Qatar101

It's the little things...

2009-07-29T05:39:00.000-07:00

Qatar is not exactly a vacation destination (no, it's not really a journey either, for all of those fond of bumper sticker philosophizing). No pyramids or historical sites, no white sand beaches, a sometimes inscrutable and closed culture, and easily more time spent at malls per capita than the US.

But there are grotty little gems to be found all over, if one takes the time to look. One such is Gharrafa Tower Cafeteria and Juice Stall (no, not a tower, no towers nearby, and it's not a stall either). It's just one of dozens of hole-in-the-wall juice stores that also serve liver, mutton, egg, etc. sandwiches too (I'd probably opt for "etc." if I ever ate there). But it is one of the pleasures of being here, especially during summer, when daytime temps are 110-115 and it cools down to about 90 at night (sorry, no sympathy for temperate zone types whining about a day or two in the nineties or triple digits). However, walk into Gharrafa Tower Cafeteria and Juice Stall, and you're greeted by a counter filled with boxes of fruit - guavas, papayas, lemons, oranges, pineapple, mangos, pomegranates in season - just what the body needs on a hot day.

You are also greeted by decor that is a cross between a South Asian discotheque gone horribly wrong and a very large bathroom. The walls covered with mirrors and photos of supposedly mouthwatering drinks, except they were taken at about a foot distance with a flash that more or less gives the impression of a nuclear blast, with everything fading to varying shades of white. Above this and running around the entire store for a about two feet below the ceiling is a red plastic display marquee, interspersed by a yellow and blue approximation of the international radiation symbol. There are several tables, each with a box of tissues (in lieu of napkins) and a sink with a toilet paper roll dispenser installed just above it (again, paper products thinner than a couple microns are apparently de rigeur in Qatar).

The key is to just focus on the fruit counter, and the fantastic fresh pomegranate juice you can get for two bucks while a concoction with 20% juice and some food coloring and high fructose corn syrup with some slick packaging and marketing (anti-oxidants!) can set you back five or six buck in the states, depending on what other trace minerals or nutrients you're willing to pay for. Here, they don't really care - it's cold and it tastes good. You watch the guy pick the fruit, hear it juiced, get it in a plain plastic (unrecyclable - because there are no programs here) cup and if it's to go, you get a thin plastic bag that they tie in a bow.

But you get to drink fresh tropical fruit juice every day of the year - this is one of those little things that I really missed in the States and have really enjoyed since I've been back.

Do not fear for me...

2009-07-25T11:48:00.000-07:00

For those of you who may have wondered exactly what I've been doing, if I'm well, etc., let me put your minds at ease. I am more in danger of being killed in a road accident than by any act of terror (although some would equate Doha traffic with acts of terror), and to that end, the wise and benign leadership of the country has posted our boys in blue (berets even!) our traffic police, at most busy roundabouts. You can palpably feel there presence even before arrive at a roundabout: you'll just be sitting in traffic longer than if there were no traffic controls at all other than the precision timing and nerves of steel of the Doha driving populace. However, the gov is justly proud of this traffic calming (i.e. slowing) force, and has posted public service signs at many roundabouts to calm our uneasy hearts:

Yes, Traffic Man, a hero for a new millenium and a new world order, such as order of any kind exists in Qatar.

And no, the gentleman in the background is NOT a terrorist; he's most likely a poor South Asian who is trying to keep from frying in the Arabian sun or having his epidermis sandblasted away by the wind. Anyway, with Traffic Man on the beat, you come to realize with profound awe and gratitude that we truly have little to fear except fear itself.

Three races at once

2009-01-16T00:49:00.000-08:00

We both hopped into a slightly moving Land Cruiser (as Nadia later commented, here you don't have to worry about hopping into a vehicle with a couple guys, you won't wind up with your head chopped off and buried in a backyard;) and two Bedouins quickly introduced themselves as Ahmed and Fawaz (and managed to keep out of any accidents). Luckily, camels only run at about 15-20 mph. It was very different being in a car with the race announcer on the radio yelling with the enthusiasm and volume of a Latin American futbol announcer while the "shaabi" (i.e. commoners like us) rode around the outside of the track and the sheikhs rode around the inside of the track (less far to drive, by a few hundred meters?).

