Hangin' Out in the Persian Gulf

SUN, I need SUN! I got back to Budapest mid-January to below-freezing temperatures and it was all I could do to go to the corner pub for a beer. Too damn cold! I couldn’t wait until spring, hunkering down in my flat and shivering the days and nights away. I had to find some warm sunshine long before old Mr. Sol showed his springtime heat here in Hungary. But where to go for another 6-7 days? I toyed with Lanzarotte for a while, but getting there proved to be just that much too difficult, so I bagged on that possibility. I searched and searched and checked my maps and suddenly, there it was: Doha, Qatar, another Gulf state and one I’d never been to. Warmth, heat, sunshine: YES!

So I made my reservations for early March; I could last out February, with only 28 days, and then I’d be back in the lovely sunny days and warm nights of the Persian Gulf. I was ready! At least I thought I could last out February; then the last week of the month Budapest got hit with temps down to -12 C (or 8 F). Brrr. I wrapped up in all of my winter clothes and sat shivering in my flat until the afternoon of March 5, when I could finally ditch the cold and head for the sun.

Caught a late flight to Istanbul, quick changeover (luckily, this time my connecting gate was only a five-minute speed-walk from my arrival gate) and another 4.5 hours to Doha, landing around 5:30 on the morning of March 6. Debarked from the plane, cleared Passport Control (no need to shell out money for a visa at Immigration Control, as none was required, unlike what the Internet sites said), picked up my bag (whew, made it again!) and walked out to look for my driver. Since my hotel, the Kingsgate, offered an airport pickup service, I had previously decided the early-morning arrival was worth it. And there was my name on the driver’s signboard!

As we walked out to his car, I was reminded once again of that old proverb: “Be careful what you wish for --- you might get it!” In my case, I wished for sunshine and heat to chase away winter’s freezing temps, and Boy, did I ever get it! Temperature in Doha was 30 degrees Celsius when I arrived, or about 85 degrees Fahrenheit. The sweat began trickling down my neck and back as we walked the short distance to the car, and I could hardly wait to get inside and turn on the air conditioner.

According to the tourist brochures, for most of its history Doha was a poor, tiny fishing village dependent on pearl diving, and was regarded as a sleepy backwater until as recently as the early 1990s. Following the accession of Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani as Emir in 1995, Qatar quickly began to modernize, and Doha is now taking huge strides to catch up with other nearby Gulf states Dubai and Abu Dhabi. The city is very much a work-in-progress, with a rapidly growing skyline and new buildings sprouting up almost like mushrooms.

The vast majority of the country's population resides in the capital city, Doha, which is astonishingly diverse; in fact, only 20% of the residents are native Qataris. Although Arabic is Qatar's official language, English is by default the lingua franca, as the majority of the city's worker expats do not speak Arabic, including most shopkeepers and service providers, and most Qataris speak English to communicate with the numerous migrant workers who work for them. Doha is also now one of the fastest-growing cities in the world, as workers continue to pour in to help build the developing economy. In fact, my driver was from Sri Lanka.

Check-in at the hotel Kingsgate was easy and efficient; zip, zam, zoom and I was in my room, changing out of my winter clothes and into sandals and shorts again. I also got an upgraded room, with a kitchenette but without a chair. My sixth-floor view consisted of the next-door sand-colored slums and rundown shacks, and there was even a brownish, Los Angeles-like layer of haze on the horizon. I later learned this was actually a layer of sand kicked up by the prevailing breezes and pretty much always hanging in the air. Too, bad, the views would otherwise be clear and clean and desert-sparkling.

My reservation included breakfast, but even though the hotel stretched a point for me by allowing me an early check-in, I had to wait for my breakfast until the following day. BUT – you know me by now, right, Dear Reader? Yep, always researched and prepared. I headed out of the hotel, stepping around the locals in their long dirty robes and headdresses who seemed to linger on every street corner while the expats do all the work.

But the very first word that sprang to mind as I strolled down the dusty streets was: CONSTRUCTION! Buildings going up all over town. Cranes and workers and wheelbarrows and dump trucks and hard hats and dust and sand everywhere. And the noise! Apparently, Doha was frantically scurrying to get ready for the 2022 Football (soccer) World Cup to be held in its environs. New hotels, new buildings, new metro, new streets, damn near new everything was being built to showcase Doha to the world in just four short years. I hope they made it, as they sure were putting enough effort into it.

