"WhenWe's" in the ME

I was talking to a co-worker the other day.  This guy has been living in Qatar for over 30 years.  He's seen so much change in that time it's not funny.  But he said one thing hasn't changed in all that time.  

It's the phenomenon of the expat "WhenWe's" in the ME.

Our conversation had started out about past trips, and life in small towns back in our home countries (he's from England) and somehow I started in on a story about "when we" were in the Maldives last.  And I paused for a moment as I actually heard myself as if listening from the outside.  I said, "Wow, that really sounds indulged and pretentious, doesn't it?"  

He started laughing and told me that when he first arrived in Qatar, he referred to every veteran expat as a "WhenWe" because of the sheer number of times he would hear that expression in a conversation.  

We got to talking about how many Western expats here live to travel, and how we sometimes lose sight of how very blessed we are to travel to so many exotic locations.  

We sometimes forget that in a past life we would save leave time and pennies all year for that one annual trip.  We forget that we might have only hoped of making it one day to the Indian Ocean, or the Far East or Australasia.  Trips might mean setting up for the weekend at an amazing campsite 2 hours from home.  A vacation might mean heading down to a favorite cousin's for the week, or might even be enjoyed in the peace and quiet of one's own home, with day trips to the beach or skiing or canoeing.  Vacations far less exotic, but no less precious.

But, having temporarily forgotten, we start reminiscing instead about our trips to Russia, Singapore, India, Sri Lanka, Bali, China, Vietnam, Thailand, the Maldives, the Seychelles, Egypt, Turkey, Greece, Europe, ..., just the way we used to talk about a really great camping trip.  We don't notice it happening; that blasé approach to travel that one assumes is reserved for the Royals, the Beckham's and the Hilton's of this world.  (Not that we're traveling in the same circles or staying at the same resorts, we're just alighting on the same shores.)

Yet every once in a while, you may actually catch yourself mid-sentence, ask yourself "Is this actually me, comparing our week-long holiday on the Mediterranean Coast in Spain to our short foray along the Dalmation Coast in Croatia last Spring?"  "Did I just hear myself say that the beaches in Southern Thailand are far too spoiled by drunken tourists and waste?"  "Am I actually wondering whether we should visit the Maldives a fourth time or try somewhere new like the Seychelles this year?"  "Am I really planning a shopping weekend to Dubai or Bahrain with the girls?"

As a newcomer to Qatar over six years ago, I remember being blown away by the tales of travel woven by fellow expats.  To hear them describe their amazing journeys:

"When we" rode in a Tuk-Tuk in Bangkok,

"When we" fell out of that rickshaw in Mumbai,

"When we" sat on that camel in Egypt,

"When we" rode an elephant in Sri Lanka,

"When we" went scuba diving in the Philippines,

"When we" took the family on an African safari adventure,

"When we" went swimming with a whale shark in the Maldives, 

"When we" floated in the Dead Sea,

"When we" saw the kimono dragons in Bali,

"When we" swam with the dolphins in New Zealand,

"When we" were surfing in Australia,

"etc."

I have to admit I catch the "WhenWe" in me every now and then.  It appears this condition is inevitable if one is to remain in the ME for any significant period of time.

But I'm also happy to say that even though I may have become somewhat accustomed to the exotic travel, I've not become inured. I remain enchanted and enthralled with every new location.  I am still just as excited to pin a new location onto my travel map.  I am still thrilled to step off a plane into a new adventure.  I still have so many amazing places to visit in this big wide world.

Yes, there is a "WhenWe" in me; I am a "WhenWe" in the ME, and I realize I will have to temper it so that I don't come across as a snotty wannabe world-experienced traveller.  

Because that's not me.  There is so much wonder and amazement left in me, so many great locations left to see, so many experiences that still make my heart flip flop and my eyes tear up.  

I guess I'm a "WhenWe" with a lot of "HopeTo" left in me.

The Magical ME Invisibility Cloak

I will preface this post by admitting that I Googled "driving in the Middle East" before starting to write.  Google showered me with 156,000,000 (yes, that is 156 'MILLION') hits.

There truly is THAT much to say about driving in the ME.  There truly is THAT much that has been said.

What light can I possibly shed onto a topic that has generated such an impressive commentary?  No more than has already been said.  But this is my page.  I get to rehash any subject I please.  

So bear with me.  Today, I want to introduce my readers (I think I'm up to five) to the Magical ME Invisibility Cloak.  It can be worn at all times, but is most useful when driving.

This is no joke.  There are people driving here who believe that the very fact of being seated behind the steering wheel renders them invisible.  I am witness to it every single morning as I face off in traffic on my way to work.

