Pour Me a Drink, Bartender ...

The school year has most definitely begun.  This is how our week is shaping up:

Sunday:

all-day conference for me followed by physio appointment.  School for Kiddo followed by ballet.  Homework.  Meeting with potential piano teacher in evening.

Monday:

work and school.  Homework ... Easy peazy.

Tuesday:

work for me followed by two hour Arabic class.  School for kiddo followed by gymnastics.  Homework.  Tom Jones with Smilin' Vic on the beach at night.

Wednesday:

work for me followed by two hour Arabic class.  School for Kiddo followed by swimming lesson. Homework.

Thursday:

physio before work, work for me, school for Kiddo.  Cirque du Soleil 'Dralion' at night with Kiddo.  Guys' night out with beers for Smilin' Vic ....

Spot the difference ....

That's right .... Smilin' Vic gets booze!

Pour me a drink, Bartender!

Summer Makes Me SAD ...

SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) is a common phenomenon in Northern New Brunswick (Canada) in the frigid winter months when the mercury drops down below 40C, when the sun rises after you've arrived at work and sets before you've returned home. 

You feel tired, lethargic, un-energetic, disinterested.  You can't sleep right.  You eat more, yet never feel satisfied.  Even if you lay in bed all night and on the couch all day, you never feel rested.  It's the cold, it's the lack of sun, it's being confined indoors, it's SAD.  Every Northerner is familiar with it ... rare is the Northerner who's not experienced it.  The winter days are frigid; -40C plus windchill makes for a difficult outdoor adventure, even for the heartiest of Canadians.  You stay indoors and you let the energy ebb from you.  You are SAD.

You tell yourself you wished you lived in a warm, sunny country where GLAD (Goofy, Loony Affective Disorder) is all anyone has ever known.  

You move to the Middle East, where every day is 12 hours long, all year long, and the one day of rain a year is celebrated.  You think that finally you've rid yourself of SAD.  You'll never be SAD again.  You'll be GLAD! 

And then you experience July and August in the Middle East.  Seven years straight.  And every August, you find yourself falling into this deep, dark pit of despair.  You find yourself exhausted.  It's hard to get out of bed.  You find yourself impatient.  You find yourself hungry, but you don't know what you want to eat.  You find yourself strange ... but you can't really find yourself at all.  You find you are SAD.

You tell yourself 40C isn't so bad.  It's the opposite of -40C.  It's got to be good.  No wind, no precipitation.  It's got to be good.   Yet you are SAD.

You look out your window and you see this: 

This is what 92% humidity looks like folks...

You try to convince yourself the droplets on the window pane are akin to fresh dew.    You try to convince yourself that water is a sign of freshness.  You try to convince yourself that the droplets invigorate you.  And then you realize you can't convince yourself.  This is 42C and 92% humidity.  You can't go outside.  Once again, you are SAD.

Strange, isn't it?  That you could be SAD in the Land of Sand?  

What people don't realize is that you get very little sun exposure in the ME.  In the winter months, a foggy haze of dust filters the sun and makes vitamin D absorbency close to impossible.  In the summer months, it's simply too hot to get outdoors.  And so you sit indoors, occasionally venturing to your car, stepping out to get into the mall, but that's about it.   And your body cries and aches and begs to be let out of its air-conditioned prison.

And you finally decide you've had enough of being SAD.  It's cool enough to try running again.  The extreme July temperatures have dropped.  You want, you NEED, to get outside again.   

You get up at 4:30 one morning in mid-August with Smilin' Vic.  You both suit up.  T-shirt, sweat pants, runners all at the ready.  You head out for a 3.5 km run.  It sucks.  You get back home, exhausted, drenched, impatient.  You check the temp, and you see this: 

Temp's not so bad ... but humidity's a killer ... 

And for a moment, you are incredibly proud.  You realize that you have pushed yourself hard; you have conquered the elements.  You've breathed in air.  Not 'fresh' air, but at least 'real' outdoor air.  Just for this morning, you won.  Humidity's a b!t$&, but you still feel great after your pitifully slow run.  You are a champion, and you are no longer SAD.

