A Day at Al Safa Park: The Place Where I Fell in Love with Dubai

For the past three years, I have been living in the United Arab Emirates, primarily in Abu Dhabi. Moving to a new country is never easy, but one of the greatest gifts this experience has given me is the opportunity to explore places I never imagined I would see and meet people I never expected to know.

I have always been an adventurous person. Whenever I have the chance, I love discovering new places, wandering through unfamiliar streets, and finding hidden corners that tell stories of their own. Fortunately for me, Dubai is filled with free-spirited individuals who share the same curiosity and love for exploration. Through one of these wonderful people, I found not only a friend but also a guide—someone who introduced me to the side of the UAE that most tourists never see.

The quieter Dubai

When people think of Dubai, they usually think of towering skyscrapers, luxury shopping malls, and world-famous attractions. While those places are certainly impressive, they are not what captured my heart. I am talking about the quieter places: libraries filled with endless stories, cozy bookshops hidden between busy streets, vintage stores carrying pieces of forgotten history, local restaurants serving food made with love, and, most importantly, parks.

As an earth sign, I have always felt a deep connection to nature. Green spaces bring me peace in a way that few other places can. There is something magical about sitting beneath a tree, listening to the wind move through the leaves, and feeling disconnected from the noise of everyday life. Parks have always been my sanctuary, regardless of which country I am in.

Three dirhams at the gate

One Sunday, my friend decided to take me to the Al Safa Art and Design Library. The library itself was beautiful. It was peaceful, inspiring, and filled with creativity. We spent hours browsing books, admiring the architecture, and enjoying the calm atmosphere. However, as wonderful as the library was, it is not the main reason I am telling this story.

After our visit, my friend smiled and said she had another place to show me. Knowing how much I love nature and open spaces, she suggested we head to Al Safa Park.

At the entrance, we paid a small fee of three dirhams each for our tickets. It seemed almost unbelievable that such a small amount could grant access to a place so extraordinary. The moment I stepped inside, I was amazed.

Al Safa Park was unlike any park I had ever visited before.

The first thing that caught my attention was its sheer size. The landscape stretched endlessly before us. Vast green lawns rolled across the park, surrounded by towering trees and wide walking paths. The distance between the trees created a feeling of openness and freedom that I rarely experience in urban environments.

As we walked deeper into the park, my eyes wandered in every direction. Everywhere I looked, there was another beautiful corner waiting to be discovered. Families gathered under shaded areas, groups of friends laughed together, cyclists rode along the pathways, and children played freely on the grass.

We walked around for quite some time searching for the perfect spot to sit and enjoy the snacks we had bought from a nearby hypermarket. Eventually, we found a beautiful tree with wide branches casting a generous shade. We settled beneath it and simply lay down on the grass.

Despite the large number of visitors, the park felt remarkably peaceful. It was so spacious that voices seemed to disappear into the landscape. You could see hundreds of people around you, yet still feel as though you had a private corner of the world all to yourself.

For a long time, we sat there doing absolutely nothing—and somehow, it felt like everything.

We listened to the leaves rustling above us as the trees seemed to carry on quiet conversations with one another. We watched small birds hopping across the grass, searching for crumbs left behind by visitors. Every now and then, a gentle breeze would sweep through the park, brushing against our skin and carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers.

Time moved differently there.

As the afternoon passed, we began sharing stories about our childhoods and our journeys through life. My friend told me about her arrival in Dubai years ago. She spoke about the uncertainty she faced, the challenges she overcame, and the courage it took to build a life from nothing.

She described how she arrived with dreams but very little else. Through hard work, determination, and resilience, she slowly created a life she now loves. Listening to her story, I could hear the gratitude in her voice. Dubai had become more than a city to her; it had become a home she never knew could exist.

After resting for a while, we decided to continue exploring.

Decades under the same trees

As we wandered through the park, we came across two elderly women sitting together and enjoying cups of karak tea. They greeted us warmly, and before long, we found ourselves deep in conversation with them. They told us they were originally from Australia and had been living in Dubai since the 1990s. Their stories fascinated me.

It was through them that I learned Al Safa Park was one of Dubai's oldest and most beloved public parks. They spoke about the city's transformation over the decades and how the park had remained one of their favorite places throughout all those years.

They reminisced about arriving in Dubai in their early twenties and building their careers here. Every winter weekend, they would visit the park carrying homemade baked goods and fresh coffee. They would spend hours sitting beneath the trees, watching the city evolve around them while this familiar green space remained a constant part of their lives.

Their affection for the park was contagious. Honestly, I could not blame them. There was something timeless about the place. It seemed to hold not only nature but also decades of memories.

What the park keeps

As the afternoon slowly faded into evening, we continued our walk. The sky transformed into shades of orange, pink, and gold. The sunlight filtered through the trees, creating patterns on the ground that looked like pieces of art painted by nature itself.

With the approaching sunset came deeper conversations. My friend began speaking about a difficult chapter in her life—the end of a relationship that had once meant everything to her. As we walked side by side, she shared her struggles, her heartbreak, and the long process of healing.

At one point, I simply reached out and held her hand. There was nothing profound I could say that would make her pain disappear. Sometimes, presence is enough.

After a moment of silence, she looked ahead and quietly said, "I do not love him anymore." Those words stayed with me. Even now, whenever I think about Al Safa Park, I can almost hear them carried by the wind.

It is as though the park records every conversation, every laugh, every tear, and every memory entrusted to it. It keeps them safe among its trees, preserving them long after the people who shared them have gone home.

That day made me realize something beautiful: simply by existing, we become part of the world's story. We become part of the landscape around us. We become part of a living painting, a line in an unwritten poem, a memory carried forward by the wind.

After dark

As darkness slowly settled over the park, I experienced something I had never felt before. Safety.

Growing up, parks after sunset were not places where people lingered. In many countries, darkness changes everything. Trees become intimidating silhouettes. Empty pathways create uncertainty. Shadows seem larger than they really are. Anxiety quietly settles into the atmosphere, urging you to leave before night fully arrives.

But here, it was different. The park felt just as safe at night as it had in the morning.

Children were still running across the grass. Friends continued playing football. Families enjoyed evening walks beneath the lights. Laughter drifted through the air, replacing fear with comfort. The darkness was not something threatening; it was simply another layer of beauty.

What surrounded us was not danger but the warmth of a community. It was the feeling of belonging. It was the invisible sense of security that allowed people to fully enjoy the evening without hesitation.

And in that moment, I understood something. The feeling was similar to realizing you are in love with someone—not because of grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but because of the peace they bring into your life. Because of how safe they make you feel.

That night, I fell in love. I fell in love with Dubai.

I fell in love with the trees swaying gently in the darkness, the stars appearing one by one in the sky, the songs carried by the wind, and the countless stories hidden within the park's pathways. Most of all, I fell in love with the feeling that this city gives to so many people: the feeling that you can belong here, that you can build a life here, and that you can create memories that become part of the landscape itself.

And every time I think back to that Sunday at Al Safa Park, I remember that sometimes the most beautiful landmarks are not the ones advertised on postcards. Sometimes they are simply places where people gather, share stories, heal from old wounds, and discover a little more about themselves.

For me, Al Safa Park will always be one of those places.