IN many ways, this brunch was like a million others I’d had before: poached eggs with hollandaise sauce, fresh orange juice, coffee, buttered toast. The sun was glowing somewhere over the comfy outdoor sofas, and no one seemed in a hurry to finish up and get home.

But here at Shakespeare and Company, a cozy cafe in Dubai’s Village Mall, there were a few vital differences from my usual Sunday-morning routine. First of all, it was Friday, the Muslim Sabbath in the United Arab Emirates. Second, on a nearby couch, a mustachioed, white-robed Emirati man and a woman (in black garb that concealed everything but her gorgeous face) were on a date, chatting and flirting far from the eyes of their families — a testament to Dubai’s liberal attitudes. Finally, there was the sand. A dust storm had been kicking all day, blowing grit in from the desert just a few miles away. It coated my hollandaise like finely ground black pepper.

But even in the world of Friday brunches, Shakespeare and Company’s stood out — because it was cheap. My friend Samira Mesbahi, a curly-haired actress from Paris, and I had spent just 113.12 dirhams, or $30.82 at a fixed exchange rate of 3.67 dirhams to the dollar.

The typical Dubai brunch, by contrast, is an affair of ritualistic excess, held in the restaurant of a five-star hotel, with an all-you-can-eat buffet of gravlax, coddled eggs, a foie gras bar, and tuna belly sliced by an eighth-generation sushi chef from Osaka. Such indulgence can easily run 300 dirhams a person, not including the unlimited-Champagne surcharge.

Of course, this shouldn’t surprise anyone who’s ever heard the word Dubai. The emirate is synonymous with over-the-top artifice: the “seven-star” hotel, the skyscrapers rising from what moments before had seemed to be only tracts of sand, the man-made island chains, the indoor ski area. Frankly, I wondered how I’d afford anything at all. My wallet held only $500, or 1,835 dirhams, for the weekend, and while a host of budget options — easyHotels, a low-cost-airline terminal — are set to open in the near future, none had broken ground by mid-March, when I visited. Even the cheapest stopover deals offered by Emirates, the flag carrier, would have eaten up more than half my budget.

But searching the Web, I found a fabulous deal: Villa 08. Owned by a pair of European expatriates, the three-bedroom house is in Arabian Ranches, a gated community on the distant southern edge of Dubai. On one side of the fence are swimming pools, a supermarket, a country club and rows of nearly identical villas in the style of Arabian forts. On the other side, the vast desert and burgeoning dust storm.

Villa 08’s cheapest room was $60 a night, but since there were no other guests, I was given the master suite and the run of the house. Ah, the expat life!

From Shakespeare and Company, Samira and I drove my sand-colored Toyota Echo along Jumeira Road — a thoroughfare that reminded me of the strip-mall-saturated outskirts of Albuquerque — to Bur Dubai, the ancient heart of the city. It was here, on the banks of the Dubai Creek, that the city grew from a tiny Persian Gulf trading hub into a megalopolis fed by the idea that human beings, whatever their religion, will put aside their differences in pursuit of profit.

My destination was the Dubai Museum, housed in an 18th-century fort with tall, square “wind towers” that channel breezes to cool the interior. Three dirhams bought me entry to a series of dioramas about life in old Dubai: mannequins selling diamonds; mannequins building a dhow, the traditional Arab boat; mannequins studying the Koran. An exhibit on Bedouins blandly proclaimed that the nomads “love good deeds and hate evil.” Surrounded by simulacra, I wondered: Where was Jean Baudrillard when I needed him?

Nearby, Samira and I found a subtler refurbishment of old Dubai: the Bastakiya neighborhood. A labyrinth of low, neat buildings, Bastakiya is home to several art galleries, such as XVA Gallery, a couple of boutique hotels and the Basta Art Café, in whose calm, tree-filled courtyard we refueled with fresh lemonade and a strawberry shake (29 dirhams). As the sun began to set, we headed out into the evening, wandering through Bastakiya’s narrow, yellow-lighted passageways to the Creek, where motorboats were ferrying people across for a single dirham.

