Christmas Nostalgia

I can't believe homesickness has hit after barely two months in Bahrain.

Yesterday, I received emails from two of my great mates from Edinburgh, describing the oh-so-familiar scenes in Edinburgh leading up to Christmas.

Carrie and Kev told me the lights and decorations are all up on George Street, the German Market and the giant ferris wheel have been set up in Princes Street Gardens, the French market is buzzing on Castle Street, and carts selling roasted chestnuts have weaved their way into certain corners along Princes Street. The air has also turned frosty, and the cool clean crisp air has a distinct winter edge to it.

I was awashed with nostalgia. I remember the scene from my office window that looked out onto George Street - the post office starts getting busy round about this time, and queues extend all the way out the door; when the sun sets at about 4pm, the lights on the Crimbo decorations all along George Street are switched on; people in thick, heavy coats rushing about doing their Christmas shopping in Jenners and Debenhems - I've always loved this time of the year. The atmosphere just seems eletric, filled with excitment and aniticipation.

Round about this time, we would also start planning nights out with various groups of friends - Christmas is just an excuse to meet up with friends in the name of goodwill and merryment and take advantage of the offers in various restaurants and bars, and booze till the cows come home. It was such a joy gossiping over countless bottles of vino and plates of nachos with the girls at Bar 38 or Grand Cru right after work before half-stumbling our way home, freezing our tits off standing outside the bar saying prolonged goodbyes and waiting for cars with yellow lights to come along to offer us warmth and a ride home.

This time also sees RJ and I shopping at the Big W, B&Q and Homebase buying Crimbo decorations for our home. It was a proper home we had in Edinburgh - everything was deisgned and bought by us, unlike the home we are living in now, which feels more like a hotel, and we refrain from buying bits and pieces of decoration and furniture because we know we aren't staying long. This time last year saw us visiting a Crimbo fair in Eyemouth, a wee fishing village in Scotland, scouring the stalls for funky Crimbo decorations and presents for the folks. The wind was howling and the street bore no shelter to the frosty, persistant winds, but boosted by the Christmas Spirit, we were happy albeit being wet and cold, sipping clam chowder and mulled wine to warm out gullets.

I'm always happy during this time, because I've always looked forward to spending Christmas with RJ's folks in Ballybogey. It's Christmas as I've always read about in books since I could read Enid Blyton, and Christmas as I've always imagined, so the week home always has a dream-like quality to it - everything is perfect from the tasteful Crimbo decor to the apple cinnamon smells to the big Crimbo dinner with delicious stuffed turkey, ham, pudding and Irish coffee.

I was always sad to leave, but hey, New Year meant a week-long drunkenness and debauchery with mates somewhere in Scotland - be it in lodges in the highlands, or cottages in the country, with our cases upon cases of wine, beers, bubbly, and a whole assortment of alcoholic beverages, we always make our own fun with themed parties, bad taste nights and some completely insane drinking games that usually involve nakedness and running about in the cold. No it's not some kind of Playmate house - it's honestly just good, clean fun amongst good friends.

Such is life. We always tend to romanticise things when we do not have it. Now that I'm in Bahrain, I don't think of the things I hate about the UK, like the grey, wet weather or the exhorbitant taxes that I had to pay, no - everything just bears a rosy-coloured tinge to it, and I only remember the good things that happened while I was there.

All the Action

We have had the good luck to spectate in two of Bahrain’s largest events in the past couple of weeks – the International Drag Racing Competition and Final World Cup Qualifier between Bahrain and Trinidad & Tobago.

The International Drag Racing competition took place at the much acclaimed Bahrain International Circuit in the south of the island, set amidst much desert. Radios and other forms of media has been incessantly advertising the event for weeks coming up to it, and we thought why not give it a go, seeing as neither of us has been spectators at a drag-racing competition before, much less one of international standard.

It was a two-day affair held over a weekend, and since we bought the most expensive stand tickets (no, we weren’t being showy expats – the cheap tickets were all sold out by the time we got there!), we had to milk it for all it was worth and show up for the two nights. All the way from the carpark, we spotted fancy vehicles packed everywhere. From Lamborghinis and Lotuses, to fast bikes and beat-up pick-ups and American convertibles with artistic graffiti of goth and sexy laydees, it was quite a show in itself.