It starts as I try to leave my compound.  I exit onto a single lane slip road that leads to the main 4-lane thoroughfare.  In the early morning rush to work, drivers try to beat the rush on the main road by speeding down the slip road two cars deep.  Inevitably, when they reach the end of the slip road, it narrow significantly, resulting in a bottleneck as drivers try to squeeze their way back into traffic.

I cautiously nose my way out into the jam.  And then the Land Cruiser in the second imaginary lane on my left eggs forward, as if I am not there.  I raise my hands in supplication at the driver.  "Can you not see me?"  No reaction, he continues to move forward.  I start to get irate.  "Seriously, I can see you, you're headed straight for me.  I seeeeeeee you!"  No reaction.  His bumper is on my door.  He stares straight ahead, sometimes straight at me, eyes unseeing.  It's as if he thinks I cannot see him if he does not acknowledge me.  Like he thinks that magical ME invisibility cloak is working.

Traffic starts to move.  In Middle Eastern fashion, I raise my hand cup-like (hand up, thumb and fingers together) and wave it slightly at the driver in the next lane as a signal to take it slow and please let me in.  Usually four or five cars will go by before I am able to snake my way in.  The drivers are all wearing the invisibility cloak.  If they don't acknowledge me, they don't exist.  I cannot speak to them, I cannot reach them.  They are invisible.  My problem is I still DO see them.  How do I get them to understand that the invisibility cloak doesn't actually work?

Make my way into traffic.  Get to the end of the slip road.  Do my best to merge onto the thoroughfare.  This is a foreign concept in the Middle East.  I have actually never seen a merge sign in Qatar.  You either swipe or sweep your way into the lane to your left.  Or you floor it and cut in where you get the opportunity or simply move left and force the car on your left to do likewise, pushing him into the next lane.  Goodness knows what pressure I exert on my heart every morning as I squeeze my way into that madness.

Once on my way, it's usually pretty smooth sailing.  Until I reach the first light.  This is where a multitude of invisibility cloaks converge.  To my left, an invisible driver is anxiously and ambitiously picking his nose.  He can do that, you see, because in his mind I can't actually see him.  The driver on my right coming out of the next slip road has rested his bumper against my passenger side door.  I am supposed to pretend I don't notice this.  Because he's rendered invisible by the cloak, you see?

The driver behind me obviously thinks I am wearing an invisibility cloak as well, because he is honking continuously, despite the red light in front of me and the cars to my left and my right.  Obviously "invisible me" is occupying a space meant for him.  For some reason, his vehicle is unable to physically occupy the same space as mine at that precise moment, and he can't quite understand why.  So he carries on honking.

The light turns green.  The car on my right slides in behind me.  Then the car behind him exiting the slip road carries out the most amazing of all ME invisibility cloak feats.  We refer to it as the Saudi Sweep.  He starts in the slip lane, speeds up, and cuts me off to cross not one, not two, but three lanes, as if no one else were sharing the road with him this morning.  How can he manage this, you ask?  The Magical ME Invisibility Cloak of course!

This goes on all the way to work.  The fifteen minutes in my day that turn my heart muscle into the most convoluted of sailor's knots.  

A bus stops without warning in front of me to drop off passengers.  Why?  Because he's invisible.

A driver coming off a side road cuts me off without glancing or slowing down at the stop sign.  Why?  Because he's invisible.  

The next instant, an abaya-clad, veiled driver in Jackie O sunglasses is on my tail.  RIGHT ... ON ... MY ... TAIL.  I'm confused.  Am I invisible, or is she?  I actually can't see her, but her Porsche Cayenne fills my rear-view mirror.  

Almost there.  If I can make it to the office, I'll be safe from the invisible threats for eight hours at least.

I'm at the last stoplight.  Almost there.  As I'm waiting for the light to turn green, I sense movement, glance to my left.  Dude in the Mercedes is waving his phone at me, smiling, motioning to roll down my window.  

I turn away, wait for the light to turn.  In my head:  "Sorry dude, I can't see you."  I have to admit, there are times when I actually appreciate the Magical ME Invisibility Cloak.

This is where you will most likely find people wearing the Magical ME Invisibility Cloak.

Frequent Questions About the ME

There are a few questions that crop up quite frequently when I tell people I live in the ME.   Many of them I in fact asked myself before moving here.

I've included some of these below in the hopes that they may be helpful to women out there considering a move to this part of the world.  Or perhaps there are a few people out there who would just like to know.

1.  As a woman, do you have to wear an abaya (long black over-garment or cloak commonly worn in Islamic states by women and meant to preserve dignity) when in public.