Meanwhile, I was on my way to Ric’s Kountry Kitchen, just a short 20-minute walk the opposite side of my hotel from the souk, but boasting (on their website, anyway) the best breakfast in Doha. And was it ever! It was almost Denny’s Grand Slam. Their menu included all sorts of egg dishes, beef sausage (no pork in Arabic countries), hash brown potatoes, real manly American pancakes (not those effete little crepes one finds throughout Europe and North Africa), beans (for the English tourist), Texas Toast (twice as thick as regular toast) and a host of other down-home goodies one rarely finds when traveling in the Middle East. There were even Mexican dishes on the menu and a non-stop glass of lemonade packed with ice, which was sorely needed even after my brief walk from the hotel.

Anyway, I gorged on this sumptuous repast, smiling all the while, as the air conditioner reminded me I was back in the good old summertime. As I prepared to leave, my waitress asked me if I’d like to take a large lemonade with me, as there was no extra charge. I seriously considered it, but dragging that big cup around with me until I polished it off seemed like too much effort, so I passed. Of course, 20 minutes later I wished I had that cold, refreshing drink with me as I sweltered in the blazing Qatari sunshine.

OK, off to see the Corniche. Doha’s Corniche is quite a bit larger than the one in Muttrah, Oman. I had originally thought of walking the entire length of the curved promenade walkway, but seven kilometers is just a touch far for me these days – especially wearing sandals. It was enough just walking along the Corniche the length of two traffic signals. That little jaunt and a left turn got me to the Souk Waqif, where I spent much of my time in Doha.

Walking from Ric’s to the Corniche was a touch over one kilometer. I wanted to walk along the seaside promenade, but, naturally, it was fenced off due to an ongoing renovation. I was not happy. Then it was another full kilometer down to the souk. Whew! I hadn’t even been in Doha for three hours and already I was whipped.

But I was at the souk! I engaged in my favorite pastime of “souking,” i.e., wandering the byways and back aisles of these wonderful old Middle East markets, checking out the wares, fondling the pashmina scarves, looking for souvenirs for family and friends and trying to remember where the stalls were that I wanted to revisit. I barely made a dent in the Souk Waqif at that time, but it was sufficient to notice that the vendors weren’t anywhere near as pushy as those in Oman. Theirs was more the soft sell technique, none of this rushing at you and grabbing your hand. A pleasant change.

I made a reservation for that night at Damasca One, a Syrian restaurant that promised great food alongside an “amazing” sword dancing show and Syrian music. I was hooked. I hoped it was as good as it sounded. As I strolled through the major streets of the souk, I also noticed an unoccupied Turkish Ice Cream stand. Turkish Ice Cream?! OMG – I can’t stand it! The BEST ice cream in the entire WORLD! I’d be back that night for a taste.

The sun was beating down on me and sweat was pouring out of me – but that’s what I cane for, right? Right! Albeit, I was still tired from lack of sleep, so I took a page from the local handbook, when everyone closed shop between noon and 4 PM to beat the heat in the hottest part of the day, and I wavered back to the hotel through the construction zone for a shower and a nap.

I was out again with the evening crowd, checking out those places I had researched on the Internet. There was no place to sit and have a long, cold beer or a cocktail of any kind, as alcohol is not allowed other than in the four- and five-star hotels, but an ice-cold lemonade went down almost as well, accompanied by some mezze, Middle East tapas.

