Sign Me Up for that Reverse Culture Shock Workshop ...

Sting's "Englishman in New York" played on a constant loop in my head for the first few days after I landed in Canada this past June ...

So many things about this "home and native land"* always seem so foreign and/or striking upon returning to my homeland after months in the ME.  

"I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien, I'm an expat in Canada." 

There are the obvious differences:  

• the clash of an abaya-clad lady standing shoulder to shoulder with a granny in a fake tan, stilettos, leggings and a tube top in the Customs line.  
• the welcome being broadcast over the airport PA system in French and English - "Welcome to Montreal", "Bienvenue a Montreal".  Not a single "Marhaba".  
• the absence of 300 listless laborers disembarking a single flight from Sri Lanka with nothing but a plastic grocery bag as a carry-on.

Then there are the more subtle things.

Still no fast-pass for me

One thing that surprised me is that there is now a "National queue" for Canadians at passport control/customs.  In the past, Canada has likely prided itself on political correctness by excluding everyone from fast-tracking customs.  Nonetheless, Pierre-Elliott Trudeau Airport now boasts a "Canadian Residents" line.  

Fat lot of good that does me.  I am a citizen, yes.  A resident, no.  My chances at ever making it into one of those fast-track lanes seem to have been foiled again.  I WANT a fast-pass lane!!!!!!

I wind my way slowly through arrivals with an army of in-transit passengers, vacationers, business travelers and newly landed immigrants.  I show my passport to the customs officer ... He asks me what the purpose of my visit is; I explain that I needed a breath of fresh air, a reconnection with family, a proper fix of Tim Horton's.  Judging by his flat expression and blank stare, my attempt at levity has gotten me exactly nowhere ... some things are actually quite similar no matter where you're traveling to.  

"I'm on vacation", I retract ...  He writes a code on my immigration card.  I can never remember which code will get me directly through the arrivals gate and which will get me frisked.  I find out soon enough that today's code is a pass.  I am off to meet my family!

Porters  ... a thing of the past

But first I must collect my bags ... not a porter in sight. Unlike Doha where there are dozens of porters standing by the luggage belts actually anticipating carrying your luggage with glee.  I WANT a porter!!!!!!

I wait 45 minutes for my bags to come around on the carrousel.  It is about 1.5 hours after landing that I finally get to hug my sister and gulp in as much fresh Canadian air as I can before stepping into the car for the ride downtown.

Pedestrians on sidewalks ... 

I'm coming from a country where sidewalks are for parking and cycling (not the leisurely kind of cycling; the laborer on a banana bike type).  Nary a pedestrian to be seen.  People just don't 'walk' to get around in Doha.  

In downtown Montreal, the sidewalks are teeming with folk of all ages, all walks of life.  Here a teenager jogging in short shorts and a t-shirt; there an elderly couple taking a leisurely stroll; across the street a few smart-dressed professionals having a smoke the obligatory 10m away from the front of an office building.  The bustling, the vivacity, the eclecticism of it all is enough to give me a feeling not that unlike brain-freeze.  It is truly, truly invigorating.

A clear head ... 

You'd think I'd be used to the dust, the stuffy sinuses and the mild yet ever-present cough after seven years in the Land of Sand.  I guess in a way I have become acclimatized to a degree, because as I head out to pound the pavement that first afternoon, the fresh air is like an assault on my system.  I swear, it's almost like I can think more clearly, despite coming off a 13-hour sleepless flight and having been awake for close to twenty hours.  The rush of oxygen to my brain those first few days seems to ward off the jet lag remarkably fast.

Where are all the beads and sequins? 

Even though the national dress in Qatar is the abaya (traditional long black gown worn by women over their clothing when going out in public), many of these are festooned with beads, pearls, embroidery and sequins.  Women who don't wear the abaya tend to wear bright colors, sparkly tops, leopard print skirts and the like.  Montreal, while extremely cosmopolitan, is a much more 'muted eclectic' on the fashion front.  Note that this is not necessarily a bad thing.

