Parking Mayhem
This is a view trying to leave the Souq al Waqef around nine o’clock on a date-night Thursday evening. There are two exit booths. Maybe one of the cashiers needed to go drink tea and never came back; only one booth is open. Those who are too important (or think they are) to wait in line edge, edge, edge slowly in front of you. It took forever to get out.
You will note that there are two lines formed to exit – through one booth!
Some of these guys are so important that in trying to get into your line, they block traffic in the oncoming lanes, too, so then things really get gridlocked.
The good news is that parking is relatively inexpensive – less than a dollar for an hour, maybe up to a buck fifty, two bucks for four – five hours. The drawback is that the system really isn’t working smoothly yet.
Al Maharah, Souk al Waqif Hotel
I got it half right. I was good taking photos until our main courses arrived, but when we got to Al Maharah, there were only a few groups. I took all the photos before there were a lot of people there. But the truth is, when our main courses – the seafood skewers – arrived, they were so good, I forgot to photograph them.
The secret is out. The food is SO good!
It was one of those wonderful nights in Doha when it isn’t so hot anymore, there is a breeze blowing. No, not a cool breeze, a comfortable breeze, and all of a sudden, all you want is to be outside. We roamed the souqs, making a purchase here and there, until we got to the hotel. We had actually intended to eat somewhere else, but the food in the hotel just looked so good.
The service is friendly and attentive, without being intrusive. They get five stars right off the top for striking that balance.
The menu is in Arabic and English, and has beautiful photos to help you decide what to order. We were totally tempted by the soups, but knowing we will be back, we both ordered the salad bar and the Mixed Seafood Grill Skewers. Oh WOW.
The restaurant is beautiful and serene. Several tables were reserved, and pre-ordered arrangements of hors d’oeuvres were being set out in beautiful serving dishes. We were so tempted to snatch a bite on our way back from the salad bar – the arrangements were artistic and tempting.
The Seafood Bar:
Part of the Salad Bar:
Our salad plates – they had so many good things!
They also had piping hot fresh out of the oven bread, Yumm!
The only problem is that the restaurant is right by one of the souk exits, where you pay for parking. Because everyone is so important, and jockeys for non-existent places in the line which has formed, it can be a little exciting sitting next to the window, not knowing if the yahoo who is trying to edge his way into the line even has a driving license. There is a fabulous terrace on this hotel; I wish the restaurant were up on the terrace area!
After dinner, there is also a dessert bar, or you can order a la carte. We couldn’t eat another thing, but it sure is tempting:
Not only will we go back, we will take our friends, especially now when being outside is so divine! It was a lovely, elegant evening, the food is reasonably priced. We didn’t see any wine being served, so if that is important to you, you will probably be better off at one of the more western hotels. And – get there early if you don’t have reservations. By eight, every table was taken.
Doha: Keep Your Camera Handy
Today I had one of those experiences I have so often in Doha, a “no-one-would-believe-me” moment, but I have learned to keep my camera handy, and fortunately we were stopped in traffic so I could snap this one without endangering any lives, especially my own.
Traffic is steady, busy, but pretty mellow. Yeh, there are the normal “I’m-going-to-make-a-left-turn-from-the-right-lane” guys; I’ve lived here for so long it doesn’t even rate a roll of the eyes. It’s part of the Doha / Kuwait driving culture.
This, however, I only see in Qatar. Mr. I’m-So-Important-I-Can’t-Wait is this guy in the white Land Cruiser.
He is sitting half on top of the street median, trying to get back into traffic going in his direction. To get there, he drove down the wrong way down the street on the other side of the divider. At first, there was no traffic, but when traffic came, he got up on the divider so he was only HALF blocking traffic from the other direction, and he is bullying his way back into the line he was too important to wait in.
I carry my camera now, every day, in my purse, because I know if I just tell you about these things, you won’t believe them.
I have seen this also at major roundabouts. Some yahoo drives up the other side of the road to the roundabout to avoid waiting in the line. Up over the medians, facing oncoming traffic. I know, I know, what are they thinking?
In Kuwait, I was sickened by the number of young men killed on the roads every week, every month. If it were an epidemic killing young men, people would do something about it, but tell these guys to obey the law? Make them pay fines for reckless driving? Make them wear seat belts? Their behavior tells me that no one has ever held them accountable for their arrogant and dangerous driving habits.
While we are told that “no one is above the law” somehow the message hasn’t made it to these guys.
