Day 2 – 03 may 2011

Dinner last night at the Four Seasons was super fantastic. Middle Eastern buffet. Fatoush salad was the best I’ve ever had, but hummus and tabbouleh, though excellent, still weren’t as good as mine or my mom’s. Middle Eastern desserts are super yummy (duh!). Went for a long walk to take photos of Doha at night, trying to cross the roundabouts unscathed was an exercise in survival. Oh, and pretty much only men drive here and just about every one of them honked at me/yelled/whistled out the window. Mental note to self: even if the front desk tells me I’m dressed appropriately, err on the side of caution. Hmmm, maybe the fact that one of the guys at the front desk practically begged me to come back, offered to take me out for Middle Eastern cuisine should have tipped me off. But no, I’m an idiot that way. So men here definitely do more than glance, but they seem pretty harmless.

My driver, Abdullah, is from Kerala, India. He’s been here 4 years, left behind his wife, 16-yr old daughter and 14-yr old son. He’ll go home in july for the 1^st time. Why did he come? Because the unemployment rate in his village is 95%. He pointed out a restaurant to me and suggested it. I asked how he liked the food. He said he’d never been because dinner would cost him a month’s salary. My waiter at dinner, was Jeff, from Nakuru, Kenya. His dad’s the head warden of Masai Mara Reserve. He’s been here 3 yrs, before that was in Riyadh. Two men who left behind their families to try and make a better life.

Breakfast was a buffet akin to what’s on offer at the Banff Springs Sunday brunch, only middle eastern. Ate a weird fruit called dragon fruit. Carrot-zucchini muffins were to die for. Charmed the chef (French guy named Loic) into giving me the recipe. Score!

Left the opulence of the Four Seasons and moved into my apartment, only to find a small flood on the floor of the powder room. The apartment has zero natural light, the microwave beeps randomly (so I have to unplug it when I’m not using it), shower is more like a trickle, big cracks in walls. The weirdest thing is that this building was only built 4 yrs ago and yet in many ways it’s falling apart. But that’s how it is in Qatar. Buildings go up like gangbusters – never have I seen this much construction – and workmanship suffers. Not to mention that things just aren’t built to last in the desert. No  bloody clue how to use the washing machine – the instruction manual explains everything except how to start it, and instead the control panel is a jumble of cryptic symbols and letters (what the hell is a blossom supposed to mean? And how is cycle A different from cycle B, C, D?).

I have a UCQ buddy. Her name is Joanne Divine (gotta love that). Her role is to help me transition into Qatari life. She’s really nice, arranged to go out for dinner with me, following consumption of contraband alcohol in Leslie’s apartment. But the best part about her is that when I arrived at my apartment after spending a small fortune on very unfamiliar groceries (which by the way was a total adventure), I felt totally overwhelmed, discombobulated and alone. This after blowing the fuse on my voltage converter immediately upon plugging in my North American power bar – that was a mistake. Oh, and I realized I left the battery for my SLR camera in the charger, plugged in at home. Tried to replace it, but it would actually be cheaper to have Erin (my lovely housesitter and awesome friend) mail it to me. Anyway, Joanne phoned me and immediately heard in my voice that I was a little freaked out and told me to come right over (she’s down the corridor). I walked in her apartment and she gave me a great big hug. We spent the whole evening together, lots of laughs, especially at a very strange sounding menu item (see photo) at a restaurant that also offers “massages”. Hmmm. She’s 55, been here since UCQ campus opened in 2007, has traveled all over, most recently to Nepal and Bhutan last month. Very cool lady. I feel quite a bit better, like I have a friend, someone who realizes how totally foreign this all is and how scary it can be at first.

Some of the things I’ve gathered so far. Don’t cross the road like you’re in Calgary. Pretend you’re in Montreal, you’ll be just fine. Roundabouts everywhere, watch out for drivers who suddenly decide to take to the sidewalks. Never seen so many cell phone stores – I don’t get it – is there a shortage or something? Oh, and Abdullah, my driver, says to me: “when I arrive, I’ll miscall you”. What that means is people here just let the mobile phone ring once to avoid paying charges and they use that as a kind of code. Funny – the best part is I’ve started doing it too. These are the filthiest rich people I’ve ever seen. I bet when they go to the bathroom, they poo money. Few women drive, but the only Qatari woman I saw driving today was in a pink hummer. Hah! Per capita pollution is higher in Qatar than anywhere else in the world. Today I saw an Aston Martin, a few Porshes, God knows how many BMWs and Mercedes, numerous Range Rovers. You get the idea. Consume, consume, consume. No recycling, but more unnecessary packaging than I’ve ever seen. The Qataris are like ghosts – the black ghosts are the women and the white ghosts are the men. Most Qatari women seem to wear the niqab (black ghostlike robe head to toe, with slits or even cut out circle things for the eyes) but some wear the abaya (face showing), in particular the Malaysian women. Most of the population (around a million) is expats, mainly from India and the Philippines. Qataris seem to have quite the sense of entitlement. Case in point: we went to a takeaway shop after dinner, and people drive up and honk their horns and get extremely impatient if they don’t get served immediately. Man oh man, makes us Canadians look even more overly polite. Some of the rules: don’t sit with the soles of your feet pointing toward your host, don’t eat with your left hand, no alcohol, no pork, if you run a red light, the fine is 10 000,00 QR (approx. 3 000,00 $ CDN), forbidden items to mail to Qatar include greeting cards with chimes (WTF?). Oh, and a tattooed girl certainly attracts a lot of attention.

Tomorrow I go to the campus, meet some people, get my office, etc., basically get myself set up. I’m hoping this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach goes away, and that’s it’s just homesickness and not something more icky. Oh, and you can’t drink the tap water here, but nobody can tell me why not. Basically, this is going to be a true test of my adaptability. I mean, lord knows I’ve rolled with some major punches this past year and proved myself to be quite the weeble – let’s just hope I continue to go with the flow, inshallah (that means God willing - I'm learning some Arabic from Abdullah).