Is wearing shoulder blades, bare knees and pierced navels in public actually legal? 

You just can't help it.  No matter how overtly liberal you may consider yourself in the ME, no matter how emancipated and moderate the ME country you are living in may seem compared to others in the region, after a few years as a ME expat you will become overly sensitive to the sight of exposed flesh striding down the street in broad daylight.  Crop tops, tank tops, tube tops, hot pants, barely there skirts and crack-baring jeans are a visual onslaught.  The desensitization only takes a few days, but it the meantime it can be highly disruptive when driving or trying to hold down a conversation.  

Did I actually just pay taxes on picking my nose? 

EVERYTHING is taxed in Canada.  Sometimes the tax is built-in (e.g. for gas), but sometimes it comes as a big fat surprise.  (I know, I know, it's not like I've never lived here before, but it still comes as a shock when you've been away for so long.)  You will be charged a provincial and a federal tax on pretty much everything you purchase, from that takeaway pizza to that early-morning coffee to that trip to the salon.   

I could go on forever:  the assault of green on your senses when you've become acclimatized to beige, the thrill of rain drops replacing dust particles, the sound of church bells ringing in the distance, the surprise and slight discomfort at understanding every single conversation going on around you, etc.  The But my point is simply that cultural adjustment is not a one-way trip.   Just when you think you've got the expat acclimatization halfway sorted out, you realize you will likely one day have to make the return journey and start all over again.

Reverse culture shock 101.  Sign me up now ... 

Below are a few images of some other differences spotted while on our last trip.  Hope you enjoy. 

 *Reference to "Oh, Canada", the Canadian National Anthem. 

Rainbow over Montreal after a downpour.

Blue skies over Qatar.  The sky is usually more beige than blue. 

Decidedly unhealthy "poutine" in Quebec.  (poutine = french fries, gravy and curd cheese).

Getting fish ready for a healthy meal in Doha.

A bottle of water costs about 0.33$ in Qatar.  In Canada it costs as much as a coffee ($1.40 + tax).  You'd never think Canada is listed 3rd on the world's renewable fresh water reserves list.

Stop sign in English and Iroquoi (on the Kahnawake reserve).

Stop sign in French only in Quebec.

Stop sign in Arabic and English in Doha.

Maple Bacon in Canada.  Words truly fail me (this stuff is sinfully delicious).

Bacon in Qatar (yes, we can actually get pork products now, but once this stuff is done it basically just tastes like fried salt).

Cycling in Canada ... (teehee!) 

Cycling in Doha ...

Cost of filling up an RV (3/4) in Canada.  Yikes!!!!!  (gas is about 0.30$/liter in Qatar, it would work out to about 45$ Canadian here.) 

Church steeples in Canada.

Mosque in Doha

Road in the Cape Breton Highlands (Nova Scotia, Canada) 

Road leading from Dukhan to Doha.

Rugged Cabot Trail coastline.  (Nova Scotia, Canada)

Fuwairit coastline.

Warming up to a roaring Canadian campfire!

Chillaxin' by the pool at St. Regis Hotel, Doha

And last, but not least, Canadian Tire money!!!!!  

July ... The Long Month

July in Qatar seems to drag by so much more slowly than any other month of the year.  

Not because it has 31 days.  Six other months in the year can lay claim to the same.

Not because the daylight hours are that much longer.  Sunset only varies by about 1 hr 20 min throughout the year. 

Not because there is anything exciting and dangerous going on (apparently the brain produces an illusion of time warp in emergency situations).  Nope; everything pretty much slows to a snail's pace in Doha in July. 

So why do I feel like time the days simply drag by?   

