DarrenConley.com

Today, when Larissa came home from work, she was in a bit of a… shall we say "amorous" mood?  It was due to a few factors.  One was that I had just finished shaving, and she loves kissing the smooth face.  Another was that I was wearing a pair of jeans she particularly likes.  A third factor was my having my shirt off, which is enough to drive any woman to lustful thoughts.

After some brief small talk about our day, I was kissing Larissa on the couch, when out of nowhere she says:

"Let's split a piece of bread!"

I ask you - has any other man ever heard his wife say these words in the heat of passion?  As soon as she finished saying them, she realized how crazy it sounded as well.  Luckily, we both found it so hilarious that it didn't affect our affectionate feelings.

What really ended the kissing was me saying, "I've got to blog about this!"

If any of you out there have an obsession with camels and are looking to get some solid camel-time in the near future, might I suggest a visit to the Shahhaniya Camel Race Track, out past the Al Rayyan Football Stadium in Doha.  You'll see more camels than the human senses were designed to handle in a single serving.

Our visit to the camel race track happened over a week ago, and while I fully intended to blog about it earlier, I didn't.  However, I knew that some of you were jonesin' for more camel content on this blog, so even though it's late in coming, you're going to get your dose of camels in this post.  [Editor's note: If this post doesn't satisfy your hunger for camel-related content, you can read Larissa's version of this story as well.]

I would have loved to have seen an actual camel race while we were at the track, but we showed up on a Saturday at about 9am, and we were told after we arrived that the races happen at 6am and 2pm.  We weren't about to hang about for 5 hours waiting for the races, so instead we spend a good hour checking out the many camels who were being trained on the track itself.

The camels start their training when they're only a year or two old.  The older, more experienced camels walk with the younger camels and show them what's expected of them when they get out on the track.  So most of the camels we saw were moving in groups, with several gigantic camels walking beside camels that were merely quite large.

Apparently, camels can be very stubborn animals.  We spent a good chunk of our day hanging out with a Lebanese guy named George, who explained to us that it takes a lot of coaxing just to make a camel move, let alone run on a track.  He said that even elephants are much easier to motivate than camels.  I suppose that's why you have to start training the camels so young.

Most of the camels we saw were being ridden by jockeys and trainers who were from Somalia or Pakistan - we didn't see any Qataris riding the camels themselves.  The Qataris (who are the actual owners of the camels) tended to stay in their SUVs and drive alongside their camels as the trainers took them along the track, watching to make sure that the camels were well-managed, and dreaming of winning the next race.  Some Qataris who hadn't hired trainers would ride beside their riderless camels and yell at them while honking their horns to make the camels run.

There were also many camels that were guided by robot jockeys, instead of a human rider.  The robots look like small boxes that sit on the back of the camel, and they have a speaker which relays the commands of the virtual jockeys to the camels.  Most of the camels in the photo below have robot jockeys:

Yes, robots are finally taking over the world, starting with the camel races.  

I took a ton of pictures of the camels and riders while we were there.  What you see on this site (and in my Facebook album) is only a selection from a much wider pool of camel-based images.  Feel free to click on any of the images in this post to see them larger.

At one point, one of the Qataris in his SUV stopped to talk to the group of us who were visiting the track.  He explained to us when the races take place, how the camels are trained, how they breed the camels, how much they cost (up to $15,000), what the prizes were for winning the races (new cars), and how the robot jockeys work.  He also invited us to come visit his camel stables, but he wasn't going to go back there for several more hours, and we didn't want to stick around that long.

We were told that the stable areas are quite closely guarded, since nobody wants to share their secrets of how they raise and feed their camels with the other camel owners.  That way, if someone hits upon the secret combination of foods and verbal abuse that consistently creates prize-winning camels, they can keep all the winners' cars to themselves.

You'd be surprised by how fast a camel can run when it gets going.  I don't think that it could outrun a horse, but it definitely could outrun me, especially when it comes to running in the desert.  The other thing that I never realized about camels was how quiet they are as they walk in the sand.  They are virtually silent.  I have no doubt that a camel could walk right up behind me and spit in my hair before I had any idea he was there.  

After getting our fill of the camels, we decided it was time to get our fill of something else, and the group of us headed over to a small local restaurant that we heard made a mean cheese sandwich.  In fact, since none of us knew the name of the restaurant, we ended up calling it "The Cheese Sandwich Place".  Somehow the name stuck.  Here's a picture of the group of us (all from the Qatar Natural History Club) enjoying our lunch:

Just so you know, the "cheese sandwiches" are not anything like what you're imagining from back in North America.  They're actually made with a cheese spread that's rolled up inside the fresh flat-bread which is so addictive here, and then cut into bite-sized pieces.  Larissa ordered some with honey drizzled on them, while others had falafal or a mix of other ingredients.  There was tea or soft drinks available on the beverage side of things.  

When we were done our sandwiches, we decided to check out this other area that was supposed to be holding a camel beauty pageant.  It took us a bit of exploring to find where it was happening, and by the time we made it there, the competition was over.  We did have the chance to spot the winning camel, however, who was wearing a gold robe that said "first rank" in Arabic.

I heard his talents weren't that amazing, but he really swept the evening gown and swimsuit portions of the competition.

