Tough day at the office - we had a staff seminar here in March www.sharqvillage.com

I’m falling in love with the Middle East. Who’d have thunk it? This hard core Goth (in a past life), rebellious, extreme leftie from Brighton, loves a part of the world not well known for its liberal views. But I love the call to prayer, I love that everywhere you go, there are prayer rooms: even supermarkets and car parks have clean, comfortable and brightly lit prayer rooms where sailor or priest, king or pauper, kneel shoulder to shoulder as brothers to pray.

In many Qatari’s I see a serenity and kindness that I associate with being connected to God, to spirituality, a do unto to others as you would have done to you-ness. The best definition of spirituality I ever heard was, it is a reflection of how you treat other people.

I was on a Middle East blog-forum the other day and reading these posts from an American woman who just couldn’t understand women being veiled. The hijab and burqa bothered her and she made some pretty ridiculous, (in my opinion) statements about women being forced to cover up to avoid being raped by men who could not otherwise control themselves. I was about to wade into this discussion with what I had learnt living here.

My lovely nieces in the traditional Souk in Qatar

It frustrates me that so many Westerners misunderstand the concept of wearing a veil, how it is a deeply held spiritual and cultural belief that has held true through the ages. Just as a Catholic holds onto their crucifix, how devout Christians hold onto the ritual of eating the ‘Body of Christ’ and Drinking his Blood’ during communion. I do not wish to be inflammatory, or offend any religion, but eating your Saints? How is that any more modern or less strange to an outsider looking in?

I decided against wading into that forum discussion with the American woman, because some prejudices run so deep it is impossible to enlighten the protagonist. And also I realized you have to be here to see, and sense, the level of respect woman are given, particularly from Arabic men, and even more so if they are veiled. Women are revered here, more than repressed, in my experience.

It’s not perfect; I’m not trying to say that, rather, there are some ways and traditions in the Middle East that I am seduced by. I love the language: Humdullah (spelt incorrectly but as it sounds). Just try saying that, the mouth loves it. Marhaba, Enshallah. OK I’m going to get a verbal bashing for my spellings here, but the sound and feel of the few bits of language I have, is lovely.

A day at the races - Camel racing in Qatar

I don’t know what it is about getting older, but I find the more I learn, the less I know. How is it two cultures with intrinsic spiritual foundations mange to fall out and fight as they do?

You have to come here to learn that there is much we can do for each other, but dare I say the Middle East is doing so much more for me than I ever expected.

Me and Vinny after Iftar during Ramadan at the lovely Sheraton DohaThe beautiful Sheraton Doha during Ramadan

I’m a bit down in the dumps – I think I’m homesick. It’s more ‘friendly-face-sick’ tbh. Everyone speaks Arabic at work, I feel left out a lot. And I haven’t made a whole lot of friends since I’ve been here, and I miss my son. I’m not sure I can print this, I mean – who the heck cares about a miserable ol’-journo abroad?

Anyway, what I decided I wanted to write about in this blog is Islam. Yes, I know hugely contentious. There are family members throwing themselves on crucifixes, praying for me to reconsider as I type and my husband is having a heart attack reading this – but its OK, really.

There are a few things I learnt that I wanted to share, like with Eid and Ramadan, and Islamic banking and stuff like that. I mean who knew that Islamic banking would be so ethical, and really considering what the Western banks have done, they could really learn a lot from Islamic banking. It is based upon principles of NOT screwing as much money out of customers as possible, but on helping them. They do not charge interest in the usual way, and there is no compound interest at all. A friend at work explained it to me and I thought, wow, it is lovely.

I was encouraged to understand the culture of my adopted home, and I’m beginning to get an understanding of the Middle East that I didn’t have before. Actually I was prejudiced and closed minded, and like everyone with a prejudice, I didn’t know it. I thought that the Middle East was unnecessarily weary of Western press, but now I realize, they need to be because there is a one sided view coming out about people in the region through the media.