Around 9 PM I wandered over to Damasca One to see what the dinner show held in store for me. Turned out it wasn’t much. I had a grilled halloumi cheese appetizer, and Mains of lovely sliced lamb meat pie, washed down with tea. I sat in a nearly empty large dining room and watched the “show” – a middle-aged, Arabic-featured man twirling and dancing around with some long knives (or short sabers) for a few minutes before he took a break. What a letdown. I paid my bill and hurried out to find the Turkish Ice Cream stand, which was now open. I watched delightedly as the server did his ice-cream-cone tricks with a couple of little kids until my impatience overcame me and I shoved the annoying kids out of my way and requested my ice cream cone. (OK, I didn’t really do that, but I wanted to! Such is the pull of Turkish Ice Cream)

I got my very own cone with a triple scoop of vanilla ice cream on top and wandered away with a beatific look on my face and peace in my soul, licking and chewing that amazing concoction for all it was worth. No scoffing out there – if you haven’t had it, you won’t believe it, but if you ever do have a chance to partake, don’t miss it. Ben and Jerry’s just can’t even be mentioned in the same breath.

Wednesday I decided to take the Doha Bus Hop On Hop Off tour of the city. I’d seen a Trip Advisor report that the tour wasn’t worth the 180 Qatari Rials it cost (about 35 euro, or $40 US), so wasn’t sure about the value, but once I talked to the young ticket seller (from the Philippines), I changed my mind. No, the value wasn’t there for a one-day ticket, but for the 180 QR I got two days worth of trips plus the night tour, plus free water. So that’s three tours for 180 QR, or 60 QR per tour, a much better deal. I took it.

There were only two buses in the company, so there was always at least a one-hour wait between buses, not a big deal. That first day I stayed on the bus for the full two-hour tour. We went all the way around the Corniche to the City Center, saw the outskirts of Katara Village and drove through The Pearl area of shops and housing. The second sweep I got off at the City Center Mall to see if it was worth it; for me, not. I had a really bad Mongolian BBQ lunch, but a really good counterfeit Cinnabon as I watched the locals try to ice skate on the indoor rink.

We arrived back at the souk around 4:30, so I thought I could get one of my standard errands out of the way. I caught a taxi (driver from Pakistan) to my destination on the outskirts of Doha, then came back to the souk. Dinner was some sort of chicken pasta at Al Refaa, one of the few locally-owned fast-food buffet restaurants on one of the souk’s main streets. I sat next to a white-robed sheik as the outdoor ceiling fans whirred overhead, pushing the hot air around but not really cooling anything off; it was still at least 28 degrees Celsius. But I got to people-watch and take a leisurely repast as the sun went down and the shoppers and diners came out. I made an after-dinner swing through the Bird Souk and found the Falcon Souk for a next-day visit. The Camel Souk and Horse Souk would have to wait for another day. But another Turkish Ice Cream finished me off for this day.

I decided Thursday would be my first beach day. I was informed the first Doha Bus was scheduled to leave from the souk stop at 9 AM, so if I caught that bus I’d be at Katara Village by 10 AM and would have several good hours of beach time. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men…..still going aft aglay.

I got to the Doha Bus stop at 8:45 AM – you know me, always early! The attendant informed me the bus would be “a little late;” which turned out to be around 25 minutes. So the bus showed up at 9:25 AM – packed with mostly middle-aged Frenchmen and their overweight wives and several kids. In other Hop On Hop Off bus tours I have done around the world, the company has attendants waiting at the major stops to sell tickets before passengers board the bus, so as not to slow down the schedule. In Doha, it doesn’t work like that. Ticket sellers await at only the two major stops on the route. After new passengers get on at current and previous stops, without ticketing, the attendant gets on at the major stops and collects fares (usually by credit card, a slow process) from all new passengers. So it was at this stop.

BUT – then some of the French wives noticed they were charged individual instead of family rates, which were quite a bit higher, so the attendant had to go back through all of them and redo their charges. Sigh. More than one hour late, around 10:15 AM, we finally took off. What a bunch of inefficient dipsticks.

We finally got to Katara Village around 11:30 AM, thus cutting my beach time way down. I was not a happy camper. Brochures for this attraction state that Katara Village is “an innovative interpretation of the region’s architectural heritage….with purpose-built impressive theatres, galleries and performance venues which stage a lively year-round programme of concerts, shows and exhibitions. Visitors can also find other recreational attractions, including top class restaurants offering a variety of cuisines, and a spacious, well-maintained public beach with water sports. Visitors can take a night time stroll along the promenade, with its expansive views of Doha’s skyline, as well as a rich array of seaside food stalls and markets.”

