Abaya Envy

I had my first experience in a "Ladies Only" room today. In preparation for the big night out (New Years) I made a trip to what is known here as "the Salon". Finding the venue wasn't hard, spotting the enormous sign that said "Ladies Only" was the first hint.

The Salon was busy and fundamentally looked like most other day spas in different parts of the world. The only difference this time was the abundance of Abayas. As the local women effortlessly switch between English and Arabic depending on who they are speaking to I am not only jelous of their bilingual talents I am also suffering from serious Abaya envy. I want one.

When I arrived in Doha a month ago, all of the Abaya's looked pretty much the same, black, long and flowing. Over the past four weeks I have realized that there is so much more to an Abaya than first meets the eye. I now look admiringly at detailed Swarovski crystals, beautiful silk and the different styles and subtle differences in sleeve length, cut and fabric.

Watching a Qatari woman stride down the street or shopping mall is a very majestic thing. They glide. You can't help being struck by the impeccable eye make-up, designer handbags and what look like 10 inch heels. The expression "less is more" couldn't be more applicable when you get a glimpse of a tanned leg and an elegant heel as they glide along. Without too much of a generalization Qatari women have a confidence and touch of glamour that is to be admired. As my gorgeous blonde and bronzed Australian friend said "they make us look very ordinary".

Naturally the little travelers provide a different perspective. As I stood outside the very exclusive and I imagine terribly expensive Abaya store window, the two girls ask what we are doing and why this store? Number 3 who is 6 and a boy says excitedly "I know, I know! Mum's dressing up as Darth Vader!"

Not quite the look I had in mind.

Home Delivered

After moving in to the compound with our air mattresses and not much else we decided to make a few small purchases. G naturally required a BBQ and I NEEDED more large wooden Asian furniture that will probably never fit in to a normal sized house in Australia. The great thing about Doha shopping is just about everything can be delivered (even KFC and McDonalds) and in our experience it all happens pretty quickly.

The little travelers rushed to the door when the truck arrived to see if anything exciting had arrived and quickly decided it wasn't and disappeared. After a quick chat in the doorway about where things would go, my two new BFF's (Imran and Hussein) started unloading the truck. Both men are dressed head to toe in white. They are wearing white long pants, white shirts to their knees (salwar kameez) and a small white hat which I think is called a topi. As a woman who has a close and intimate relationship with her washing machine (currently doing 2 loads a day, thanks to a combination of the compound sandpit and four children with eating disorders...the food keeps missing their mouths), I'm overly curious to how, in their line of business, they keep their clothes so white. I'm amazed when Imran tells me he changes his outfit at least three times a day. He seems amazed that I'm amazed and we both nervously giggle. He asks me if I was at home in my country what would he wear and I am so tempted to tell him that I would have seen his butt crack at least five times by now. With the language barrier I decide it's probably best I keep that information to myself as I'm pretty sure it will be lost in translation and Imran may think I have ideas of where his Salwar Kameez would look best. We then start sharing stories of home. Imran and Hussein tell me they are from Pakistan and like hundreds and thousands of other immigrants they have come in search of the opportunities this amazing country provides. We all agree it's a pretty good place to be. I tell them I am reading a biography of Benazir Bhutto and they tell me their thoughts and I learn more from them than I have from any book or newspaper.

When I come back inside from waving goodbye number 2 asks who the men were and why was I talking to them for so long. I tell her that they were fascinating guys and I could have spoken to them for hours. She says "you find everyone fascinating" and does a very good eye roll with a head shake and wanders off. Okay, back to the washing machine.

Extended family

We're back! The internet is a little shaky (I often find myself pointing the laptop towards the sun) but we are back in contact with the outside world.

We have moved in to our compound and the little travelers are very happy with their new lifestyle. Things are looking a little dodgy with our shipment. After being told it was in Doha we were then told it was in Dubai and a few days ago it was casually mentioned in conversation that it had arrived in Singapore. I think by next week it should be in San Francisco via Darwin.