 ANSWER:  No.  Qatar is quite moderate in terms of dress. I do not have to wear an abaya, nor cover my hair.  However, conservative dress is recommended, particularly in the workplace and souqs (markets) and public gathering places.  Covered shoulders, knees, loose-fitting clothing, nothing too low-cut or revealing are pretty basic guidelines. Hotel dress-codes are much more relaxed, and women commonly wear sun dresses, mini skirts, shorts and tank tops.

2.  Can you drive?

ANSWER:  Yes.  And thank goodness.  It is literally impossible to get anywhere in this country by foot or bicycle.  Taxis and private cars are available, but can end up being pricey, and the public transit system is highly inadequate for western women.  The buses are usually packed with many men, and not the most reliable.  There is no subway system.  I have yet to meet an expat wife who does not have a car at her disposal in this country.  Even though many women here are stay-at-home, they need easy access to transportation for school runs, kids' activities, grocery shopping, meeting up with friends, shopping, going to the gym, etc.  

3. Can women work outside the home?

ANSWER:  Absolutely.  Provided she has a sponsor who approves it.  Qatar operates on a sponsorship program, meaning you can be brought into the country directly by the company or individual hiring you or by a family member.  Oftentimes, women come into the country on their husband's sponsorship.  As such, their husband will have to sign a letter of no objection which allows them to enter the workforce.  In many cases, however, women can expect to sign a contract with the hiring company that will read something like this:  "contract prepared for non-company sponsored local hire female employees".  As such, the contract will probably include no or reduced housing benefits, no schooling allowance, no annual airfare to home country, and perhaps even a lesser salary than would be afforded to a male counterpart.  But there are definitely jobs to be had, and quite well-paying ones as well, provided you have the necessary qualifications and have some type of connection or "in" to at least get your cv noticed.

4.  What kind of food is available?  Can you get the same items we find in the West?

ANSWER:  If you could find it back home, chances are you will find it here.  The question is 'when'.  My hubby is a big HP sauce fan.  I will find it on grocery shelves for months on end, then suddenly I will desperately and unsuccessfully scour the city in search of a single bottle.  The dry spell may last for months.  This is common for many processed, canned, and bottled western products (granola bars, favorite cereal, sauces, etc.).  As a result, we've become notorious food hoarders.  We bought a free-standing freezer for the express purpose of storing butterball turkey, English muffins and Lender's bagels.  Oddly enough, the one thing that we couldn't get until a year ago (pork), is now in continuous supply.  However, one must go to the alcohol distribution centre to purchase it.  Which leads to the next question.

5.  Is alcohol available in the country?

ANSWER:  Yes.  But only in certain hotel bars and restaurants, and through a single alcohol distribution centre (for personal consumption) that serves the entire country.  To purchase alcohol at the distribution centre, you must first qualify for a liquor permit, which is issued by your sponsor and based on your salary.  Minimum earnings are required to qualify for the permit, and the allowable monthly purchase limit is expressed as a percentage of your income.  

6.  Do you get a chance to socialize with locals?

ANSWER:  contact with locals is largely limited to professional interaction.  While some expats do develop more close relations and stronger ties with locals, for the most part the cultures remain very distinct.  Even if you do develop a relationship, chances are you will not be invited further than one room in their house, and may never meet their spouse or other family members.  Qataris have a special room called a majlis built into the front of their home which is where men will congregate.  Men and women will not usually interact socially, particularly in more traditional households.  I work with several lovely National ladies, and I've had them in my home, but my husband had to leave the house for the afternoon.  I've also been invited to some of their homes, but likewise, I met only with the women and children of the house.  On several occasions, we have had a male National colleague of my husband's over to the house for dinner, but they did not bring their family.

There are many other questions, but I'll start with these, and leave the others for a future post.  

If anyone is reading, let me know your questions about the ME.

Me, Without ME ....

This blog is all about me, living in the ME.  But there is more to me than the place where I live.  There is more to me than the ME.  

Like most expats, I have a house, and then I have a place I call home.  Some days I think "and never the twain shall meet".   But realistically, truly, fantastically, home is where the heart is.  So no matter where I am, if I have my soldier and my miracle by my side, I am home.  

Back in Canada, we own a cottage, a summer home, an idyllic spot where I fell in love with my soldier and brought my daughter into this world.  It was never a house ... It was far too small to be considered that.  But in my heart it was my home.  Simply because it held all that was most cherished of my memories.  