We stayed on our bank, however, and wound up in the souk, the modernized version of what might once have been an atmospheric marketplace. Most of the stalls—selling everything from textiles to mobile phones — were shutting down, but Samira managed to find amazing tchotchkes: a pink plastic mosque-shaped alarm clock and a stuffed camel that sings Arabic pop songs. Each cost 10 dirhams, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy them; instead, I munched pakoras and drank mango nectar (4 dirhams) from Al Balad Cafeteria, an Indian snack stall.

The population around the souk was overwhelmingly male, and Samira was attracting too much attention, so we drove somewhere she’d be more comfortable: the Cigar Lounge on the 10th floor of the Jumeirah Emirates Towers. As I drank a Manhattan and she a fruit shake (63 dirhams), we gazed at the blinking lights of the city. But which city—Dubai, Hong Kong, New York?

Our next stop was a birthday party for one of Samira’s friends. In the 33rd-floor apartment, young people drank beer, gossiped and stared out at the typically Dubai landscape—a highway lined with construction sites and dark, empty apartment towers. The curious thing was the mix: Filipino nurses plus Arabs from across the diaspora. A Jordanian guy told me of his family’s business troubles in Saudi Arabia; meanwhile, a Saudi guy in full robes and headscarf popped open another tallboy. It was a tantalizing hint that Dubai harbored more than I’d expected, and I would’ve stayed all night — but I was hungry.

“What pizza is to New York,” a Canadian photographer had told me, “Lebanese food is to Dubai.” In other words, ubiquitous, affordable and available all night long.

I found my Famous Original Ray’s at Al Mallah, a bustling “kebabeteria” lighted by yellow and green neon. I ordered a mixed lamb-and-chicken roll — a simple creation but unendingly complex in flavor, with the complementary meats accented by hummus, fresh pita, tart pickles and shreds of mint (11 dirhams with a fruit shake). Driving back to Arabian Ranches, I thought there might actually be something to this whole globalization business.

IT’S probably very normal for people to wake up in Dubai, realize they have money in their pockets, and set out to spend it. But for the Frugal Traveler, it’s a rare and nerve-wracking moment.

Souk Madinat Jumeirah would, I hoped, calm me. A sprawling complex encompassing a shopping center, restaurants, a theater, a resort, a nightclub and a spa, Madinat is modeled after traditional Arab fort architecture, with lots of plazas and fountains, a color scheme that ranges from sandy to beige to khaki, and “wind tower” structures that house modern HVAC units.

I began by inquiring into things I couldn’t possibly afford, like a 15,300-dirham wristwatch by Nouvelle Horlogerie Calabrese. The salesman said he’d let it go for 11,475; I said I’d think about it. At a carpet store, I asked if they carried tribal gabbeh styles; the salesman said no and turned his attention to wealthier clients. Finally, I arrived at Vivel Patisserie: The pastries had lots pistachios and almonds, and a double-layer box cost only 40 dirhams. Sold! Instead of gorging myself right there, I had a bowl of Malaysian laksa noodles at the chic Noodle House (64 dirhams with lime soda and a side of spicy eggplant), and drove off in search of more places to thin my wallet.

Halfway across town I discovered Five Green, a bright shop that sold Edwin jeans from Japan, fancy sneakers and lots of Paul Frank T-shirts — all of which I could get cheaper back home. Eventually, a clerk showed me a section devoted to Soundgirl, whose designers (she said) hailed from Dubai, and I bought a 150-dirham yellow gingham top (for my wife, Jean) whose chief distinction was that it could have been designed anywhere. Later, I learned Soundgirl was based in New York City; Jean asked me to stop buying clothing for her.