Having indulged in the lovely food, drinks and chat, I saw a gaggle of young people in the corner. Typical teenagers, cousins, kids, grandchildren etc… At the end of the meal the girls, about half a dozen of them (all dressed in skinny jeans and ballet pumps like girls in the West, but with scarves over their hair) stood up en-mass, turned to the wall and started to sing. I realized they were not facing the wall but facing Mecca. Someone explained to me, they are singing a pray of thanks for the food and for their family.

It was a beautiful thing and not something you would ever see teenage girls do in the UK, you’d be very lucky to get a thank you out of them. In fact, once they hit sixteen, would they even turn up to a family gathering over the holidays without a hangover?

Certainly there are more freedoms in the West for girls and young people, but has anyone ever calculated the true cost of these freedoms?

Doha Corniche

I’ve found that eating out in Qatar can be a really hit and miss affair. Most of the good restaurants which are regularly reviewed in magazines like Time Out Doha are a bit Tiara’s and Tuxedo’s for me. We’ve been to a few on their recommendation, like Bentley’s in the Ramada Plaza. This is like dinning in a Gentleman’s Club in England’s old colonial days. Lots of bowing and scraping from the overly attentive staff, huge and beautiful twinkling chandeliers and vast leather armchairs at the solid oak tables. But the food was pretty mediocre at best and the prices seemed exorbitant. We were not impressed.

Another place we tried on Time Out Doha’s recommendation is the Spice Market in the W. They obviously love it, or have a free account there, as they feature in the magazine virtually every month. But it is pretty good, my husband – ‘Himself’ loves it. The only thing is the first time we went we were stunned to get a bill for nearly 200 pounds sterling. That stung a bit, I had to go home and read out loud to Himself the fact that Time Out had written that it is reasonably priced. But as he pointed out, all the luxury cars outside are brand new Porches and Bentley’s – to the regular diners it’s just a cafe.

However, one of the worst dinning out experiences we had recently came when we were looking forthe kind of restaurant that just doesn’t seem to exist here. What we call back home, ‘cheap and cheerful’.  England and Ireland do these so well, where you’d go midweek with all the family and not need the high heels or ‘Your Highness’ type attitude. Just consistently good food, efficient service and reasonable prices.

A couple of weeks ago this is what we were looking for, a quick and tasty meal out and so we picked an Italian in Westbay we’d been to before. It’s not too posh – but obviously not the other type either. You know the ones, where you take flippers and an oxygen mask into the loos with you.

Eventually Romano, the Italian cockroach scuttled further away and our food then turned up. I begrudgingly sat down but it kind of killed the evening as you can imagine. I don’t think there is another kind of appetite killer quite like dining with cockroaches but the food was grey, chewy and tasteless which also didn’t help. Needless to say, we won’t be going back. But I’d love to hear your recommendations about eating out in Doha. I don’t trust magazine reviews anymore. I’d like some personal experiences.

View from home - Asas Twin Tower in Doha

Welcome to my brand new all singing all dancing blog with bells on. Well, with pictures and links and things on. Thanks to Alex Stepkoff for sorting that out for me. Contrary to the rest of the world right now – Qatar is booming, there are tons of jobs and job opportunities. Although please refrain from sending me your CV if you are in engineering and on linked in. I love the enthusiasm I get from linked in for my blog, love it! But even though I blog about work, I can’t find you a job in a industry I know nothing about. I have, however helped a couple of people in media; so writers, bloggers, designers – keep touch.

What is new? Well it’s Ramadan – Ramadan Kareem to you all. This is a fascinating time to be in the Middle East. Ramadan totally takes over the country and pervades daily life here. Most Muslims are fasting during the day, and working hours are reduced. Food outlets close, can you imagine – the commercial money chewing machine that is Starbucks and Costa – forced to close all day in the Mall, every day, throughout Qatar, for a whole month. Mind you, they make up all losses at night, I’m sure, when the whole place comes alive. Even the dentist starts work at 8pm and doesn’t finish until midnight.