On the way back home after our day at the camel track, we drove by a section of Doha which is called "Education City".  There is a large collection of college and university campuses all in this one area, and several large facilities are still being built.  One such building had the craziest looking architecture I have ever seen:

To me, it looks like trees are growing out of the ground and supporting whatever they're building on top.  I asked George what the deal was with those tree things, and he said that it was "just to look cool".  I have to admit, it does look cool.

The later part of our day was spent watching tennis, but I'll save that for another post.  You can't write about camels and tennis in the same post.  Why not?  Because of that age old proverb: "Camels and Tennis don't mix."  That's why.

I know that it's been a while since the last time I updated the blog.  I wish I could tell you that we've been incredibly busy, and while we have actually done quite a lot, my schedule as a house husband offers me no excuses outside of laziness and/or distraction.  Having said that, here are the things that are rattling around in my brain at the moment.

First, last weekend Larissa and I visited the race track where the camel races are held every Friday (and Saturday?)  While we didn't see an actual race, we did watch many of the camels being trained, and spoke for a while with a Qatari camel owner.  I'll put up a post with photos and more details sometime in the next couple days.

Second, much of last weekend was spent in watching women's tennis at the Women's World Tennis Championships here in Doha.  Neither Larissa nor I have ever been very enthusiastic watchers of any sport, let alone women's tennis, but seeing the sport played live and experiencing the emotion and tension in the stadium was quite an enjoyable experience.  I'll also put up another post with photos and details from the tennis matches sometime soon.

On top of these things, I'm trying to figure out what are the best options for us when it comes to investing our money.  We have a decent chunk of savings right now, and with the stock market so far down, it seems ridiculous not to take advantage of the cheap investing options (buy low, sell high, right?)  So I've been spending time educating myself online (this is a good site) and trying to figure out how to get my money from my bank account into some good investments.  My friend Dan Good (who is a Senior Financial Analyst with a large Canadian corporation, and who loves giving personal finance tips) is helping me to be wise through this process.  If I can just invest long enough to profit off of the market recovery, I'll be happy.

And then there's our plans for the upcoming holidays.  We actually get two holidays in December - a Qatari holiday at the beginning of the month, and the Christmas break provided by CNAQ for the last few weeks of the month.  The first holiday we are planning on spending here in Doha - A classmate of mine from back in St. Catharines who is teaching English in Saudi Arabia is going to be staying with us for a few days while she visits Doha.  We're also going to be (hopefully) taking scuba diving lessons.  I'm in the middle of researching the best option for those as well.

For the Christmas holiday, we're going to be visiting Turkey.  The first week or so will be spent in Istanbul (not Constantinople) where we'll see all of the touristy stuff and sample the delicious local food and culture.  The second week will be spent in Ankara and (I hope) Ephesus, where we'll stay with an old friend of Larissa's (who lives in Ankara) and explore some amazing ruins from New Testament times.  I've heard it's amazing.

In between these plans, I fill my time playing the Wii, watching Jericho online, trying to regularly go to the gym, reading Watership Down (yes, the story about the rabbits), and trying to motivate myself into designing new shirts and writing blog posts.  I'm hoping that after I start work in January, I'll be a little more regular in getting shirts and blogging done (since they'll be my something else). 

If you're looking for "something else" to distract you, I would highly recommend checking out No End In Sight, a documentary about the war in Iraq.  Larissa and I watched it this week, and it was extremely powerful and moving.  I now feel like I have at least a basic grasp on what was (and is) going on in Iraq.  The movie is especially poignant when you watch it in a country that has very similar culture to Iraqi culture.  However, even for those of you who are firmly rooted in North American-ism, I would suggest checking it out.

That's all for now - stay tuned for the camel and tennis posts, and, uh… keep your stick on the ice (?)

It's not a particularly interesting story, how I came to read Lethargic Comics back when I was in high school.  I was working at a catering company at the time (my first job, at 15 years old, when minimum wage was $3.95 per hour).  One of the other employees from this company attended Sheridan College in Oakville, Ontario, and put out a (nearly) weekly comic strip on a black and white "zine" called "Lethargic Comics, Weakly". 

Lethargic comics was mostly put together by other Sheridan students, and one teacher.  It regularly spoofed early 90s culture (and especially other comic books), and featured such heroes as Lethargic Lad, Walrus Boy, and The Zit.  At the time, I found it absolutely hilarious, and I still have all of my issues back home in storage at my parents' place.

It's funny how certain things that you read end up sticking in your brain for years and years.  I remember a particularly good Walrus Boy story, when Walrus boy was being stalked by a werewolf on the way home from a babysitting gig, and in order to defend himself, he raises his hand and utters this phrase: "I call upon Ronco the Wonder Lizard!"  After saying these words, a gigantic bolt of lightning strikes his hand, and a rubber lizard appears, being grasped by the tail.  Walrus Boy smacks the werewolf with the rubber lizard, and the day is saved.

To this day, the concept of calling forth a rubber lizard from a bolt of lightning (alla "Shazam!") still strikes me as hilarious.  It is one of my wishes in this life that the phrase "I call upon Ronco the Wonder Lizard!" somehow makes it into popular mainstream parlance.  

Tonight, as I was thinking about this phrase, I decided to do a quick search for it on Google.  I discovered that, when searched for as a single phrase (in quotes), there are no results whatsoever, and that makes me sad.  However, for some crazy reason, there are "about 1,350" results for "the wonder lizard" (in quotes).  Though none of the results list the name "Ronco", there are "wonder lizards" named "Skizzy", "Franklin", "Teddy", "Artimus", "Bobo", "Eddie", and "Nuknuk", and that's just on the first page of results!