All we could hear as we entered the gates was the roar of the engines overpowering that of the crowd. Think huugggee engines with thousands of horsepower (?) consuming gallons of high-grade petrol on just a quarter-mile stretch, and imagine the sound that comes out of the beast. Then times it by a hundred. Still nowhere near it!

There were all sorts of vehicles taking part in the drag-race, from super purpose-built cars spanning 9 metres, to ordinary cars, to sports bikes, to even pick-ups. It was indeed quite a show. There was a lot of stopping and starting, and the race itself didn’t last for more than 15s. But the sheer speed of those things was unbelievable. The crowd favourite, a local named Ali clocked the fasted time – 7.48s – over the quarter-mile stretch. Sitting on the bleaches watching the vehicles zoom past actually put into perspective hoe fast we were travelling down the motorways of France last summer, hitting speeds of 170 miles an hour! It certainly didn’t feel that fast when we were on the bike!

The whole atmosphere of the drag-race reminded me very much of rugby in the UK. The crowd was a happy, cheering bunch. There was a bunch of guys from the UAE proudly brandishing their flag and cheering drivers of their country on, and it was friendly banter/competition with the Bahraini supporters. All very amiable and in the name of fun.

The two-day race ended with an impressive display of fireworks, and since we were literally next to the track, we took in the fireworks with all its splendour real close.

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The last of the World Cup qualifier was an event of historic proportions for a small, relatively unknown (to me anyway, before I came here!) country like Bahrain. By some fluke of nature, the Bahrain football team has come thus far into the competition, and this was the match that stood in their way to international stardom. Should they win the match, they would travel to Germany to play in the Football World Cup, no less. As an added incentive, the government would award each player with BD 50,000, a government house, a car, and BD 1,000 a month if they could Bahrain on the map. So, quite a lot at stake here.

There were no tickets to the game, and it was free, which meant it would be chaos and one would have to adopt the kiasu attitude to get into the stadium for the game! We were told there were people queuing up from 3pm, and since we were all working professionals, we only got there for 6pm, an hour before the game, and were lucky enough to be let through the gates. We had our purses searched and bottles of water were taken from us!

Predictably, there weren’t any seats left, but we quite happily sat on the steps as it offered an unhindered view although our bums were dusty and achey after 90 mins. Looking around, the group of 7 or 8 of us expats felt distinctly out of place in our corporate attire and not having a single red item to show our support for Bahrain. Also, Marion and I were the only women in the stadium for as far as the eye could see. There was not a single local female at all.

When we arrived, the crowd was already in full swing cheering and chanting in Arabic, which we (other than Mohammed) had no idea what it meant. It was a whole hour before the game, and the atmosphere was already electric. We immediately got caught up in the highly charged environment and felt the adrenaline pumping as the players came out and did their synchronised warm-ups, which we thought was rather gay.

The Trinidad & Tobago supporters were relegated to a small area at the corner of the stadium, and they had hardly enough supporters to fill the small area. When their player emerged to warm-up, the crowd booed, which I thought was not on at all.

The game itself was amateur. From my little knowledge of football, I would say that the UK premiership leagues played better football than these two national teams. Bahrain had already played T&T on their turf and they drew 1-1, which meant that even if they tied tonight, Bahrain would still go through to the World Cup. So rather than attacking, a lot of emphasis was placed on defending.

Sadly, the final score was 1-0 to T&T, and Bahrain’s hope of international football stardom was dashed. And even more unfortunately, BD 50,000 less in each of the players’ bank accounts.

The end of the game was also when things turned ugly. The happy, hopeful, cheery crowd turn into aggressive dickheads who started to tear the backs of seats and hurling them to the pitch. Of course, those with a poor aim or not enough of a powerful arm flung the seats into the crowd instead, and people were injured and rushed to the nearest ambulance. Firecrackers were also going off all over the place, which was bloody dangerous given the sheer number of people in the confined space. At this stage, the group of us were huddled in a corner as far up as we could, and refused to budge until the crowd has thinned a little, or at least till the madness has subsided. All across the track and field were red and yellow bits of plastic there were seats.