The camels actually looked fairly graceful in profile as they ran the course... until about a kilometer or two in, they start frothing at the mouth. Apparently camels don't sweat per se, and this was the mechanism by which they shed heat. So we were treated to what looked like a stampede of rabid camels being beaten intermittently (and pretty ineffectually as far as I could tell) by tiny hypocephalic robotic jockeys with silk jockey outfits (for comfort, of course) and rotary arm for holding the whip. Surreal. But better than child labor.

It doesn't seem like anyone particularly cares who wins, because everyone we could see looked equally enthusiastic at the end of the race (gambling is of course forbidden by Islam, but I find it hard to believe the sheikhs weren't making gentlemens' wagers). Afterwards, Ahmed and Fawaz took us to the compound where they (actually where their Sudanese trainers) keep and train the camels. We did an obligatory photo op shot on an older more settled beast, then heading back to the races.

By the end of our day, our two guest had offered to meet us at dinner in Villagio Mall. Picture the tackiness of Caesars Las Vegas shops, lots of columns and pediments, complete with a "canal" and gondolas. Nothing like Venice of course, too clean, the gondoliers don't row, they actually just move a metal pole that adjusts the engine speed, and even though Arabs could pass for Italian, none of them would stoop to the work, so the gondoliers themselves are generally Philipino (who have nice singing voices at least). Anyway, we exchanged mobile numbers (still trying to decide if this was a mistake;) and agreed to meet at 8pm at the mall, which actually has some seriously nice gourmet restaurants in their food court, along with all the chain restaurant trash we have at home. Regardless of the fact that thousands of Italian architects, designers, etc. are rolling in their graves.

We returned home for a couple hours rest - and each received about half a dozen phone calls regarding "plans" for the evening. One of the Arabs' main pasttimes is conversation, even if they can't speak a given language. In this case, Nadia's Arabic was good enough for a conversation. Their other main pasttime is socializing; they absolutely can't picture the Western need for "alone time" and always want other people around. In this case, that was us. When the preordained hour for our side of the cultural exchange was near, we headed to Villagio, parked, and walked the long mile to the food court, running a bit late. On our way, three more phone calls; the last one asking which entrance we were near. Apparently, they arrived early but hadn't gone in the mall. We were about to find out just how Bedouin our new friends were.

We met just a bit from the food court, said our hellos, and asked them where they'd like to eat. Fawaz laughed a bit and said MacDonalds. Ah. Ahmed quickly made fun of him, and said they would eat anywhere we wanted. So we picked a nice upscale Indian restaurant named Asha's, and got a table "inside" - yes I know, they ask you to suspend a lot of disbelief here, but the rooms off the food court itself are quieter).

Just after sitting down, Fawaz and Ahmed produced a couple small boxes. Gifts. Oh, darling. A sterling silver ring for Michelle and gold earrings for Nadia. And, no, I wasn't concerned that they were going to ask to buy "my women." Bedouins, as I was later told, have all the normal preconceptions about Western women that Arabs have, but are absolutely face-value and salt of the earth, and polite to a fault; their hospitality required that they get gifts. They both apologized profusesly for not being able to get my gift - a type of colgone they had offered me to try at the camel races (because, well, a lot of camels produce a lot of...) I hadn't realized I was being tested out for a gift. Unfortunately, the shop was out of that kind. It would have been about a hundred dollar bottle of cologne.

When we ordered, Fawaz had no idea what to order, so I suggested some Naan (in lieu of pita) and shish tawook (kebab:). After a couple clumsy efforts at using fork and knife, which resulted in painfully loud crashes of the former implement on the table, we assured Fawaz it was just fine to grab a piece of Naan and use that as a fork, which worked much better. Even if you do drop Naan, it doesn't make much of a racket, does it?

Just before we were about to pay, I decided to return the favor and pay the bill myself. Unfortunately, when Fawaz asked for the bill and was told it was taken care of already, they became upset, saying that since they invited us to dinner, they had to pay. Score one for diplomacy. The waiter walked away, and when he returned, it was with waterless hand cleanser, not the bill. Also unfortunately, Fawaz was distracted and held his hand out for what he thought was a bill, and turned out to be a cold dollop of alcohol-based hand cleaner. Of all the things we saw that day that I wish I had a picture for, it would be the look on his face. After a few awkward seconds, we all demonstrated what to do, and Fawaz followed suite. I eventually just let Fawaz give me the amount of the bill directly, and we parted company a bit later.

The malls in the US were never this interesting.