It sits nested in woods, overlooking a lake.  The first week I spent there with my soldier, we watched every sunset, every sunrise.  I've sunbathed in all my glory on the dock over the lake, danced carelessly for my soldier as the moonlight wrapped itself around the forest.  I've seen the lake surrounded by fiery autumn leaves, snow-covered winter trees, spring blossoms and summer crops.  That cottage is where I typed the last word on my Master's thesis, and where, the very next morning I said "Baby, this is it, you'd better get me to the hospital,  we're gonna have a baby!"

We planted a red maple there, right by the deck, for the next baby, the one we lost.  We planted a memory there, for ...... ever.

For years, since we've come to the ME, I've called that place home.  But slowly, gradually, I've come to realize it's not.  I've realized that wherever I find myself, with the soldier and kiddo, THAT'S home.  

Both my hubby and I come with a past.  When we moved in together, we had to rid ourselves of much of the material associated with that past.  When we moved to the ME, we had to rid ourselves of most all of it.  We came here with the bare essentials, determined to make a fresh start.  And we have.   We emptied out the closets, the cupboards, we dusted everything off.  

So we find ourselves with new 'stuff', new memories, a new 'home'.

Not by choice, by chance.  We find ourselves enjoying the new artwork we've put up on the walls, the new plants we see blooming in the garden.  We find ourselves snuggling on the couch under a blanket, watching the last episode of Survivor.

We find ourselves happy to step into the haven we call home at the end of a long weekday, a long weekend.  We find ourselves inadvertently wanting to get back 'home'.

And when we make it back, when we get home, we're no longer in the ME.  We're just home.   My soldier, my miracle, and me.  Home.  In the ME.

Doesn't matter where we are, ME, no ME, it' still me,  home, in the ME or wherever ....

Any house can be a home with the right lights and the right attitude.

Away From the ME

So one of the advantages of living in the ME is being able to leave the ME on a regular basis. There are plenty of opportunities for travel in the ME, and lots of vacation time. So we tend to leave the sand bucket every chance we get.  

Any excuse works. School vacation, work bonus, exhaustion, birthday, itchy butt; any reason is reason enough to leave.

Which explains why I've been away from my blog for a bit. We're on vacation. Away from the heat, away from the sand, away from the traffic, away from constant fibre optic connectivity, away from the craziness.  We are away from the ME!  

We are safely ensconced in a snowed-in skiing village located 1600 m in the Alps.  No cars, no nightlife, no noise, no sand, no work woes or worries.  Just snow, skiing, skating, hiking, tobogganing, swimming at the community center, reading, afternoon snoozes, evenings sipping merlot by firelight, playing Frustration, enjoying good, hearty, "porky" meals.

The irony in the bliss of this escape is that it is a direct result of "suffering" in the sand.  Living in Canada,  we had the opportunity to travel to exotic locations, but those were mostly limited to the Carribean and likely to happen once a year at best.  Living in the ME, we are guaranteed a minimum of three, and up to five, wonderful vacations a year.  We can go to Europe, the Far East, or anywhere we choose. It is all accessible.  All it takes is a Google search, interest, and the click of a button to book a dream holiday.  

It sounds excessive, but it's not really.  It's a necessary balm if you are to survive the agonizing monotony of life in the desert.  That is, if you are going to survive with all senses and sanity intact.  We do know people who came to the ME with the express purpose of saving money and nothing else.  Most did not fare well.  Westerners just do not fare well for long periods in the dust.  We start to mummify.  Even a small escape to a fresher climate moistens our lungs and our souls.  And we return to the sand, and for a little while at least, we are able to breathe.

It is hard for a non-expat to fathom the frustration that comes with the blessings of these travel opportunities.  Seen from the outside, I would see little reason to feel any vexation about these glorious escapades.  But from the inside, every ME expat I know will tell you that the glorious escapades are a trade-off; perhaps not for our soul, but at least for day-to-day normalcy.  302 days of dust and heat and boredom and rote in exchange for 63 days of everything we'd ever dreamed of (as long as we've planned it out right,).  It all comes back to push and pull; knowing the price you are paying for your escape and wondering if the trade-off is truly worth it.

I don't have the writing skills to explain the beauty of stepping off a plane and breathing in cool, crisp, fresh air.  To sense anew as though through a child's eyes the beauty of autumn leaves in all their fiery splendour, the smell of fresh-cut grass, the sound of a lawn mower, the feel of a mountain path under your feet as you run up a hill.  To taste a snowflake, feel raindrops on your face, have your cheeks tingle from the cold.  

They are little, little things. But in the ME, they don't exist. And so they become huge, wondrous, amazing, glorious.  And I miss them. So much.  

And those little huge things, or the lack of little huge things, become the reason we have to get away. Away from the sand, away from the beige, away from the dust, away from the ME.

Bright moon shining over the Eiger.  Majestic and far removed from the ME.