Dentists in Doha. What can I tell you? What is it about the British that we have terrible teeth and can’t get good dental care? My teeth are messed up and it’s horrible. I was ignoring a hole in my tooth for as long as I could, due to having lousy dental experiences in the UK over a period of years. But then, when it started hurting a lot, I knew I had to do something, so I went along to the excellent Al Ahli hospital where my dear husband, Vinnie,  had recently been treated by a very kind and gentle dentist. My husband is Irish. He gets good dental care. I am English. I got the carving-knife–dentist- from-hell.  I won’t go into detail, but I did what any self respecting adult would do, refused to be treated by him and walked out. I have no regrets, and that’s the thing about getting older, you have more wrinkles but you take less c$@p!

I went to reception and begged to see the every kind dentist my husband had seen before. They call him Dr Hari, but the spelling is different to that. Unfortunately he was fully booked with no appointments for ten whole days. I was so worried my teeth were about to fall out that, you know what I did? I burst into tears. It was too much. Fortunately …Mr Hari happened to be in the reception at the time and gently reassured me he would look after me and my teeth right now. He explained I would need root canal treatment on at least one of them, another was fractured and needed urgent care, another had a cavity which might need root canal work and there were some other problems too!!!  Neglect your teeth at your peril, kids.

So Hari recommended a specialist dentist for the root canal work, who was not too far away. Nothing ever is too far away in Doha. And another for the fracture and other work, who was very close to where we lived. We went immediately to the Dr. Hassan Al-Abdulla Medical Centre, only to find the dentist he recommended was away. Hurumph, but I could see another. Against my better judgement, I agreed. I managed to get an appointment later that very night to see him.  How handy is that. You can easily get dental care in the evening in Doha – without waiting days – why can’t the UK sort this kind of thing out?

Anyway, highly stressed about my tooth, and having been kept waiting for quite awhile and not too sure about this guy and thinking of running out – I finally walked in to see the dentist, Dr. Mouine. I handed him my x-rays and a letter from Dr. Hari explaining the problem. He pointed out it was addressed to another dentist and said, ‘well – I’ll try my best for you’.

WTF,  I thought, and blurted out, ‘But you are as good as him, right?’

He shrugged in that Arabic way and turned down his mouth, ‘Ahh not really – so so’

I literally jumped to my feet, with ‘right fine – I see.’

I  snatched the x-ray from his hand and went to march out. ‘Easy, easy,’  he called out after me ‘I was joking.’ Nothing funny about dentistry – it’s about as funny as a funeral in my book.

View from balcony - Doha

Anyway to cut a long story short, he was great. I had horrible root canal on one tooth but he was careful, thorough and diligent. He fixed another tooth very cleverly using a bridge and something called zirconium which is as hard as metal but is white. My teeth are looking really rather good. I don’t think its easy to find a good dentist in Doha either – I Googled the second dentist Dr. Hari recommended and there were over a dozen terrible reviews on the web. They really need to address that with some more up to date reviews and a website of their own.  So if any of you web-techie PR people are interested in knowing who they are so you can propose to sort out their dated, but still damaging, online profile – do get in touch, as I said, there are tons of job opportunities in Doha. Employers beware!

There were a million problems with Vince’s – the details weren’t uploaded onto the computer, then there was a technical problem with getting the finger prints, then there was a typing error on the letter from the sponsor. On and on it went. And now it seems to be a similar story with mine.

These are the hoops we need to jump through to get me sorted out. First from Vincent’s sponsored RP, we then get a family visa, from that we apply for a residence permit (RP). Until then I can’t start work and I’m itching to go. You also can’t get cable TV without an RP, a driving license, current account or sign a tenancy agreement, so it’s a pretty useful piece of paper.