So, in honour of the genious that is Ronco the Wonder Lizard, and in order to put up at least one search result on Google for people searching that exact phrase, I am putting up this post.  I hope you've enjoyed it, and if you have, please make an effort to insert the words "I call upon Ronco the Wonder Lizard" into your daily conversations.  I can't popularize it on my own, folks.  But together, we can make it happen.

All day today, I have been asking myself "does something in here smell like French onion soup?"  It was only within the last hour that I figured out what was going on.

Yesterday, I helped Larissa make a stir-fry, and I took care of chopping up half an onion.  The onion was extremely tasty in the stir-fry, but potent during the preparation.  I had tears streaming down my face from the fumes as I was cutting it.  I felt like someone from the military was testing my resistance to a new form of gas weaponry.  

Since preparing that meal, I have showered at least once, washed my hands several times, and touched many other things.  However, due to the potency of the onion, my fingers still retain a lingering fragrance of yesterday's cooking session.  It's frustrating, and it's making me hungry.

So if you're one of my few readers who lives in Qatar, and if you see me sometime soon and think to yourself "that guy smells like onion soup", keep in mind that it's not my fault.  It's just the lingering aroma of my encounter with a particularly potent Allium cepa.

I have a problem.  Well, maybe not a problem, but a potential problem, depending on the situation.  My potential problem is this: I always want to be working on something else. 

What I mean is, whatever I'm doing, unless it's related to entertainment somehow (watching a movie, playing a game, etc.) I find that my mind wanders and I want to be focusing on something other than what is in front of me.  Let me give you some examples.

When I was in highschool, I was notorious for not doing my homework, and not taking notes in class.  I knew that taking notes was a good idea, and that doing homework would help me learn, but the "something else" was always more interesting.  At home, there were friends to be talked to, and games to be played.  At school, I would spend my class time drawing crazy-looking creatures, or creating new writing systems.  I took art class so that my drawing could get some focus, but then I just wanted to talk to the pretty girl sitting beside me, or draw something that was not related to the assignments.

I constantly find the same situation at my places of employment.  When I worked at the Bell store, customers would interrupt my otherwise wonderful pastimes of chatting with my coworkers, using the internet, or surfing the satellite TV channels.  When I was teaching at Brock, I found it difficult to do any actual planning or marking during my office hours.  I spent much more time dreaming up website ideas, coming up with T-shirt slogans, or trying to learn Arabic.  Even when I was meter-reading, my mind rarely focused on the job - in fact, most of my best ideas for other projects came to me during the tedium of walking all day between people's houses.

The problem for me now, waiting until I start work in January, is that I have no "something" to which I can attach a "something else".  What I mean is, I have all the time in the world to design T-shirts, create internet projects, or learn a language, but because those are all "something", I can't properly focus on them.  I need to work on those things as the "something else", and that can't happen unless I'm being required to do "something" first.

It really is funny how so many people say that they envy my situation, being free all day to do whatever they want, but I think that most would find that, if they were left with so much free time, they would spend their days playing games and watching TV, like I often do.  I'm so thankful that Larissa is able to find interesting things for us to do around the city and that she is always making plans for us to go out with people.  

It's easy for her, because she's working, and finding interesting things to do is her "something else".

This post is actually a little overdue, since I got my haircut a few days before I had my job interview yesterday.  However, it kept getting postponed because of other, more relevant posting material.  Still, it's a good story, and well worth reading.

I had been rockin' the beard and curly hair situation for a few weeks now, and while Larissa and I both liked the look (especially in the suit), the feel of the beard was starting to get me down, and when it comes to job interviews, I figured that "smooth face" would have a better chance of getting hired than "unshorn".  I'll admit, I felt a bit like I was giving up on the beard too early, but this is my career.  I'll have time for growing facial hair again after I get hired.

The barbers here take care of everything.  More than everything, in fact (as you'll read in this post).  My plan was to walk down a nearby street that has several barber shops, step into the first one that looked reputable, and ask for short hair and a clean face.  I ended up walking into the second shop I saw (the first one was too full) and was seated in the barber's chair immediately.

There are many barber shops in Qatar that are run by Turkish people, and this one was no exception.  I've actually heard that the Turks have a good reputation for cutting hair, so I felt like I was in good hands.  One of the 4 or 5 barbers came over and asked me what I was looking for, and I explained that the hair should be short, and the beard should be gone.  He nodded, picked up his scissors and spray-bottle, and went to work.

The haircut itself was much like a typical North American haircut would be like.  Snip snip, a little trimming with the electric clippers, and ten minutes later, it's nice and short.  My only complaint was that he decided to give me the typical "side part" style, while I'm used to something that's a little spiky at the front.  But no matter, I could fix that up on my own later.

Then it was time to take off the beard.  He started by using the electric clippers to trim it down to a reasonable length.  He then worked up some shaving cream lather and applied it to my face by hand.  After letting it sit for 30 seconds or so, he washed off the lather and applied something more gel-like.  Then out came the straight razor, and off came the beard in short, methodical strokes.  When he was finished the initial shave, he wiped off my face and applied the gel again.  Then he took a different razor and quickly went over everything one more time.  It was a little strange being shaven by another man, but not entirely unpleasant.  I noticed that it wasn't quite as close a shave as I would have liked, but maybe I'm a little to picky (or too hairy).