I can't be certain, and there's no science behind my assumptions (other than a few Googled observations on temperature), but I tend to believe that the following contribute directly to the illusion of time dilation in July in Doha: 

1. On average it is the hottest month of the year.  Outdoor activities are not only difficult, they can be quite dangerous if you're not sufficiently hydrated.  Daytime temperatures can reach well up into the high 40's (Celsius ... or 104 - 118 F).  While nighttime temperatures may dip slightly, this is when the humidity tends to kick in, often reaching upwards of 84% for three days out of four towards the end of the month.
2. It is preceded by the end of June, which marks Exodus in Doha for expat wives, moms and kids.  All of them wise enough to escape the July 57C (137F) heat index (combined measure of heat and humidity).
3. Kiddo's birthday falls smack dab in the middle of the month ... which leaves us scrambling to gather enough friends to throw a half-decent party.
4. I'm not working outside the home this summer. 
5. This year, the month of Ramadan covered most of July (July 8 - August 7, 2013).  During the Holy Month of Ramadan in Qatar, the following applies:

• No eating or drinking or smoking in public during sunlight hours.
• Restaurants do not open until Iftar (meal served after sunset to break fast during Ramadan).
• Hotel restaurants and venues are totally dry (no alcoholic beverages are served).
• Cinema halls are closed until Iftar.  
• Most entertainment venues (indoor amusement parks, bowling alleys, skating rinks) are closed until after Iftar.
• Residents are asked to pay particular attention to appropriateness of dress and social decorum. 
• Some large grocery chains are open from 9:00 a.m. - midnight, but your usual corner store may be open 9:00 a.m. - noon and 7:00 p.m. - midnight, or 6:00 a.m.- 10:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m.  Pretty much left to you to figure out.
• Government and most business working hours are cut down to 5 working hours a day.  This makes going anywhere between 9:00 - 10:00 a.m. and 2:00 - 3:00 p.m. virtually impossible, extending a 15-minute drive to an hour or more.   
• Trying to drive anywhere after 6:30 p.m. or so (after evening prayer) becomes an unforgettable lesson in peril and patience.

But while finding a way to pass the days can be a challenge, it can be done.

1. Do your best to socialize, to get outside for a bit, and to enjoy the outdoors where possible.  We've enrolled Kiddo in a sports camp for the month.  The venue allows kids of all ages to socialize and make new friends, practice indoor sports, go for a short daily swim outside, and get creative.  I've met a few moms there and we've arranged to meet up with the kids for playdates, which gets me out of the house as well.  Driving Kiddo to camp and doing groceries and running errands in the morning at least gets me out there.  
2. Catch up on things you've been meaning to get done (I've completed a few organizational projects that I kept on putting aside, and we are catching up on recorded episodes of Jr. Master Chef, America's Got Talent and Come Dine With Me in the evenings).  
3. Focus on staying healthy.  Take advantage of those long afternoons to go to the gym, work out at home, or prepare a new healthy recipe that you've been wanting to try for a while but never got around to. 
4. Find places to go in the evening that aren't too far away, and hire a car if you really don't feel up to fighting the traffic alone.  The streets will get crazy after evening prayer, with many people off to visit friends and family, enjoy an Iftar meal at one of the many Ramadan tents set up for this purpose, head to the mall, or simply "cruise" (unlike us 'unsociables', there are a good deal of people out there who actually enjoy the crowds and the chaos of traffic on the Corniche).  Even though we get frazzled by the intensity of it all, we still try to get out a few times during the month for a meal, a trip to the movies or a visit to some friends.  
5. Go easy on yourself, and allow yourself to enjoy that oft-saught after daytime snooze.  Or just take the opportunity to rest up doing something you love.  Finish that book, do some arts and crafts with the kids, play the piano mid-afternoon.  Just choose one of the things you're always complaining about "not having time to do", and DO it! 

July ... the long month. 

August ... are we there yet???? 

Wanna Work Out With Me?

The conversation started out with me announcing to Smilin' Vic that I no longer had 10 lbs. to lose to reach the dreamt of pre-pregnancy weight that has eluded me for the last 9 years.  

Smilin' Vic:   "That's great news, Babe."

