ON THE BEACH

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FEBRUARY  9th ON THE BEACH

All of the English instructors had to come together for a professional retreat: our curriculum needed to be re-assessed and probably modified. As is often the case, it was impossible to find a working day slot to bring about some 20 people together without clashing with teaching hours. OK, a weekend day then. But in order to make a 6-hour get–together palatable on a Saturday, the location really had to be comfortable, if not super-duper luxurious. The Department Head’s choice fell on a posh hotel-with-beach, the St Regis. 

This was a special treat considering that along the beautiful bay of Doha there is no public beach with easy access to the turquoise-coloured waters of the Gulf. Beaches (a) either are non-existent down below from the Corniche (b) or belong to big hotels such as the Sheraton (c) or charge non-negligible entrance fees to their eager visitors. Since I hadn’t put my toes in the Persian Gulf yet, this was my chance! I felt sure that I’d enjoy it particularly after a hard-working day with my colleagues.

During the lunch break in between a wide range of delicious dishes, I got an early glimpse of the swanky, swimming pool at ground level, surrounded by palm trees, deck chairs, cushioned sofas and sun shaded tents. The inevitable bar with its impeccably dressed waiters was located at the far end of the pool, right where the sandy beach started. It was a promising sight for later that afternoon.

When all our discussions and working sessions had finished, some colleagues and I sauntered over to the pool and beach area. Some of my veteran co-workers regarded a February dive in the Persian Gulf as the equivalent of a Polar Bear Swim on New Year’s Day, in other words, any direct physical contact with the water was fine for fools but to be shunned by the wise. I had to try that luring sea, though! I managed to get in. The water, albeit not exactly warm, was still acceptably tepid for a recently arrived northerner. At the same time, it was extremely salty, and to my surprise not as crystal clear as I had previously imagined – but hey, the calm green-blue water was still relaxing.

 

Standing again on the sand 15 minutes later I could look out and admire “The Pearl”, that huge stretch of land reclaimed from the sea and built up with expensive apartments and palatial waterside mansions. What we couldn’t see, from our vantage point, was the neighbourhood of “The Pearl” where the streets, canals, and bridges emulate the ambiance of Venice, a quarter even called “Venice”; nor could we spot Porto Arabia, which was supposed to be a seaside boulevard with little stores and restaurants, an area that I’ve resolved to explore some time in the future. The Pearl was still under construction. Apparently, only 10% was inhabited so far, and in any case nobody but a Qatari was allowed to buy real estate in this country. 

I peered into the distance towards the other end of the bay, but couldn’t spot the imposing Museum of Islamic Art, which is at a stone’s throw from my apartment  not too far from the airport and where a friend had photographed me recently.  

Was it simply too far from this beach to detect with the naked eye? And what about that story that Qatar might want to build a bridge across the bay all the way from The Pearl to the new Doha International Airport? My colleagues were discussing the rumour and tried to work out what distances would be involved. Surely, a bridge like that would be quite a bit longer than the one from Prince Edward Island to New Brunswick.

It was time for me to do some lengths in the pool. I seemed to be the only one in the water; everyone else was sunbathing and relaxing on the hotel deckchairs. 

When a little later I did the same and got chatting with half a dozen colleagues – with all of us in total agreement that the weather was perfect to chill here in our bathing suits and sunglasses – I couldn’t help noticing a couple walking by. They stopped at the glass fence between the pool and the beach. The man was dressed in an immaculately white “thawb”, the long head-to-toe garment for Qatari men. The matching white scarf ‘rotra’ on his head was held in place by the black, rope-like “'iqal”. He was holding the hand of what presumably must have been his wife. She was wearing a black “abayah” over her entire body, with her head covered in black as well (by a "hejab"). Most Arab women in Qatar wear a scarf that covers their hair but not their face. Some may also cover their foreheads and the part of the face below their eyes (Is that a "batoola" or a "niqab"? I never know). This woman, however, didn’t even show her eyes; not a square centimeter of her face was visible to the outside world. Her eyesight can’t have been perfect, because on top of her facial veil she was wearing a pair of glasses. Involuntarily I inspected myself in my bathing suit and decided that, as far as clothing was concerned, I had in common with the couple that I was wearing black and white, too. How to feel naked even next to a swimming pool….

