🇵🇰 Pakistan · 🇦🇪 United Arab Emirates
By Suki Nakamura, Out of Office
There's a particular kind of heat that doesn't just make you sweat, it makes you reconsider your entire relationship with the outdoors as a concept, and both Pakistan and the UAE specialise in it, for very different budgets. The UAE has essentially engineered the outdoors out of daily life for four months a year, replacing it with a parallel universe of malls, tunnels, and valet drop-offs so efficient you could go from May to September without your skin registering actual sunlight. Pakistan, meanwhile, hits similar temperatures with a fraction of the infrastructure and twice the resourcefulness, which tells you everything about which country had the oil money to simply refrigerate its own existence.
Both will humble anyone who thinks "I'm used to summer." You are not used to this summer. Nobody is, really — some people just built better air conditioning.
| ✅ Do | ❌ Don't |
|---|---|
| Plan your entire outdoor life for October through April; the rest is indoors | Walk anywhere you could instead drive, from May through September |
| Use the connected mall-and-metro tunnel network like the local institution it is | Schedule outdoor work or deliveries during the midday ban and act surprised |
| Keep a cardigan in your bag — indoor AC runs cold enough to need one | Assume your car's AC means you can skip checking the tarmac temperature |
| Respect the midday outdoor labour ban as the serious safety law it is | Underestimate humidity near the coast; 45°C there feels nothing like 45°C inland |
| ✅ Do | ❌ Don't |
|---|---|
| Build your schedule around load-shedding — power cuts and peak heat often overlap | Assume AC will run reliably all day; backup fans and generators are not optional |
| Adopt the local rhythm of an early start and a long, heat-dodging midday pause | Skip oral rehydration salts during heatwaves; dehydration here is genuinely dangerous |
| Use thick curtains and daytime shutters the way locals do — it works | Expect every building to be insulated for heat the way Gulf towers are |
| Befriend your local hand-fan vendor; it's a dying art worth supporting | Go outside at 2pm in Karachi or Jacobabad in June without a very good reason |
The UAE's answer to extreme heat was never going to be resilience, because resilience implies enduring something, and the UAE's entire civic philosophy is that nothing this unpleasant should need to be endured when it can simply be air-conditioned out of existence instead. By May, outdoor temperatures climb past 45°C, humidity near the coast turns the air into something you can almost chew, and the city's actual lived experience quietly migrates indoors wholesale — connected via a genuinely impressive network of enclosed walkways, metro stations, and malls so vast you can go from your apartment to your office to dinner to a cinema without technically experiencing the outside world at all.
There's a legally mandated midday break for outdoor labourers, typically from around 12:30 to 3pm through the hottest months, because people absolutely do die of heat exposure here and the government has, credit where due, built real regulation around it. For everyone else, the adaptation is cultural as much as architectural: nobody schedules an outdoor meeting in July, nobody walks somewhere "for the exercise," and taxi drivers will look at you with genuine concern if you ask to be dropped a block early to "get some steps in." The cars have cold air before the engine's warm. The malls run cold enough that bringing a cardigan to the Mall of the Emirates in August is standard practice, not eccentricity.
The honest downside is that this indoor-everything existence creates its own quiet toll — a kind of seasonal cabin fever where four months pass with barely any real sun exposure, vitamin D deficiency is a genuine, commonly discussed expat health issue, and the relief of October's first bearable evening hits with an intensity that locals treat as a minor civic holiday. The UAE didn't adapt to its climate. It simply opted out of it, for a season, and built the most expensive indoor civilisation on Earth to make that opt-out seamless.
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Pakistan hits temperatures just as brutal — Jacobabad and parts of Sindh regularly post some of the hottest readings on the planet — with a grid that cannot always be relied upon to keep the air conditioning running when you need it most. Load-shedding, the rolling scheduled (and frequently unscheduled) power cuts, has a cruel habit of coinciding with peak afternoon heat, which means the exact moment you most need your AC or even just a ceiling fan is often the moment the power quietly, apologetically, leaves you to it.
What's genuinely remarkable is how much functional heat-coping infrastructure exists entirely outside the electrical grid. Thick curtains and external shutters keep direct sun off interior walls through the hottest hours. Early starts are non-negotiable — shops, markets, and offices shift their whole rhythm earlier in summer, front-loading the working day before 11am and treating the 1pm-to-4pm window as something close to sacred downtime, not laziness. Hand fans, still sold by street vendors in most cities, aren't a tourist novelty here; they're a genuine backup system for the hours the electric fan has nothing to spin on. Oral rehydration salts are a kitchen staple, not a pharmacy afterthought, because heatstroke during a bad load-shedding stretch is a real and recurring public health event, not a hypothetical.
What expats consistently underestimate is how much local knowledge substitutes for infrastructure here — which neighbours have a generator and will share the load, which shaded market alley stays five degrees cooler than the main road, which hours you simply do not go outside regardless of what your schedule says. It's a culture that's had to get genuinely clever about surviving heat without the Gulf's blank-cheque engineering budget, and the result, while objectively harder to live through, breeds a kind of practical heat literacy that UAE residents — cocooned in their tunnels — rarely need to develop at all.
The UAE wins on comfort, full stop — nobody is suffering through 48°C there if they have the means to avoid it, and most people do. Pakistan wins on resilience and resourcefulness, out of necessity rather than choice, which is a less glamorous but arguably more impressive trophy to carry home.
If I had to actually survive the heat rather than simply avoid it, I'd rather learn Karachi's tricks than rely on Dubai's tunnels. Infrastructure fails. A good hand fan and the sense to stay indoors from 1 to 4 never do.
r/dubai — "Lived here three summers and I genuinely could not tell you what the sun felt like on my actual skin between May and October. Entire social life moves into malls. Nobody warns you how disorienting that gets by August."
Internations Karachi — "The heat itself I expected. What nobody told me was that the power cuts get worse exactly when the heat peaks, so you're sweating through a blackout at 2pm wondering if the generator fuel will last the week."
expat.com Dubai forum — "Brought summer clothes for the Gulf heat. Should have brought a jacket for the malls. The indoor AC here is a weather system of its own."
Both countries have made peace, in opposite ways, with heat that would be a genuine emergency almost anywhere else. The UAE spent its way out of the problem, building an entire parallel indoor world so thorough you could forget the desert exists at all. Pakistan worked its way around the problem, with early mornings, thick curtains, and a hand fan held by someone who has never once complained about the electricity bill, because there usually isn't power to bill. Arrive respecting whichever system you've landed in, and don't, under any circumstances, decide you're tougher than either climate. The climate has been doing this far longer than you have.
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Photo by Optical Chemist via Pexels
Suki Nakamura
Staff writer covering financial markets and corporate strategy. Has strong opinions about spreadsheets.