Me:  "Noooo, that's not great news.  It's now closer to 20.  I'm way past the Doha Dozen*.  It's depressing.  I'm running again, I'm trying to do f#<&ing pilates ... obviously the signals aren't getting through to my butt.  This sucks."

Smilin'  Vic:  "Don't use foul language Babe.  It's the wine, hot dogs and s'mores from the RV trip.  Oh, and you should stop smoking.  You'll see, it'll come off in no time."

I smile sadly as I silently curse Dr. Vic in my head.  Why would he think stating the obvious would help?

I turn back to the computer. 

Smilin' Vic:  "Whatcha doin?"

Me:  "I printed out a weekly menu planner.  I'm typing out my weekly objectives.  Then I'm organizing all my recipes and the shopping list.  Tita L. always wants to help me cook, so I've decided I'm finally going to give in and tap into that.  I'm relinquishing my control in the kitchen.  These are all heart healthy and low-cal.  I'm determined to get back into roaring shape by December.  Slow and steady wins the race."

Smilin' Vic:  "Have you noticed 'Me'?  Not bad, eh?"  (He flexes an arm and sucks in his abs for effect.)

Me (thinking "that's just the motivation I was looking for"):  "Yeah, you look great."  In fairness, he's lost about 10 lbs. since getting back from vacation.  His approach to losing weight is thinking about it;  somehow it works for him.

Smilin' Vic:  "Well, I don't know about 'great', but definitely down from last week.  I've been working out harrrrrrrd!"  (He growls, flexes and calls out "youwaaaa" for emphasis.)

He relaxes and goes on:  "You know, if you cut down on the carbs it's a lot easier?" 

Me (thinking manicotti sounds like a plan right about now):   "Is that the thought that motivates you when you eat 6 peanut butter sandwiches as a 'snack' after work?"

Smillin' Vic doesn't appreciate my sarcasm.  "You shouldn't ask for help if you don't want it." 

I'm confused...  I asked for help? 

Objectives # 1, 2, 3 and 4:

1. I will run and/or walk at least 20 minutes at least 5 times a week.  
2. I will do pilates at least 20 minutes at least 5 times a week.  
3. I will make sure I log at least 20 km running a week.  
4. I will do a combined run/pilates of more than an hour at least 2 times a week.

I take a break from writing and go run 4 km on the treadmill.  27 minutes.  Not bad!  

I do 45 minutes of the new pilates "Rip Your Own Abs Out and Feel the PAIN" dvd I just bought.  

I still can't do a stupid roll-up without anchoring my feet under something.  When I mention this to people, they look at me like I've got four heads.  I imagine them sharing this with a spouse or a friend afterward:  "Can you believe it?  She can't even do a friggin' roll-up!  And all this time I thought she was fit!"  Cue evil laughter:  "Hahahahahahahahaha!"

I always fight the urge to qualify my inability to do a roll-up with a statement about how I was blessed with natural washboard abs 'til I gave birth so there was simply no reason to exercise those muscles and expend unnecessary energy.  And even though I'm shallow enough to think that way, I have to wait 'til I lose the "hamburger patty between two buns" abs or else I'll look quite the fool.  So I suffer silently.  

Objectives # 5, 6 and 7:

1. I will allow myself a glass of wine on weekends only.  
2. I will only eat what is included in my daily menu planner.  
3. I will log EVERYTHING (foods eaten, activities, cigarettes smoked, wine drunk).

Anyhow, after a decent workout and a shower, I come back downstairs, pour myself a glass of wine, enjoy the piece of pizza Smilin' Vic brings me (I'll log it later, I need to concentrate right now) and re-focus on typing out my low-cal recipes. 

Smilin' Vic:  "Watcha doin?" 

Me:  "Preparing recipes for Tita L." 

Smilin' Vic:  You're just like Michael (the little green monster with one eye from Monsters Inc.) in "Monsters University".  

Me:  "How so?" 

Smilin' Vic:  "You have lists for everything.  You know, like Michael in the movie ... "arrive at university - check; unpack - check; introduce myself to roommate - check;  attend orientation - check; graduate with honors - still working on it.  Haha." 