We have purchased enough to get by comfortably, the only real pain is sleeping on the floor. G and I are now on an air mattress after an unfortunate sofa bed incident which involved him getting out of bed and me catapulting across the room. Our happiest moment this week has been G gaining his resident and alcohol permit, MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Christmas morning was spent at home, the excitement of opening presents and speaking to Grandparents, Aunties and friends made it all feel "normal". We sat around the tree, handing out presents with the laptop open. What did we do before Skype?

We decided to return to the hotel for Christmas Day, the lure of a bed and a strong internet connection was too much. Late morning we all began getting frocked up and ready to buffet (it's a verb not a noun when you're married to G). As I stood at the bathroom mirror applying the make-up to hide the sins of the Christmas Eve drinks with friends the night before (I'll never learn) the mosque began it's Friday midday call to prayer. I opened up the windows as I love the sound of the Muezzin. We have a mosque directly behind the house, as do most people in Doha, they're like pubs in Australia, there's one on every corner. It is at times like these that I wish I could speak Arabic. Something I plan to work on over the following year. I can't help but wonder if Friday's "sermon" being on Christmas Day will involve any retrospective of Christianity.

As G checked in to the hotel the little travelers and I stood in awe looking at the Christmas decorations in the main dining room. Number 2 is eyeing off the 2 metre high Chocolate Santa. There are meticulously decorated Christmas trees and one unexplainable pink bunny? We talk about the traditions of Christmas and the Christmas story, Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus. The little travelers ask me about the three wise men and where did they walk from to find the baby Jesus. I have no idea so come up with a vague "a long long way, they walked for days". Number 3 ask's "what did they look like" and almost on cue three men in dishdasha walk past and I say to the children "in all of the books and movies I've seen they looked exactly like that". Number 2 says "maybe they walked from here!".

Over the next few hours we watch the children make way too many trips to the chocolate fountain. I half expect to see number 2 arrive back at the table with the 2 metre chocolate Santa under her arm. Number 1 talks of last Christmas and being on the beach with Aunty Suzie and Grandma singing carols on Christmas eve and we start to trace backwards. We remember Christmas in Brisbane, Renmark, Yepoon, Calgary, Maroochydore and British Columbia. We wonder what everyone is up to. I can't help but get a little sad that we are far from family and friends. I think about my very close friend on her own in Jakarta and wish I could tele-transport myself or her for just an hour or two.

Later that evening our babysitter arrives, we have stayed with the same sitter and we adore her. She has worked all day and not yet spoken to her family in the Philippines. She tells us that now that she is with the children it feels a little more like christmas and she has chocolates and treats for them. The little travelers are jumping all over her and are full of hugs and kisses. It appears we have already started to make our own little extended Doha family.

Happy Holidays everyone.

Family traditions

Last night G and I were invited to a party. The party was hosted by a wonderful Irish couple who are both stereotypically short, funny, drunken and mischievous. About an hour after arriving without any warning one of our host' handed us a photocopied song book with a bit of tinsel thread through the standard hole punch groove. He then took his place in the middle of the room and asked/announced in a thick Irish accent "Shall we start with jingle bells?" and away he went. No music, no organization, no warning but within seconds everyone in the room was belting out Jingle Bells. Fantastic! For the next forty five minutes the crowd of about seventy or so expats sang carols around the Arabian gulf, all far from home, all with a twinkle in our eye. I cant speak for everyone else but I know that for G and I it was special, this week I have said on more than one occasion that it really didn't feel like Christmas but our new Irish friends have quickly changed my mind.

After the singing was over and we were back to talking and drinking, the host' came to join G and I. We ask about the song books and the tinsel and with a glint in their eyes they tell us about their family tradition of carol night. Their children are now young adults but they are quick to explain that "the girls" made the song books years ago when they were much younger. We talk some more and laugh as they tell us story after story of their children. Their eldest who (very proudly) is now 24, working in London, and was the first of their brood to graduate from Law at Trinity in Dublin. They joke about their son who likes a drink, loves his rugby and just lost those very expensive teeth they paid "millions" for. Their baby who they miss terribly. When I ask if it's hard not having the children here on carol night they are quick to tell us they will fly to Ireland before Christmas and naturally there will be another carol night on the 24th. G and I are thinking the same thing....is this us in 20 years?