A Day at the Races

2009-01-06T00:09:00.000-08:00

Camel races, that is. Most camel-oriented activities smack of tourist trap (e.g. rides around the Pyramids, of which I've been guilty, but just a little bit), but we caught wind of a local camel racing track, horribly (and happily) undermarketed and found about 18 dusty and unimpressive kilometers from Doha in a village called Shahaniya. Most of the traffic out there was in the form of oil tanker trucks and construction vehicles (a good sign) and the exit to the track was also under construction. However, there was a sign for the race track itself, in that comforting coffee brown used the world over for places of historical, natural, or cultural significance, like Stonehenge, or the Grand Canyon:

This is Qatar's answer to overhyped and non-interactive Places of Interest. After about ten minutes of searching for a diversion that would allow us to actually get there, we were on the road to the races. The blue parking signs we saw at what looked like the track building and stands were of course, merely subterfuges to embarrass naive and trusting tourists. The "stands" were completely empty and as we walked around form the parking lot, we saw they were also too far from the track for anyone without a spotting scope. We quickly realized the best thing to do was follow the camels which seemingly appeared out of nowhere and were being driven across the road by Sudanese trainers wrapped tightly against the blowing sand and dust. Here was our romanticized Orientalist image of the mysterious Middle East, updated just a bit, emerging slowly from the National Road 18 to Dukhan, complete with camel crossing signs and the odd Toyota Land Cruiser.

The young camels were muzzled with bright woven wool baskets of sorts - think of it as a camelmouth cozy. We made it to trackside (literally) and peered over the outer fence of the track, waiting for the camels to be led out. We noticed to our dismay that given our position, the apparent size of the track (6km I was told later) and the fairly safe assumption that even if we were so inclined, we could not outrun camels, it didn't look like we'd see much more than the start of the race.

Luckily, just after the camels burst out from the starting line (OK, "burst" implies too much speed - maybe "lurched forward in a tangle of necks and hooves"), Michelle, who was about twenty meters down the track from Nadia and I heard someone call out in Arabic "want to get in?" The race was about to get much more interesting...

(to be continued)

Enter Kamal

2008-12-06T01:28:00.000-08:00

Upon every life a little rain must fall, even in Doha, and our personal stormcloud was one Mr. Kamal, "maintenance man" (despite the fact that I never saw nor heard of him actually ever fixing or facilitating the repair of anything). He actually was the gatekeeper for the sheikh who owns, well, our neighborhood. His actual function was to stop any residents from actually hanging or fixing anything in their units, for example changing curtains, having baseboards, which looked like they had been vandalized by some malcontent with wood glue, painted.

He was creative in an obstinate kind of way, though. When we aksed him why we had a three foot tall kitchen cabinet with no shelves, he replied "It's supposed to be that way." When I pointed out that every other cupboard, even ones half that height, had at least one shelf, his rejoinder was "maybe it's the style somewhere." I was a little disappointed he couldn't give me specifics on exactly what culture or country could make use of a kitchen cupboard where one could stack approximately thirty-seven tuna cans on top of one another. When we asked him about our vandalized/recycled-looking baseboards, he just kept repeating "I don't think this is a problem," presumably hoping to rely on his superior mind-control skills to convince us we weren't seeing what we were claiming we saw. When finally cornered, he said "as per company policy, no changes are allowed." At this point Michelle asked if company policy was to have baseboards that looked liked they'd been ripped from a gutted building...

We weren't the only rabblerousers that Kamal was sent in to deal with. Our neighbors Dan and Melissa had a desk delivered to their home one afternoon. Kamal insisted on opening the box and inspecting the contents. I have no idea what he was searching for, but I'm sure the TSA could use people with his persistent and lack of personal skills. Soon thereafter, the "security" gate at the entrance to our compound, which had previously always been up, was sudden lowered so that we had to honk to have Ahmed or Abbas open the gate with a key fob. This was obviously meant to keep out contractors that we had coming to our places to fix the original shoddy finish work, since any teenager with a couple years of karate could have overpowered Ahmed and Abbas and made it into the compound. Actually, several of us had considered ramming through the flimsy gate with rental cars before we bought our own, but didn't feel like paying damages for the car.

So for over a month we had to deal with constant drama regarding any repairs or improvements we wanted done to our villas, and we generally decided we needed to act covertly if anything was to be fixed...