November 9, 1989 The Fall of the Wall
Twenty years ago tomorrow, and I still hold my breath in wonder.
I was doing a very untypical thing for me – I was headed for the Czech border with three military-wife friends, to buy crystal. There was an unusual amount of traffic, all coming from the border, and the cars – not the normal beautiful cars you find on the German autobahns, but the fiberglass cars coming out of the Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc – miles and miles and miles on end, all headed West.
When it happened, we didn’t have a clue. There had been rising signs of unrest in the East, but that happens, and has always been ruthlessly put down.
The US had been in Germany forty years. In the most recent years, all the posts and all the military housing had undergone significant updatings – significant and expensive. If you asked anyone about the possibility of the wall coming down (Berlin Wall, for those of you who were not alive) they would just laugh.
“We’ll be here forever,” they would say.
So too, would Germans say.
“We’ve been divided for too long. We think differently,” they would say “We could never be re-united.”
In one joyful night, that all changed. As we reached our stop and went for dinner in our Gasthaus, the television showed the cars flowing over the borders, and the young dancing on the wall in Berlin. It was one of those rare occasions when the world held it’s breath in wonder and amazement; we did not know this was a possibility. Such joy!
Germany has struggled to make the reunification work. Even now, in the west, Germans will gripe about how all their tax monies are going to the east, and those from the east are taking their jobs, but in essence, the reunification has been a success, and the greater Germany is an amazing fact-of-life I never thought I would see in my life.
I still celebrate November 9th in my heart. Twenty years! It seems like yesterday.
Driving in Qatar
You probably think I am cursing when I am talking to you on the road.
I am not.
I am saying “Your poor father! He told you about turn signals! Weren’t you listening???”
I am saying “If your mother could see your bad manners, she would be so ashamed of you!”
I am saying “Hahahahahahaha! You got your picture taken!”
Moving into my lane when I am already in it, is bad manners. Honking at me to make me let you in is WORSE manners. Didn’t you see me? Oh! Here’s a thought – did you check your side mirrors before you thought to change lanes??
Have you noticed? I let the guys in who USE THEIR TURN SIGNALS! They are communicating in a polite way. I let them in in front of me. I am nice about it.
Back in Traffic; How Do You Alphabetize / File?
So today I became, once again, a legal driver in Qatar, five months to the day from my arrival. Yep, for those of you who never have the joy of trying to maneuver through the complexity of getting a license in a foreign country – you have NO idea. NO idea. There are people who try and try to get a license and never do.
We are really lucky. We have some very good people who help us get things done. Somehow, it’s my turn to be lucky today.
When I showed up at the office, however, one of the HR girls told me “Oh! Flana is not here today! You will have to come back.”
You all know how nice I am. I smiled at her and said “my husband told me to be here today to get my driver’s license. Someone is going to help me.” Smile again, big smile.
Sure enough, someone is going to help me, and it is someone who I like, someone who has helped me before and who is always calm and patient and knows how to persist pleasantly until he gets what he wants from the bureaucrats. In fact, I admire him, because people end up liking to help him. He is low key. He takes me to the driver’s station, where, because of my advanced age (DO NOT ASK) I have to have an eye test. This leads me to wonder. Doesn’t everyone have to have an eye test?
Then I wait, in the special ladies’ majlis:
I had to wait quite a long time, but I was comfortable, and while I was waiting, I read all the driving safety signs they had up along the ceiling. They were all in English and Arabic, and they were great thoughts, but too many words. Like if you are reading that many words: If you are driving too fast you may not get home alive (that is not a real one, but that was the gist of most of them) so I was creating a new driving safety campaign called the equal campaign:
Speed + Texting = (shows a vehicle turned on its side and all smashed
Speed + Weaving = Two or three crunched vehicles
Texting + Driving = QR (enormous fine)
Something simple to read, graphically simple, something you can glance at and get the meaning.
When I got my driver’s license, I was really happy, except for one tiny little thing – it’s kind of my name but not exactly my name. It’s an easy mistake to make, names can be complicated, but . . . it isn’t my name on my license. It’s my face, it’s my information – it isn’t my name. For half a heartbeat, I consider saying something and then Wisdom kicks in and I zip my lip.
So then, driving home in traffic, I got to thinking about names and how we file things, alphabetically, and even Europeans sometimes file us wrong, which has led us to first class seats because airlines can’t find us, etc. It isn’t always such a bad thing.