Today is our 11th anniversary. It seems appropriate that today we moved in to our new house. This is our 8th house with about 7 hotel stops in between. It was as you can imagine a busy day. Our shipment has not arrived so in the past 24 hours we have managed to buy a couch, kitchenware, bar, bar stools, sofa bed, cutlery, dining table and chairs, plants etc... Trucks have been and gone, beds have been made, new neighbours have dropped by to say hello and slowly an empty space has become a home.

At the end of the day G hooks up the DVD player, Wii and TV and calls out to number 1 to ask if she can locate a DVD to test if the new player works, we cant find a movie but number 1 finds a home movie. We haven't looked at them for ages and they are all in a box that has made it's way in the carry on luggage. We all wait anxiously to see if the dvd player works and up pops a familiar room, G and I cant place it. After a moment I recognize a long blue pillow on the bed and it becomes clear. It is the hotel room at the Park Lane, the hotel G and I lived in when we first set off on our expat adventure 10 years ago in Jakarta. It doesn't look as plush as I remember. A boy's face appears on the screen, he has bushy hair, is wearing a bad shirt and he looks about seventeen.....it is G. I am the videographer and he is talking straight at the camera. The look in his eye is familiar. We are in love. We are young and as green as grass. I remember the idealistic promise made all those years ago "Ordinary people, living an extraordinary life". G takes the camera and points it at me, I'm very pregnant with number 1, no wrinkles and NO IDEA what is to come. At this stage the plan is 2 years in Jakarta and then home to Australia. Here we are 11 years, 8 countries and 4 children later.

With an empty refrigerator we dash out for dinner. At the table our children raise their glasses and toast our anniversary, it's incredibly sweet. We talk about dream holidays, 1 wants to go to Mt Rushmore, 2 wants to go on an African safari, 3 wants to go "wherever you do Mum" and 4 just wants more chicken. I want time to stand still, I don't want anyone to get any older but I've learnt from our new Irish friends that there is so much more to come.

As a little side note, to my G. A very perfect and extraordinary anniversary. x

Getting nude with the locals

"It's probably best we don't take the little travelers", was the advice from G. A few people from the office had mentioned it wasn't pleasant. He was talking about our appointment for a medical. To obtain a residents permit you have to have a government medical. RP's are essential for survival in Doha, RP's are required for an alcohol permit. You need an alcohol permit to buy alcohol. I need an RP.

Our adventure started when we were collected by bus at 9 in the morning. There were 5 of us on the bus. Over the next hour we stopped four or five more times. We watched in dismay as forty people (men, women and children) loaded on to our twenty seater bus.

As we unload cattle style from the bus we are reunited with our passports, we haven't seen them since we handed them over to Mr Talib on our first day in Doha. G was then sent to the men's section and I was directed to the women's. As I lined up behind the masses I suddenly felt very tall, very pale and very much a fish out of water. By perusing the passports in the queue I can see most of the women are from either the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia and India. We are all standing with our passports in hand, looking a little nervous, none of us knowing exactly what we are meant to be doing. Some of us have an extra passport or two, they belong to our children. I win the prize, I have the most and although there is a language barrier when everyone sees my stack of passports they give me the thumbs up.


Everyone working in the office is a woman. English is limited so commands are short and difficult to understand. " You go there" says a lady in black, I can see a smile in her eyes. After registering, having my photo taken and walking to 3 different offices to have someone new sign my forms, I am then told to take a blood test. An extensive search is made throughout the building and I finally find the blood test room and stand in line. There are roughly fifty women ahead of me. We are called one by one to give blood while the rest of us look on with interest. I remember thinking at the time that privacy obviously wasn't an issue. I had no idea what was to come.

