A couple of years back, whenever summer came along, I would notice the roads were traffic-jam free and some colleagues would be missing from their workstations.

As the days become hotter you could easily drive past schools without being held up by parents double-parking their huge SUVs on the road and trying to stuff their children into them.

Every other day a friend would call and say that he was off to cooler climes and nastily remark, “If you are staying back here, at least get a good tan and don’t dehydrate.”

I had to drive to an appointment in downtown Dubai at noon last week and when I opened the car door a wave of heat flowed out and there was a smell of metal and plastic burning. “Soon, it will touch 50 [degrees Celsius],” my wife giggled crazily.

A motoring expert had suggested that we keep our car windows slightly open so that the hot air is not trapped inside, creating noxious gasses.

But when I kept the windows open, the next day there was a white sheen of dust on the steering wheel and the dashboard, which just the day before was gleaming and smelling of a lemon-flavour polish. (Nowadays you get car air fresheners smelling like a day on the beach or a fruit, just like your shampoo or the toilet bowl cleaner). The expert had not factored in the constant blowing sands in this desert city.

Luckily our car seats are not covered with red leather. Wearing shorts and sitting on hot, burning leather is torture, I have heard. (Now I also know why people prefer white-coloured cars).

As the temperature climbed steadily, I tried pushing the cat out of the flat after her midday snack as she likes to walk around for her daily constitution. This time she went on to the balcony, sniffed the air, slowly shuffled back inside, jumped on to my sofa chair and went to sleep.

Despite this inclement weather, sales managers at a recent Arabian Travel Market said not many people are travelling abroad for their summer holidays. “Many are taking staycations,” said one executive, who did not look very happy over this unusual turn of events. “Can I interest you in a four-day package to...” he said and mentioned a city I had never heard of before.

I looked up staycation in a dictionary and found out that it was a portmanteau, a word constructed by blending sound and meaning of two different words. It meant holidaying at home, like a ‘holistay’.

It is a sad word that tries to hide the fact that you cannot afford a holiday, but also one that cheers you up because a staycation means there is no tension of waiting for delayed flights, getting bumped off the plane, or booking rooms online and finding out the hotel has a reputation in the quiet neighbourhood.

“Let us at least keep our empty suitcases near the front door to make it seem like a holiday at home,” I told my wife.

“Not a good idea dad,” said my son. “The shortsighted maid will trip on them when getting in.”

When the maid found out that we were not going away this summer, she grew grumpy and grumpier as we started to treat her like the chef at a cooking station in a hotel. “I would like a French toast. Can I have a Spanish omelette. A dosa for me, please.”

Then the maid said she wanted an extra day off for the weekend as she was going to Abu Dhabi for a staycation with her husband. She came back and showed us a picture of her sipping a cup of coffee at the glitzy Emirates Palace Hotel. “Those are real gold flakes on top [of the coffee],” she said.

Mahmood Saberi is a freelance journalist based in Dubai. You can follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/ mahmood_saberi.