Doha Lesson No. 9: don’t go out without a map
I started to the luggage and figure out where to put everything. Bruce and George moved in to their apartments and along with Ian we go out in the early evening to explore the neighbourhood. We find a smaller local grocery store just behind us – Al Meera - which carried all the basics: toilet paper, water, fresh fruits and vegetables. In a smallish mall about 15 minutes away we found a larger grocery store – Mega Mart – that carried a lot of western-style foods. From there we struck out to find another Home Centre outlet that was supposed to be nearby.
We found the Home Centre (nearby is a relative word), and then attempted to navigate our way home along a different route. Along the way, we decided to find a restaurant to eat in. It was about now that the different personality types really started to manifest themselves, from the bold explorers prepared to try anything to the more cautious types uncomfortable with the unfamiliar. There were large numbers of men also walking the streets but next to no women, and while I would not have felt safe out on my own, I was feeling fairly comfortable with my small band of escorts. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for me to go into the restaurants as all the customers seemed to be men, but was willing to go with the flow. We passed on several of the small local restaurants, walked into what turned out to be a Sudanese restaurant that we promptly left when we discovered all they had left to offer were meals based on organ meats, and eventually found a seafood restaurant where we had a very nice meal indeed.
Leaving the restaurant, we continued trying to steer our way back to the apartment. I was fairly certain we were heading in the right direction when we came to an intersection with a hotel on the corner. Bruce, who had lived for several years in China and is definitely the explorer type, headed off across the street. The rest of the party wanted to go to the hotel to catch a taxi, and after some hesitation, we eventually did exactly that. Ironically, by this time we were indeed only a few blocks away from the apartment building and by the time the taxi navigated its way through the neighbourhood, Bruce was already walking up to the front door.
I would love to find that restaurant again but because I did not have a map with me, I am not completely certain where we were. It will have to wait until our explorations expand far enough away from the apartment to locate it again. Lesson learned.
Monday, February 4, 2008
4 January / Friday
I made peace with the main bathroom on this day. Using a BBQ-style scouring pad and lots of crème cleanser, I scrubbed and rinsed every square inch of tile I could reach in the bathroom (the whole room is tiled, but the ceilings are high and we didn’t have a step stool). When that was done, I did the same to the fixtures. It took me about four hours and while it still looked soiled the surfaces were as clean as I could get them. The discoloured grout was dirty either from dirt contaminating the mixture itself or the dirty hands and feet of the workers who applied it to the tiles or both. I was able to remove some but not all of the excess concrete bits off the surfaces, but quickly learned from talking to other tenants to be grateful there weren’t lumps of concrete under the bottom of the tub that limited where you could stand while showering. It was not perfect by any means, but at least I was confident enough in its cleanliness to actually step on the floor or in the tub in my bare feet. Showers were now possible, even if we still had to hold the shower head by hand.
3 January / Thursday
The day was spent nesting. All the surfaces seemed to be coated with concrete dust. We cleaned, swept, vacuumed; washed walls, switches, baseboards and furniture; and rearranged the furniture until we got the bedrooms and living spaces organized in a way more conducive to our way of living. We were by no means finished, but it was a good start.
2 January / Wednesday
Doha Lesson No. 7: being a Muslim woman may not necessarily mean being demure and meek
We went down for breakfast and met George, Bruce, Ed and Ward – four new instructors who had just arrived in Doha late the night before. A bus arrived at the hotel – right on schedule this time – and took us out to the college where the gentlemen completed basic payroll documentation and we all handed over our passports. This did make all the newbies more than a little nervous, but it is standard protocol for the employer to hold the passports while the residency application is in process. I am sure there are many reasons for this, but I certainly suspect one is to prevent spontaneous “Oh my God, I’ve changed my mind” departures.
The first step in the residency process entailed a visit to the government medical testing facility where we submitted to HIV and TB testing. It seemed redundant as we had all undergone this testing in Canada as a condition of the employment offers, but at least it meant none of us were anxious about the results and could just “enjoy” the experience.
We arrived at the facility, where we were met by Mohammed – the college’s “fixer” – who was to guide us through this process. Unfortunately, Lisa, her two children Mitchell and Hanna, and I were separated from the gentlemen at this point and sent off to the women’s section on our own. The process was fairly straight-forward for the gentlemen as Mohammed brought them to the front of the line time and time again. As a result, in spite of much larger numbers on the men’s side, their processing was completed well before ours.
Lisa and I certainly could have used a female equivalent of Mohammed. We kept watching other women jump to the head of the line while we sat through what became a surreal three-hour mixture of confusion, boredom and fascination. Confusion because all conversation around us was conducted in Arabic, with only occasional one-word commands barked at us in English. Boredom because we spent long periods of time sitting or standing in line with no clear idea what was going on or how long we would have to wait. And fascination because it was my first opportunity to observe Qatari women in action and I began to quickly dispense with any stereotypical ideas I had that being a Muslim woman automatically meant behaving in a subservient or accommodating manner, at least if they were Qatari.
The first source of fascination, even amusement, came from watching six or seven women in the admissions office sit around drinking and eating, applying make-up and talking (dare I say gossiping?) up a storm, while two others were processing initial documentation. There were several other wickets available, and lots of people waiting to be served, but absolutely no interest from any of these women in stepping forward to speed the process move along any faster. It is entirely possible they were conducting a meeting or on a scheduled break, but to the uninformed observer, it certainly looked like a classic satirical stereotype of government bureaucracy “hard at work.”
The second source of fascination came from listening to the conversations around us. Arabic seemed to be spoken by Qatari women in a most animated fashion, as conversations were conducted at high volumes and with expansive and expressive gestures. I am certain the subjects were mostly innocuous, but one of the women in particular – the one who kept indicating where we were to sit or stand – had the demeanour of a drill sergeant. Even the other staff members seemed to scurry to her commands.
The third source of fascination came from watching how the Qatari women dealt with waiting in line. It became clear that women with young children or accompanying the elderly were generally moved to the front of the lines, but this seemed consistent with my initial readings on how children and the elderly are valued in Muslim cultures (although Lisa, with her two children, did not receive any preferential treatment). If the women in question were Qatari, there seemed to be an expectation they would not have to wait at all, even if they were on their own, and they almost always approached the staff members directly rather than joining a queue and subsequently waved through. However, the bulk of the women appeared Indian or Asian (Caucasians definitely were in the minority), clearly did not have the same sense of entitlement and would take their place in line. If young children or the elderly were involved, one of the staff members would eventually pull them out and send them forward, but it was an inconsistent process. The exception to this rule was with a group of young Asian girls making their way through the lines aided by what I believed was a female version of Mohammed. If only we had had the same assistance!!
I am very much looking forward to learning whether these early observations remain consistent in other situations, and whether or not women modify their actions when in mixed company. Hopefully, time will tell.
We eventually got back to the college, where we were supposed to be picked up by a bus and taken back to the hotel. We waited and waited, and about an hour later, several buses show up. We were separated into groups based on our agendas for the balance of the day, and finally got back to the hotel around 2:30 pm where we all descended as a ravenous horde on the restaurant for a very late lunch. Afterward Ian, Michael and I checked out from the hotel, dropped our luggage off at our apartments and were taken to the City Centre Mall, one of the biggest in the Gulf region, for more shopping.