You take two vitamin D tablets, one vitamin B, two ginseng caplets, two Panadol (for the pained ol' bod), and swallow them all down with the watered-down juice of three limes.  And tell yourself you've still got it.  The spark of cellulite on your left thigh tells one story, but the ache in your right thigh tells another (or is that just the shortened piriformis muscle that has been pinching your sciatic nerve for the last four years?).

You step into a hot shower and tell yourself you'll do it all again tomorrow.  You feel so invigorated.  You slip on your smartest office trousers and you could swear they already feel looser, you already feel tighter, and all is right with the world. 

..... 

4:30 a.m. ....  the next day ....  You click on snooze.  The damned alarm keeps on ringing every three minutes.  You get up at 4:42.  Suit up.  Dare Smilin' Vic with your eyes to "say. one. single. word. at. this. f^$!N. God-forsaken. hour."  You check your watch.  It is literally "Zero past way too stupid to be up".

Go downstairs and have a coffee.  

Head out.  Do it all over again.  Once you're started running, it's really not so bad.  And the rest of the day is so much better once you've breathed in some funky Doha morning air.  You realize you want to do this every day.  It's hard, but it's good.

..... 

4:30 a.m. ... one day later ... You click on snooze.  It won't stop ringing.  Give up.  Get up. 

Go downstairs and have a coffee.  "Zero past dark stupid thirty."  

Go girl!

Start to notice it's getting easier.  Start to realize the hurdles you've overcome.  Start to see the humor in the effort that goes into running in Doha.  Decide to take pictures along the way... 

This is the sign we first see as we leave the compound, and it warms our heart.  This city WANTS us to enjoy our run.

Unfortunately, the lovely pedestrian protection sign is smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk.  Smilin' Vic cracked his head open on it.  

It's ok.  We're feeling invigorated.  A little blood never scared a soldier, right? 

We head a little further ... "Oh, look, Smilin' Vic, they've laid out a hurdle for us about 100 m into our run ... just enough to make us jump and get the blood pumping.  How awesome!" 

Smilin' Vic fumbles and trips.  It's not exhaustion.  We are barely 250 m into our run.  It's the sidewalk sinkhole.  "Ah, well, at least no broken bones or sprained ligaments this time around, eh?  All is well!"

"Oh, look!  A signboard that dares to hit us smack in the face if we don't notice it first.  How cool!  What a novel idea.  Now that's how marketing geniuses get our attention!"   (A little to the left and we get taken out by a madman at the wheel, a little to the right and we sprain our ankle on the rocky surface ... but head on and we HAVE to read the billboard ... BRILLIANT!

"Wow, they've stuck a lamp post smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk every 25 m.  Good for lighting, not so great for running..." 

 "Brilliant guy, He who thought of planting this random desert shrub right in my running path.  Yup, I've got a few choice words for him if we ever cross ways ..."  But seriously, one could say its splendor does make up for the shattered ankle bone and torn Achille's heel ...

At first I wasn't sure what this sign meant. 

But I soon realized I needed to tag it to get the "SUPER BOOST" needed to jump over this huge concrete block placed strategically on the sidewalk.  Wow, was I impressed when I realized I could go over or around this 2 km into our first run ...

And then over this bigger bush. 

And finally over this gap in sidewalk ... 

I can't help but think that "pedestrians are everyone's responsibility" kind of translates to "Every Pedestrian for Themselves!" in Doha ... 

Nonetheless, after four weeks of running (obstacle course), I'm not so SAD anymore ... I'm actually GLAD! 

Oh, and here was this morning's temp ...  

Humidity's going down.  What a relief!

Finding Time for Me ....

Sooooooo many things to think about, to write about, to blog about.  So little time .... 

I've spent the last four weeks scripting a blog post about seasonal affective disorder (SAD) and summer running in the ME ... in my head. 

I've taken crappy photos of my running route ... but not gotten around to downloading them.