After the painful merry-go-round with Vince’s paper work mine is going the same way. Firstly my nationality was wrong on the form, Irish instead of British, come back tomorrow, onwards to the physical, but turned away there was a computer error meaning only men can be processed today , come back tomorrow. Finally got it done the following day. However, when getting your medical for your RP process, which everyone has to go through, be prepared for a long and horrible day. Its all done now – finger prints, blood tests etc…, so should be ready to go shortly.

I mention this because so many people have left comments on linked in regard to my blog, which is lovely and thank you, and many of them are considering a move to Doha and want to know about the process. I’m just saying it like it is for us. However, other people’s experience can be very different. I know someone who got their RP within two weeks with out hassle. Furthermore, I was talking to someone last night who has started work with no RP, and has no problem with it, whereas I was told, no, it’s impossible, illegal and you can’t. So – there are rules, and then there are other rules, depends on who you ask.

Now, what else is going on. I’ve been hitting the gym a lot lately. I need to, my belly tends to sit forlornly on my lap when I sit down and the other day, whilst waving goodbye to Vince from the balcony my upper arm flapped back in the opposite direction to the rest of my arm and slapped me in the eye. So, time to take drastic action. Luckily the apartment has a good enough gym and the pool is pretty handy. But floating about for five or ten minutes doesn’t seem to be shifting the weight at all.

It is interesting for me to find that I get so much less exercise here as there is nowhere to walk except the malls and this is counterintuitive as the malls also contain frappucino’s, Hagen Dazs  and fresh from the oven cinnamon rolls covered in melted chocolate sauce or icing. A combination both so alluring and so deadly it can only have been concocted by the devil himself. Or possibly America as it is systematically and patiently destroying the world one cardiac vessel at a time.  

Being a Brit abroad, I’m a bit lost without being able to ponder about outside. A brisk walk after Sunday lunch or mid week down the high street or a Springtime prance across a field. I think it harks back to post WW2 austerity where the only possible form of entertainment was going for a walk. Our parents were brought up on it and they drilled it in to my generation. If you’re bored, go for a walk, if you have a spare few minutes in the day, go for walk, need to clear your head, go for a walk. We won continents on tea and walks, don’t knock it.

But here, there simply is no walking about outside, despite the huge economic and structural growth, boom times and skyscrapers galore, there really are no safe pavements to walk down. I have felt so cooped up at times that I can honestly say, the thing I miss most about my old life, was being able to amble about outside. If you have that where you live, don’t take it for granted. Have a stroll, stop for a cup of tea and slice of cake, and think of me, I’m thinking of you …And pst …don’t mention the war!

Huge, tall and narrow with gravity defying glass contours, they are of varying shapes and sizes but all are stylish. Our tower, Asas has 28 floors and it’s a baby. The resulting look could well challenge the Manhattan Skyline in the breathtaking view stakes.  I’ m describing  West Bay and there are other areas of Doha such as Old Salata, which was once the business hub of Qatar and is therefore made up of old, sandstone structures two or three stories high. There is also the vast residential areas such as Al Waab that is home to many ex-pats in endless, (monotonous) compounds.

West Bay was always my first choice and reflects exactly what I hoped for in a futuristic city landscape. But it is kind of eerie too, as all these vast skyscrapers, each taller then the last, are 90% empty. Yes indeed, its kind of a ‘Build it and they will come’ style of enterprise. Beautiful brand new tower blocks with state of the art amenities but no pavement outside it! And empty car parks, empty offices and empty apartments.

One of the oddest things is taking a stroll up to the City Centre Mall, (which conversely is always bulging at 90% over capacity), in the shadow of the giant towers, all glittering glass and shiny chrome, you are almost completely alone. Imagine walking through the city of London, past huge skyscrapers, Costa Coffee and a little Italian restaurant in the middle of the afternoon, with no one else around anywhere, no cars, pedestrians, nothing. You might find that a little eerie.