After the blood test I am told to go to the Xray room. As I walk through the door a woman points to a basket full of scrunched up dirty hospital gowns and tells me to move in to the next room. I can see three rooms in front of me, each with a sign saying "changing room" so I knock politely and open the door. As I open the door I'm embarrassed to find three women in different stages of undressing and apologize profusely and close the door. It occurs to me that they have all looked at me like I am a complete and total idiot. After a couple of minutes it becomes clear, I am obviously meant to JOIN them in their state of undress. Oops! I go through the process of walking in again, nervously giggling at my earlier mistake and finding a corner to whip my gear off. There are now 5 of us in a room the size of your average toilet and with the mix of body odor and the fact we all have our arms in the air to take our shirts off. Well, it wasn't pleasant. With our range of languages we somehow have a conversation about if our bra is meant to stay on or off and we decide off. I start to giggle as I whip off my bra because I think I am possibly in one of the strangest situations I've been in for awhile. I am also amazed by how white my boobs are in a room full of brown ones?!

The xray room has a sign on the door saying "do not enter while xray in process" the door opens and I discover that while the xray's are going on there are fifteen or more women standing in line watching the process. No one is wearing the usual protection required for an xray. It's truly horrifying. I want to question what's taking place but I also want to just get it over and done with and never come back again. I choose the latter option. As I'm standing in line the xray woman is barking rules to all of us in Arabic, we have no idea what she is saying and she's getting frustrated. From my limited time in Libya I realize she has said something about hair and something about jewellery and put the pieces together and tell everyone to pull their hair up and take off the jewellery. It's my turn for the Xray. I'm pushed against the screen with my hands behind my back and my chin rested on a bar. I've watched 15 people before me go through the process and I'm determined to get it right so I can get out of the room and find my bra. Thankfully, it all happens quickly. I run back to the room, walk in on some of my old friends and meet some new ones. I then get changed faster than superman, confirm I am finished and am free to go.

The process has taken about 2 hours. I walk outside, find a seat in the sun and wait and wait for G to arrive. He finally appears. He has sat in a line for 3 hours only to watch the office close and be told to come back tomorrow and try again. I tell him what I've just done and we laugh. The things we'll do for a drink!

I hope you sleep with your eyes open

Yesterday was challenging but I coped like a good Australian. I finished the evening with a good bottle of red and a few cheeky beers at a very seedy hidden bar.

Yesterday morning G received an email from the office advising him that his "temporary" stay at the hotel was over and we would be moving to a serviced apartment the following day. A quick google search and a chat with a couple who had recently been through the same process made me realize this wasn't a pretty option for either myself or the little travelers. The serviced apartment is out near the airport, I don't have any good things to say about it. So I wont. Let's just say, my tiara has well and truly slipped and we will be keeping our fingers crossed that our villa becomes available VERY soon.

After getting over my 5 star eviction, I was then given the news that our shipment (when it gets here) will possibly take 3 weeks to clear customs. This means many things but the most upsetting was the thought of no Christmas tree for the little travelers. I managed to make myself suitably miserable thinking of the little travelers waking up on christmas morning in their empty house on their borrowed foam mattresses with a homemade Christmas tree.

I then noticed Number 4's slight cough had developed in to a chesty bark overnight. We had an appointment with an International School so I decided when we got there I'd ask about a pharmacy as I had no idea where to go. We set off for the school with our driver, got lost, rang the school, continued to get lost and finally an hour after our appointment we arrived. A quick team meeting was held at the school gates where I ran through the usual commands. Be polite, don't fight, smile, ask questions if you have them and please stop picking your nose.

Our tour guide was very nice but less than enthusiastic and half way through the tour she let it slip that she had pulled her daughter out of the school. An interesting selling point. I can tell by the little travelers faces that they are less than impressed with the facilities. They have seen the whiz bang American school online and this smaller "quaint" British School is not as aesthetically pleasing. The little travelers are not interested, number 4 has asked to be carried and it's humid and sticky. We walk from class to class and nothing is really grabbing our attention, the troops are getting restless. Number 3 keeps on purposely walking in to number 1, and finally number 1 retaliates with a smack to the head and a loud "I hope you sleep with your eyes open 'cause tonight you're going to get it!". Lovely. I'm sure they'll probably offer her a scholarship. I have now carried number 4 (who weighs as much as a small hippo) and my ridiculously large handbag for about 30 minutes. I can no longer feel any sensation in my right arm. I then notice that he appears to be shivering/shaking and on closer inspection he is as white as a ghost and his sweating isn't just because it's humid. We have to get him to a doctor.