Writing is all I think about, yet living is what I'm doing right now.  The living is what makes the blogging possible, yet living sometimes gets in the way of blogging.  I live to blog, yet some days I rue living, because it's intruding on my blogging time ...

So it is that I find myself at 11:49 p.m., on a Thursday night (which is the start of the weekend here in the ME), after having rushed home after a full and crazy work week to quickly change then head off to the Four Seasons to meet up for drinks and dinner with an old friend from Canada who is here on business.   

A quick kiss for Kiddo while tugging off the work outfit with one hand and pulling on a summer frock over my head with the other.  A hug while applying lipstick, and quick instructions on finishing up supper before indulging on weekend treats of cheese-flavored popcorn and Toblerone.

Smilin' Vic and me meet up with the old friend, sit down to a glass of wine ... the phone rings.  A potential hire.  I take the call; convince the candidate all is well ... "no worries, hang in there, all will end well and work out in the end. "  Hang up ... duty done.  

Take a swig of wine.  Engage in casual/business banter.  Realize I have to turn it off.  Can't.  Continue blabbing ... note to self "the workweek is over ... shut up ... nobody really gives a rat's @$$".   Finally manage to shut up.  Let Smilin' Vic and old friend catch up.  Start wishing I were back home blogging.  Order espresso and tell Smilin' Vic I'm ready to head back home.  

Get back home, sit down at the computer and get a message from my bro-in-law.  After a long, drawn out and heartfelt battle, he has finally gotten custody of his 8-month-old daughter.  Wow!  What a way to put things into perspective ... living and loving really is what counts.  He put in so much effort to get his little angel home.  And he's got her.  She is finally home.  Smilin' Vic and I are so happy!  

But I STILL want to blog about summer running in the ME ... (tunnel vision?). 

It's 12:22 a.m.  Hmmmmmm....  glass of wine by my side, keyboard at my fingertips, inspiration in my soul...  despite the chaos and the much bigger stories going on, I've decided I'm going to carry on writing about running ... blogging about living ... 

I'm signing off ... but I have a feeling I'll be right back, finding time for me ... blogging about living ... X

Ugly ME ... (Expats Preparing for the Worst and Hoping for the Best)

Hello ME expats ... 

This is where it could all start to get ugly.  

This is when we stop focusing on the day-to-day trivialities involving petty arguments, traffic congestion and malfunctioning a/c units.  

This is how we start to prepare for the eventualities that we hope and pray will not become reality.

This is the part where I debate over whether or not I should even think of matters of war, much less write about them.  I've been agonizing about it for weeks, trying to balance my desire to inform and my determination to dissuade panic and conjecture. 

My blog is not about social or political commentary.  It never has been and it's not about to start being so now. 

But this blog IS about life as an expat in the ME, and right now most Doha expats are embroiled in a conflicting relationship with their television, internet, newspaper, and local rumor mill over all matters Syria.  We are on tenterhooks, reading the news each day in the entirely unrealistic hope of some type of peaceful resolution, while more realistically expecting at any moment to turn on the TV and see that our fears have finally been founded.

Dinner party conversations invariably turn to questions like "Will the US strike?" (more frequently phrased these days as "WHEN will the US strike?"  "What will it mean for us?"  "What if we don't have an embassy here?"  "What would we do if we had to evacuate?"  "Are we ready to evacuate?"  "What if we can't evacuate?"  "What if we have to shelter here?"  "Should we fortify our first aid kit?"  "Should we stock up?"  "Where will we live if we do have to leave the country?"  

There are more questions today than answers, and many expats right now are struggling to achieve a balance between what on the surface is "life as usual" and an underlying sense of urgency to be prepared for the worst.  Some expats have been through this before in other countries, others are entirely new to the experience.  

And while nothing has happened yet, I think it's safe to say we all know we must be prepared.   It's time to start planning, ME expats ...

So, far from being an expert, I'm realizing that there are some things we should be ready for at all times when living in the ME.  At the top of that list is the ability to gather up everything that matters with very, very short notice (think 'hours' ...).   Here are some things that I think every ME expat should be thinking of right now.  It's not exhaustive, but I'm hoping it could be useful in getting people to stop and think about what they can do to be prepared if things did get ugly.