Well, sort of. In fact, the entire “village” was only about 80% complete. They were still putting the finishing touches on it when I was there and the park was virtually empty of visitors. The Doha Bus dropped me off near the north end of the village and I wandered through the partially finished construction down to the promenade and beach area, to Beach Entry Stand No. 18, only to find a guard there who informed me that the beach was closed. I refrained from killing him when he went on to say that he thought the beach around Entry Gate 5 might be open. I started to walk the long, long path across an unshaded open brick-lined area when I noticed some golf carts making the same journey. I flagged one down and, sure enough, they were there for free transport of visitors. A much easier and faster trip.

Got to Gate 5, where the guard informed me the beach was open! Alright! He pointed me toward the changing facilities across the road and also told me that when off the beach I had to cover my shoulders and that even on the beach Speedo swimming trunks for men weren’t allowed. My Battle Smile kicked in and I asked him if it was OK for me to wear a Speedo swimming cap. He seemed confused. I asked about my Speedo beach sandals. He was nonplused. My Speedo sunglasses? How about my Speedo beach condoms, specially treated to be waterproof? I wandered away to change my clothes, leaving him with mouth agape as he rapidly paged through his book of inane beach rules. Not much else to do at a beach in Qatar except stand on the sand and wade out waist-deep into the water, while not wearing anything from Speedo. No fun allowed anywhere. But at least the Persian Gulf was cool and refreshing.

I spent the next few hours just relaxing on the beach, taking the occasional dip in the cool, clear green water of the Persian Gulf and just enjoying the warmth and sunshine. So nice after winter’s cold breath back in Budapest. Around 2 PM or so I walked back to the changing room, remembering to cover my shoulders with my towel. A quick shower to get the sand and salt off, flag down one of those golf carts driven by yet another expat and end up back near the Doha bus stop at the Al Bisana restaurant. Lunch was hummus and meat, after which I caught one of the last of the Hop On Hop Off Doha buses back to the souk and headed off to my hotel for a quick afternoon nap before sampling the pleasures of the night.

This night I chose the Argan Moroccan restaurant, complete with tagine dishes served by a lovely young woman named Aigul from Kazakhstan. The seafood pastille went down just right and Aigul even talked me into an after-dinner refreshment of local tea, while relaxing on one of the sofas in the center space of the restaurant. I do so love the dining experiences in the Middle East. A quick swing by the Turkish Ice Cream stand for a dessert treat and a slow walk back through the construction sites to my hotel. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

I had arranged through my hotel for a full day out in the Qatari desert with the Arabian Adventure Group. I breakfasted early and was waiting in the lobby when my driver, Waseem (from Pakistan) pulled up in his gigantic Chevy Suburban around 9 AM. (Author’s Note: I was amazed that the three-star hotel I stayed in actually changed their hot breakfast buffet dishes every day, so I always had something different to eatin the morning. Many four- and five-star hotels I’ve stayed in didn’t offer such a variety. The small hotel restaurant even offered cloth napkins and ready-made omelets).

We headed out across the totally flat and sandy desert on amazingly good highways. The Middle East sheikhs put a lot of their oil money to good use, fixing up their infrastructures and making life easy for their natives. We drove through Al Wakra and Meirshaba to an area called Sealine, which is a staging area for the many desert adventure tours coming from Doha. We stopped for around 20 minutes or so while Waseem let some air out of the Suburban’s tires, the better to have the big vehicle grip the loose desert sand on the dunes. I also had a chance to sip some sugary tea to help maintain my hydration, while watching the young female tourists opt for camel rides a short distance into the dunes and back. And then we were off!

It was just me and Waseem, and he drove the dunes like a magician. He drove along the dune crests and he sideslipped down the sides of the dunes. He was a good driver and obviously knew what he was doing as, even though there were several steep dips and some white-knuckle chills, he was always in complete control of his vehicle. We probably drove the dunes for 20-30 minutes until finally coming to a stop at a crest overlooking the inland sea. We stopped along with other adventurers for a photo op and, for the other bashers that day (a group of a local company’s Indian and Nepalese workers out for a fun day of bonding), some horseplay in the sand.