After I was shaven, I noticed the barber get out some creams, and he asked me "Do you want…?" while making a motion with his hand that represented spreading cream on the face.  In the spirit of adventure I said "Sure!  Why not!"  I had no idea what was going to happen to me next, but whatever I was getting, it would be cheaper than getting it back home, and it would make for a good blog post.

First the barber spread a white cream all over my face (forehead and everything).  He rubbed it in with what felt like the touch of a masseur, and then did the same thing with a more orange-y cream.  After this, he sprayed my face with water and toweled it off.  Then he put on this gritty cream which felt like it had sand in it (some sort of exfoliant?) and gave it a thorough rubbing-in as well.  Another spray and toweling, and then he walked away and brought over a machine.

This machine looked like a robot arm with a nozzle on the end of it.  The barber flicked a few switches and I noticed a clear compartment with water in it that had started to bubble near the back of the machine.  What in the world had I gotten myself into, I wondered.  After waiting a few minutes for the water to boil, the barber noticed steam coming out of the nozzle, and proceeded to throw a towel over my head and the nozzle, which then sprayed me with hot steam.  I was getting a steam facial.  

The steam was fine at first, but after about 20 seconds it started to feel uncomfortably hot, not to mention that it was difficult to breathe under that towel.  I started sucking in gulps of air and then blowing toward the nozzle to give myself a few seconds of sporadic relief during the procedure.  After what felt like a full 5 minutes (but was probably a minute and a half in reality) the barber took off the towel and wiped down my face.  

But there was more to come!  He started applying another cream that looked like the foundation that women use for makeup, but thicker.  He rubbed this all over my face in a thick layer, and then sat down on the couch behind me to watch some TV.  I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, so I just sat there and pretended to be relaxing.  After a minute or so, I felt like something was pulling the pores of my face in several different directions at once.  It wasn't really painful, but it did feel weird.  When I looked in the mirror, I noticed that the cream had begun hardening in several spots, and that it was difficult to move my facial muscles.  

5 minutes later, my face was essentially a mud statue.  I felt the various parts of my face being tugged at as the drying process moved across several different areas of skin.  I imagined that this is what it would be like to be turned into stone by looking at Medusa.  Fortunately, the face that was staring at me in the mirror was devoid of snakes.  When the barber thought I was dry (hard?) enough, he got up off the couch, gave me a spray with the water, and wiped the mud off.  One more moisturizing cream and my face was finally clean and fully visible.

The last part of my haircut experience was a quick massage, which the barber performed on my forehead, head, back of the neck, neck, and shoulders.  It took less than a minute, but it was a good way to finish up a haircut/shave/steam facial.  After brushing down my face with talcum powder and giving me a quick blow-dry to get rid of hair bits, I was out of the chair and paying my 90 Riyals (which works out to a little under $30).  If I had just got the haircut, it would have only be 20 Riyals, but then I wouldn't have had as good a story about it.

When I returned from the barber's, I looked like a completely different person.  Larissa screamed when she saw me, but she loved the feel of my smooth skin (which she hadn't felt since before we left for France).  I did miss the beard, but Larissa made sure that I appreciated the benefits of a smooth face…!

If you've taken the time to read the previous post, you'll know that I had a job interview today.  I was interviewing at CNA-Q, the place where Larissa currently works, and what is pretty much universally accepted as the best EFL teaching gig on the planet.  I had been holding out for a long time to get re-interviewed by CNA-Q, and today it finally happened.  How did it go, you ask?  Let me tell you.

First, I was told last week on the phone that the interview would happen in Building 11, first floor, Room 26 at 3:30pm.  I double checked with the HR rep on the phone to be sure of the time and location.  Today at about 3:20, I made my way to that particular place and found that it was a random teacher's office which had the door closed and the lights turned off.  However, Larissa had told me that the interviewer's office was in Building 7, so I decided to run over there before 3:30 and check it out.  It turned out that it was in building 7, in Room 37 or something.  It's a good thing I figured that out.

Before I even left for the interview, Larissa had sat down and given me some practice questions that she remembered from having her interview last April.  It turned out to be a very good practice session, since most of those questions were included in the interview itself. 

The interview took place with one live person (the Assistant Dean), and another HR person, who was on the phone from Newfoundland.  It took about 6 tries and 10 minutes to establish a working speaker-phone connection with NFLD, and during that time I noticed the interview question sheet lying on the desk.  So I took advantage of the opportunity to prepare my first set of answers while I waited.  At one point, after we were about 10 minutes into the interview, the phone disconnected, and after we re-established contact I had to repeat the last 6 or 7 sentences I had already said for the benefit of our phone participant.

By the end of the interview, I felt confident that it had gone well, but I tried not to get my hopes too high.  I met Larissa at her belly dancing class (which had just ended) and we discussed the particulars of the interview on the way home.

Well, it turns out that my confidence was well founded, as I received an email a few hours later saying that I had made it to the second interview stage!  The second interview happens tomorrow, and mostly deals with questions of how well I can handle living in another culture.  Since I'm here already and doing great, I'm sure there will be no major issues to deal with.  Pretty much everyone who makes it to the second interview gets hired, so needless to say, we're very happy tonight!