When the Bahrain footballers were ushered back to the changing rooms, the crowd actually booed at them – so much for patriotism eh? This lot were mercenaries, and support the team only when they were doing well. Our regard of Bahrainis dropped a couple of notches after the display of the lack of sportsmanship and hooligan behaviour. The king and his entourage were right there watching the match as well, and if I were him, I would be very ashamed of my people. After all is said and done, the behaviour of the Bahrainis reiterated the fact that Bahrain is still a developing country despite how much it has progressed, or is trying to advance.

It was still an experience, albeit not a very positive one, and I would do it all again, but would find more protected seats higher up in the stands, away from all the action.

Conformity

I am ashamed to admit that we have conformed to expat living and have hired a Filipino housemaid! Not a live-in one, mind. Linda just comes in a couple of time a week to keep the house spick and span, and see to the washing and ironing.

Linda came highly recommended from one of RJ's colleagues, who hires her to clean, wash, iron, cook, and stock up his fridge - pretty much doing a wife's job but without the accompanying hassle. Apparently she does a wicked curry.

A tiny, wizened lady perhaps in her 50s, Linda is orignally from Manila but has been in Bahrain for over 15 years. She has such a pleasing, warm disposition that I wanted to give her a great big hug and treat her like my grandmother. It can't be easy for her, being in a foreign country all by herself while her children are back in the Philippines.

We picked her up from her place in local part of town to view our apartment. We went through what we wanted her to do around the house, and at one point, she said that we have nice marble floors, and she would need a basin so she can go down on her hands and knees to polish the marble! Honestly, there was no need to - we just wanted someone to keep the place from looking like a dump and we certainly do not expect her to scrub the floors! Linda even offered to help us buy some nice pots to replace the functional plastic ones we're keeping our plants in at the moment.

Isn't she a wee gem?

Apparently foreign housemaids here hate working for the locals, because they treat them appallingly. I can certainly imagine that - it's mostly an Asian syndrome , I think. The Westerners have been revered as 'masters' since colonial times, and only in recent times have Asian countries become more affluent, so it's still quite a novelty for Asians to revel in their new-found status as masters. Alot of Asians who think they have 'made it' and can afford a maid seem to think they can treat them like a maid, and I have sometimes seen that sort of behaviour when visiting my friends' houses as a kid. Young primary school kids ordering their Filipino maids around, no doubt following their parents' examples.

I can't quite believe that I have graduated from being an on-screen Filipino maid to having a real Filipino housemaid! And I'm proud to say my accent was quite accurate. We really must ask Linda to cook us a meal one of these days and 'pry the pish', just for banter!

Professional Liaisons

'Client Meetings' in Bahrain bear different connotations to that in the UK.

In the UK, typically, it is a time set aside to meet someone - a meeting room is booked for the event, secretaries/PAs are told to divert calls and you give that certain someone your undivided attention for the duration of the allocated time slot - you'd even remember to switch off your mobile phone so it doesn't go off mid-meeting.

In Bahrain, it is mayhem.

I had a client meeting with Wakaf, a member of the senior management team of one of my main clients. He had a lovely office with floor to ceiling windows offering a splendid view of the sea, posh office furniture, a metal cabinet filled with mineral water, and a packet of opened McVities tea biscuits on his desk which he sporadically offered me, and which also doubled up as lunch for Wakaf.

We barely had five minutes of uninterrupted time for the whole duration of our meeting. Phones kept ringing, people kept coming into the office to speak to him on various 'important matters', and Wakaf himself would sometimes suddenly reach for his phone and called someone chatting away in speedfire Arabic, or suddenly turn to his monitor to check emails in mid-sentence. I really doubt it was my inability to keep his attention span - this is a common occurance with all my client meetings here!

However fragmented our meeting was, Wakaf did give me what I needed out of the meeting, and possibly told me alot more stuff I really did not have business knowing, like office politics and such. He is a lovely bloke. He may appear to be quite a scatterbrain, but he knows his stuff. He tells me as it is and is not too up his arse to ask me for advice. He is also shorter then me (but then I was in killer-heels) and yet again was not ashamed to point out the fact!