Doha Lesson No. 8: Qatari women are not drably dressed under their abayas (black robes)
We decided to wander about first before heading off to the Home Centre (a mid-range home furnishings and accessories store) and Carrefour (a French based grocery store similar to Wal-Mart or Real Canadian Superstore) for additional supplies and groceries. The mall was impressive – four levels, a movie theatre, small skating rink, a food court filled with western-style fast food chains, and lots and lots of shops and services. It quickly became apparent to me that Qatari women were likely very well dressed under their abayas. The clothing and jewellery on display in the shops ran the range from designer jeans to elaborate and revealing cocktail and full-length party dresses. In fact, the abayas themselves were often richly decorated with embroidery, sequins and rhinestones. And the jewellery!! I hadn’t seen such elaborate pieces since the 80s. Most of it resembles something you would see on Las Vegas showgirls. I thought it was just the costume jewellery that was that elaborate, even gaudy, until we started to come across the high end jewellery stores. The pieces there were equally as showy and I cringed thinking about the prices.
We finished our tour and headed off to Carrefour for groceries. We picked up some meat, fruits and vegetables, and coffee supplies and returned to the apartment to make peace with what was now our new home. We put the groceries away, made the bed with the linen pulled out from the luggage (the recommendation to bring some linens with us proved to be very valuable at this point) and fell into bed utterly exhausted.
We went down for breakfast and met George, Bruce, Ed and Ward – four new instructors who had just arrived in Doha late the night before. A bus arrived at the hotel – right on schedule this time – and took us out to the college where the gentlemen completed basic payroll documentation and we all handed over our passports. This did make all the newbies more than a little nervous, but it is standard protocol for the employer to hold the passports while the residency application is in process. I am sure there are many reasons for this, but I certainly suspect one is to prevent spontaneous “Oh my God, I’ve changed my mind” departures.
The first step in the residency process entailed a visit to the government medical testing facility where we submitted to HIV and TB testing. It seemed redundant as we had all undergone this testing in Canada as a condition of the employment offers, but at least it meant none of us were anxious about the results and could just “enjoy” the experience.
We arrived at the facility, where we were met by Mohammed – the college’s “fixer” – who was to guide us through this process. Unfortunately, Lisa, her two children Mitchell and Hanna, and I were separated from the gentlemen at this point and sent off to the women’s section on our own. The process was fairly straight-forward for the gentlemen as Mohammed brought them to the front of the line time and time again. As a result, in spite of much larger numbers on the men’s side, their processing was completed well before ours.
Lisa and I certainly could have used a female equivalent of Mohammed. We kept watching other women jump to the head of the line while we sat through what became a surreal three-hour mixture of confusion, boredom and fascination. Confusion because all conversation around us was conducted in Arabic, with only occasional one-word commands barked at us in English. Boredom because we spent long periods of time sitting or standing in line with no clear idea what was going on or how long we would have to wait. And fascination because it was my first opportunity to observe Qatari women in action and I began to quickly dispense with any stereotypical ideas I had that being a Muslim woman automatically meant behaving in a subservient or accommodating manner, at least if they were Qatari.
The first source of fascination, even amusement, came from watching six or seven women in the admissions office sit around drinking and eating, applying make-up and talking (dare I say gossiping?) up a storm, while two others were processing initial documentation. There were several other wickets available, and lots of people waiting to be served, but absolutely no interest from any of these women in stepping forward to speed the process move along any faster. It is entirely possible they were conducting a meeting or on a scheduled break, but to the uninformed observer, it certainly looked like a classic satirical stereotype of government bureaucracy “hard at work.”
The second source of fascination came from listening to the conversations around us. Arabic seemed to be spoken by Qatari women in a most animated fashion, as conversations were conducted at high volumes and with expansive and expressive gestures. I am certain the subjects were mostly innocuous, but one of the women in particular – the one who kept indicating where we were to sit or stand – had the demeanour of a drill sergeant. Even the other staff members seemed to scurry to her commands.
The third source of fascination came from watching how the Qatari women dealt with waiting in line. It became clear that women with young children or accompanying the elderly were generally moved to the front of the lines, but this seemed consistent with my initial readings on how children and the elderly are valued in Muslim cultures (although Lisa, with her two children, did not receive any preferential treatment). If the women in question were Qatari, there seemed to be an expectation they would not have to wait at all, even if they were on their own, and they almost always approached the staff members directly rather than joining a queue and subsequently waved through. However, the bulk of the women appeared Indian or Asian (Caucasians definitely were in the minority), clearly did not have the same sense of entitlement and would take their place in line. If young children or the elderly were involved, one of the staff members would eventually pull them out and send them forward, but it was an inconsistent process. The exception to this rule was with a group of young Asian girls making their way through the lines aided by what I believed was a female version of Mohammed. If only we had had the same assistance!!
I am very much looking forward to learning whether these early observations remain consistent in other situations, and whether or not women modify their actions when in mixed company. Hopefully, time will tell.
We eventually got back to the college, where we were supposed to be picked up by a bus and taken back to the hotel. We waited and waited, and about an hour later, several buses show up. We were separated into groups based on our agendas for the balance of the day, and finally got back to the hotel around 2:30 pm where we all descended as a ravenous horde on the restaurant for a very late lunch. Afterward Ian, Michael and I checked out from the hotel, dropped our luggage off at our apartments and were taken to the City Centre Mall, one of the biggest in the Gulf region, for more shopping.
Doha Lesson No. 8: Qatari women are not drably dressed under their abayas (black robes)
We decided to wander about first before heading off to the Home Centre (a mid-range home furnishings and accessories store) and Carrefour (a French based grocery store similar to Wal-Mart or Real Canadian Superstore) for additional supplies and groceries. The mall was impressive – four levels, a movie theatre, small skating rink, a food court filled with western-style fast food chains, and lots and lots of shops and services. It quickly became apparent to me that Qatari women were likely very well dressed under their abayas. The clothing and jewellery on display in the shops ran the range from designer jeans to elaborate and revealing cocktail and full-length party dresses. In fact, the abayas themselves were often richly decorated with embroidery, sequins and rhinestones. And the jewellery!! I hadn’t seen such elaborate pieces since the 80s. Most of it resembles something you would see on Las Vegas showgirls. I thought it was just the costume jewellery that was that elaborate, even gaudy, until we started to come across the high end jewellery stores. The pieces there were equally as showy and I cringed thinking about the prices.
We finished our tour and headed off to Carrefour for groceries. We picked up some meat, fruits and vegetables, and coffee supplies and returned to the apartment to make peace with what was now our new home. We put the groceries away, made the bed with the linen pulled out from the luggage (the recommendation to bring some linens with us proved to be very valuable at this point) and fell into bed utterly exhausted.
1 January / Tuesday /Happy New Year
Doha Lesson No. 5: just because something is scheduled does not mean it is going to happen.
The itinerary we had received for our first few days indicated we would be picked up at 7:00 am on the day after our arrival and taken to the college to complete paperwork, undertake the medical testing, view our accommodation, and go shopping for essentials to set up housekeeping. We went down to the lobby at about 6:50 am to wait for our ride. Another couple (Dean and Lisa) with two young children come down shortly thereafter, and finally another man (Ian). No one spoke to anyone else, but we all seemed to be waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
At 7:30 am, we called our Relations Officer and discovered that she was not at work that morning as the college was closed for New Year’s Day – completely logical, but not indicated on what turned out to be a generic rather than specifically tailored schedule of events. We were told our driver would show up at noon to show us our accommodation and take us shopping. Our call was overheard by the others, self-introductions to our fellow new arrivals made, similar plans for everyone else confirmed, and we dispersed for the next few hours.