I got a couple of photos before the lens cover fell off my Nikon Coolpix; the camera still worked, but was now open to even more incursions of that fine desert sand drifting into its inner parts. I’d have to be careful from now on. We took off again over dunes and some salt flats until we arrived at a high point overlooking the Saudia Arabian border. Another quick photo op and off to the Arabian Adventure Tour’s campsite, located right on the Persian Gulf. The site was complete with tents and outdoor tables and beach chairs and a mess hall, toilets, showers, etc.

Waseem left me there for the remainder of the day, telling me he’d return around 5 PM to pick me up. And so, once again, I rested, swam in the Gulf, had a nice buffet lunch of various local specialties, topped up my bright-red suntan and generally relaxed. Waseem had warned me not to swim too far out from shore, as there may be sharks in the water. Visions of the movie Jaws popped into my head and my forays into the Gulf pretty much ended around waist deep. But, again, it was cool and refreshing and the sun was hot and I was just happy to be away from winter.

The company group I’d seen earlier were also dropped off at this camp and I had a chance to talk to them during a lull in their exhibiting boyish highjinks in the water (no worries about sharks for them!) and on the beach. It’s always good for me to meet and talk to people from so many countries around the globe, and I have also found that pretty much all of the people I meet are really interested to have a conversation with a real, live American, expat thought I might be. As long as I stay away from politics and religion, our talks always go OK. Another fun afternoon.

And sure enough, almost on the dot of 5 PM, Waseem showed up for our ride back to Doha. On our way back across the desert sands we encountered hundreds – maybe thousands – of weekend revelers out in the desert in their SUVs and dragging their dune buggies of all shapes and sizes. They were roaring up and down the steep dunes, camped out in their weekend tents, building fires, cooking lamb and generally having a great time in the sand dunes and salt flats. The staging area where we’d stopped on the way in was full of people inflating their tires to get back on the highways. We had ours done and bid a fond adieu to the desert at sunset.

We got to my hotel around 6:30 and I was due for a good long hot shower to get rid of all that desert sand. Another evening jaunt through the construction debris around the hotel and on the street to the souk and I was back where I wanted to be, browsing the stalls and bargaining with the vendors for their wares. Wondering about dinner, I paused in front of the Royal Tandoor Indian restaurant and was regaled by the young lady shilling for her place of the many and exotic foods I could find inside, so what the heck, Indian food it would be.

I scanned the menu and, although they had several dishes that looked good, including lobster vindaloo and lamb vindaloo, they didn’t have shrimp vindaloo, which I had suddenly fixed on as my dinner of choice. My young waitress (from Malaysia) scurried back to check with the chef and lo and behold, he could do it! I opted for an appetizer of chili fried shrimp, which would have gone great with a Tiger beer, but I had to settle for tea and some sort of mint fruit juice. The shrimp vindaloo main course was damn near perfect and I was once again in hog heaven during mealtime. Dessert was – you guessed it! – Turkish Ice Cream. Can’t get enough of that taste treat.

Saturday and Sunday were sort of extra days during which I hadn’t really planned anything specific. Saturday I slept in and didn’t have breakfast until 9 AM, late for me when traveling. I decided to check out the attractions I’d missed or only skimmed during the past few days, so first I walked over to the Al Khoot fort, near the souk. Naturally, it was being renovated so I was unable to go inside, but I took it in stride. Next, a short walk to the Clock Tower (“Saaave the Clock Tower!”) which was, well, a clock tower. It was next to one of the ubiquitous mosques in Doha, which I couldn’t enter as I was in shorts, but that was OK as I’d been in bigger and better mosques in the past, so no big deal.

I checked out the Falcon Souk in Souk Waqif, an area devoted to, as you might have guessed, falcons. The old sport of falconry is still practiced in Qatar and there is an obvious market for good birds. There’s even a falcon hospital to care for injured or sick birds. The outdoor horse souk was empty, as the horses were kept indoors during the heat of the day, but the camels were outside in their camel souk pen, chewing their cud and making strange noises.