Pimp my TLC

2008-11-17T00:30:00.001-08:00

Somewhere in the world, decals on the sides of cars are back in, and that somewhere is Doha. Our townhouse (sorry, villa!) complex is about a block (if there was a defined or discernible block actually there) behind a long row of about a dozen or more carwashes. They are interspersed with car accessory shops with exotic names like "Gulf Falcon" or obtuse ones like "Fast Car," as well as Puncturies, which are actually tire shops; no one has bothered to tell them it makes it sound as if they'll provide tire puncturing services. A couple juice stalls, the Popular Cafe, Al Zoof Cafe (like that one) and a couple "saloons" - they meant salons - and Hot Bread Bakery (talk about good marketing) round out this row.

Every night, but even more so on Thursday and Friday nights, this row is literally almost impossible to navigate, as Qataris in blinding white silk thobes (traditional robes, sometimes with diamond encrusted cufflinks) and headress sit on $2 plastic chairs and chew the fat while Philipino, Bangladeshi, Indian, and Pakistanis wash the desert and construction dust off their Land Cruisers. Yes, there are a few Hummers and BMWs, Mercedes, etc., but the Toyota Land Cruiser (or TLC) holds pride of place in the hearts of Qataris determined to run over curbs to catch the turn they should've been looking for but weren't because they were texting or talking on their mobile phones. Of course there is a slip road but the "driveway" for every single car wash consists of construction rubble and dust, which seems to defeat the purpose. But if you've got the money and time, and Qataris have both, you can spend every or every other night pimping out your TLC.

I have to admit, though, it does add a lot of life and local color to our 'hood.

There's got to be a better way.

2008-11-06T11:05:00.000-08:00

(Note: fortunately, I did not witness this Ahmed and Abbas incident, but had it related to me by a neighbor Dan)

Among the myriad of building issues (I'm starting to wonder if I'm just in a Middle Eastern "reality" show, where someone f4#@*s with various household appliances, etc. in order to create good television entertainment) is our front door glass, which is only glued to a wooden crossframe on one side of the wooden door - you can already see where this is going. Well, at some point, Dan's new bride Melissa goes to close the door behind her and the glass breaks and a shard cuts her hand. A few hours and several stiches later, she's resting comfortably, and in a week or so, as good as new.

Meanwhile, in order to remove the rest of the glass, Ahmed and Abbas, in this order of operations:

1) both get hammers
2) open the door
3) stand on either side of said door
4) proceed to pound the glass with their hammers
5) spend the next fifteen minutes
a) dodging the glass the other has knocked in the general direction of his face
b) yelling at each other regarding the aforementioned glass

After a two week search, someone manages to find glass to replace the glass Ahmed and Abbas so handily removed. Of course, the glass still doesn't have the wooden frame on both side to stop this from happening again. Apparently the producers might want to fall back on that skit again later this season.

Obamania abroad

2008-11-06T11:04:00.000-08:00

It's quite interesting to see the effect that Barack Hussein is having here; it seems like most of the security folks, retail clerks, etc. smile at us a little more since the election outcome. Michelle even had a Bangladeshi janitor give her a thumbs up and "Obama!" cheer when she left work Tuesday night. The Syrian guy at the sweet shop (who, as it turns out, is spending the next two years in Qatar to avoid his service in the Syrian Army and sent back the required remittance so that he can actually return and not have a jail cell waiting for him) reached over the counter and shook my hand and said "Obama good." The Turkish barber said "Bush bad blood." Our Syrian Arabic teacher said he liked Obama but would have preferred Hillary "beautiful, strong." I won't even touch that one.

This is all regardless of the fact that Obama will simply do some things that any US President will, and will support Israel (in general), send more troops into Afghanistan, etc. People here know the difference between a government and a people. We've travelled in Egypt and Jordan where people gave us a thumbs up every time we said we were American, saying "Al Ahsen Nas," meaning "The Best People." (As an aside, we didn't test the theory, but I always wondered if we told them we were from Bosnia-Herzegovna they would have responded similarly). I think people just didn't think we'd use as blunt an instrument so readily in our war on terror, but they cut us, personally, some slack.

But at least for a while, they can look up to the United States as the classless meritocracy we've always aspired to be. And regardless of your political affiliations, a 65% turnout and a mixed race president being voted in by a mainly white nation could happen nowhere else I can think of, and it's something of which every McCain and every Obama voter should be proud. That janitor and that barber and baker realize that and appreciate it. In many ways, more than we ever can.

When ingenuity goes horribly awry...