One thing I noticed about my Bahraini clients, they are very approachable, honest and down-to-earth, nothing like the HR assistant types you'd encounter in the UK, milking whatever power they had for what it was worth. These are director-level, high-ranking professionals who earn bucketloads, yet they had no airs or graces about them. One just has to get used to the way they work, and go with the flow - no point getting hung up about the way things should be done.

Frankly, I'd rather have a meeting with all its interruptions, but at the end of it get what I want, then a perfect little meeting where everyone just skirts around the subject and where I have to tread on thin ice while speaking with the HR Assistant, or they will forever refuse to approach you for jobs ever again, and will threaten to use the (many) other recruiters in the market.

Doha, Qatar

Eid Mubarak!

So, while other expats are busy getting drunk and celebrating the end of the month-long fast from eating in daylight and gasp, God forbid, alcohol, RJ and I managed to book a last-minute holiday and clock up more air miles on our frequent flyer cards.

Doha, capital of Qatar is not what one would describe as a city for an ideal getaway, but hey, we’re relatively new to the region, and we’re still in the honeymoon period of wanting to see more of the region, despite a certain website’s less than colourful description of Doha as the ‘most boring city in the world’. Really, it’s not all that bad….or is it?

Armed with bright-eyed positivity, an open mind and thirst to find out more about the Middle East, we set off to Doha on the eve of the Eid holidays, to see if we can prove the website wrong.

We didn’t get off to a great start. Our doe-eyed enthusiasm slapped us in the face when we were stopped at the Doha customs by an supersized customs officer with a quivering double chin and dressed in traditional Arab garb – thanks to the generous amount of fabric and lack of waistbands in the traditional gear, one would never know when one puts on weight until it is way, way too late! So, Mr Chubby confiscated our supply of duty-free alcohol - a bottle of port and a bottle of expensive red wine - with no remorse, simply placing the bag amidst a sizable heap in the corner I’m sure he would add to his collection in his bar counter at home!

To say the least, I was livid, mostly because of Chubbs’ blasé attitude and lack of explanation. Upon checking with a local I cornered straight after coming out of customs, it was confirmed that we really weren’t allowed to bring alcohol into the country at all, although the local was surprised Chubbs didn’t issue us with a receipt to redeem our loot upon leaving Qatar. Like hell he would, when he can make a tidy sum selling all the alcohol he collects in a day in the blackmarket to people who have reached their monthly quota of alcohol consumption! (In Qatar and a few other countries in the Middle East, residents need a permit/license to purchase alcohol, and are not allowed to buy more than a stipulated amount per month.) Later that night, we also confirmed the no duty-free alcohol rule with the Lonely Planet. Really! Things like that should be highlighted in bold, not relegated to a tiny paragraph that can easily get lost amongst the ‘where to eat’ and ‘where to stay’ sections!

Do not stay at the Mercure Grand Hotel in Doha. It is advertised as a 4-star hotel, but really, it’s not worth even 3. The first room we were checked into didn’t have a lock on the balcony. Although we were on the 9th floor, the balconies are literally next to each other, and without a lock can be easily broken into climbing in from the balcony next door. Reception had trouble finding us another room which the balcony door actually locks, which pretty much sums up the state the hotel is in. The shower curtains stank big time of damp and BO, and to top it off, the whole pool area was undergoing renovation, which was not stated anywhere on the hotel website. So much for wanting to laze about in the pool soaking up the rays.

I’m really not a snob. I’m perfectly capable of roughing it out and staying in communal rooms in hotels and showering in bathrooms where there aren’t even any curtains, but we didn’t pay the amount we did to have a budget holiday. When we pay peanuts, we expect monkeys, but in this instance, we shelled out a bomb, and we expected to be blown away.