It’s been weeks since my last blog, due largely to the endless debate between me and my editor (husband) about what is OK to publish. It’s a no- win situation for someone like me who started this blog to be honest and frank and useful to others who may want to move out to Doha. I wanted to write about cultural differences perhaps, about the practise and procedures involved in getting settled, getting paper work done, obtaining a driving license, a place to live and that kind of thing. But it is getting so contentious, I’m beginning to wonder if it is worth it. I did not start this blog to write about the weather!

OK, that’s enough grand-standing from me, for now. Next blog – I’ll be writing about the political situation in Bahrain and the plight of doctors….just kidding!

NB This blog post as been edited, censored in effect due to negative response from regional males online

Towering Skyscraper is home

I have in me an inane need to get things done. All I really need think about today is fixing my dodgy nail varnish as I’m going in to see my new boss tomorrow and getting something in for dinner. And yet as I sit here typing there is a nagging need to get on with things, fix things, make things, buy things, sort it out and tidy it all away. Fuss, fuss, fuss.

I almost thought, can’t do my blog I’m too busy. But that’s rubbish really. I must say, though, that these days are such a gift. I know I’ll be starting work soon and now that everything associated with moving is ‘done’  - we have enough towels and pans, the belongings are all unpacked, yadda yadda yadda, I can relax, build up a tan, work out in the gym and actually start to read all those self help books that I compulsively buy.

So in theory I should be in the best shape I’ve ever been in ever. A beacon of light and tranquillity. Today a truth resonated with me from the brilliant Brandon Bays book, ‘The Journey’.  She says you HAVE a body and a mind but what you ARE is soul. Lovely isn’t it and not what was foremost in my mind when our cargo arrived fresh from the port – with what I assumed to be local, flaky, non English speaking work force refusing to deliver it to our apartment. I calmly told the woman on the phone ‘No, they cannot unload it on a busy public round about, known here as ‘Exhibition Roundabout’ and clearly not where you want all your stuff being aired, and trolley it the few miles to our apartment block. Three phone calls later and I’d made my point.

However once here the apartment management wouldn’t let them in believing that a heavy truck with container would – and check this out for a ‘are you kidding me’ moment – damage their car park. I think I lost all ability to reason at that point. Could I find out how much it weighed, I was asked. I looked at the not-very-communicative-workforce ambling about in the heat, waiting to get started and being rather nonplussed about the situation.  

Incensed I called my husband – whenever in doubt or incensed I do this – poor man. He calmly said – and I swear I would have punched him if he had been in front of me at the time – ‘Well shouting at me isn’t going to help is it Sarah’?

To which I calmly replied, !!#*$k @#~K. You get the idea. But the most spiritually devoid moment in it all came next when he –again- calmly pointed out that of course the truck won’t damage the car park, all we have to do is sweet talk the management in to realising that too. Really, says I, well I’m about to f@#)ing punch someone in a minute so how do you suggest we do that? Generally this is not how I behave, but I’m guessing that suddenly the stress of moving and the burden of the immovable object, i.e the management, versus the irresistible force, i.e. my things, momentarily overwhelmed me.

Anyway, I promised some jumping over hurdles in the last blog and by golly that’s what we’re gonna do. We were very happy to leave the Holiday Villa, lovely though it is, it’s still a hotel and you don’t feel completely at home there. With one week to go I’d been thinking about work, and as I quite strongly believe in the power of positive thinking and what has been termed by some as ‘cosmic ordering’ – although I hate that term as it implies the universe is some kind of fast food takeaway service as opposed to the flow of life that I believe works through our consciousness. OK I’m beginning to sound a bit weird now but the point being, having had an interview at a progressive advertising agency for a copywriting position and realising I would hate to work there due to the fact that it resembled a chain smoking teenagers bedroom, I decided to focus on what I did want.