2008-10-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

Ahmed and Abbas, our two maintenance men onsite at our housing complex are a plucky if somewhat haphazard team of handymen. They don't let their limited tools and skills impinge upon the hasty completion of any task, no matter how marginal the outcome. To their credit, they are always happy and upbeat. At least, their non-verbal clues lead me to that conclusion, because Ahmed especially speaks such a staccato patois of Nile Delta village Arabic, that even Michelle, who is nearly fluent in spoken Arabic, usually just gives up on conversations after a minute or so. I take a strange sort of encouragement from that.

Anyway, they can be pretty inventive in their solutions. A week or so ago, our washer/dryer combination (which really doesn't dry, it just somehow superheats our clothes into a steaming creased crumple - I've considered taking clothes out with tongs) suddenly stopped working. So I called Ahmed and Abbas over. After pulling off the top, checking the switches, the wall fuses, they pulled the unit out away from the wall and Abbas began to remove the wall plate. Not being particularly electrically literate, I figured maybe there was a fuse in the wall plate. I asked Ahmed what they were doing. The only phrases I caught were "lots of these" and "back in five minutes." I figured they would return with a new wall plate. Five minute later, they were at the door carrying in a new washer/dryer. They explained to Michelle that since it was the weekend and the appliance company was closed, they just took a unit from another apartment that was still empty. We were happy with their can-do attitude. Ten minutes later, we had a brand new washer/dryer. Brilliant.

Our next incident came up when Connie, our cleaning lady, ironed our front curtains and was kind enough to even put them back up. Unfortunately, Connie, for all her diminutive size, is a proverbial Cape Buffalo in the china shop. That evening, Michelle asked "why is our curtain rod hanging lower - it wasn't like that before, was it?" I, of course, hadn't noticed (I'm convinced I eventually would have).

So I went out to get Ahmed, who was soon up on our stepladder, pulling the right sconce of the rod out of the wall to reveal a much larger hole in the plaster than the plastic screw plug that had been holding the rod up. In the process, he also hadn't unscrewed the other sconce end of the rod completely, so as he twisted the rod to remove the curtains, he etched a nice corkscrew design in the left side of the curtain rod. At this point Michelle asked what his plan was. Ahmed explained calmly that he would just make a hole under the too-big hole that obviously hadn't been working. As a shower of plaster fell on the floor, Michelle tried to explain that having the curtain rod level was equally as important as having it stay in the wall.

Ahmed seemed nonplussed. The problem, of course, was that the curtain rod was going to fall; his solution promised to rectify the situation. The fact that our curtains would then be listing ten degrees to starboard was immaterial. At this point, Michelle retreated to the entry hallway, doing an excellent pantomime of pulling her hair out. Meanwhile, I had a perfect view of Ahmed simultaneously struggling for balance on the stepladder while he lost his grip on the curtain rod itself, which went swinging down like a pendulum (missing our iPod dock, luckily), and I thought to myself, they pay people good money to come up with this stuff for sitcoms, and I have it happening in my living room.

Eventually Ahmed's solution was to take three or four screws and put them in around the plastic plug. The curtain rod was actually just about level too. When he started to try and undo the tiebacks, I started fearing another catastrophe, and said don't worry we'll get that later - Michelle through in a few al-hamdullahs for good measure. We were all smiling, and then Ahmed decided that to allay any fears about the quality of his work, he'd tug on the curtains to prove how solid they were. And so we were back to ten degrees to starboard. We smiled and shooed him out of the house, and now, two weeks or so later, the curtain rod hasn't fallen. So far.

When Green Mosques aren't green, and you see camels instead of sheep

2008-10-18T04:01:00.000-07:00

Driving here is one part improvisation, one part planning, and one part faith. I recently had to drive to the edge of town to pay our fee for having our cat, Iris, relocated. I was given a map. It looked vaguely (but not comfortingly) like the kind of pirate map pointing cryptically to some buried treasure, or the maps drawn in the beginning of fantasy books.