Having a few basic supplies on hand goes a long way in reducing anxiety. 

1. Start by sitting down with your family (and household staff, or anyone else living in your home) and talking about what you would do in an emergency situation.  Develop a household emergency plan.  Make sure everyone has a list that details each person's name, date of birth, phone number, emergency contact name and number.  Also include your work/school name/address/phone and find out what their emergency response plan and evacuation point are.  Agree to where you would all rendez-vous if you were not home when a serious incident occurred.  Remember that your maid, driver, gardener may not be from the same country as you, and might have to make arrangements through their own embassy if there was an evacuation.
2. Prepare an emergency supplies kit, in case of eventualities such as power/water interruption, transportation issues, etc.  Include in your kit enough supplies to provide you with two weeks' provision of water (4L of water/person/day), non-perishable food items, battery powered radio, flashlight or camping light, candles, extra batteries, first aid kit, moist towelettes or hand sanitizers, garbage bags (for sanitation), can opener, map of the local area, prescription medications, pet food/water, cash, important family documents (e.g. passports, insurance papers, bank account records), duct tape, matches, paper, pencils, paper plates and towels, activities for children, etc.
3. Carry your personal i.d. and that of any young children with you at all times.  You can make copies of your family's passports and keep a copy with you as well.  Also keep your mobile phone charged and on your person. 
4. Make sure any important documents are kept in a water-proof container. 
5. Let your family back home know that you have a plan, and inform them if they are on your emergency contact list.
6. Consider scanning any favorite pictures/documents onto an external hard drive. 
7. Many expats no longer have a house back home.  Where will you stay if you have to go back to your home country? 
8. What about your pets?  What are the options if you are evacuated and they can't come with you? 
9. Check out relevant emergency preparedness sites, such as   www.ready.gov and www.getprepared.gc.ca
10. Give your kids a chance to talk about their fears.  Take them seriously and tell them it's ok to be scared.  Gently prepare them for eventual scenarios (for example, having to leave a pet behind, possibilities of partial evacuations with one parent staying behind, etc.).  Make sure they know emergency numbers for ambulance (999 in Qatar), as well as Mom and Dad's.

After wrestling over whether I should write this post or not (I have this crazy idea that writing about stuff makes it real), I'm now happy I did.  It made me stop and take a look at how prepared my own family is (not very), and sit down with Smilin' Vic, Kiddo and Tita L. to talk about the current situation.  I realized that Tita L. is very nervous, and we were able to reassure her a bit by letting her know that we were taking some precautionary measures and that she is a part of our plans.  We talked about things calmly, and acknowledged that nothing at all may come of all this.  At the same time, we reminded each other of those basic things that we sometimes neglect, like carrying our i.d. and having a bottle of water in our bag or car at all times.

I think writing this actually helped me achieve a balance between fearing the worst and burying my head in the sand.  There's no need to panic, but there IS a need to plan.  We will never be prepared enough if everything does go South, but at least we'll be better prepared than we were at the outset.  It's a start.

Here's hoping and praying that the ME doesn't get ugly. 

Tom Jones and Me ... in the ME!!!!! (Live in Qatar)

"It's not unusual to be loved by anyone.  It's not unusual to have fun with anyone ..." 

"It's Not Unusual", by Tom Jones

Uhmmmmmmmm ...

I think this is the part where we add in "unless that fun involves a bevy of 40-plus-year-old 'Sex Bombs' gyrating and singing at the top of their lungs on a beach in the Middle East to the tune of a 73-year-old Welsh crooner who fully expects them to throw their undies his way."

That kind of fun is frankly 'way-out-there otherworldly bizarre', yet it's about to happen.  For any of the 'under-18' crowd who might mistakenly wander onto this post, I would venture so far as to say the image of it all might well be growth-stunting.  

(If I do in fact cause great visual/mental anguish to you by virtue of this post, I sincerely apologize.  If you're already feeling nauseous:  "STOP reading NOW!")