With the sun gradually going down it was soon time to wrap up. Leaving the one posh hotel behind I was actually heading for yet another one, with the brief name of the “W”. There various jazz musicians would perform that evening in a special fund-raising event. I still had to pick up my ticket and wait for a couple of friends, so I wanted to be there in time. I arrived at my next destination when the late-afternoon sun was slowly disappearing and making the tall buildings of the ultra-modern West Bay area glow with golden light. A few minutes later it was dark.

MY DAILY DIP

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When I look at my microwave clock I see it’s already 7:15, high time to get going this morning. Since my bikini might not see any daylight this year, the question is which bathing suit I should wear today. I slip into the black and white one, put on the thick bathrobe provided by my hotel suite, and grab my cane and apartment key to take the elevator to the 15^th floor. As always, the Health Centre is deserted apart from the Filipino supervisor, who hands me a towel. The rooftop open-air swimming pool is heated, but the water is only 25 degrees today. It’s also very windy and the outside temperature is a mere 19°C. My students complained yesterday that it was incredibly cold early in the morning, just 14°C. Ha! If only they could see the snow in Ottawa, as I did while Skyping! And if only they knew that my Vancouverite friends are shivering in below zero weather! Vancouver, I muse; 11 time zones away…. Aljazeera English with all its world news has told me little about Canada. Their TV news reports about a few whales trapped under ice, a First Nations woman on hunger strike and an end to the NHL lockout pale between colourful but distressing images of Syria, Mali, Pakistan or the Central African Republic.

In the middle of my 12 short laps a couple of airplanes noisily take off from the International Airport nearby. I wonder when the new swanky airport will be ready – perhaps I’ll still be able to make use of it during my time here. I am pretty sure, though, that I won’t witness the badly needed metro of Doha, that’s for sure. Its construction seems to have been postponed. Well, as long as some efficient underground or skytrain system is ready for the FIFA Cup in 2022, since Doha with its 1.8 million inhabitants is in serious need of proper public transport, and their recently implemented bus system won’t cut it.

I get out of the small pool to dry myself, telling myself that in a few months I will yearn for this frisky, windy weather. I look down from the rooftop; the traffic is already depressingly heavy and hundreds of cars push forward at a snail’s pace on Corniche Street. I had better look out further away over the beautiful bay with its turquoise-coloured water. In the distance the city’s skyline shows its high buildings, all in fascinating architectural styles, with the distinctive, pyramid-shaped Sheraton Hotel as a landmark. Closer by the famous Museum of Islamic Art and the small harbour are only a few hundred meters away from me, as is the boulevard lined with palm trees, which, as rumour has it, have been imported from Egypt. I love this view of the Corniche with the museum in the middle of the bay and will be able to enjoy the sight again in the glass elevator that takes me down to my floor.

Time to get ready and meet the Indian driver that I share this month with another newly-arrived colleague, to participate in the traffic jams and to head for the campus of University of Calgary in Qatar. I’m looking forward to being with my students soon.

PHOTOGRPAHS OF DOHA

Somebody alerted me to some beautiful photographs on BBC New Middle East. For those of you interested in my new living environment, follow the link. I have added some personal comments below.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-20804673



Image 1: West Bay is a very modern neighbourhood. I stayed in a highrise hotel just to the right of what you can see.

Image 2: This building, the Tornado, is lit with hundreds of blue lights at night.

Image 4: No doubt I'll be in Katara this year for movies, concerts and dance performances. I have already visited the mosque (right side on the photograph) and eaten in a wonderful Egyptian restaurant in Katara.

Image 8: The Islamic Cultural Centre "Fanar" is less than a ten-minute walk away from me. I have seen a beautiful Islamic exhibition inside during my tour of the mosque.

Image 9: The Corniche, or boulevard, is 7 km long. Some people jog, run or cycle the entire length, but most saunter along the water with friends or family in a very relaxed way.

Image 12: Last week there were boat races in the bay attracting large crowds of spectators.

Image 14: In the old but renovated 'souq waqif' I have spotted  at least 2 modern money machines dressed up in ancient style.

Image 15: Yes, I have seen this man with his wheelbarrow, but he was carrying people's shopping in it rather than having a nap.

