The Most Beautiful Game of Catch I’ve Ever Lost
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
UAE BLOGS ONLY
Abijit Singh
8/19/20269 min read
So, butterflies… Probably some of the most beautiful and chilled-out creatures on the planet. Their entire life story is actually ridiculous when you think about it. They start off as these tiny, squishy, slightly questionable-looking things crawling around on leaves. We gave them the much nicer name of caterpillars—and, if you grew up in London, somehow also turned one into a famous cake... and lawsuit.
Looking at you, Colin.
Then, at some point, the caterpillar decides it's had enough of crawling around for a living. It wraps itself up, disappears for a while, and emerges with an entirely new body, enormous colourful wings and the sudden ability to fly gracefully through nature. Possibly the greatest glow-up in the animal kingdom. So when I discovered that Dubai had an entire place filled with them, there was absolutely no question about what my next little adventure was going to be.
My wife and I had just finished visiting the Gurdwara and, rather than heading home, made our way straight back in the other direction towards the Dubai Butterfly Garden. The entrance itself was beautiful—bright flowers, colourful decorations and greenery everywhere, immediately setting the scene for what was inside. But if I'm completely honest, I didn't care how pretty the entrance was. I had one objective. I wanted a butterfly to land on me.Actually, preferably two. I'd come all this way. I wanted the full Disney-princess experience.
As we stepped inside the main facility, we were immediately surrounded by greenery. Flowers and plants of all shapes, sizes and colours filled the space, with a clearly marked path leading us further into the garden. And then I heard it. Tooting. Apparently, I have now decided that every sound made by a small bird is called tooting. A few little birds—parrots, I believe—were calling out from their cages, fluttering from one side to the other and making sure everybody walking past knew they were there. They were beautiful, but I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for them. Watching them fly back and forth inside their relatively small cages, all I could think was, I really hope you guys get let out every once in a while. Even if their entire world was technically indoors, there was a huge garden surrounding them that looked far more exciting than the space they were currently shouting at us from. We carried on along the path, and that was when I started to realise just how big this place actually was. From the entrance, I had expected flowers, a room full of butterflies, maybe another room full of butterflies… this place just kept going.
We walked a little further in and, right in the centre, I spotted an enclosed section where people were actually holding the butterflies. Oooooo. Now we were talking. As I made my way around, a beautiful little black butterfly suddenly fluttered past me. I followed it. Immediately. No hesitation whatsoever. Then another flew past. Then another. Before I knew it, I was practically skipping around the garden with my phone out, recording everything that moved and desperately trying to get the perfect shot of these tiny fluttering wings. The problem with butterflies is that they seem to know you want them to land on you, and apparently, they like to make you earn it. One would float slowly past my face, almost close enough to touch, before suddenly changing direction. Oh, you want me to land on you? Catch me first. Along the sides of the garden were feeding areas tucked amongst the plants, with slices of orange laid out for them. The butterflies would land on the fruit, unfurl their long, straw-like proboscis and drink the sugary juice before fluttering away again. The ants, meanwhile, had also discovered the buffet and were helping themselves with absolutely no invitation whatsoever. I was so busy chasing butterflies that it took me a while to realise my wife was behind me doing exactly the same thing. Two grown adults, running after butterflies. Hopelessly. In the centre was a huge display of flowers, and this seemed to be one of their favourite gathering spots. Butterflies are naturally drawn to colourful flowers and use both colour and scent to help locate food. Once they land, their long proboscis works almost like a tiny drinking straw, allowing them to sip nectar from inside the flower. So while to us it looked like dozens of butterflies peacefully hovering around a beautiful floral display, to them it was basically lunch, with excellent presentation. And just a few metres to the left was another enclosed section where people were standing with butterflies calmly perched on their hands. I looked at them. Then at my empty hands. Right. Enough chasing. It was my turn.
I rushed over to the first enclosure and walked in smiling like an absolute idiot. There were a few kids inside already, happily interacting with the butterflies, while one of the keepers carefully picked one up and placed it onto my wife’s hand. She let out a tiny shriek, followed immediately by a giggle. A completely black butterfly sat peacefully on the back of her hand, its enormous dark wings spread open against her skin. It barely moved. It just… sat there. Beautiful. I wanted one. Badly. But I behaved myself. The kids eventually left with their parents and suddenly, somehow, we had the whole place to ourselves. Right. My turn. I still hadn't mastered the art of convincing a butterfly to voluntarily climb onto me, so I asked my wife to pass hers over. She carefully moved it onto my hand. YES. Objective complete. I had my butterfly. Then the keeper walked over and casually placed another one on me. I froze. TWO. I HAD TWO BUTTERFLIES. One resting on my arm, another perched higher up on my shirt. I was trying to stay completely still while my wife took pictures, but internally I was about six years old. Then the keeper apparently decided two wasn't enough. Another butterfly went onto me. And another. These ones were bigger—beautiful dark wings decorated with creamy white and golden markings, slowly opening and closing as they settled across my shirt and arm. I looked down. One. Two. Three. FOUR. I HAD FOUR BUTTERFLIES ON ME. This was significantly better than the one or two I'd requested at the entrance. I stood there absolutely delighted, trying desperately not to make any sudden movements while four delicate little creatures casually used me as furniture. Smile for the pictures. Don't move your arm. Don't accidentally scare them. Don't breathe too aggressively. OH MY GOD, THERE ARE FOUR OF THEM. Stay calm. Stay calm. DON’T PANIC. AHHHHHHH!