Back in the lobby for 12:00 noon, we waited, and waited, and waited. Again, after about 30 minutes, we called the Relations Officer, after which the drivers start to show up: one who had wandered in and out of the lobby more than once while we were waiting but had not identified himself or inquired if any of us were waiting for a driver (the drivers are in regular street cloths and seem to use personal vehicles) but was there for Ian; our driver, Ansi, who arrived about 1:00 pm, and one for Dean and Lisa who apparently did not arrive until around 2:30 pm.
Doha Lesson No. 6: being assigned newly constructed accommodation is not a good thing
We got our first look at our apartment and it was not the most enjoyable experience. While the bedrooms looked okay, although very dirty, there didn’t seem to be any electrical outlets available that would allow us to read in bed – a huge problem – and conjuring up images of extension cords running around the edges of the room. The living/dining area was poorly arranged with a dearth of electrical outlets as well, but I felt that could be worked out. The kitchen was small, in a closed off room, and very dirty. There was a washer/dryer unit (good news, I thought), a dishwasher (perhaps superfluous given the lack of cupboard space), an oven which was poorly located ergonomically and appeared to be unsafely wired directly into the wall, and minimal cupboard and counter space. The bathrooms were even worse. Again, everything was very dirty. The white grouting was almost black in places, the concrete/plaster used as a sealant around the windows and fixtures looked like it had been applied by a pre-schooler and was smeared all over the place, nothing seemed to be properly siliconed to prevent water infiltration, the support for the shower head was broken and there was a hole in the bathtub that had been poorly filled with putty.
As Michael and I started to panic a little, Ansi helped us start to put it into perspective when he told us he thought the apartments were “very good” and the rent was worth around $12,000 QR or about $3,500 CDN a month, clearly not affordable for the majority of workers in the country. Our fellow newbie, Ian, also helped settle us down when he told us about his living quarters the year he taught in Korea. From his perspective, the apartment was in pretty good condition and about three times as large. A call to our Relations Officer confirmed that, barring significant defects, alternate accommodations were not available. We would have to make our peace with it.
As we left the building to do our shopping, I wondered whether we might be in an older building which had been partially refurbished as this could explain the apparent disconnect between the relatively decent workmanship in the bedrooms and main living area and the shoddy work in the kitchen and bathrooms. We subsequently learned that it was a newly constructed building. In Canada this would be considered a good thing, but in Doha it is definitely not a blessing. Construction standards here are shaky at best, and skilled trades practically nonexistent. Most new buildings definitely go through a shake-down period when things like unconnected plumbing lines and faulty wiring are discovered and repairs attempted.
I would like to say that we are living in a marble-floored palace. What I can say is that we are living in a 2 bedroom, 1.5 bathroom middle-of-the-road apartment by Qatari standards, which would be considered luxurious by most of the international workers in this country. The bedrooms and living room do have marble floors and after vigorously scrubbing down almost everything I can reach, I can at least take comfort in that it is now reasonably clean. I have a long list of things that need to be repaired, and I am slowly working on getting these maintenance items looked after. But after talking to some of our fellow tenants I am grateful we have not had a major flood or electrical disaster to deal with and the repairs we want looking after appear to be relatively modest.
So off we went to one of the local hypermarkets (which are a collection of stores that operate jointly like a Wal-Mart with a full grocery store) to load up on the proverbial two plates, two forks, two glasses, etc., to keep us functioning for the next couple of weeks. I was standing there with a grocery cart, a list of basics, a brain that was not functioning crisply due to fatigue, still upset about the apartment, and trying to decide which set of melamine dishes was the least hideous. Behind me, tension building, were two gentlemen – Michael and Ansi – getting more impatient by the second!! I could feel it building while I stood there dithering. I needed a cooking knife, but which one? Buy one pan – check – but which one would be the most versatile choice? I refused to turn around to see if Michael and Ansi were actually rolling their eyes or tapping their feet in male camaraderie, but I could feel it. Okay, forget about the dishes and focus on cleaning supplies! But even that was problematic. Which brand of soap? Bathroom cleanser? Toilet paper? None of the brand names were familiar. Finally, in self-defence I started sending them off on missions, hoping against all hope I could live with the results. Thank God I brought the linen from home!!
We went back to the apartment to drop off the first round of supplies before returning for our last night at the hotel. I tried to remain as calm as possible as I looked at the rooms again, determining what I would have to do to live with it. Cleaning, cleaning, and more cleaning was the first answer. Moving the furniture around was the second. I was not sure what would be the third, but I vowed to figure that out when I got there. It was what I would have to live with, the price was right (rent and basic utilities free), and if this move was to be successful we needed to find a way to make it work.
The itinerary we had received for our first few days indicated we would be picked up at 7:00 am on the day after our arrival and taken to the college to complete paperwork, undertake the medical testing, view our accommodation, and go shopping for essentials to set up housekeeping. We went down to the lobby at about 6:50 am to wait for our ride. Another couple (Dean and Lisa) with two young children come down shortly thereafter, and finally another man (Ian). No one spoke to anyone else, but we all seemed to be waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
At 7:30 am, we called our Relations Officer and discovered that she was not at work that morning as the college was closed for New Year’s Day – completely logical, but not indicated on what turned out to be a generic rather than specifically tailored schedule of events. We were told our driver would show up at noon to show us our accommodation and take us shopping. Our call was overheard by the others, self-introductions to our fellow new arrivals made, similar plans for everyone else confirmed, and we dispersed for the next few hours.
Back in the lobby for 12:00 noon, we waited, and waited, and waited. Again, after about 30 minutes, we called the Relations Officer, after which the drivers start to show up: one who had wandered in and out of the lobby more than once while we were waiting but had not identified himself or inquired if any of us were waiting for a driver (the drivers are in regular street cloths and seem to use personal vehicles) but was there for Ian; our driver, Ansi, who arrived about 1:00 pm, and one for Dean and Lisa who apparently did not arrive until around 2:30 pm.
Doha Lesson No. 6: being assigned newly constructed accommodation is not a good thing
We got our first look at our apartment and it was not the most enjoyable experience. While the bedrooms looked okay, although very dirty, there didn’t seem to be any electrical outlets available that would allow us to read in bed – a huge problem – and conjuring up images of extension cords running around the edges of the room. The living/dining area was poorly arranged with a dearth of electrical outlets as well, but I felt that could be worked out. The kitchen was small, in a closed off room, and very dirty. There was a washer/dryer unit (good news, I thought), a dishwasher (perhaps superfluous given the lack of cupboard space), an oven which was poorly located ergonomically and appeared to be unsafely wired directly into the wall, and minimal cupboard and counter space. The bathrooms were even worse. Again, everything was very dirty. The white grouting was almost black in places, the concrete/plaster used as a sealant around the windows and fixtures looked like it had been applied by a pre-schooler and was smeared all over the place, nothing seemed to be properly siliconed to prevent water infiltration, the support for the shower head was broken and there was a hole in the bathtub that had been poorly filled with putty.