The hotel was situated in a very traditional area of Doha, right next to one of the largest Souq. Being the Eid holidays, the area was teeming with Indians, very much like Little India on a Sunday, with the Indians spilling out onto the streets, Indian holding hands, and Indians staring at my breasts unabashedly. I mean, I wasn’t even wearing anything revealing by any standards (most of the time)! I’ve never frowned so much in my life, in a bid appear menacing. I even took to wearing my glasses on some occasions, just to detract attention, and I even cover myself with a pashmina despite the smouldering heat and humidity, but no, the stares just keep coming. When they do notice RJ giving them the evils, they look away immediately, but most of them don’t even look up from my (covered) breasts to notice RJ’s hostile stares. Sometimes, when I could take the staring no longer, I asked them what they were staring at (very ah-beng, I know!) only to have them a) pretending not to hear and continuing to stare b) retort angrily ‘What??!’ and c) look quickly away only to look back again after a split second.

We noticed very, very few women on the streets, apart from the Thai prostitute that was soliciting outside our hotel. I suppose many people would think that I’m one of them with my catch of the day when they see RJ and I walking together. Let’s face it, a large population of the Asian women in the Middle East are in the prostitution business, while the other large percentage consists of the kept women belonging to rich (old, balding, pot-bellied) expats. I am proud to say that I belong to neither category. I earn my own keeps and buy shoes with money I make through legitimate means.

We were told that Doha is 20 years behind Bahrain, but really no one was walking around in flares or blazers with massive shoulder-pads. No seriously, in ways such as the treatment of women, Doha is well behind, but the roads, infrastructure etc are well on par. They even have a working public transport system with plush new air-conditioned buses – so they only have 2 bus routes, but it’s still better than the one in Manama. Sadly, women are a rare entity on the public transport system, as it is in Bahrain.

The Al Corniche is a very pleasant seafront walk in the centre of Doha than spans 7km forming a horseshoe shape around which most activities take place. The prominent government buildings, mosques, hotels and malls can be found along the Corniche. It certainly reminded me a lot of walking along the Singapore River, the Esplanade, the quays. It was swarmed with – you guessed it – Indians throughout the Eid holiday. In the blazing heat of midday, many Indians take shade under the many trees along the Corniche and later in the day, families picnic on the grass and everyone watches the fascinating fireworks display that mark the Eid celebrations.



The Indians are a funny race. We spent a good length of time observing the way they pose for the camera at the Pearl Monument.
They would stand legs astride, hands on hips and give their most broody look to the camera – very typical Hindi hero stance. Some of them hold hands, and other would pose with their mobile phones. We also noticed them taking pictures everywhere, posing with random rocks, structures and even potted plants.

We’re ashamed to say that we visited the City Centre Doha, the largest shopping mall in Doha on Day One, and got a Starbucks there. But really, everything was shut in the day during Eid, we were left with no choice but to go for a game of bowling and play some Street Fighter games. By 4pm, the Indians have infiltrated the CCD so much so that it was impossible to walk without bumping into anyone. So we left. We walked all the way back to out hotel, about 7km away, via the Corniche. Despite the amount of staring, it was pleasant drinking in the festivities and fireworks.

We spent a day at Palm Tree Island, literally a sand bar just off the Corniche accessible by frequent ferry services. It is a very small, basic Sentosa, with a relatively nice beach and a small swimming pool, a couple of restaurants and a café.This is where we can strip to our bikinis in peace. However, there are a handful of Indians and locals that would pay the money to go onto the island just to gawk at girls in skimpy bikinis. There are also many local families having a day out picnicking on the island, and it was almost comical looking at women all covered up standing next to others barely covering their bits. It was a nice day out, relaxing by the beach, but despite being in the sun for ages, my bikini line was hardly discernable. I’ve come to realise that I seem to tan easier in the UK, and in Singapore!

Following a recommendation from the trusty Lonely Planet, RJ and I booked a desert tour with Arabian Adventures, which was the best move ever. It was a hefty sum, but the whole experience was well worth the money. We were picked up from our hotel in a daddy 4WD and were driven into the desert by our Palestinian driver Mohamed, but not before picking up another couple en route. Lucky for us, Debs and Graeme were lovely, and British.
The whole entourage consisted of 7 4WDs, taking about 35 Americans, Koreans, Brits and me, into the desert, via the inland sea. It was sold to us as an adventure, and they were not exaggerating! The drivers of the 4WDs drove up huge sand dunes and hung precariously over the edge before coming down the other side at a ridiculous angle – it was a roller coaster ride in its own right!!! We stopped a couple of times for photo opportunities. With the vast expanse of desert and the azure sea as a backdrop, the view was pretty amazing.