I wrote down what I’d like to do, literally, on a daily basis, reflecting my professional and personal strengths and then wrote that down. Writing web copy, features, reports, media handling, press releases and attending events. I thought about the kind of place it would be, and that at least parts of it would be non-smoking, it would be a spacious, clean and modern place to work. Not private sector, preferably a charity or social enterprise, and with an amazing team of people. A week later I have a job interview at Weill Cornell University, Education City, Doha. It went well.

Our pool area at home

The next day we’re excited to be moving out of the hotel apartment and in to the fabulous Asas Towers. We have a lovely weekend exploring the surrounding area and swimming in the pool. I’m excited as in a few days my enormous little boy is coming over for a visit and then our stuff is arriving from Brighton. Its all go. I had forgotten all about my list until a few days later when I got the call to say I had the job, it is such an exact match, its quite spooky.

Took Vince to see the two best properties I liked. Both are in West Bay which is right on the beach, with a busy city centre mall nearby and surrounded by breath taking skyscrapers. We ruled out the ‘popular’ Pearl, ex-pat haven though it is. It comes with Carluccio’s and Gucci and Ferrari all on site, but if you want a loaf of bread or a newspaper you have to drive to the nearest mall. Properties there start at around QR13,000 for a two bedroomed, lousy view flat. I saw two lovely three bedroomers for QR15,000 per month, that’s about £2500. We ruled out villas and compounds, again lovely, but affordable ones are quite a drive away and just have too much space for the two of us. West Bay Lagoon is also lovely but properties there start at QR30,000 (£5000)per month I’m told.

We decide on Asas Towers with its huge pool and comfy sofa’s surrounding it. It also has a grocery store, launderette, café, barbers and hairdressers on site. The flat has amazing direct sea views, 12ft high ceilings, three double bedrooms, a maids room converted into a study for me and five loos. Five. I feel very posh with that many toilet options. The air con is excellent too and I find I haven’t been miserably hot here at all- yet.

A note about RP’s to those peeps interested in living in Qatar. Firstly you need one obviously, secondly it is a frustrating and time consuming process, despite being relatively simple. All it consists of is a health check, (blood test to screen you for HIV/Hepatitis, an X-ray for check for TB) finger printing to ensure you are not wanted by Interpol and an appropriate letter from your employer. The problem for us has been the back-log of ex-pats waiting for a health check appointment as there is only one place that can do them which is the Medical Commission and Vince can’t get an appointment for love nor money (literally!). There are rumours that the Doha Clinic will be licensed to do them soon to help clear the back-log but this hasn’t happened yet.

You need your RP to open a back account, because without one you will not get credit; that means no cheque book, no credit card and overdraft facility. But you can open a savings account and have your salary paid into that. That is what we did with HSBC – the world’s global bank – which has proved to be anything but TBH. I heard a rumour that if you go with QIB (Qatar International Bank) you can get a current account immediately, but don’t rely on that.

You also need your RP to sign a contract to lease a property. Some of those I dealt with were very adamant about this, others more relaxed. You can sign, and move in and produce your RP later, depending on who you deal with. That’s bored you to death with semantics now what can I enthral you with on finishing. Well next blog is landing the dream job after the best ever interview, the day before we move into our spanking new home, and just three days before my giant teenager comes to visit. How’s that for humping over hurdles in one lovely leap?

Desert Adventure

Thanks to everyone who has registered to leave comments on my blog, I’m thrilled and will soon work out how to make this process easier. So coming to the end of the second or third week I go off on a desert adventure. Sand dune bashing both exhilarating and frightening, there is no way a motorised vehicle is getting up this sandy knoll, you think to yourself. But then it does and then …. oh my god – what about getting down the other side of it. Stop terrifying me I silently prayed to the serenely mute Arab in the driving seat next to me.

Turns out that ‘he-who-rescues-damsels-from-the-side-of-the-road-after-job-interviews’ does desert tours and excursions for a living and is now showing me a bit of the local ‘culture’. And stunning it is too. I’ve heard people say there is something about Africa, it has its own heart beat, and we all love England (green and pleasant land) but there is also something quite magical about the desert; ancient, mystical, deadly and graceful, quite spectacular in fact. My guide and me don’t talk much as I take in the vastness of the dunes and searing blue sky above it.

