The heritage village, abu dhabi
The Heritage Village in Abu Dhabi was like stepping into another time. We went in the summer, which meant it was scorching hot, the kind of heat that wraps around you like a blanket. Just outside was the water—boats and yachts drifting, people enjoying their rides. To my surprise, there was even a movie shoot happening nearby, cameras capturing the prettiest parts of Abu Dhabi.
Inside the village, the first thing that caught my eye was the textile section. I watched how they wove Abu Dhabi–styled bags and cloth, the kind you could hang on walls with camels stitched into them and the city’s name written across. Each piece was colorful, precise, and full of life. Flowers, camels, shapes—woven with such care it made me think about how much love and patience must go into every single thread.
There was another section displaying brass and copper utensils used long ago—though some people still use them today. Beautifully crafted tea kettles with long spouts, delicate cups, genie-shaped bottles, and intricately carved plates. Everything felt intentional, designed not just for function but for beauty. It gave me perspective—how cultures across the world hold on to different everyday objects as art, even in something as simple as a kettle.
A seating area showed another part of the culture. Colorful mattresses lined the floor, mostly in reds with embroidery, and soft cushions to lean back on. Small tables were placed in between for tea and food. The setup felt communal, meant for ten or more people at a time—designed for gathering, sharing, talking, living together.
The part that stayed with me most was the women’s shelter. A house, built decades ago, where women once worked together. Even today, a woman sat inside, sewing, dressed in the traditional clothes worn 70–80 years ago. It wasn’t just the abaya but also a face covering that framed her forehead, nose, and mouth. She welcomed us warmly, serving us dates and tea as soon as we arrived.
The tea came in small cups, almost like shot glasses, poured from the tall Arabic kettles. She explained a custom I’ll never forget: never fill the cup to the top. Pouring it three-quarters full means you want your guest to return. Filling it completely means you’re asking them to leave soon. She smiled as she poured ours just right, then told us about the history of the space, the significance of the clothes, the mats, and the traditions. I felt her warmth deeply—she wasn’t just hosting us, she was embodying generations of women who had gathered there before.
Nearby, camels rested lazily in the shade, looking like they had no worries at all. Watching them, I realized how little animals care about politics, money, or ambition. They just exist. For a second I felt sorry for them—maybe they don’t get to explore much—but then again, maybe they don’t need to. Maybe life is just about being.
In yoga, they say the difference between animals and humans is that animals live entirely by their instincts, while humans have the ability to rise above them. To grow, to seek something higher, maybe even enlightenment. But not everyone does. Some people stay close to instinct, to their habits. Still, I think there’s peace in choosing kindness—to ourselves, to strangers, to the world. Maybe that’s where we truly rise.
Walking through Heritage Village was like walking through time, culture, and philosophy all at once. I left with more than just memories of crafts and camels—I left with questions about how we live, what we value, and how simple things, made with care, can carry entire histories.