To celebrate, we decided to go pick up our newly framed painting (see yesterday's post for the story of how I negotiated a good framing deal for 160 Riyal) and to take care of some grocery shopping.  We also ordered pizza.

Larissa took care of the grocery store items while I walked to the framing shop nearby.  I saw our painting as soon as I walked in, and it looked perfect.  I spoke to the owner who I negotiated with yesterday, and said "So, 160 Riyal, right?"  "No, no," he said, "150 Riyal."  "150?!" said I, "I'm sure we agreed on 160!"  "No, no, 10 Riyal discount tonight!" he replied.  I didn't know what to say, so I thanked him heartily and told him that I would send any other framing business his way.  

He then asked me if I had a car.  I said no, that I was going to carry the painting home myself.  It's a decent sized painting (71cm X 79 cm), but it didn't seem to be too heavy, and what else was I going to do?  The owner then called over an employee and spoke to him in something that was not Arabic, and definitely not English.  Next thing I know, this guy who looks like he's 14 years old is picking up my painting and taking it outside.  I assumed that the owner had asked an employee to give me a ride, but as I walked outside, I realized that he was getting this kid to carry the painting home for me.

I told the owner no, that I could carry it myself, but he insisted that I let this tiny guy carry it instead.  "And no money - Don't give him any money!" he said to me.  I was grateful that this framing store guy was willing to offer me free delivery of my newly framed painting, but to be honest, I kinda felt bad for this 14 year old dude.  In the end, I gave in, and me and this scrawny fellow made our way down the street for the awkward 10 minute walk home.  I kept asking the kid if he was okay, or if the painting was too heavy, but he kept saying he was fine.  We made it to my building without incident, and I took it upstairs myself.

The only problem was that Larissa was still at the grocery store, and I was supposed to meet her there, so while I was saved the inconvenience of carrying home my painting, I still had to walk almost all the way back to the framing store to meet Larissa at the grocery store and help her carry her new purchases back home.  It just goes to show you - slave labour may seem like it's saving you time, but it ends up being more work for you in the end.

I have a job interview today, but it's not until 3:30, so I'm spending my day feeling cool and confident, and gradually working my way toward paralyzing anxiety and nervousness.  Right now I'm just feeling a mild case of discomfort, but I have yet to eat my "3 bowls of Frosted Flakes" breakfast, so that might be relieved post-meal.  

On my "to do" list for yesterday (which is sitting beside my computer), I noticed that I had written "Iron suit".  By this I meant that I needed to get my suit pressed so that it is presentable for my interview today, but looking at the list today, my first thought was "Why did I want a suit made of iron?"  My second thought was "I have got to get a suit made of iron!"  Depending on what they're looking for at the job interview, it could either clinch the position for me, or possibly lead to deportation. 

Either way, it would make for a great blog post.

It's funny how, when Larissa and I are discussing things like how to spend our weekend, or where to go for dinner, I consistently think to myself "Well, even if it's a complete disaster, at least it will make for a good blog post."  Perhaps I should found a new branch of philosophy called the "View Life As A Blog Post" philosophy.  I think it would encourage people to view life's difficulties with a more healthy perspective.

Speaking of where to go for dinner, Larissa and I tried a new restaurant last night.  Our area is littered with small restaurants, so we could probably try a new one each week and not have to repeat ourselves for at least year.  We went to this place last night because we had walked past it a few nights earlier, and I noticed that the sign outside said "Chinese, Indian, Middle Eastern, Italian, American".  I might actually be leaving a few nationalities out.  I thought that there must be something on the menu that I like if so many countries are represented there, so we gave it a shot.

The name of the place was something like Bukhara, and two doors over from it was another restaurant called "Bukhara Palace".  As I looked at both restaurants, I wondered if maybe the Bukhara Palace would have higher food quality than the first one.  After all, it's a palace.  It did seem a little more fancy, but it didn't have multiple nationalities represented on its sign, so we just went to Bukhara.  We'll do Bukhara Palace for a different "restaurant of the week" outing.

We walked in and noticed that (like most restaurants in Qatar) there were a bunch of men (presumably employees or friends of employees) sitting around, not eating, but watching TV in Turkish or Nepalese.  The first thing that one of the employees asked us was "Do you want to go upstairs?"  We said "sure", even though we were happy to stay downstairs too.  One of the exciting things about adventuring in another country is saying "sure!" to every question, and seeing where you end up.  

We ended up in an upstairs room with 5 tables, a bunch of air conditioners, and not a single other customer to be seen.  We picked our seats, were offered the menus, and ordered some drinks.  I had my standard strawberry soda (which is actually cream soda) and Larissa had her standard water.  I know I shouldn't drink so much pop, but most places sell it for two riyal per can, which works out to about $0.60 CAD.  That's too cheap not to buy.

The menu seemed heavily weighted towards the Chinese and Indian side of things, but I did notice some American food ("Fryes", which they had also labeled as "Chips" for customers from the UK).  There was seriously way too much to choose from, with item names that I had never encountered before.  There weren't even any pictures to help us.  We settled on a few dishes that sounded safe enough to be delicious, but exotic enough to be adventurous.

But in the end, it didn't matter what we chose, because our server pretty much ordered for us.

