If you are merely a millionaire, you will find no place among its billionaire investors. At best, you might manage to rent a modest shop in one of its malls. This is Canary Wharf—the compressed version of Dubai in our Arab world.
Strolling through its streets, you will not find a single old house to remind you of the past, nor a restaurant or café with the slightest local flavour along the roadside. The buildings all look as though they were handed over fully furnished just two hours ago. Towering skyscrapers dominate the landscape, forming a maze that cuts into the sky. On its outskirts, there are modern, compact houses with gardens that seem almost artificial, their leaves never falling, even in the depths of winter. While Europe’s trees are usually stripped bare in this season, giving rise to a sombre atmosphere, Canary Wharf remains perpetually lush, its green spaces seamlessly integrated among the soaring towers.
It is said to be Europe’s largest business city—a place where local and international investors have everything at their fingertips. Almost every global bank has a branch here, though, of course, none from Egypt. Amusingly, there is a building bearing the name ‘Habib Bank’ in English. Upon closer inspection, it turns out to be a Swiss bank that just happens to carry such a name.
For those like me, whose familiarity with global brands is limited, Canary Wharf can feel overwhelming. It is as though every fashion, clothing, restaurant, and café brand from around the world has converged here to showcase its might. These brands seem to dominate every mall, repeating themselves in a pattern of extravagance.
Walking the streets of Canary Wharf evokes a sense of the Arabian Gulf, with its ostentation and excessive spending. Porsches and Ferraris cruise the streets, which are nearly devoid of pedestrians, in stark contrast to the crowded malls teeming with people of all nationalities. Here, you might overhear snatches of Arabic, Hindi, Turkish, and Russian, followed once again by Arabic—more specifically, Gulf dialects. Finally, you might hear someone speaking English with a native accent, making you feel a surprising pang of nostalgia for the locals, even though you are a foreigner, just like everyone else.
The city was built on the remnants of an old riverside dock along the historic Thames. In the past, the area was known primarily as a maintenance zone for trade ships navigating these ancient waters. It is claimed that the redesign of the site was meant to honour its maritime history. Perhaps. Yet, a keen observer would find it hard to discern any traces of that heritage.
The small, old docks integrated into the city’s new design have been transformed to suit ‘modern times’. Instead of functioning waterways, they now resemble oversized swimming pools, with a few boats left trapped within, like lifeless decorative pieces. The owners of these vessels are not maritime workers at all; they are millionaires, obsessed with rejecting natural living. They have formed insular communities in these water basins, accessible only to those who can afford to purchase these outrageously expensive boats and use them as homes.
For devout Muslims, Canary Wharf poses no challenge. Despite its compact size—it takes just five minutes to walk from east to west—it boasts six mosques. Friday sermons are delivered in English by an imam ill-suited for such a delicate role. He frequently forgets the verses he recites during prayers, jumping haphazardly to others, with no one able to correct him.
In many ways, Canary Wharf mirrors Dubai. It is multinational, heavily populated with Indians, absurdly wealthy, and unapologetically ostentatious. This resemblance becomes all the more apparent when you learn that Europe’s—and perhaps the world’s—largest investment city owes much of its existence to the investments and construction efforts of Saudi Prince Alwaleed bin Talal.
This article is originally published by AlBorsa in Arabic and later AI-translated by South Push.