Outside town was the camel racetrack, so wide the far side was barely visible. The jockeys were young boys, the mounts bred and nurtured as carefully as any nag - sometimes with help from Australian veterinarians. A hundred metres from the viewing stand, set against the endless undulating dunes, in the full glare of the sun, another sign heralded the Private Place for Ladies.

One clue to local women's scope for self fulfilment came when my phone began to ring after hours. After a few suppressed giggles, the call would cut off - cloistered Arab women chasing vicarious thrills. Yet I have a press clipping which reports: "Jail, flogging for man who harassed housewife on phone"...

Undoubtedly Gulf women still suffer constraints unimaginable to their Western sisters. Even so, the story of one older woman, reported in the local press, was a salutary reminder of much tougher times. Hamda Al Hamili gave thanks that the days of hard labour are gone forever, toiling under the blazing sun to refill the water tanks of the pearling dhows, are gone forever. She did treasure fond memories too: of traditional dancing in the moonlight amidst the sand dunes; of the fierce code of honour which prevailed along the Pirate Coast.