When he came to take our order, I guess we didn't speak up quick enough, because he said to us "You want [insert Indian chicken dish that I forget the name of] ?  Many English people ordering [that dish]."  "Sure!" we said.  "You want vegetable?  This one [he points to something on the menu] is very good."  "Sure!"  "Okay, and [something-er-other] rice is good with this."  "Sure!  Sounds good!" we replied again.  "And some bread - with garlic or butter?"  "Garlic," we replied.  "Okay, thank you!"

Our meal was ordered and we didn't even have to think about it.  Of course, I had no idea what we were going to be eating, but I was almost too hungry to care, and I thought "This will make for a great blog post."

When the food arrived shortly after, it turned out to be absolutely wonderful.  The chicken was served as boneless chunks covered in a deep red sauce, and was a little bit spicy.  Like most Indian dishes that I've tried, I couldn't identify the exact mix of flavours, other than to say it was "really good".  The vegetables were similarly covered in a sauce, but it was bright green and not spicy at all.  It was like a tangy gravy, and also really good.  In fact, I couldn't believe I was eating vegetables - it was more like a really good stew.  The rice was a standard yellow-ish spiced rice that we've had several times here in Qatar, and the bread was Arabic bread with garlic butter melted onto it.  I love that bread.

We finished everything but the rice (there was just too much of it) and were completely stuffed.  The bill came to 41 Riyal, but I gave the guy a 10 Riyal tip, so when all was said and done we paid about $15.00 CAD.  Not bad for a) a tasty meal that we would not have ordered on our own, and b) some nice blogging material.

After leaving the restaurant, we walked across the street where I picked up my newly pressed suit (less than $2 CAD to have it professionally ironed) and stopped off at home.  Larissa stayed at home and Skyped her mom, while I went back out to run a few more errands.  

The first stop was the video game store where I exchanged my non-working copy of Super Mario Galaxy for Metroid Prime 3.  Then I hit up the bank machine for some cash (since our replacement credit cards have yet to arrive - long story, but I'll just say this: Don't move to another country and then hope to get a Canadian credit card replaced without a mountain of hassle).  With cash in hand, I made my next stop at a mirror/framing store, to get our painting from France framed (you might remember the painting from this post).

I had visited that framing store last week, and after describing the type of frame and the size to the owner, I was told that it would cost 100 Riyal (about $30.00 CAD).  However, when I went back a few days later to show Larissa the frame design, a different employee had told us 200 Riyal.  So this time, as I walked in with the painting itself, I was prepared to do some negotiating to get a good price.

I saw that the first guy I had spoken to was there.  I unrolled the painting on the large workbench, and reminded him what I wanted to have done.  He thought for a few seconds and said, "Okay, we can do it for 200 Riyal."  "Really?" I said, "Because I'm sure I remember you saying 100 Riyal when I was in here before."  "Oh, but you see, we need to put wood behind the picture, since it's not on a hard canvass.  This is extra cost."  "Ah," I said "Well, how about we meet in the middle and do it for 150 Riyal."  "No, no, 175 Riyal, okay?"  "Well, I was told by another framing store that they could do it for 160 Riyal" (which is actually quite true - we checked out a few other places).  "Okay, 160 is good."  "Excellent," I said, "And I can pick it up tomorrow?"  "Well…" said the owner.  "Tomorrow at this same time, okay?" I pressed.  "Okay, tomorrow night" he confirmed.

I gotta say that I felt pretty good about that negotiation.  I haven't done a lot of haggling in my life, but it's one area that I want to improve in while I'm here.

After the framers it was off to the dry cleaners to pick up some clothes that Larissa had left there a few days earlier.  I paid my 16 Riyal (less than $5 CAD) for 2 pieces of clothing, asked him if I could leave them there for 5 minutes (along with my video game) and ran into the grocery store next-door to buy some butter.  I didn't want to walk into the store with my game in hand, in case they might think I didn't pay for it - this grocery store sells more than just food.

There are some interesting differences in buying groceries here.  One is that you don't buy milk from the fridge (or at least, most people don't).  You buy it from a shelf in cartons that look like large juice boxes.  And when you bring it home, you don't have to refrigerate it until you open it.  There's a different procedure for fruit and vegetables as well.  They have to be bagged, weighed, and tagged while you're in the produce section, so that when you get to the checkout line, the cashier just scans the UPC code on the tag.  The cashiers here are basically just scanners - they don't do any weighing or code-entering at the till.  I, however, was just buying butter, which is pretty much the same as at home.

With my butter in hand, I went back to the dry cleaners, grabbed the clothes (and my new game), and walked the 7 minute route back to our apartment.  On the way back I bumped into another guy from our apartment who had just picked up dry-cleaning as well.  We talked about how the Emir's daughter is visiting CNA-Q today, and that he was told to dress up for the occasion.  I figure I should be well-prepared if I bump into her on campus today, since I'll be sporting my fancy suit for my interview.

And there goes my nervous meter - up one more point.  Time for some Frosted Flakes.

Thursday night Larissa and I had what could be considered our first real Qatari social experience.  The evening started out like this:

We had originally made plans to go see the movie Burn After Reading, which is playing at a theatre nearby.  We had asked a bunch of the other Canadians if they wanted to come, but everyone seemed to be busy.  At about 4pm, I got a call from our friend Michael, who told me that he had been invited by one of his students (whose name was Feisel) to come hang out for the evening at the "Family Farm", and he was welcome to invite any friends of his.  So he invited us.  I spoke to Larissa about ditching the movie, and she was game.