Image 16: When I indulged in ordering a 'shisha' (or 'hubble-bubble') I chose the apple flavour.

Image 17: In the 'souq waqif' a  Qatari teenager and his friend last week passed me with their falcon perched on their gloved hands. Bird and owners were very willing to pose for some snap-happy tourists.

NEW JOB, NEW STUDENTS

My first classes at UCQ were on Sunday January 6th 2013, so today I've spent one entire week with my students, for a total of 10 contact hours. All of them want to enter the Bachelor's degree programme in Nursing of the University of Calgary in Qatar (UCQ). Most of them are women, but to my relief no-one of them seems to mind working with a male partner when I do pair work in class. The English of my students leaves a lot to be desired, at least for academic studies, but they are well aware of that and are keen to improve. And isn't it heart-warming for any teacher to have a motivated group of learners? They seem to be more than willing to engage in discussions and informal chats. Sometimes they slip into speaking Arabic but I have told them that the only person allowed to speak Arabic in class is me - and since my mastery is slightly limited (euphemism!), it won't help them. They have enough of a sense of humour to teach me a word or two when they attack an English text about some impossibly spoiled teenager ("Miss, do you know what 'spoiled' is in Arabic?").
For teaching purposes I need to remember to cover my shoulders and knees, but my wardrobe should be able to cater to those cultural requirements. The last day of the working week, Thursday, is 'casual day', which means that staff are allowed to wear jeans. I would not know if my female students come to UCQ in jeans, because most of them wear the long black robes ('abayas') and cover their hair with black scarves. I am very glad that no woman in my class also covers the lower part of her face, let alone hiding her face altogether. To me that would seriously impede communication, as I remember from my teaching in Jordan a few centuries ago when one student was totally covered up in black.
I am glad that I have students from Qatar in my group, but they are the minority. The others are from Iraq, Iran, Palestine, Lebanon and Somalia. The challenge to upgrade my students' English is huge, but at least I already like them - it's going to be great to spend the semester with them.

A WEEKEND MORNING

Isn’t it always great not to set your alarm for the weekend morning? Not that I will sleep in for hours and hours, but still. On this Friday morning of my second weekend in Qatar I linger in bed and switch on the television with my remote control without slipping out of the sheets, a luxury.  I look for my favourite news station, Aljazeera, whose buildings I’ve already passed several times on my way to work. There’s a short TV documentary about the lack of electricity in Gaza showing some children doing homework by candlelight or gas lamps and a group of neighbours sitting outside around a campfire during their daily 8-hour outage. What a difference with the abundance of power here in Doha! Although….hmmm… When I get up I seem to have trouble yet again with the internet. The technicians of my hotel suites have already dropped by three times over the last four days to fix my connection, but today I manage on my own after a few fights with my router, so that fortunately I can check emails. Afterwards it is high time to slip into my bathing suit – leave the bikini alone as it is far too revealing for local standards – and take the elevator up to the rooftop swimming pool. Today it is windy so that the water seems to have cooled a bit, but it is warm enough to do my daily laps for a quarter of an hour. The Filipino supervisor is keen to chat with me for a couple of minutes. Over the past ten days I’ve talked with so many people who are in the service industry that they could almost represent the entire United Nations. Apart from loads of Filipinos, Indians, Sri Lankans and Pakistanis, I’ve met people from Nepal, Bangladesh, Kenya, Bosnia, Romania, Malaysia, Thailand and Taiwan (where are the Latin Americans?). I must’ve had exchanges with more people from Myanmar here in Doha than ever in all my previous life, no matter how many international students and immigrant have passed through my classes. The Arabs I’ve been served by are from Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Palestine, Tunisia and Morocco, but NOT Qatar. Qataris have only walked by me indifferently in shopping malls or driven past me on the major roads while overtaking recklessly in their expensive cars. No doubt during the rest of my weekend I will encounter a rich mix of cultures and nationalities again – I’m ready for it.

MY NEW HOME

My first temporary home was a hotel room near the Corniche, just south of the diplomatic quarter.My new home is at the other side of the bay.

PRE-DEPARTURE

To celebrate my new job and my birthday many friends came to my party at the end of November.