I’d been active during most of my days in Qatar, but Saturday was especially hot, at 34 degrees Celsius in the unshaded streets and parks of Doha (that’s around 92 degrees Fahrenheit!), so today I decided to do as the locals did and close up shop between noon and four PM and spend those hours in a cool or air-conditioned environment. So I did, even getting a brief nap into the afternoon.

But around 5 PM I was out and about again. I walked down to the Al Corniche and the dhow jetty and found one of the dhows ready to head out for a 30-minute cruise across the bay to the city center area and back. Only 40 Qatari Rials (about 8 euro) and so, along with several families, including their kids, it was off in an ancient dhow with the cooling breeze wafting over us and sounds of strange music blasting from the speakers (has anyone ever heard the song I’m In Love With Your Body?)

One of the last restaurants I had researched was the Bandar Aden Yemeni restaurant at the edge of the souk, so tonight I headed over to see what Yemeni food was like. And it was pretty damn good. I sat outside, as always, and had something called a Salta, which was sort of a meat stew, consisting of meat, eggs, rice, cheese, potatoes and beef curry. It was served in a bowl and eaten with a spoon. It was also accompanied by the biggest piece of naan bread I have ever seen. I don’t even know how they cooked it. It must have been 15 inches, or almost 40 centimeters, in diameter. I polished off the Salta OK but only managed about half of the naan, as good as it was.

I was sitting alone at a table for four, tearing strips off my monster naan, when a middle-aged man asked if he could join me; sure, no problem. Turned out he was originally from Egypt, working locally as an architect, and had lived in LA for some years. Always fun to have a dining companion, and we had a nice chat during our dinner. I chose the Maasob Garden of Eden for dessert, which was apparently a distant kin to bread pudding, i.e., bananas, bread, honey, cheese and dates slathered with cream. A mint tea rounded it off nicely. I spent awhile after dinner wandering the souk again and listening to the live music played on several terraces, until my legs gave out and I staggered back to the hotel.

And then it was Sunday, my last full day in Doha. I’d done almost everything I wanted to do and seen everything I wanted to see, so it was essentially a free day. Mostly I just walked around on the Corniche, enjoying the heat and sunshine (it was 34 degrees Celsius again). I picked up a backpack to hold the extra souvenirs I’d bought that wouldn’t fit in my suitcase. I walked over to the Museum of Islamic Art, but found it somewhat boring, as Islam does not allow representations of people, animals, or other living creatures or things in its “art”. So, what’s left is basically just geometric scribbles, which really don’t hold one’s interest for very long. But at least it was cool inside.

While in the MIA I chatted with a pair of Indian expats in town for a short-term work contract; as always, they were pleased to talk with a real American. I watched the dhows for a while and finally walked back to the souk for lunch. I found a nice air conditioned place and had a really good pizza covered with all sorts of pizza toppings. I also decided on a pina colada “mocktail,” one of those fake cocktails without any alcohol. I told my waitress (from Malaysia) we would call it a Virgin Pina Colada; she giggled hysterically as she served me.

A brief nap and shower, some last-minute shopping and bargaining in the souk, a light dinner at a small locally-owned restaurant surrounded by men in white robes smoking their shisha pipes and, yes, one more Turkish ice cream cone before I strolled back to the hotel to pack. I had arranged a hotel car to take me to the airport around 9:30, hoping I could check in early and maybe have a late snack and some final browsing through the luxury shops on my way to Gate C20, at least a quarter-mile walk from Passport Control.

All was OK and my flight took off on time, about 2:30 AM. I changed planes at Istanbul again and found I had to go through another security check, the line for which must have held 500 people. It was slow going, but I have to admit the Turkish Border Control folks whisked us through as quickly as possible, which was good as I only had a one-hour connection time. By the time I got through Security and hustled down to my gate, my flight was boarding again, as it had on my outbound leg. Damn – just made it!

And so I was home again in Budapest at 8:30 Monday morning. The weather had even cooperated for a change and was around 50 degrees F (10 C), so my bus and metro rides home were easy peezy. I’d absorbed enough sunshine to last me until spring and I glowed with the good health of a nice base suntan. Another fun trip – and now 72 countries under my belt. Hope you enjoyed this blog and we’ll have to see what comes next. Until then, Happy Trails and May the Road Rise to Meet You.