The only problem was that we weren't sure if she would be welcome, since most Qatari social situations are single-gender events.  Michael double-checked with Feisel that it would be okay for me to bring Larissa, and he said that it would be no problem, as long as she was comfortable hanging out with a group that was entirely male.  We had our driver drop us off at Michael's place, and about 10 minutes later, Feisel came by in a giant SUV to pick us up.

Feisel, like almost every other Middle-Eastern student I've ever met, was extremely welcoming and sociable.  As he drove us through Doha, he pointed out various landmarks or events that were going on, and told us which cousin or uncle or friend of his was involved in the business or event.  We saw several wedding celebrations, and Feisel explained how Qatari weddings work.  He also showed us where his family houses were in the city - Yes, I said houses.

I guess the way it works is that Qatari families often own a chunk of land in Doha, and as their children get married, they build houses for them around the main family house.  The married sons live next door (or nearby) their parents, and the married daughters live nearby their husband's parents.  Feisel's family's houses were huge - at least on par with $700,000 houses in Ontario.  We saw one of his brothers watching an LCD TV out on his deck.

Speaking of Feisel's family, he is the youngest of 6 brothers and 6 sisters, all of them married except for him.  He told us that a dozen children is fairly typical for Qatari families, although the newer generation is tending to have fewer children.  This "Family Farm" that we were driving out to, though, was not just used by Feisel's immediate family, but by his cousins, uncles, grandparents, etc., as well as their family friends. 

Now, when we think of "farm" in Canada, we think about a place out in the country with big fields, farm animals, and a fairly rustic dwelling.  I didn't know what "farm" meant to a Qatari person, so I asked Feisel what we should expect.  Were there animals?  Was it outside the city?  He told us that it was about 10 or 15 minutes outside of Doha, and that they had all kinds of animals there, although we probably couldn't see them because it was already dark (we got picked up at 7:00pm).  But he said they had horses, sheep, goats, cows, camels, chickens, and even gazelles.  He said that if we come back another time earlier in the day, we could ride the horses and camels.

After driving through what appeared to be desolate nothingness for about 10 minutes, we turned down a long dirt road and saw some lights at the end of it.  Then we turned a corner and entered the farm.  

Let me just say that this was not like a Canadian farm.

This place looked more like a country club.  There was a huge lawn that was greener than any grass I've ever seen in Qatar, and meticulously maintained to look like a golf-course.  Part of the lawn was a soccer field, part had a full-sized outdoor volleyball court, part had an outdoor seating area with couches and tables, and part had a fountain and gazebo.  It was amazing.  I'll show you the pictures, but keep in mind that they were all taken at night, so you can't see how nice the grass was or get a feel for the real size of this place.  Click on the pictures to see them enlarged.

This was an outdoor seating area.

This is the fountain and gazebo.

This is the volleyball court, with the soccer field in the background.

As soon as we arrived, we walked into a large, brightly lit sitting room that was being used by the 25 or 30 men who were hanging out there.  They were spread across the room in groups, talking and laughing, while hot drinks were being served on silver platters and snack trays were placed on tables nearby.  The older men were wearing thobes (probably 10 or so of those in attendance), while most of the men under 40 were dressed in casual Western clothes.  Larissa was the only female on the entire property.

As soon as we entered the room, 5 or 6 guys came over, shook our hands, and introduced themselves to us.  Most of them were related to Feisel in some way, but some of them were friends of the family as well.  Among those whose names I can remember were AbdurRahman, a long-haired student of Michael's who is related to Feisel through the marriage of their siblings (I think), and Ahmad, who did a Masters degree in Seattle, Washington and a PhD in Economics in London England - he was extremely sociable and introduced us to anyone who came nearby.  He was also hilarious.  

The guy who was in charge of the evening was Muhammad, Ahmad's brother, who owns several large hotels and over 30 restaurants in Doha.  He is also the office manager for the office of the Emir.  As soon as he found out that Larissa is an English teacher, he said (in a voice and tone that only someone with that much power can use) "You will teach English to my daughter, two or three times each week.  Give me your phone number.  I will send a driver to your home."  We did give him Larissa's mobile, but we have no idea if he'll call or if Larissa even wants the extra work.  It was hilarious how he said it, though.  Not a request, but a statement of reality, in his view.

We had heard that it is rude to turn down food when it is offered, so when a servant came with a tray of various drinks, we decided to be adventurous.  All of the drinks were hot, and they were served in small ornate glasses that were a little larger than shot glasses.  There was Arabian coffee, tea, tea with milk, and hot camel's milk.  We tried the camel's milk.  

The taste was different than anything I'd ever had before.  It tasted like there was some sort of spice in it (which there very well could have been), and while the texture was creamy, it did not taste at all like cream.  The Qatari men nearby started explaining to us with great enthusiasm about the benefits of camel's milk.  "It's high in protein, prevents sickness, makes you strong, good for energy, builds strong bones, calms the stomach, etc. etc."  They were convinced that it was a miracle drink.  We were also told that you can't drink it cold "because of the bacteria", so it should always be boiled first.  Hence, the reason why it was hot.

After snacking on some banana bread and finishing our camel milk, everyone started heading outside to play volleyball.  The teens and young(er) adults started setting up the net and play area, while the children (there were 7 or 8 kids under 12) played around in the soccer area.  The older men sat beside the court to watch the game, or had some more tea and coffee in the seating area pictured above.