Far from the Diamond Jubilee Concert in front of the staid walls surrounding Buckingham Palace, or the pulsating song hall at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas, Tom Jones in his tight pants is coming this September to expose his graying chest hairs under the spotlights shining down at night on the beach in Doha.  

I'm really not sure who to give credits to this photo to.  It's a picture I took of a flyer I got from Virgin Stores.  It reads "Alive Entertainment, Iconic Qatar, Iloveqatar.net & Intercontinental Hotel" present ...  If you are reading this and I am in violation of any infringement laws, please let me know, and I'll remove this pic of a pic immediately.  Or tell me if you took it, and I'll give you credit.  This is NOT my pic. :-)

Is it pure coincidence that he would choose to hold a concert in his 70's - surely the culmination of his performing career - in a mecca of middle-aged, booze-hazed, desperate-for-kicks expat wives (a significant number of whom are Welsh, British, Scottish and American)?  

(Calm down, desperate Doha wives, don't be offended ... I count myself in your midst ... I don't diss lightly.)

Is it all a sign of how far he's come or of how far we've fallen, I wonder?

Now, hear this.  I am NOT a raging Tom Jones fan.  

But nor am I immune to breaking into an enthusiastic rendition of "Delilah" on the odd occasion when QBS radio (Qatar Broadcasting Station) decides to play it at 7:00 a.m. on the Breakfast Show.  

I've been known to get teary-eyed and Sauvignon-sappy to a Pinoy karaoke rendition of  "Green, Green Grass of Home". 

And I admit to secretly believing Smilin' Vic wrote "She's a Lady" for Tom Jones with only me in mind. 

But those aren't the reasons I feel compelled to spend close to $350 on VIP tickets for Smilin' Vic and me.  Nope.  Not at all.

No.  The compelling reason behind dishing out an absurdly grotesque amount of money to go sweat on a beach in 40C weather at 9 p.m. on a week night is the sheer fun, eccentricity, atrocity and madness of it all. 

I often refer to Doha as a Las Vegas of sorts (minus the gambling ... unless you count the stock market).  It's a desert oasis, covered in dust yet punctured by the occasional greatness of grossly entertaining, pure fun, truly majestic and absolutely surreal performing arts experiences.  Far from the bedouin tent-dwelling existence my family continues to believe I have been relegated to, Doha provides us with everything from Barney, to Disney on Ice, to the Harlem Globe Trotters, to the Doha Tribeca Film Festival, to The Russian Ballet, to Cirque du Soleil, to Placido Domingo, to TOM JONES!

Doha is a continuous dichotomy of traditionalism and modernism.  The community awakens at morning call to prayer, black abayas and white thobes pepper the crowds, camel racing is still alive and well, and the desert sands beckon.  

But pop music resonates in Land Cruisers on the return home from mosque, skinny jeans and Leboutin's lurk under the abaya, and ghutras come in all styles, from cobra to cowboy.  And while camel racing and desert camping are popular, desert sand duning in custom-made go-carts is all the rage.  

And so I can't help but think that bringing Tom Jones to Doha is the ultimate depiction of that traditionalist/modernist dichotomy with a twist.  Because ask anyone where Tom really fits, and they can't really tell you.  Where DOES he fit?  He's kind of 60's, 70's, 80's personified; but 90's, 2000's glorified.  The twist is that he fits.  Kind of everywhere.  In a good way.  Apparently even in the ME.

I was never a Tom Jones fan.  But I knew his songs.  I sang along.  And I'm really psyched he's coming to Doha.  Believe it or not, so is Smilin' Vic.  I'm really excited for this chance to touch a bit of the past today.  An American (Welsh) icon playing in the Middle East, an old boy playing for a youngish (if that's what you consider middle-aged to his advanced age) crowd.  

It's an old face in a new town.  

It's East meets West.  

It's a coal miner's son come to visit the land of oil and natural gas.  

It's Tom Jones and Me ... in the ME.  LIVE!  In Qatar!