We all pile in to the car and I realize I have no idea where the doctors is. Even if I did, I have no idea if I need a special ID card or a permit of some sort. I ring G and tell him, sick child, need doctor, find out how/where and call me back. Within minutes a very helpful man with broken english rings from G's office, he directs the driver and fifteen minutes later we are outside a 4 story hospital. I recognize the logo on the side of the building matches G's logo on his business card. They have their own clinic! We give our details at the counter, see a doctor within 10 minutes, pick up a prescription and are handed our FREE medicine at the pharmacy downstairs. The entire cost to me? Nothing. I suddenly feel a LONG way from America.

Later that evening it takes about 30 seconds to get ready when G suggests a babysitter for what could be our last evening at the hotel. When the sitter arrives I like her instantly. We start to chat about her job and how she came to be in Doha. She is 25 and has traveled from the Philippines via Taiwan to work in the hotel. She has a degree in Business and Tourism and her English is perfect. She offers to babysit any time as she explains that she is saving money to educate her sister. A familiar story. She tells me she never goes out on her days off as it's too expensive. Even though she is smiling I can see she's struggling when she tells me how she sits in her room for hours. I'm embarrassed by how spoilt and lucky I am.

After dinner we discover the "the library." Located on the top floor it looks like a hotel room from the outside, if it weren't for the man hovering in a suit outside you wouldn't know it was there. It deserves further explanation and perhaps that will come in another blog (as this one is already way to long). After 97 drinks we arrived back at our room to find sleeping children and a very happy babysitter, she tells us how much fun she'd had. G and I get her email address and say goodbye. I wonder to myself what her Christmas plans are and think of her sitting in her room. Maybe she knows how to make a tree?! I'll let you know.

The Little Travelers

We have been at the hotel for just over a week now and it is becoming very evident that we are ALL feeling a little comfortable with our new lifestyle. My heart starts to beat a little faster every time I think about leaving my turned down sheets. Each day the laundry arrives in beautifully wrapped parcels and I thank the housekeeping guy as if he has just personally delivered a surprise gift straight from the heart.

I know that I must return to loading the washing machine, packing lunches, washing floors and emptying the dishwasher but I'm worried our little travelers may be in for a earth shuddering shock.

I think back to a week ago when the little travelers arrived, they looked a little nervous at the buffet and giggled as chairs were pulled back for them and napkins placed on their laps. What a difference a week makes. The boys now shake hands with the maitre d', are often lifted in to their chairs and know exactly how to get three scoops of ice-cream for dinner without G and I even noticing (just a slight nod of the head, even though the mouth said one scoop my slight nod is saying load it up).

For the little travelers, school is a now a distant memory and new lessons have come in to play. Mathematics can be done by counting how many tiles make up the swimming pool. Daily reading is scanning the menu of one of the twenty restaurants in the hotel. Number 2 has become an expert at ringing for room service (yes this is the child who finds it impossible to speak to adults). Each morning without prompting she recites "4 bowls of cornflakes and can we have cold milk AND hot milk please". I overheard 1 and 2 debating the merits of the two Indian restaurants and deciding the Lamb Korma beat the Chicken Tandoor. Each day they swim for hours in the pool and play on the basketball courts. New friends have been made both poolside and around the hotel. The hotel staff hand out balloons, pens, pinches on cheeks, handshakes and high fives. I have noticed the chocolate fairy who comes each evening while we are at dinner now leaves two chocolates for each of the children on their pillows (G and I still ONLY get one). Life for the little travelers is as they say, one big holiday.

Do we think it will affect their behaviour or personalities? As G said, "by the end of the month these children are going to be completely feral". As a girl who grew up in a small country town and didn't have a passport until she was 29, I can't help but enjoy watching them experience this unique time. All day I have been thinking about a childhood friend of mine from the same small country town who is trying to make her way through today (December 4th). It's the one year anniversary of the loss of her precious son. I think we may have an extra scoop of ice-cream tonight.