In this case, my goals were a bit more prosaic, and my landmarks were, in order: a green mosque, speed bumps, the end of the road, and some kind of rectangular building labelled "sheep." First, the green mosque - which turned out to be a mostly white mosque with green trim. Close enough, and I made an educated guess/leap of faith and made my turn there. Next were speed bumps, which are pretty hard to miss, and did not provide any problems. The end of the road was easy enough, but considering that as soon as the road ends, you have open gravel and sand, and given any possibility of driving outside of driving lanes, Qataris will do so, given 180 degrees of freedom leads to a maze of tracks. So I followed the map, and wound around a couple derelict buildings. Now for the sheep - only problem was that the only livestock to be seen were camels, tended by Bedouins in dark goat-hair tents. So I headed for the only patch of irrigated green and trees, and of course called the owners of the pet relocating business, who pointed me to their place of business. Of course I didn't even bring up the lack of sheep issue; it would be a bit peevish, and just didn't seem tasteful on so many levels...

Finally, into the desert and gulf

2008-10-06T23:44:00.000-07:00

After a couple weeks of moving madness (more on that later) we finally made it out to the desert proper on a daylong desert safari with Toyota Landcruisers. After about an hour heading south, past some pretty heavily protected and isolated oil fields and refineries, and a random camel now and then, and voila, we had run out of room in Qatar (kinda reminds me of Jersey) and were looking across an inlet to Saudi Arabia (no worries, that's as close as we got).

Then it was back across the desert for some "dune bashing" which at times felt like being on choppy seas, and at times felt like the big drops at the rollercoaster. Except you could actually imagine the Land Cruiser flipping end over end, and there was no minimum height requirement - I always hated those;).

Of course no such thing happened, and it was just good plain adrenaline. After which we headed over to a beach camp where we got to frolic in the Persian Gulf. It was nice to be back in warm (bathwater warm) ocean water, in early October no less.

Hopefully we'll have a couple more months of this kind of weather, but everyone says it's going to get "cold" soon. I think that means 80 during the day and 55 at night, which actually will feel cold I think, since I barely notice 95 anymore. It's all relative I guess. Anyway, we'll be stocking up on space heaters (seriously) so as to not be caught burning our Kleenex for heat (not so seriously). Until then, I'm going to enjoy the weather as much as I can.

Far from the Black Forest

2008-10-04T22:27:00.000-07:00

I've stumbled across the pinnacle of all Anglicized names. While in a book store which also sold art supplies, I was shopping for an easel, and asked the nice Philipino man in the art section if the floor model I liked was the only one or if they had any others in stock (I'm quickly realizing that if you find something you like, buy it, or buy several, because you may never see them again).

Then I looked at his name tag. Hansel Rivera. I fine Teutonic name for someone whose last name would go better with, say, Mariano, or even Geraldo. I had no idea that Brothers Grimm was so popular in the Far East. I never thought I'd ever meet someone named Hansel anyway, even travelling through Germany or Austria, but to have done it here...

Now I almost feel compelled to search Qatar until I can find Gretel. It's possible. But it would be easier if all residents were all required to wear our ID in nametag format. And it would be more fun.

Attention Mitch and James Baby: Activate your minds!

2008-09-23T02:42:00.000-07:00

OK, the concept of lost in translation has been done before, and I'm no Bill Murray, but sometimes I feel like I'm on a movie set similar to the one Bill dealt with in Lost in Translation, and while frustrating at times, it makes for great comedy.

Since so many people in Qatar are expatriates and English is the lingua franca here, many take it upon themselves to Anglicize their names. Unfortunately, this turns Pythonesque at times. During the last week, Michelle and I were stopped at the gate to Education City housing. Normal enough. Michelle's asked to show ID. Fine. Then I lean over and look at the name tag of the security guard, and I see "James Baby." I have no idea what this man's name could have originally been, or for that matter how many degrees of separation from it James Baby could possibly be, but he seems quite comfortable in his uniform (epaulets even!) and his bright shiny nametag. Who am I (other than a native English speaker) to argue.

Last night, we stopped by the aptly named Take Away arabic fast food restaurant for a late dinner, and Michelle regaled me with horror stories about the surly service rendered by the girl at the counter. I was quite sure Michelle said "girl." As I was about to run in and order, I asked Michelle what the gal's name was. The reply: "Mitch." So... I walk in and there's Mitch, all 5 feet of her, a pretty normal-looking young Asian woman. I'm pretty sure she had never been a he; no strong jaw or cheekbones, etc. But there she is with another bright metal tag that says "Mitch." All the guys working there, unfortunately, don't seem to appreciate the joke - they just call her "Mitch" like it's quite normal. I guess it is.

