rushed into a mall. A glass capsule signified an escalator, which lowered me into an abyss of air conditioning. Everything was there: Tim Hortons, Starbucks, Hagendaaz. I complied and bought one of the most affordable outfits. There was something for all tastes and all prices.

Soon I'll be walking down those endless, airport-like corridors, where I'll notice I also have to wear a hood and cover my hair. The injustice quickly hits me. The men wear shorts and short sleeves, and I won't even mention their hair. I play along. I walk the corridors, captivated by the architecture and the pristine white. The building is so hot, how is it possible, if only it were? I quickly notice that prayer bows to the staging. Everyone poses as if it brings them closer to something higher. I don't know if we're more interested in elevating our souls and faith amidst these cursive letters or our number of followers.

I do the same, I take a few photos. I step forward in front of the largest carpet in the world with the faces I imagine kneeling, weaving it. Each one files for their frame, I step forward and pray in silence. No, I'm not shirking any form of practice or religion, I remember how lucky I am to be here and to be free. I'm grateful for the hours and lifetimes of work that allow my eyes to marvel and the little girl to believe she's in Aladdin's land. I quickly leave. I'm dying to take off the hood, which I quickly do when I find myself back in the long corridors of the mall. In the taxi, I take off my outfit and put it in my bag. A few hours later, I'll offer it to a waitress in the Louvre café where I'll have an iced tea. This gesture will receive a smile worth a thousand.

I ask the driver to drop me off at this museum named after ours. Patriotic, yes, without fail. I remember the alley that borders the museum named after our former president, Mr. Jacques Chirac. I am surprised, then I remember the historic works of this gentleman as well as his firmness. The man.

A work of art then stretches out before me once again. A modern and open architecture. I buy an entrance ticket that costs me AED 65, or about €15.

I quickly head to a snack bar in the inner courtyard. I'm a little hungry, having only had a quick coffee in the morning. The heat is oppressive. I order a veggie panini and a fruit salad. The prices are reasonable for the place. It even surprises me a little. There's a slight breeze, it's really pleasant. I sit down and read a little. I've outrageously started reading What I Know About You on the Plane. I've devoured this book so far. The writing is exceptionally agile; the author Eric Chacour has written a masterpiece. The form as well as the content of this book captivated me with its beauty and subtlety in the face of such a plain subject.

I'm taking advantage, my flight is late tonight. I have time and I like to take it. I received an internal call, initially surprised to see the United Arab Emirates code displayed on my phone, I picked up, distracted. It was the airline Ethiad, a flight attendant took the time to call me to inform me, or rather remind me because it had been several days since an email had notified me, of the one-hour delay to my flight this evening. What service!

I thanked her and hung up. I have time. I quickly start calculating what time I should leave my hotel tonight, located an hour from the airport.

Then I visit the Louvre. It's always surprising to find French works (corpo, eh, always) on an international scale. Manet, Picasso.

Ancient art takes on an unprecedented modesty. No woman or man in Adam's costume. Eve made no show .

The museum takes on a modern look, with cute quotes here and there, and subtly embraces a form of conservatism. The subtlety is in what isn't staged. Often. Always.

I ended my visit with a trip to the children's museum. Spectacular. I loved it. I immediately said to myself, "I have to bring my son here." There's an entire area dedicated to astronomy that's worth the detour. It's interactive, fun, and immersive.

In my opinion, the museum is worth a visit if you have a layover in Abu Dhabi. I must admit that at one point during the day, I wondered how much time I had left here, hoping I hadn't made a mistake and would be able to take off that same evening. 24 hours was enough for me. I felt like I had seen what I had to see, and I wanted to go elsewhere.

Around 6:00 PM, I took an unexpected taxi in front of my hotel. I didn't know that my trip, the one I had come for, would start right there, in that cabin.

I decided to wear a T-shirt my son made for the occasion, which features "Have a good trip, Mom" and some childish drawings. He's with me. Always.

I met my driver, Denis, and we started talking about the moon, life, and where we came from. The conversation eventually turned to discussing the motivations for my solo trip to Bali.

I told him, as succinctly as sincerely, that I had come to seek a form of peace that I could no longer find at home (in France?)

Denis told me in the simplest and most accurate words that I would find peace nowhere else but within myself. “Peace is within you.”

At that moment my ego wanted to reply: "Seriously, did I start this whole journey to hear myself say that ?" Deep down I already knew, and his words only raised the beginning of an awareness. The beginning of a journey.

We talked, I told him what was hurting me about where I came from. The car stopped in front of the terminal. The disappointments. Parked in the space reserved for quickly dropping off a passenger. I left home with a touch of despair in my heart, a touch that weighed heavily. Toward human beings. I kept meeting people who disappointed me, who lacked clarity, commitment, sincerity, authenticity, spontaneity. Everything that makes up the very essence of true exchanges, of true relationships. I felt alien to the world around me. Too whole, naive, imbued with values that no longer resonate anywhere. I said to myself as I began this journey, I hope that elsewhere there are still human beings who have a voice, values, beliefs. I hope that elsewhere there are still connections through hearts, an essential truth. No feigned, calculated, ephemeral relationships. Mirages. I was looking for a rainbow. A clue that would help me hold on, to allow me to remain myself in this crazy world that rejects the unexpected. In this individualistic and sometimes cruel world where I no longer felt truly understood, a kid who had been taught to be true to her word and who found herself in the middle of a poker game, or worse, a casino. I had no business being there.

While traveling, I changed my focus. I zoomed out, and finally, seen from a little higher up, when we set sail, many things become as insignificant as they really are.

I walked up to the counter and dropped off my heaviest bag. With a lighter step, I passed through security and embarked on a journey where nothing was planned, but everything seemed to be waiting for me.

More coming soon...

To find all the live videos of my trip, go to my Instagram account in the stories highlighted.