He makes a circle with his hands in front of his forehead to reproduce Michael's big eye.  He's like:  "This is so cool.  For the rest of our lives, I can make this sign, and you're the only one who'll know what I mean.  And we can laugh about it together, and it'll be our thing ..."  His exuberance peters off as he realizes I have turned back to the keyboard.   I type in ...

Objective # 8:

1. Stop trying to figure out how Smilin' Vic can be such an @$$ and so funny at the same time...
   

Seriously, I do NOT, in any way, shape or form, resemble Mike.

I turn back to Smilin' Vic. 

"A childhood friend told me my need to write lists stems from watching too much Sesame Street as a child (remember 'The Count'?).  Hey, we should start running together again." 

Smilin' Vic:  "It's kinda hard to tandem on the treadmill." 

Me:  "No, no, I mean outside, like we used to, at the park." 

Smilin' Vic:  "The heat index is 55C today.  And it's Ramadan.  No drinking or eating in public.  We'd die one kilometer into the run."

Me:  "But we could get up at 3:30 a.m., like when we were prepping for the 10 km run.  It would be fun." 

Smilin' Vic:  "We spent 15,000 QAR on a treadmill so we wouldn't have to wake up at zero dark thirty and listen to piped in 'bird chirping' and get sprayed with raw sewage when the sprinklers kick off, and now you're telling me you want to go back there?" 

Me:  "It was just a thought ... yeah, you're right.  Wanna do pilates with me?"

Smilin' Vic:  "Nah, Babe.  I don't 'DO' pilates.  I work out.  I run, I lift weights.  That's my thing." 

Me:  "That was harsh.  We just don't work out together like we used to."

Smilin' Vic:  "You're the one who suggested we stop going to the compound gym 250m down the road and set up our own upstairs.  You're welcome to lift weights with me." 

Me:  "I don't like weights.  They're heavy.  Whatever.  I'd rather work out alone anyways."  

I pour myself another glass of wine.  "It's the f*#&ing roll-up.  It's my nemesis.  It occupies every sleeping, dreaming, waking moment.  It will be my undoing, Smilin' Vic.  You mark my words.  I'll go completely f'in mad and then you'll wish you'd have taken the time to do pilates with me."

Smilin' Vic:  "Don't curse Baby.  What's is a roll-up anyways?  Show me your best." 

I lay my wine glass down on the TV stand.  I know he's taking me seriously;  he's actually paused the UFC match on TV to watch and listen as I flail miserably through what a roll-up should look like.  (Note:  I raise up to about the second vertebrae, grunting like a stuck pig the whole while, I jerk, my feet lift off the floor, I just barely avoid a toot, and pull up to a sitting position ... very unlike the zen breathing and smooth delivery my instructor walks me through on the 'torn and shredded abs' dvd.) 

Smilin' Vic:  "Ok, your abs are obviously REALLY weak."  He lies down and proceeds to do a perfect and effortless roll-up.  

WTF????  I have pretty much lost the will to live.  It finally sinks in that I have the abs of a slug.  

He instructs me to put my hands under my buttocks, extend my legs, raise them straight up and push up towards the ceiling.  "Do those tomorrow and every second day.  Do them until your abs are on fire.  You'll be doing a roll-up in no time, Babe.  Don't give up.  Those pilates are awesome.  The running's great, but the pilates are what will keep you moving, so we can retire and be like that couple you just discovered on that blog**." 

And just like that, he redeems himself.  Because in the end, he just 'gets' me.   

Objective # 9:

1. Stop trying to figure out how Smilin' Vic can be such an @$$ and such an inspiration at the same time...

Thanks, Smilin' Vic.  You keep me real. 

P.S.  Just to make me laugh, Smilin' Vic passed wind on his second roll-up.  Keeping it real.  Can't help but love him.