As we were waiting for the game to be set up, Ahmad showed us where they were baking fresh bread and cooking the chicken and beef for the meal we would have later. 

Michael took this picture of me standing near the baking area, taking a picture of the oven.

And below you see the photo that I was actually taking:

As you can see, the dough is rolled flat and stuck to the side of the stone oven (called a Tandoor), with the fire and embers below.  The bread cooks on the stone and bubbles up in places as it heats up.  This is the traditional method of making Qatari bread, and they are very proud of it.  They like it to be a little brown or slightly blackened on the outside.  When the first few pieces were done, Ahmad offered them to Larissa and I to sample.  They were very good, but I didn't want to eat too much before volleyball and the meal which was to follow.

Nearby the cooking area was what Ahmad called their "tent", although it was nothing like what we would consider a tent to be.  It was huge, ornately decorated, and air conditioned.  As we walked in, we thought that this must be used for some sort of religious purpose, but we were told it was just for hanging out and socializing.  Here is a picture of the inside.  

You may notice what looks like kleenex coming out of the small tables placed between the seats.  It actually is kleenex, which the Qataris use for napkins.  We've noticed many restaurants here with kleenex boxes on the tables for the same purpose.  I guess the box design makes for a handy dispenser, even if the tissues themselves aren't as absorbent as I would prefer.

We went back out to the volleyball court, and after some last minute fiddling with getting the net set up properly, we took up our positions and started to play.  The Qataris were all fairly good players, and could get aggressive in serving and spiking the ball.  One guy even stood on a chair at the side of the net to keep score, and blew a whistle to start and stop play.  I generally achieved my goal of "don't look stupid", although one of my serves went a little off course.

Since the game was "men only" (and because she would likely get overheated if she played), Larissa sat on the sidelines and made a new friend in the process:

The Qatari man she's speaking to is Yosef, and he was one of the nicest people we've met since arriving in Doha.  I actually went over and joined Yosef and Larissa after the first two (of five) volleyball games, since I was getting a little too hot and sweaty.  We talked about Yosef's family, Qatari clothing (he gave me advice on buying a thobe), places to see in Qatar (he wants to take us to a very nice beach), and he tried to teach us some more Arabic words. 

Ahmad liked to tease Yosef, and had nicknamed him "Minus One".  The nickname comes from the Muslim rule that permits men to have a maximum of 4 wives.  Since Yosef has 3 wives, he is "minus one" from the maximum.  When the odd wild volleyball shot would come flying nearby the place we were sitting, Ahmad would yell "Hey!  Come on, Minus One!", as if he should have returned the shot.  We laughed a lot about that.

When the five rounds of volleyball were done (at about 10:15pm), it was time for dinner.  Everyone headed over to the far side of the first sitting room (beside the pool) where there were 7 or 8 large round tables set up, much like in the photo below.

You'll notice in the picture that there is food laid out in the centre of the table.  That not the case for most of the other tables at the meal.  This table was special, because this was Muhammad's table, and it was one of his hotels that was catering the meal.  As soon as Larissa, Mike and I entered the dining area, Muhammad motioned towards us and said "Please, sit here, please, please, sit here."  He said it several times, so we figured that we should probably sit there.  I didn't understand it until a after everyone else sat down, but we were being treated as guests of honour and seated at the head table of the meal.  I myself was at the right hand of Muhammad, which is the highest position.  I was awestruck, and a little intimidated.

Everyone else at the meal got up and made their way to an elaborate buffet setup nearby, taking what they wanted and helping the children with their plates.  Here are a couple shots of what the buffet looked like:

These were the main hot dishes.

And these were some of the other fingerfoods or cold dishes being offered.

Our table, however, had a large amount of food already on it, and as Muhammad called over the head food manager, men with trays (filled mostly with the items that were available at the buffet) came over and started loading food onto our plates.  They made sure that Larissa and I had at least one of everything, even after we said "No, no, that's enough!  Thank you!"  Aside from the kababs, rice, roast chicken, fresh bread, hummus, and other items on the table, there were spring rolls, pastries filled with meat or cheese, a stew, pasta, and other items that I couldn't quite identify.  Everything was delicious.  And let me just point out that this huge dinner wasn't for any special occasion - this is just the way that the family likes to spend their Thursday evenings.  

As we were finishing the meal, Muhammad left our table to speak to some of the other guests, while I stole some bites of the 6 or 7 different dessert items available.  Yosef came over and took Muhammad's spot at our table, so he could talk with us some more.  He told us that he had a nephew or neice (I can't remember which) who was getting married the next day, and that if Larissa and I wanted to come to the wedding, we would be welcome.  We told Yosef that, unfortunately, we already had plans to spend Friday afternoon and evening on a boat (I'll talk about that experience in a later post), but that we were honoured to have been invited, and would love to come to any future celebration.

When dessert was finished, everyone abruptly got up and got ready to go home.  I guess that in Qatari culture, you do several hours of socializing before the meal, and after the meal it's time to go straight home.  We gave people our mobile numbers, and shook many hands before heading to Feisel's SUV.  We were told several times that these people meet here every Thursday evening, and that "now that you know how to get here," we could come anytime.

We actually have no idea how to get there, and even if we did, we don't have a car, but we would love to go again, if only to have the chance to see the animals, ride the camels, and see how "Minus One" is doing.