By evening, I arrived at the Mall of the Emirates, the biggest in Dubai, where I wandered among the rich tourists and richer locals (one of whom was carrying, for no discernible reason, a riding crop), hoping I would stumble upon a Zen Buddhist monastery and spend the rest of the weekend in thrifty, silent meditation.

Instead, I came face to face with Ski Dubai, the indoor ski center with a vertical drop of 197 feet, and I knew that, before the weekend was out, I would have a face full of fake snow. In fact, I would have gone in immediately, but my cellphone rang — it was Michelle, a British friend of a friend, who happened to be having dinner at Après, an après-ski-themed restaurant that looked out on Ski Dubai’s slope.

Sixty seconds later, I joined Michelle and her parents, who had just opened a decent bottle of Australian red wine. They poured me a glass, I ordered the surprisingly good New Zealand beef salad (my share of the bill: 130 dirhams), and we talked about shipping routes and the oil business while watching novice skiers and snowboarders tumble down the mountain.

Neither Michelle nor her parents wanted to join me on my next expedition, to a downtown hotel whose nightclub was reputed to have the best Congolese band outside Kinshasa. Too bad for them: Club Africana, at the Rush Inn, was a froth of energy, with the nine-piece house band, Bilenge Musica, rocking tunes that everyone in the audience, from Sudan to South Africa, knew by heart. I struck up a conversation with Julian, a British-Indian friend of the hotel’s owner, who made absurd proclamations like “You are fragmented, and that is a precious thing!” I paid for our four beers—100 dirhams—and at 3 a.m. walked out into the suddenly very sedate city.

Not many hours later, I drove to a desolate stretch of Umm Suqeim Beach, supposedly the best sand in central Dubai, and stared at distant oil tankers until the thought of fresh powder overwhelmed me. I zipped over to the Mall of the Emirates, plunked down 160 dirhams for a two-hour pass (ski pants, socks, jacket and locker rental included), bought a cheap pair of gloves (60 dirhams), and was on the lift in five minutes. Less than an hour later, I was done—the joy of snowboarding in the desert couldn’t make up for the dullness of the terrain.

What I wanted from Dubai was not preconceived amusements but the accidental by-products of globalization — like Club Africana, or the happy clash of cultures at a house party. Not only were they cheaper, they felt more truly Dubai than the multimillion-dollar attractions, and I counted myself fortunate my low budget had driven me to seek them out. With hours to go before my flight, I returned to Arabian Ranches and sat by my swimming pool and contemplated another of Julian’s koans: “You, my friend, are very, very lucky.” He was right — luck’s one thing money can’t buy.

TOTAL 1,397.52 dirhams (including a yummy 30-dirham après-ski lunch at Saj Express, a Lebanese stall in the Mall of the Emirates food court), or $380.80.

VISITOR INFORMATION

WHERE TO STAY

Shortly after my visit, Villa 08 closed. Budget-minded visitors should instead check out La Maison guesthouse (971-50-340-5066). The rate for a double room is $100 per night. WHAT TO SEE AND DO

Club Africana, at the Rush Inn, Khalid bin Walid Road, (971-4) 352-2235.

Dubai Museum, Al Fahidi Street, (971-4) 393-7151.

Ski Dubai, Mall of the Emirates, skidxb.com, (971-4) 409-4000

XVA Gallery, Bastakiya Quarter, (971-4) 353-5383; xvagallery.com.

WHERE TO EAT AND DRINK

Al Mallah, Dubai Al-Muteena, (971-4) 272-3431

Après, Mall of the Emirates, (971-4) 341-2575.

Basta Art Café, Al Fahidi Street, Bastakiya Quarter, (971-4) 353-5071.

Saj Express, Mall of the Emirates, (971-4) 341-3553.

Shakespeare and Company, multiple locations, (971-4) 329-1040.

WHERE TO SHOP

Five Green, Oud Metha, (971-4) 336-4100

Vivel Patisserie, Souk Madinat Jumeirah, (971-4) 368-6006.