*  The Doha Dozen is a well-known phenomenon to expatriates living in Qatar.  The lack of pedestrian infrastructure, the overall unfriendly attitude towards pedestrians, the heat, the humidity;  all of these add up to a sedentary lifestyle that requires a conscious effort to get up and exercise.  Wine and lethargy often fill the active-living void, which eventually lead to packing on the pounds.

**  Last week I discovered a blog called Honey Did you See That?   Youngish, retired, fit, funny Canadian expatriates now living it up in a 5th wheel!  Since we've just come off an amazing Canadian RV trip, are Canadian, and consider ourselves funny, Shelley is the newest addition to my "You Might Like" list.  She inspired me to go back and give couples dialogue a try for this post (it's not something I do that often).  If you didn't enjoy what you read at Gypsy In the ME, check out her blog by clicking on the link below.  She is hilarious and will definitely be on The Ellen Show soon.  Thanks for dropping by.

Honey Did You See That?

Who's BeHeinz Me? (Tales from the Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist ...)

"Rumors of my assimilation have been greatly exaggerated ..."  (Captain Jean-Luc Picard, having been taken over by the Borg).

Have I mentioned I wanted to marry Captain Kirk when I was 7?

It wasn't really about the voyage for me, and I'm not a Trekkie per se, but I really did dig the whole "buff spaceman in a tight fitting uniform taking over the universe" concept.  

Anyhow, not really related to this post, but kinda...  there are many conspiracy theories linked to the original Captain Kirk (our very own Canadian William Shatner).  

Which leads me to the original premise of my post.... 

Last Friday, on our return from Canada, I tried to buy some of this: 

The best tomato sauce in the universe.  I've tried to find some every day since.  Checked all 45 shops I know (except Lulu's ... must try there tomorrow).  

Thus far ...

Not a drop to be found in Doha. 

I'll grant you that it's not a rare occurrence to find Doha shelves devoid of a favorite item: 

• Some brands in Doha are a lucky find, e.g. once I found Cheez Whiz, and Megarmart sometimes stocks Clamato juice (yeah my 2 faithful Canadian Readers, ya know what I'm talkin' 'bout!!!!!!! )
• Some brands in Doha are a hit and miss, e.g. your favorite flavor HP sauce.
• Some brands in Doha you will NEVER find, e.g. Kraft Peanut Butter.

BUT ... 

Some brands I actually thought I could rely on eternally.  

At first I wasn't too worried.  But then, as I visited shop after shop after shop, I started to feel uneasy.  How could ALL the Heinz Tomato Ketchup disappear from Doha supermarket shelves in the single month I'd been gone?   Something felt really, really wrong...

In the words of Spock: 

"Your logic was impeccable, Captain.  We are in grave danger.

Heinz Tomato Ketchup.  Thou art no more.  Where the Hell did all the Heinz Tomato Ketchup go?

I got it when turkey "ham" was removed from the shelves (it wasn't pork, but it WAS ham), and the fresh chicken shortage last year was chalked down to low supplies.  

There are cases where I've known well enough to prepare for the inevitable penury.  Case in point, I have 32 jars of Jamie Oliver walnut pesto in my cupboard because I'm trying to falsify demand to ensure supply doesn't waver.

BUT I NEVER DOUBTED HEINZ TOMATO KETCHUP!!!!!! 

And now the grocery supply chain gods have broken me. 

How will I ever explain to those who depend on me that I was unable to provide for their preferred tomato sauce needs?  

Who is responsible for this mess we're in? 

How do I make this RIGHT???????? 

Everyone KNOWS that everyone IN THE WORLD prefers Heinz Tomato Ketchup.  (NO, I'm not being paid for this ... there is a REASON only 8-10 people in the world know the actual recipe.)  

A house is simply not a home without Heinz Tomato Ketchup.  And we have less than half a bottle left.

I am not yet defeated ... but I fear the end is near my faithful readers.   It is all but a few oily red drops away .... 

And so, my ultimate expat challenge ...