As Michael and I started to panic a little, Ansi helped us start to put it into perspective when he told us he thought the apartments were “very good” and the rent was worth around $12,000 QR or about $3,500 CDN a month, clearly not affordable for the majority of workers in the country. Our fellow newbie, Ian, also helped settle us down when he told us about his living quarters the year he taught in Korea. From his perspective, the apartment was in pretty good condition and about three times as large. A call to our Relations Officer confirmed that, barring significant defects, alternate accommodations were not available. We would have to make our peace with it.
As we left the building to do our shopping, I wondered whether we might be in an older building which had been partially refurbished as this could explain the apparent disconnect between the relatively decent workmanship in the bedrooms and main living area and the shoddy work in the kitchen and bathrooms. We subsequently learned that it was a newly constructed building. In Canada this would be considered a good thing, but in Doha it is definitely not a blessing. Construction standards here are shaky at best, and skilled trades practically nonexistent. Most new buildings definitely go through a shake-down period when things like unconnected plumbing lines and faulty wiring are discovered and repairs attempted.
I would like to say that we are living in a marble-floored palace. What I can say is that we are living in a 2 bedroom, 1.5 bathroom middle-of-the-road apartment by Qatari standards, which would be considered luxurious by most of the international workers in this country. The bedrooms and living room do have marble floors and after vigorously scrubbing down almost everything I can reach, I can at least take comfort in that it is now reasonably clean. I have a long list of things that need to be repaired, and I am slowly working on getting these maintenance items looked after. But after talking to some of our fellow tenants I am grateful we have not had a major flood or electrical disaster to deal with and the repairs we want looking after appear to be relatively modest.
So off we went to one of the local hypermarkets (which are a collection of stores that operate jointly like a Wal-Mart with a full grocery store) to load up on the proverbial two plates, two forks, two glasses, etc., to keep us functioning for the next couple of weeks. I was standing there with a grocery cart, a list of basics, a brain that was not functioning crisply due to fatigue, still upset about the apartment, and trying to decide which set of melamine dishes was the least hideous. Behind me, tension building, were two gentlemen – Michael and Ansi – getting more impatient by the second!! I could feel it building while I stood there dithering. I needed a cooking knife, but which one? Buy one pan – check – but which one would be the most versatile choice? I refused to turn around to see if Michael and Ansi were actually rolling their eyes or tapping their feet in male camaraderie, but I could feel it. Okay, forget about the dishes and focus on cleaning supplies! But even that was problematic. Which brand of soap? Bathroom cleanser? Toilet paper? None of the brand names were familiar. Finally, in self-defence I started sending them off on missions, hoping against all hope I could live with the results. Thank God I brought the linen from home!!
We went back to the apartment to drop off the first round of supplies before returning for our last night at the hotel. I tried to remain as calm as possible as I looked at the rooms again, determining what I would have to do to live with it. Cleaning, cleaning, and more cleaning was the first answer. Moving the furniture around was the second. I was not sure what would be the third, but I vowed to figure that out when I got there. It was what I would have to live with, the price was right (rent and basic utilities free), and if this move was to be successful we needed to find a way to make it work.
31 December / Monday
Doha Lesson No. 1: some of life’s luxuries are very inexpensive here
We arrived at Doha International Airport in the wee hours of the morning, and waiting for us was a staff member from Al Maha Meet & Greet Service. We were taken into a private reception area, offered refreshments and left to relax while Al Maha staff took care of the immigration requirements and collected our baggage. We were then whisked through Customs. It was all highly civilized and made us feel like VIPs, yet the cost of the service to the College was quite modest – $170 Qatar Riyals (QR) or about $50 CDN for both of us.
Clearing customs, we then met our driver, Ansi. I am still not completely sure what his relationship to the college is, but he has been invaluable during these last weeks, and will likely continue to play a role in our lives for some time. We walked out of the airport. It was a lovely sunny morning, deliciously warm at about 20°C, but definitely a moist heat. Ansi managed to stuff all the luggage into his car and still have room for the two of us – no small feat – and off we go to the hotel.
Doha Lesson No. 2: the work day begins very early.
Do you remember Travel Lesson No. 4? All the materials sent to us by the college referenced the Sheraton or Marriott hotels. Based on our recent experience in London, we were somewhat concerned when Ansi pulled up to the Movenpick Hotel (a Swiss-based hotel chain apparently known among other things for their ice cream). In spite of the early hour (it was just before 7:00 am local time), we called the Relations Officer who was our primary contact during our transition to confirm we were in the right place. We discovered there was no problem with calling at that hour, as the Relations Officer was already on her way to work. The work day begins very early here. First class starts at 7:30 am, which means Michael is on a 6:20 bus most days.
Doha Lesson No. 3: living in Qatar does not mean giving up Christmas
Having confirmed we were at the right place, into the hotel we go and there in the middle of the lobby was a Christmas tree – perhaps not as richly decorated as I would like, but a Christmas tree nonetheless! We discovered trees and other decorations all over town during the next few days and learned of the many Christmas parties and events held throughout Doha during December. There is a large ex-pat population here, but the substantial majority are from India and the Philippines and are Muslim. The percentage of Europeans or North Americans who are also Christian is quite small, so it was impressive to learn our Christmas traditions were celebrated so openly. I am looking forward to learning about Muslim festival traditions and celebrations because they are certainly not as publicly visible in Canada as Christmas was here in Qatar.
Doha Lesson No. 4: second-hand smoke becomes an issue again.
This day was basically a repeat of our first day in London: a long sleep as soon as we got into the room, and then out in search of food. As we explored the hotel lobby looking for something to eat it quickly became apparent preparations were underway for New Year’s Eve parties. We were offered a table in the restaurant for dinner, but would have had to wait for a couple of hours. While we were considering this option, we were told the table was in the smoking section – the smoking section? Yes, indeed. While it seems there is no smoking in public places (government offices and malls), this is a fairly recent development and smoking is still allowed in restaurants and bars. In fact, I was puzzled when I saw how empty the first couple of Starbucks shops in the malls were (yes, they are here as well), until we came across some independent coffee shops full of gentlemen drinking coffee and smoking. Then the light bulb went on – the Starbucks shops are non-smoking. Anyway, we were too hungry to wait for the table, reluctant to deal with the smoking, and obviously did not have appropriate party clothing immediately available to wear so we decided to dine a-la-room-service. We had a nice meal, including some really good ice cream as a special treat, took a couple more of the magic pills and slept through to morning.
We arrived at Doha International Airport in the wee hours of the morning, and waiting for us was a staff member from Al Maha Meet & Greet Service. We were taken into a private reception area, offered refreshments and left to relax while Al Maha staff took care of the immigration requirements and collected our baggage. We were then whisked through Customs. It was all highly civilized and made us feel like VIPs, yet the cost of the service to the College was quite modest – $170 Qatar Riyals (QR) or about $50 CDN for both of us.Clearing customs, we then met our driver, Ansi. I am still not completely sure what his relationship to the college is, but he has been invaluable during these last weeks, and will likely continue to play a role in our lives for some time. We walked out of the airport. It was a lovely sunny morning, deliciously warm at about 20°C, but definitely a moist heat. Ansi managed to stuff all the luggage into his car and still have room for the two of us – no small feat – and off we go to the hotel.
Doha Lesson No. 2: the work day begins very early.