I hope you don't mind me asking?

After discovering that we can't hire a car while our residents visa's are being processed we decided to try another option to get out and about. Today we hired a car with a driver and hit the town. Our driver was a man of very few words who had moved to Qatar from Sri lanka 2 years ago. He spoke the international language of Cricket but apart from that it was a pretty monosyllabic trip.

First stop was a trip to our next home. The children and I have been busting to see our future compound. G and I are still unsure on how we will cope with compound life, we chose NOT to live on a compound in Libya but when it comes to Doha, it's a compound or a compound, we chose a compound. The children on the other hand speak about compound life with a dreamy far off distant look in their eyes. They love the idea of a "communal" pool and playground and being able to ride their bikes door to door. Security is incredibly tight at the compound gate so no chance of getting in but we did manage to have a glimpse of the playground and pool area. The children gave it a big thumbs up and I was pleasantly surprised, as far as compounds go, it looks pretty good.

Then it was off for two completely different shopping experiences. The first experience was "The Mall" which was scary. Scarily familiar. Marks and Spencer to the left, Starbucks straight ahead, Zara, H&M and a Boots pharmacy to the right. At the back of the mall a food hall that looks like all other food halls. The Mall was a mix of Qataris and Expats. It all felt very safe and very familiar. I imagine after you have been here for awhile it would be a good escape for cup of coffee and a bit of a shopping fix but having just arrived from the US it all felt a bit to close to home. I wanted to go to the Souk.

Souk Waqif is situated in the old city. We arrived at about 8pm and the place was pumping. The car park was overflowing with a mix of vehicles, small overloaded sedans with children sitting on the laps of adults (that was us), and large SUV's or Landcruisers with families or single people on a night out.

We started off in the "Old" souk. Not only was there so much to see, there was so much to smell. With a mixture of coffee and spices the smell was fantastic. As I stood in the shopfront of yet another spice store with a very confused look on my face a very friendly local woman approached me. In broken English she began to explain what I was looking at, she was getting frustrated at her lack of English but it was a LOT better than my Arabic. One of the spices, she explained was to burn at your front door, it not only made your house smell fabulous, it also banished evil spirits. In her words "the smell is good and how you say hmmmm Casper, Casper no more". The Old souk is full of older men sitting on cushions in small shop fronts smoking Shisha pipes. You could buy anything from traditional clothing, scribes, spices, food and maybe even a Falcon. The bird not the car. The children were very taken with the bunny, bird and kitten section of the Souk. The bunnies were white and fluffy and everyone had a hold. There was the familiar "can we, can we" whine with the even more familiar low voiced "NO" from the parents.

The new Souk is a representation of the new Qatar. It's designed for tourist but there are plenty of young hip Qatari men and women. I loved the contrast of the young men with a Shisha pipe in one hand and a Blackberry in the other. Tables full of women all in their Abayah, smoking the Shisha and enjoying a meal. There were so many restaurants and so much to see. Number 1 and 2 think of themselves as budding photographers and took their cameras. We had talked to them about being careful with their pictures, I remember taking a photo of an older woman in Libya and being hissed at and realizing I had just done something incredibly offensive. A young Qatari woman noticed number 1 taking a picture and asked if she could take a picture of 1 taking a photo of something else. "Sure" said 1 with a nervous giggle. After she had taken her picture 1 whispered in my ear "Can I take a picture of her taking a photo?" I thought about it for a split second and decided if we asked nicely it surely wouldn't be that offensive? We were declined and it was a little uncomfortable. I think the young woman felt terrible that she couldn't oblige and number 1's cheeks immediately turned crimson, for a brief moment I thought she may cry. We all smiled and were very apologetic for asking but 1 was embarrassed. As we wandered off both feeling a little dejected I said "you didn't do anything wrong, you asked politely, you were declined, you did it all the right way... don't ever stop asking people when you're not sure". 1 immediately smiled and said "you're right, you can only ask, Mummy, can we have a bunny?"