"Tomato sauce:  the final frontier.  These are the voyages of a nutjob Canadian family.

Its three, NO five, NO seven, NINE year mission:

to explore un-Canadian flavors, to seek out Shawarmas and Falafel, to boldly reach for tomato sauce not mass-produced by Heinz.  

You know what?  If Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy were able to heal the universe with salt shakers, surely I can do something with plain old non-Heinz tomato sauce...

Here's to trying new things!  "Engage!  Make It So!  Resistance is FUTILE!"

N.B.  I'll still swing by LuLu's tomorrow ... who knows, they might have a stash.

Mute Blasphe'ME' ....

1977.  

Grade 2.  

Escuela Las Morochas, Ciudad Ojeda, on the Northeastern shore of Lake Maracaibo Venezuela.  

A boy from T&T named Marcel asked me if I knew how to "flip the bird".  I didn't.  

But even way back then, I hated ignorance, especially in myself.  I sighed, put down Barbie and Ken, looked him straight in the eye, and truthfully answered "maybe" (I doubted he meant flipping an actual bird over on its back, but on the off chance he did I was fairly confident I could roll a feathered friend over if you laid it down in front of me).  

Thus began my introduction to blasphemous signs.  We sat there for quite a while as he explained the variations in technique, ranging from the plain old 'fist closed with middle finger sticking straight up', to the more complex and artistic technique of closing one's fist, with ring and index finger bent at the first knuckle, middle finger raised.  The latter obviously required a lot more flexibility, technique and practice.  I worked hard that day, determined to get it down pat.  I am nothing if not a perfectionist.

What he didn't tell me was that the sign would be considered highly offensive by some.  Eight-year-old boys suck that way.  

So, being the naive 7-year-old that I was, I skipped into the house that afternoon and proudly proceeded to artistically flip the bird to my mother.  Not with the left hand.  Not with the right hand.  With BOTH hands.  Over and over and over and over....  

This did not go down well.  

If I remember correctly, Marcel's parents and my parents got together and gave us both a very public and humiliating lesson on how NOT to become a moronic, useless, daft, ignorant member of society.  Insulting hand gestures being at the top of the list.

I've learned other such insulting gestures since, including the chin flick, the corna (fist with pinkie and index finger extended), the forearm jerk and the "talk to the hand", but always refrained from indulging (it's been hard ... I am French Canadian ... we 'talk' with our hands).  But that "talking to" in 1977 beat rude hand gestures out of me.  

Realizing that day that I remained ignorant despite having learned something new was a lifelong lesson.

Or so I thought.

... 

Upon moving to Qatar, we were briefed on a few things considered unacceptable, and were made aware of some of these things via online forums, blogs and local info magazines.  We knew not to show the soles of our feet, not to proffer the left hand, not to photograph locals, not to use profanity, and not to flip the bird.  We respected all of these and thought we had it down pat.

But the July 12, 2013 edition of the Gulf Times made it clear that we still have a lot to learn.  Apparently, every time I 'high-five' someone, signal 'ok' by making an 'o' with my index and thumb, or give a 'thumbs up', I risk offending someone. 

That's cool.  I get it.  Different cultures, different perspectives, different perceptions.  As I get older I realize my parents were right about most things.  

Now I just have to re-program my communication practices and learn how to sit on my fingers while holding down a conversation.  

I admit I'm a bit worried about slipping up.  You know, when the conversation gets heated, or things get exciting, and you just spontaneously break into a "high five"!

In the meantime, Smilin' Vic has suggested I order a pair of these on e-Bay ....  

Living my life in a perpetual state of "High Four-ing It"!!!!!!

He just might be on to something .... 

A harsh reminder that I'm not as culturally-savvy as I thought I was.  A wise woman once told me, "You've got to learn to admit that you simply don't know what you don't know." ...  (article extracted from July 12, 2013 Gulf Times, at http://www.gulf-times.com/qatar/178/details/359198/residents-urged-to-respect-qatar-customs%2c-values)