Do you remember Travel Lesson No. 4? All the materials sent to us by the college referenced the Sheraton or Marriott hotels. Based on our recent experience in London, we were somewhat concerned when Ansi pulled up to the Movenpick Hotel (a Swiss-based hotel chain apparently known among other things for their ice cream). In spite of the early hour (it was just before 7:00 am local time), we called the Relations Officer who was our primary contact during our transition to confirm we were in the right place. We discovered there was no problem with calling at that hour, as the Relations Officer was already on her way to work. The work day begins very early here. First class starts at 7:30 am, which means Michael is on a 6:20 bus most days.
Doha Lesson No. 3: living in Qatar does not mean giving up Christmas
Having confirmed we were at the right place, into the hotel we go and there in the middle of the lobby was a Christmas tree – perhaps not as richly decorated as I would like, but a Christmas tree nonetheless! We discovered trees and other decorations all over town during the next few days and learned of the many Christmas parties and events held throughout Doha during December. There is a large ex-pat population here, but the substantial majority are from India and the Philippines and are Muslim. The percentage of Europeans or North Americans who are also Christian is quite small, so it was impressive to learn our Christmas traditions were celebrated so openly. I am looking forward to learning about Muslim festival traditions and celebrations because they are certainly not as publicly visible in Canada as Christmas was here in Qatar.Doha Lesson No. 4: second-hand smoke becomes an issue again.
This day was basically a repeat of our first day in London: a long sleep as soon as we got into the room, and then out in search of food. As we explored the hotel lobby looking for something to eat it quickly became apparent preparations were underway for New Year’s Eve parties. We were offered a table in the restaurant for dinner, but would have had to wait for a couple of hours. While we were considering this option, we were told the table was in the smoking section – the smoking section? Yes, indeed. While it seems there is no smoking in public places (government offices and malls), this is a fairly recent development and smoking is still allowed in restaurants and bars. In fact, I was puzzled when I saw how empty the first couple of Starbucks shops in the malls were (yes, they are here as well), until we came across some independent coffee shops full of gentlemen drinking coffee and smoking. Then the light bulb went on – the Starbucks shops are non-smoking. Anyway, we were too hungry to wait for the table, reluctant to deal with the smoking, and obviously did not have appropriate party clothing immediately available to wear so we decided to dine a-la-room-service. We had a nice meal, including some really good ice cream as a special treat, took a couple more of the magic pills and slept through to morning.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
30 December / Sunday
Another English breakfast and a quiet day in the hotel before we packed up and left for Heathrow and our flight to Qatar. We were among the first passengers to check-in for the flight, and I was glad as it took quite a while to deal with our luggage for, of course, we were grossly overweight. Fees paid, off we went to wait for boarding. We wandered around the extensive duty free shops, Michael taking advantage of all the distilleries offering tasting samples, had a light meal in an Irish pub (a preventative measure in case our next flight resembled our recent experiences on Air Canada) and once the boarding gate was announced, made our way there.
It quickly became apparent that we might have a very different experience this time. We were flying with Qatar Airways, which bills itself as a “five-star” airline. Michael and I were hopeful but sceptical. The first thing we noticed was the number of flight attendants also waiting to board the plane. There were at least twice as many as were on the Air Canada flights and it turned out the plane was probably only 40 to 45% full, so service was exceptional.
Next was the quality of blankets and pillows on the seats. I had asked for a blanket on our flight from Victoria to Toronto and for $2 fee was given a plastic inflatable pillow and a very modest synthetic-fibre cover that was little more than a large lightweight napkin. Qatar Airlines was providing real pillows and generous light-weight wool blankets.
Then the flight attendants passed out complimentary amenities bags containing earphones, earplugs, eyeshades, a pair of socks and a travel toothbrush and toothpaste. We barely had time to check out all these goodies, when menu cards were handed out. Options for dinner on this particular flight were:
Appetizer: grilled prawn on potato and pesto salad
Choice of Entrée: beef and mushroom pie with creamy parsnip mash, buttered peas and onions; stir-fried Asian noodles with honey glazed chicken and sautéed spinach; shahi paneer with yellow and white rice and dhal makhani
Dessert: kiwi fruit trifle, cheese and biscuits and chocolate (we got all three)
And this was economy class! I was so astounded at the difference between Air Canada and Qatar Airways that I completely forgot to inquire about our special meals. Now, it was airline food, and the quantities and presentation were similar to past experiences, but it was the first airline meal we have had that actually tasted like real food. And when I remembered to ask about the special meal at breakfast, we received generous and very tasty fresh fruit plates.
Finally, each seat had its own personal TV monitor, and an extensive collection of entertainment options to choose from: 95 movies, 122 recorded TV shows, 16 TV channels, 12 games, 16 radio stations, and 300 CDs. I was almost paralyzed with indecision.
As a result of this experience, I am committed to splurging on business/first class flights with both airlines at least once in the coming years as I am now intensely curious how the differences at that level will compare between the two airlines. But for an economy flight, Qatar Airways was quite pleasant: the seating space was relatively generous (no knees poking me in the back as was the case on the flight from Toronto to Heathrow), the food enjoyable, the ability to personally select my entertainment options agreeable and the service pleasant and attentive.
29 December / Saturday
The day started in the hotel restaurant where I introduced Michael to his first full English breakfast. He was an instant fan. After breakfast, we headed out for our London Walk-About. It was a beautiful sunny day, about 10°C with a mild wind, perfect for a long day of walking. We caught a local bus back to Heathrow where we boarded the Underground for the 30-minute trip to Piccadilly Circus.One of the first things we saw when we got up to street level was
the ubiquitous Starbucks logo. We stopped for a coffee and met the next obstacle. We usually order flavoured Americanos and Michael’s favourite is the white chocolate mocha. When the barista said they didn’t make that, I suggested that if they offered the white chocolate mocha latte (which they did), then they had the syrup which could be added to the Americano just like any other flavoured Americano. The response to my little bit of logic was a very blank stare. I took a big breath, reminded myself about being flexible and letting go of expectations and ordered the latte.
Out into the street again, we walked down to St. James Park, and then took a long detour through the calvary parade ground in search of public toilets, which turned out to have been just behind us in the park. Completing our detour, we go back through the park towards Buckingham Palace. En route, we found a pelican walking, or rather pacing back and forth over a footbridge. It was remarkable how large the bird was – its head was easily as high as my waist. I don’t know how long it had been there, or whether the crowds following it prevented the pelican from gaining sufficient room to fly away, but it paced steadily from one end of the bridge to the other for the 10 minutes or so we watched.
We arrived at Buckingham Palace and there it was – the balcony where Charles and Diana stood after their wedding. Ther
e are markers for the Princess Diana Memorial Walk in the pavement and I will follow that walk on another trip. During the off season, the changing of the guard ritual does not happen every day, so we will have to save that for another visit as well, but there was a soldier by the gates at the nearby Welsh Regiment barracks who was unexpectedly engaging with our fellow tourists.
Just down from Buckingham Palace is Westminster Abbey, which was already closed for the day by the time we got there. This definitely requires another visit. I found the cathedral in Salisbury absolutely stunning when I was there in 2001 and I most certainly would like Michael to experience how spectacular listening to a choir can be in such a setting.Across the street from Westminster Abbey are Big Ben and the
Parliament buildings. It was surreal to be standing there – the view so familiar from so many films over the years. We walked the bridge across the Thames towards the London Eye (I forgot to take a picture!!). I really wanted to take a ride, but by now the sun was starting to set (so my pictures of the Parliament Buildings from across the river are all in shadow) and the line-ups horrific, so again, we deferred the experience for another time.From the London Eye, we started to wend our way back to Piccadilly Circus. We went through Trafalgar Square where Canada House is located, but again it was too dark to get a decent picture. We strolled up Regent Street which is a shopper’s paradise – designer shops galore. Michael was relieved I stayed in the street, but I really had no extra room in the luggage.