Then I started wondering about how Arab speaking people file. Like do you have half the files in the “A” drawer, like Al So-and-So and Al Somebody Else, and how do the sun and moon words affect the filing, like Ar Rayyan, or Ath Thalaka, or As Shams, etc. Once you have filed someone, the goal is to be able to retrieve that information? How does alphabetization work in Arabic? How are things filed?
So being stuck in traffic might not be so bad if someone answers my question and I learn something. 🙂
Stuck in Traffic on Musheirib
With all the re-routing off Al Rayyan as we convert to the Heart of Doha, I found myself inching along Al Musheirib this week, along with the noon-time crowd. When there is nothing else to do – take some photos. We drive right by every day, but do we look?
Many of these spots will disappear.
Boutiques? (!)
And here is one of my favorites – see it, just over the street sign? Cheep and Best?
The More Things Change
“. . . When we first came to Doha,” I laughed to my friend, “the first thing my husband warned me was never never to get behind a truck carrying concrete blocks. They weren’t tied down, and now and then a bump or a lumpy corner would send concrete blocks all over the roads. They don’t do that any more. They have rules now.”
Spoken too soon.
The very next week, I saw three trucks in a row, laden with concrete bricks, moving slowly down B-ring; one red, one white, one blue. I got stuck, first behind one, then behind the second.
No one was endangered as I took these photos. Traffic was at a standstill.
Pomegranate Soup by Marsha Mehran
I saw a mention of this book in an Amazon.com referral as a book I might like, and was almost set to order it when something said “go check the stack of books Little Diamond left for you” and sure enough, I already had the book.
I use books as an incentive to get me through life’s inevitable tasks I don’t like – like “if I finish this project on time, I get to read this book as a reward.” It works for me.
When I first started reading Marsha Mehran’s book about three Persian sisters starting up a cafe in a small Irish town after fleeing Iran, I found it sour. The author has a critical point of view, and generally speaking, I don’t like hanging around with people who criticize others and judge them harshly. At the beginning of the book, Mehran introduces a lot of people, many of whom we are not meant to like.
Even the sisters are not all that sympathetic – at the beginning. But also, near the beginning, she discusses Persian cooking, the idea of balance in a meal, hot and cold, spicy and bland, so you kind of get the idea that if there is sour, then there will also be sweet. In addition, at the end of each chapter there is a wonderful recipe, a wonderful, fairly easy-to-follow recipe, and she included one, Fesanjan, that is my all-time favorite Iranian dish and now, I know how to make it, Wooo HOOOO!
Three sisters, orphaned by fate, held together by love and duty, start a cafe, which, against all odds, becomes a raging success. Raging success does not heal all the old wounds, however, nor the hearts that bear them, and we learn through the book what the sisters have borne and overcome.
It turns out to be a sweet book, one well worth reading. And oh! the recipes! In each chapter, there are also hints that make them even better, so you can’t just copy out the recipes and use them, you really have to read the book. 🙂
It’s a pity that two of the most wonderful countries in the world – Syria and Iran – are off limits. We’ve been back to Syria, and it was everything we remembered (see the Walking Old Damascus blog entries) but oh, how we would love to explore Iran. Sigh. The world turns, and we can only hope to be able to get there in our lifetime. Stranger things have happened.
Little Mosque on the Corner
This is for my western friends, but anyone who sees me saying something wrong is welcome to jump in and fix it so it’s right.
We have a little mosque on the corner near our villa. Now, having a mosque on the corner is nothing special, in fact, when giving directions, it is kind of a joke, because you can give landmarks and then say “and you turn right at the mosque” but there are SO MANY mosques that using a mosque as a landmark is almost sure to confuse whoever is trying to find you.
Nonetheless, every neighborhood has its own mosque, and then there are bigger mosques where everyone gathers on Fridays, we call them Friday mosques, and then there are even bigger ones where everyone gathers on the two big holidays called Eids.
But this is our little neighborhood mosque:
I think it is very beautiful.
In the back, around this time of the year, they start a garden. I think it is for poor people to have something to eat, but I don’t know. I love it that they take a tiny little space and make it useful.
We live close enough to hear the call to prayer five times a day – it seems like more. There is the “get ready” call and then there is the real thing. During Ramadan, sometimes there are prayers over the microphone (it is on low) all night. It isn’t so intrusive; when it is hot and the air conditioning is on, you can’t even hear it. It’s kind of reassuring, to me, hearing someone praying all night long.
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