I was so damn excited. I stood there admiring them, taking pictures and occasionally letting out a quiet, “Hello, buddy,” fully assuming these butterflies could see me, hear me, understand English and appreciate the fact that I was delighted to meet them. Absolutely stunning little insects. The child in me was buzzing. And finally, all those shoulder days at the gym had found their true purpose. Forget strength. Forget muscle. Forget progressive overload. This was what I had been training for. I could hold my arm out for as long as necessary, happily staring at these little beauties as they rested on me, gently opening and closing their wings. I had originally walked into the Butterfly Garden hoping I might get to hold one. Maybe two if I was lucky. Instead, there I was. Arm out. Huge smile on my face. FOUR. BUTTERFLIES.
Then a couple of kids walked in with their mother, which unfortunately meant my reign as Butterfly King had to come to an end. I couldn't hog all four forever. Reluctantly, I surrendered a couple and let the kids have their turn. By this point, though, the two remaining butterflies had apparently grown bored of my arm and decided there was more interesting territory to explore. They started climbing upwards. Towards my shoulder. Towards my neck. Towards… my beard. Oh no. Apparently my face looked like the next unexplored section of the Butterfly Garden. I was happy to hold them. I was happy for them to crawl around my arms. But disappearing into my beard was where our friendship had to establish some boundaries. “Okay, buddy… that's far enough.” I asked the keeper to carefully take them off me and pass them along so the kids could enjoy their own moment. I'd had my turn. I'd held four butterflies. I'd spoken to them. I'd apparently offered my beard as potential accommodation. Mission accomplished. So my wife and I moved on to the next enclosure… and immediately did the whole thing all over again.
There was one butterfly in this enclosure that immediately caught our attention. A gorgeous black-and-yellow beauty. Even from outside, you could see it. Its wings were almost entirely jet black, but right through the middle were these striking flashes of bright yellow that seemed to burst through the darkness. When it opened its wings, the contrast was stunning. Naturally, my wife got first go. The butterfly settled onto her hand and almost immediately she started panicking. “Is it biting me?!” It wasn't. Its tiny little legs were gripping and exploring her fingers, which apparently felt suspiciously enough like being bitten to cause concern. Eventually it was my turn, and I happily let it settle across my arm. Up close, it was even more beautiful—the glossy black wings, those sharp yellow markings and these incredibly delicate little legs holding onto my arm. Lovely. Peaceful. Wholesome. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, another butterfly had landed on my arse. Of all the flowers, leaves, feeding stations and available surfaces in an entire Butterfly Garden, this one had apparently looked around and thought, Yep. That'll do. I couldn't even see it, which made the situation slightly problematic. The keeper had to come over with a little stick and very carefully encourage it off before I forgot it was there and accidentally sat down. Imagine that. One butterfly elegantly perched on my arm while another was fighting for its life underneath me. Thankfully, disaster was avoided. No butterflies were harmed by my backside that day.
We then headed towards Zone 2, expecting it to be a smaller section of the garden. At first, it seemed like we were right. We entered a little room with photographs on the walls and a statue where kids could stop and take pictures. Okay. Cute.Then, at the other end of the room, I noticed another curtain. We walked through it and—wow. There was an entire second garden hiding behind it. Another enormous room opened up in front of us, somehow feeling even more lush than the first. Plants and trees filled every corner, butterflies fluttered freely above and around us, orange slices were scattered across the feeding areas and, naturally, the ants had once again invited themselves to the buffet. But there was one butterfly in particular that immediately stole my attention. Blue. A stunning, almost electric-blue butterfly about the size of my hand. Wow. That was it. Forget the rest of Zone 2. I wanted that butterfly. I followed it everywhere. It floated upwards. I followed. It came back down. I followed. Around the plants. Still following. Across the walkway. Still following. It was absolutely gorgeous, and I swear it knew it. Every time it came remotely close to us, it would hover for just long enough to give me hope before effortlessly floating away again. Look at me. Look how blue I am. You want a picture? Gone. Then one of the kids nearby had a much smarter idea than my strategy of aimlessly following it around. They picked up a slice of orange and held it out. The blue butterfly landed straight onto it. Of course. I'd spent half my time chasing this thing around like a lunatic when apparently all I needed was a snack and some patience. At least it finally gave me the chance to get a few proper pictures. Up close, it was even more stunning. Then it flew away. Naturally, my wife and I resumed the chase. Up. Down. Around. Back again. This butterfly was teasing us. I'm convinced of it. Unfortunately, another child had also become determined to catch it—and their definition of “catch” was considerably more literal than ours. The poor butterfly started trying to get away. I completely understood the excitement; I'd spent most of the day chasing butterflies myself. But there's a big difference between encouraging one onto your hand and trying to grab it in your fist. They're incredibly delicate little creatures, and by that point it was clearly doing everything it could to keep its distance. My wife and I looked at each other. Yeah. As long as that chase continued, there was absolutely no chance that butterfly was calmly landing on either of us. And just to be completely clear: we wanted it on our hands. Not in them. Damn. The beautiful blue one had escaped us.
Eventually, we had to admit defeat. The blue butterfly had won. We gave up the chase and started making our way towards the exit, settling for admiring it from a distance as it continued fluttering around, completely unaware—or perhaps very aware—of the amount of effort two grown adults had just put into trying to get it to land on them. But it wasn't exactly like the day had gone badly. Far from it. I'd walked in hoping to hold one butterfly and, at one point, had four of them casually hanging off me. I'd chased them around like a child, spoken to them as though they understood English, discovered that my beard was apparently butterfly-friendly accommodation, and somehow even managed to have one land on my arse. I'd say that was a successful day. I came into the Butterfly Garden already thinking butterflies were beautiful. I left realising they're actually so much cooler than I gave them credit for. Delicate, colourful, ridiculously elegant—and, as one particular blue butterfly proved, just mischievous enough to keep you chasing them. We never did get that blue one onto our hands, but maybe that's why I remember it so well. Some things are just as beautiful when you can't catch them.