Our destination was camp, where we had a buffet and sat in a Turkish-styled tent with no lack of carpets and cushions for a much needed meal and drinks. The toilet was literally a hole in the ground, protected by makeshift curtains on a bamboo frame. The sea was abso-fucking-lutely amazing. Clear blue water, soft sandy-coloured…erm, sand, dunes in the backdrop. I dipped a bit in the sea, read my book on the beach, and explored the dunes. It’s an entirely different experience, dune walking. As steep as they may seem it’s really like walking on a snow-covered hill – you walk and your feet automatically sinks into the soft warm sand and you can never fall despite the steep gradient.

Another experience on par with the desert trip was perhaps having evening tea with a couple of the locals at this traditional coffee shop we chanced upon while exploring the Souq, which is like a maze in the rabbit hole!
It’s very newly reconstructed, as most things are in Doha coming up to them hosting the Asean games in 2006. The old souq was revamped into a quaint little town with stone walls, tiny alleys and wee nooks and crannies.

Shops are grouped together by the stuff they sell, and despite the lack of activity when we visited, we could easily envision the souq abuzz with activities and a myriad of smells from spices, colours of the decadent fabrics and noises of people haggling over prices. Shopkeepers were surprisingly pleasant, and one particular shopkeeper even let us sample many of the traditional sweets and dried fruits in his shop. Of course, we felt compelled to purchase a whole kilo of chocolates in return for his generosity.

I digress. So, these locals at the coffee shop. One of them actually beckoned and yelled a pleasant greeting to us before we decided to have a coffee there instead of a beer at one of the expats-filled hotel bars. We got our coffees, pulled over two chairs and sat near enough to enable the guy to engage us in conversation if he wanted to, and far enough not to be intrusive. Sure enough, he started speaking to us within a couple of minutes, although he didn’t speak English and needless to say, we didn’t speak Arabic. After a few futile attempts at communication which included lots of gesticulating, he called in a translator, who was a lovely Pakistani fluent in both Arabic and English. We found out that the nice man was originally from Yeman, while his pal was from Saudi; the beads they were holding were for prayer, but mostly an accessory; the red and white headgear is winter wear, while the white one is for summer; both of them have 7 children, 4 boys and 3 girls…….Meanwhile, our Pakistani translator was about to have an arranged marriage. Halfway through our coffee, an Indian passer-by just came and sat on the edge of our circle, listening in onto our conversation, and disappeared just as unobtrusively as he had arrived. All in all, although it was just small talk, it was such an interesting experience – most Arabs aren’t very friendly at all, and to have a glimpse into their lives was a huge achievement where we’re concerned.

While we dined mostly in dingy local streetside places which served delicious food at cheap prices (but I have to endure the staring), we splashed out on out last night at Al Bandar, again another recommendation from Lonely Planet. It was lovely sitting by the bay and looking out at the fireworks across the water. The food was great, although the sheer volume of it was a little off-putting! We both ordered a set dinner each which really one could’ve done both of us with some to spare. We were full after two starters, and merely pushed our delicious mains of seafood around our plates before taking a few bites off our desserts. We only have our own gluttony to blame – the whole eyes are bigger than our stomachs syndrome.

All in all, although the short trip cost us a lot more than expected, we had a good time in Doha. Admittedly we were struggling for things to do on our last day there, but I wouldn’t go as far to say as Doha is a boring city at all. It doesn’t have as much to offer compared to your generic holiday destinations, but if you’re up for a bit of fun in the sun, off-roading in the desert, and dip in the sea, Doha would do for a short getaway. Do remember while travelling in the Middle East that you can’t expect the professionalism of the West, nor the cheap prices of the East, or you would be bitterly disappointed.