There were lots and lots of people on the streets, representing a huge range of nationalities. One of the most interesting things was that English was rarely used in private conversations by people in the hotel, on the underground, in the shops, or on the streets, even by those with fair skins, and when it was, the slang made it almost impossible to follow the conversation.
From Piccadilly Circus, we rode the Underground back to Heathrow, and then the bus back towards the hotel. We stopped at what turned out to be a high-end Chinese restaurant. The food was good, although expensive – the prices seemed quite reasonable, until you remembered they were in pounds, not dollars – but the service was exceptional, more enveloping than almost anything that I had experienced before. A final short walk back to the hotel and we fell into bed, weary and with very sore feet, but quite pleased with our first European tourist experience.
28 December / Friday
Travel Lesson No. 4: know the name of the hotel you are booked at.
We arrived at Heathrow in the early morning of the 28th, wound our way through Customs (reinforcing Travel Lesson No. 3!), claimed our luggage, decided to pay the price and stow our four large bags at the left luggage service rather than haul them to and from the hotel (remember my comment about not packing light?), and found a taxi to take us to the Sheraton. “The Sheraton Heathrow?” the taxi driver asked. “Yes,” we said. When we arrived, we found out that there are two Sheratons in close proximity to the airport, and our reservation was at the other one!! The reservation agent kindly arranged to transfer the booking, at a modest savings in the room rate for us, and gave us a room we could access immediately. We went up to the room and promptly fall asleep for about six hours.
During that last week before Christmas I realized if I didn’t take steps to get some uninterrupted sleep, I was running a very real risk of getting sick again. I was exhausted, not just from all the physical work I was doing, but also because my mind was so overwhelmed with all that had been going on I hadn’t been able to sleep more than three or four hours at a time for the last several weeks. So I went to a local clinic to ask about sleeping aids and got a prescription for some sleeping pills. They proved invaluable. Not only did I finally get several nights of solid sleep in before we left, but they were tremendously helpful when dealing with jetlag.
After we woke up from our “nap” we went looking for a meal. Our schedule was a bit off and we were too early for dinner service, but did find the bar, had a bite to eat and headed back to the room where, with the help of my little magic pills, we both went down for the night.
We arrived at Heathrow in the early morning of the 28th, wound our way through Customs (reinforcing Travel Lesson No. 3!), claimed our luggage, decided to pay the price and stow our four large bags at the left luggage service rather than haul them to and from the hotel (remember my comment about not packing light?), and found a taxi to take us to the Sheraton. “The Sheraton Heathrow?” the taxi driver asked. “Yes,” we said. When we arrived, we found out that there are two Sheratons in close proximity to the airport, and our reservation was at the other one!! The reservation agent kindly arranged to transfer the booking, at a modest savings in the room rate for us, and gave us a room we could access immediately. We went up to the room and promptly fall asleep for about six hours.
During that last week before Christmas I realized if I didn’t take steps to get some uninterrupted sleep, I was running a very real risk of getting sick again. I was exhausted, not just from all the physical work I was doing, but also because my mind was so overwhelmed with all that had been going on I hadn’t been able to sleep more than three or four hours at a time for the last several weeks. So I went to a local clinic to ask about sleeping aids and got a prescription for some sleeping pills. They proved invaluable. Not only did I finally get several nights of solid sleep in before we left, but they were tremendously helpful when dealing with jetlag.
After we woke up from our “nap” we went looking for a meal. Our schedule was a bit off and we were too early for dinner service, but did find the bar, had a bite to eat and headed back to the room where, with the help of my little magic pills, we both went down for the night.
27 December 2007 / Thursday
We said we wanted to travel. It was one of the primary reasons we made the decision to come to Doha. But what did we mean when we said it? The statement conjures up images of foreign cities, scenic vistas, exotic food experiences, the romance of somehow moving effortlessly from one place to another. The reality, particularly for rookies like us, is that traveling seems more like an obstacle course, an ongoing gauntlet of new and unexpected challenges with no clear roadmap for how to deal them.
Travel Lesson No. 1: schedule departure dates and times to allow for proper garbage disposal.
The obstacle course began with garbage. Our last regular pickup at the house was 13 December. We were scheduled to leave Victoria on a 6:30 am flight 27 December, the first day after a statutory holiday, and made a run to the Oak Bay dump on the morning of 24 December before travelling to Vancouver for Christmas. However, as we were coming back to Victoria on the ferry late afternoon on the 26th, I began to wonder what we were going to do with the garbage that unloading Christmas presents, eating at least one meal, cleaning, laundry and final packing would generate. Sure enough, we ended up with “two bags full.”
I suppose if you knew your neighbours well enough, someone might assume custody of your garbage and dispose of it for you in due course, but we did not. And while a good friend is keeping an eye on our place while we are away, I baulked at abusing the bounds of friendship by leaving a love note, “PS: there are two bags of mouldering garbage waiting for you in the garage.” So Michael made a late night visit to a local fast food establishment and clandestinely stuffed our garbage in their waste bins, an exercise I am sure was captured on CCTV somewhere. We hope there isn’t an outstanding warrant waiting for him when we return, and send our thanks to whoever watched and chose to turn a blind eye to the shenanigans!
Travel Lesson No. 2: pack your own food when travelling economy on Air Canada.
The next obstacle came on the flight from Victoria to Toronto. I had arranged for special meals (no gluten, no diary) for our flights through the travel agent only to be informed by one of the cabin attendants that Air Canada hasn’t done that on domestic flights for the past several years. Perusing the “menu” of food available for purchase, it was apparent no viable options were available. Thankfully, we were carrying a few apples and snack bars, so I was able to make do.
Travel Lesson No. 3: if you aren’t going to pack light, get a decent wheeled carry-on bag.
I am not very good at travelling light. Which I find odd, because it should be a relatively straight-forward thing to figure out what you are going to do, what you need to do it, and then pack it all up. It may be that I plan for too many contingencies. It may be that people do laundry far more often while on vacation than I allow for. It may be that I am “high maintenance” and packing light is not possible (Michael would certainly vote for this option).
In any event, I loaded up my backpack with my laptop (the most precious thing I own at the moment), my earphones and new IPod (my Christmas gift from Santa), a book, a neck pillow, my wallet and realized it weighed a lot! Then, in a small carry-on suitcase, I had my allowable toiletries, 3 changes of clothes to cover the transition week, another book, a portfolio containing paper copies of all our documentation and additional pieces of ID (the second most precious thing I own), and all the supporting pieces for the electronics and realized it weighed even more than my backpack!!
Either piece on its own would have been fine, but the two together were more than a little on the heavy side as I trudged the multi-kilometre trek through Pearson Airport, for of course our departure gate for Heathrow was about as far away from our arrival gate as was possible. The moving sidewalks eased the effort somewhat, but not nearly enough. As we got closer to our destination, we stopped to have a tasty meal in a Bacardi-themed Cuban-style café and then settled in to spend the remaining interval waiting at the gate.