We land on a deserted beach in a convoy of tourists and their guides in 4 x4’s and splash about in the cleanest, warmest sea I’ve ever come across, it is a day I’ll never forget. I’m told that these guides who travel the singing sand dunes are very experienced drivers and believe me when you are descending a bulge of sand at a 45 degree angle, you’ll want to believe it.

I ask a few questions about local customs and dress. I’m surprised to find the stark white tunic and head scarf, the uniform of the Middle East, quite attractive on some of the fellas, coupled with their jaunty, laid back air and designers shades. I’m not sure looking alluring is quite the aim, but some achieve it nonetheless. There is something biblical, timeless and classical about it. I find out that those Arabs, like my guide, who wear a white headscarf, are from Qatar and those whose are red and white are from Saudi. Students of the 1980’s already know that the black and white scarves are Palestinian.

Why do the women wear a full face covering I ask. I just can’t get used to it, it is so dramatic, some even cover their entire faces with a black scarf without the little slits for eyes. It strikes me as such a violent withdrawal from society. The answer surprised me and will probably surprise you too and under advice I’ll not publish here – but it may involve the concept of incognito.

By the way Vince and his car accident were absolutely fine. We were told if you have an accident and fault is not determined between the two drivers at the scene, then wait for the police to turn up who will decide whose fault it is. If fault is agreed you both proceed to the police station where a report is filed for insurance purposes. Because Vince and the mad man who drove in to the back of him could not determine fault due to lack of a common language, he decided to wait for the police. But after an hour of no show he called work and got the company’s PRO (do not know what that stands for) to sort it out. He was told to move the cars as causing a blockage might mean getting a fine and they drove to the police station and although Mad Driver blamed Vince, because he hit his rear bumper in his nanosecond impatience to get going, it was his fault they were all delayed by hours.  

So once he’s happily ensconced in his new role at Emerson I speculatively sent out a few CV’s, not expecting much to happen after the dire employment state of the UK. So imagine my happy surprise to get a phone call the very next day inviting me for an interview for a copywriting role, delighted. I looked it up on the map, booked a car to take me there and with still no sign of my missing suitcase, nipped out to buy a business looking shirt.

Its with an advertising agency that looked like something out of the 1970’s with thick blue smoke fogging up the minuscule light and air. This emanated from chain smoking adults in scruffy t-shirts, shaggy hair and a disinterested air about them, although friendly enough. I thought offices like this were a thing of the past, with newspapers and coffee cups and plastic mugs littering it up everywhere. The interview was fairly straight forward stuff and half an hour later I had hoped to catch a cab on the busy road junction just outside back to the Holiday Villa. Doh! No one had yet told me, don’t do that, they won’t stop here, there’s not enough cabs and it’s not a good idea.

Thirsty, very hot and with my new little sling backs biting my toes I thought I was stranded until a very kind local man stopped with the advice mentioned above and offered to drive me back to my hotel. Now I know what you’re thinking and in any other country you’d be right. But it is a well documented fact that there is very little crime in Qatar, almost none, and the Qataris in particular are a very gentle lot. I hesitated, but not much, he then handed me a business card which I took to mean he really couldn’t be an axe murderer. He told me to take the number of a taximan who speaks English or to go to one of the hotels to get a cab. Small advice but it certainly made life easier for me from then on in. I found the fantastic Krishnan – an Indian taximan who calls me ‘Holiday Villa ma’am’ and is pretty reliable at picking me up and dropping me off. 

Anyway shortly after I got home, a phone call from Vince, some nutter has gone into the back of him, he’s not sure what to do, he’s called the police but they don’t speak English. So next blog what to do and what not to do when (and not if, sadly) you have your first car crash in Qatar.