Sometimes, the English skills seem to be put on display for my benefit. Our maintenance crew consists of a couple Egyptians who have no English at all (when asking if the smoke alarm worked, I was treated to a minute long pantomine of someone sleeping, smoke rising from the stove, and waking up from the loud noise, as if I had just asked what that thing was for). Most of the time I walk away (or they go spinning back out of the house) without having the slightest idea of what the hell we were just talking about.

Sometimes I'm given a special treat and "specialists" are called in, who come in Tasmanian-devil-like, waving hands, and arguing with each other, until they all decide to continue the argument outside, without any apparent progress on the given issue. When the A/C in a guest bedroom was not working, though, a "higher up" who knew just enough English to be dangerous started haranguing the Sri Lankan workers and calling a subcontractor on his cel to complain. He made it a point to tell the workers that he was an engineer (dubious at best) and they didn't know what they were doing (less dubious). Finally, he yells into the phone "send me Rafeer, these guys are Ramadan and their brains are not activated!"

You can imagine my shock. Here I had been this past week operating on the assumption that Ramadan was the month of fasting, not a person or people. Silly Mike. Nor was I aware through any of my cultural research that, like air conditioners apparently, these Ramadan need to have their brains activated. No wonder nothing's been getting done lately. I thought it was because people were fasting from sunup to sundown. Apparently I have a lot to learn.

Greetings from "sunny" Qatar

2008-09-17T23:28:00.000-07:00

If you go out to wunderground.com or weather.com, you might be fooled into thinking that it's actually sunny here. Well, it actually is sunny, just not on the ground. Michelle has mentioned before that you'll often see something in the forecast that you don't in Oregon (or anywhere in the states, as far as I know, at least since the 1930's) and that would be "widespread dust." So my tender eyes have been spared the glaring September sun for my first two days here. Temperatures are still about 105 or so in the day. Coupled with jetlag, that means Mike moves very slowly.

Everyone else here has other reasons for moving slowly - namely Ramadan. Many businesses' "Ramadan Timings" (they seem to love gerunds here) call for about a few hours sometime during the morning or early afternoon (10am -noon is a favorite), than open back up at around 8pm and stay open til midnight. Nor is anyone supposed to be seen even sipping water during the day. So I'm guessing productivity is a bit lower than usual - and of course Ramadan is falling in late summer this year too. Anyway, the South Asian construction workers don't seem to care - you can see them lunching out of their homepacked stainless containers anytime of day. I couldn't imagine trying to do physical labor in this heat and NOT eating and drinking.

As for Doha, you can literally see a city and country being built before your eyes. Actually city planning, though, follows a pattern of selecting a couple (or couple hundred) empty acres (it's all empty anyway) somewhere and building a development. Things like utilities and roads can be dealt with later. It's kind of like connecting the dots. They're not so much into the street sign either, and seem to like naming things after landmarks. So, the two roundabouts closest to our flat are the Slope Roundabout (it isn't quite flat) and the Burger King Roundabout (for obvious reasons). Some are named after the more or less spotty public art found in the middle (the Oryx Roundabout, etc.) and others after local businesses (Decoration Roundabout, named after a home decor store - God forbid it goes out of business, you may as well throw out your maps). Very exotic and alluring, no?

It's also an interesting mix of Third and First World. In a mall you can buy (gaudy) TV trays worth hundreds, or you can run into a little take-out restaurant where you can pick up two shawarma sandwiches (sliced roasted chicken with a garlic mayo lettuce, tomatoes, pickled veggies, and optional hot sauce, in a pita - I'm seeing lots of these in my future here;) and two drinks (e.g. fresh mango juice:) for four bucks.

So far, it all seems quite surreal. Moroccco and Egypt had hundreds to thousands of years of settled history, architecture and culture and a certain continuity. But here, just a few generations ago, they were bedouin or pearl divers, and now some 250,000 of their descendents are sitting on 15% of the world's natural gas (by some estimates). The West Bay, where most of the modern skyscrapers are, looks absolutely like something out of a sci-fi movie when seen from the Corniche/promenade on the other side of the bay, especially on a night with widespread dust and a very blurry moon.

I'm sure in a year this will all be quite mundane. I think.

Not there yet

2008-08-27T14:06:00.000-07:00

Leaving in just two weeks, which seemed like a lot of time... two weeks ago. I'm finding I walk around with a constant feeling like I left the stove or iron on, but can't drive back to shut it off. Well, that will change once I get on my flight from PDX (i.e. the point of no return).

The next blog will be from the sunny Persian Gulf!