The flight to London was fully booked and the gate was soon crowded with passengers. Eventually the staff announced the plane was being towed to the gate and boarding would commence on time. Not fifteen minutes later, there was a second announcement – the plane had been damaged during the tow and our flight was now delayed. We were immediately grateful that our decision to spend an extra couple of days in London meant we did not have connecting flights to worry about, so we could relax while we waited to learn whether the plane could be repaired or whether we would have to wait for a new plane to be found.
The flight, on a new plane, finally left about two hours late. The obstacle course continued during the pre-flight announcements and take-off. My seat kept getting bumped from behind and I groaned over the thought of having to deal with this for the next seven hours. As soon as the seatbelt sign was turned off, I went to use the washroom. When I turned around, I realized the gentleman seated behind me had legs at least four miles long – he couldn’t even sit squarely in his seat. Recognizing the inevitable, I promised not to put my seat back and, in turn, he promised to minimize the number of times he had to drag his knees across the back of my seat. We both thought this was a pretty good deal, and made the best of an uncomfortable situation.
I had wondered if the change in plane would affect the special meal order. It hadn’t. But the special meal provided contained both gluten and dairy. Remember Lesson No. 2? Apparently it applies to international flights as well. I had been given the vegetarian option, but it was most unappetizing. I was very grateful we had stopped at the café for a meal. Breakfast was much the same. Even though a special meal had been provided, it contained a bagel!! Once again, it was apples and snack bars, but this was the last of them.
Travel Lesson No. 1: schedule departure dates and times to allow for proper garbage disposal.
The obstacle course began with garbage. Our last regular pickup at the house was 13 December. We were scheduled to leave Victoria on a 6:30 am flight 27 December, the first day after a statutory holiday, and made a run to the Oak Bay dump on the morning of 24 December before travelling to Vancouver for Christmas. However, as we were coming back to Victoria on the ferry late afternoon on the 26th, I began to wonder what we were going to do with the garbage that unloading Christmas presents, eating at least one meal, cleaning, laundry and final packing would generate. Sure enough, we ended up with “two bags full.”
I suppose if you knew your neighbours well enough, someone might assume custody of your garbage and dispose of it for you in due course, but we did not. And while a good friend is keeping an eye on our place while we are away, I baulked at abusing the bounds of friendship by leaving a love note, “PS: there are two bags of mouldering garbage waiting for you in the garage.” So Michael made a late night visit to a local fast food establishment and clandestinely stuffed our garbage in their waste bins, an exercise I am sure was captured on CCTV somewhere. We hope there isn’t an outstanding warrant waiting for him when we return, and send our thanks to whoever watched and chose to turn a blind eye to the shenanigans!
Travel Lesson No. 2: pack your own food when travelling economy on Air Canada.
The next obstacle came on the flight from Victoria to Toronto. I had arranged for special meals (no gluten, no diary) for our flights through the travel agent only to be informed by one of the cabin attendants that Air Canada hasn’t done that on domestic flights for the past several years. Perusing the “menu” of food available for purchase, it was apparent no viable options were available. Thankfully, we were carrying a few apples and snack bars, so I was able to make do.
Travel Lesson No. 3: if you aren’t going to pack light, get a decent wheeled carry-on bag.
I am not very good at travelling light. Which I find odd, because it should be a relatively straight-forward thing to figure out what you are going to do, what you need to do it, and then pack it all up. It may be that I plan for too many contingencies. It may be that people do laundry far more often while on vacation than I allow for. It may be that I am “high maintenance” and packing light is not possible (Michael would certainly vote for this option).
In any event, I loaded up my backpack with my laptop (the most precious thing I own at the moment), my earphones and new IPod (my Christmas gift from Santa), a book, a neck pillow, my wallet and realized it weighed a lot! Then, in a small carry-on suitcase, I had my allowable toiletries, 3 changes of clothes to cover the transition week, another book, a portfolio containing paper copies of all our documentation and additional pieces of ID (the second most precious thing I own), and all the supporting pieces for the electronics and realized it weighed even more than my backpack!!
Either piece on its own would have been fine, but the two together were more than a little on the heavy side as I trudged the multi-kilometre trek through Pearson Airport, for of course our departure gate for Heathrow was about as far away from our arrival gate as was possible. The moving sidewalks eased the effort somewhat, but not nearly enough. As we got closer to our destination, we stopped to have a tasty meal in a Bacardi-themed Cuban-style café and then settled in to spend the remaining interval waiting at the gate.
The flight to London was fully booked and the gate was soon crowded with passengers. Eventually the staff announced the plane was being towed to the gate and boarding would commence on time. Not fifteen minutes later, there was a second announcement – the plane had been damaged during the tow and our flight was now delayed. We were immediately grateful that our decision to spend an extra couple of days in London meant we did not have connecting flights to worry about, so we could relax while we waited to learn whether the plane could be repaired or whether we would have to wait for a new plane to be found.
The flight, on a new plane, finally left about two hours late. The obstacle course continued during the pre-flight announcements and take-off. My seat kept getting bumped from behind and I groaned over the thought of having to deal with this for the next seven hours. As soon as the seatbelt sign was turned off, I went to use the washroom. When I turned around, I realized the gentleman seated behind me had legs at least four miles long – he couldn’t even sit squarely in his seat. Recognizing the inevitable, I promised not to put my seat back and, in turn, he promised to minimize the number of times he had to drag his knees across the back of my seat. We both thought this was a pretty good deal, and made the best of an uncomfortable situation.
I had wondered if the change in plane would affect the special meal order. It hadn’t. But the special meal provided contained both gluten and dairy. Remember Lesson No. 2? Apparently it applies to international flights as well. I had been given the vegetarian option, but it was most unappetizing. I was very grateful we had stopped at the café for a meal. Breakfast was much the same. Even though a special meal had been provided, it contained a bagel!! Once again, it was apples and snack bars, but this was the last of them.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The Plan
I am a planner. I can’t help it. It doesn’t matter whether this preference comes from nature – tendencies hard-wired into my genetic makeup – or nurture – mechanisms developed to help me cope or compensate for my environment – I am happiest when I have had a chance to evaluate the situation in front of me, develop a plan, and implement it according to schedule.
Life doesn’t work this way. For many years, I struggled with the trauma of failed plans, each setback throwing me off balance with all the attendant anxiety, depression and frustration because my plan did not work. One day, while skimming through a magazine in some waiting room or other, I came across an ad. I don’t even remember what the product was, but in the background there was a wall with graffiti on it: Life is what happens while you are making other plans.
This was a pivotal moment in my life. It wasn’t a novel concept. The statement was familiar. But for whatever reasons, this time it resonated. I understood not just with my head but with my heart. The statement is now one of my mantras. I still plan. In fact, the more chaotic the situation, the more essential the plan. But I have let go of my expectations about what the plan needs to be like and that once in place it will work. If I have a plan, I can find the flexibility and adaptability to deal whatever comes up. Facing the unexpected without any clear idea about how to proceed, however, can still plunge me into paralysis.
Our move from Fort McMurray to Victoria in December 2003 had to be planned, organized and implemented in six weeks. I realized very early on that if I gave any thought to what was going to happen when we arrived in Victoria, I would be completely overwhelmed. So the plan was modified to concentrate solely on the decisions necessary to get us out of Fort McMurray. Two days before we were due to leave, I still had no idea where we would be staying once we got to the Island. I trusted that life would happen, that something would work out, and it did.
We had eight weeks to organize ourselves for the move to Doha. I was initially very confident I could do this. We could just follow the same plan as before. Not so. We were settled in Fort McMurray, our lives well organized. And the change was straightforward – pack up your life in one location and re-establish it in another.
I quickly came to understand that the process of moving to Doha was going to be very different. The plan was simple – clean and organize the house, list and sell it, dispose of or store all our stuff, and get on a plane. However, my house was not settled, my life not well-organized, and the change not straightforward. Five or six years’ worth of procrastination dealing with the house had left it looking like a disastrous before picture on one of those home organization shows. Our social life had suffered because of my shame over the condition of my home. And the decisions were more complex. What was life going to be like in Doha? What do we do about our stuff? Was it worth keeping? Did we want to take it with us? Were we prepared to spend money storing it? How much would that cost? It quickly became apparent that the plan was not going to work. There was not enough time.
A large part of our excitement over this new adventure comes from the knowledge that we have chosen to walk into a very different environment, into unfamiliar territory. I gradually came to understand I would have to let go of all my tendencies to transplant my life over there. I would have to let go of my attachments to my things, and trust that I can have a good life without my favourite measuring cup, cleaning product, reading lamp, or television channel. If I looked at this as an opportunity to establish a new life – physically, mentally, emotionally, materially, socially – what doors would then open?
So the plan for now is to let go of the plan. While the expensive choice, we are keeping the house and leaving our things behind for now so we can enjoy the transition and our remaining time with friends and family before we go.
Life doesn’t work this way. For many years, I struggled with the trauma of failed plans, each setback throwing me off balance with all the attendant anxiety, depression and frustration because my plan did not work. One day, while skimming through a magazine in some waiting room or other, I came across an ad. I don’t even remember what the product was, but in the background there was a wall with graffiti on it: Life is what happens while you are making other plans.
This was a pivotal moment in my life. It wasn’t a novel concept. The statement was familiar. But for whatever reasons, this time it resonated. I understood not just with my head but with my heart. The statement is now one of my mantras. I still plan. In fact, the more chaotic the situation, the more essential the plan. But I have let go of my expectations about what the plan needs to be like and that once in place it will work. If I have a plan, I can find the flexibility and adaptability to deal whatever comes up. Facing the unexpected without any clear idea about how to proceed, however, can still plunge me into paralysis.
Our move from Fort McMurray to Victoria in December 2003 had to be planned, organized and implemented in six weeks. I realized very early on that if I gave any thought to what was going to happen when we arrived in Victoria, I would be completely overwhelmed. So the plan was modified to concentrate solely on the decisions necessary to get us out of Fort McMurray. Two days before we were due to leave, I still had no idea where we would be staying once we got to the Island. I trusted that life would happen, that something would work out, and it did.
We had eight weeks to organize ourselves for the move to Doha. I was initially very confident I could do this. We could just follow the same plan as before. Not so. We were settled in Fort McMurray, our lives well organized. And the change was straightforward – pack up your life in one location and re-establish it in another.
I quickly came to understand that the process of moving to Doha was going to be very different. The plan was simple – clean and organize the house, list and sell it, dispose of or store all our stuff, and get on a plane. However, my house was not settled, my life not well-organized, and the change not straightforward. Five or six years’ worth of procrastination dealing with the house had left it looking like a disastrous before picture on one of those home organization shows. Our social life had suffered because of my shame over the condition of my home. And the decisions were more complex. What was life going to be like in Doha? What do we do about our stuff? Was it worth keeping? Did we want to take it with us? Were we prepared to spend money storing it? How much would that cost? It quickly became apparent that the plan was not going to work. There was not enough time.
A large part of our excitement over this new adventure comes from the knowledge that we have chosen to walk into a very different environment, into unfamiliar territory. I gradually came to understand I would have to let go of all my tendencies to transplant my life over there. I would have to let go of my attachments to my things, and trust that I can have a good life without my favourite measuring cup, cleaning product, reading lamp, or television channel. If I looked at this as an opportunity to establish a new life – physically, mentally, emotionally, materially, socially – what doors would then open?
So the plan for now is to let go of the plan. While the expensive choice, we are keeping the house and leaving our things behind for now so we can enjoy the transition and our remaining time with friends and family before we go.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Starting out
This is Sugie. Swimming with her in Jamaica was one of the few – the very, very few – highlights of the first cruise that Michael and I took a couple of years ago.We ended up sharing the ship with the University of Tampa Bay spring break party and I didn’t get very much sleep for the entire week. Michael will tell you I am not a lot of fun to be around when I am tired or hungry, so he wasn’t having the best of times either. We were on Carnival – the fun ships – which we have most clearly determined is not our preferred cruise line. The food was very basic. Smoking was allowed in the bar in the atrium, so permeated the common spaces. Loud music blasted from speakers around the large tub euphemistically called the pool. All in all, not the experience we were looking for. So the field trips became a necessary distraction.
We invested the time to visit Chichen Itza. It was remarkable to be wandering around a site that had been used for millenia and learn how the temples were constructed and oriented to act as calendars. By the time the guided portion of the tour was over, we only had about 30 minutes to roam freely. I had wanted to climb the temple, but recognized I would need more time. The temperature was about 35C and while our Mayan guide, fully dressed in a tropical suit, had completely dry skin as he stood in the sun telling us about the ruins, I, poorly dressed for the heat, was standing in the shade completely drenched with perspiration (shades of things to come in Doha!!). To attempt the climb without suitable allowance for rest on the ascent and descent would have been foolish. So Michael climbed it for us both, while I waited for him struggling with my disappointment. 
Swimming with the sting rays off Grand Cayman was next. After taking a boat ride a fair distance from shore, you arrive at this sand bar where you can stand only waist deep in the ocean. Here, fishermen have cleaned their catches for generations, and here the sting rays, scavengers of the ocean, have come for the feast, hoovering the offal off the ocean floor just like vacuum cleaners, flying placidly amongst the horde of tourists, our only concern not stepping on the stingers at the end of their tails. Our guide captures one and glides its underskin along our back – soft, silky, warm. Topside, the skin is roughened, like fine sandpaper. But the best was Sugie. And I very nearly missed her. I was tired. The two other excursions, while interesting, each carried their disappointments, and I didn't want another one. But I went. And yes, the dolphins are captive, and trained to perform. And yes, we did not get to freely interact with her. And yes, I had to wear a flotation vest, when at the best of times these days I float like a cork in salt water. But to be in the lagoon beside such a creature and recognize her intelligence and acknowledge there is more to the world than you have imagined was a lifetime experience and helped put everything else into perspective.
It is this experience that gives me the strength for what comes next. Without the cruise - the sleeplessness, the disappointments, the heat, the crankiness - there was no Sugie. Finding joy in the midst of circumstances and in spite of myself helped me find the courage to view my life differently.
The most remarkable thing about the decisions that Michael and I have made over the past few months is how liberating our mid-life crisis has been. We wanted to find something that would challenge us. We wanted to try something different. We wanted to focus on some of those things we always said we wanted to do, but never did. We wanted to expand our horizons. We decided to step off the edge of the cliff (hence the title of this blog), secure only in the knowledge that we will be holding hands whatever what happens next ... floating up, falling down, or, as Indiana Jones discovered in the Last Crusade, finding ourselves on a whole new path.
What an adventure ...
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