4x4s and the Four Seasons

As we near 9 months in Qatar it becomes increasingly clear that we have got entirely used to things which initially seemed strange, ridiculous or infuriating. These things sneak up on you…. one minute you’re giggling at the idea of Education City, the next it trips off your tongue…..

• When we first arrived in Syria 18 months ago we were so horrified at the lack of recycling that we kept every plastic water bottle we used, thinking that we’d eventually find an ecological method of disposal. We didn’t, and finally dumped the entire lot in a number of bins. We did recycle glass, but one load of wine bottles filled the entire recycling bin which was so embarrassing we could only drop them off in the dead of night during Ramadan. By the time we arrived in Doha we were comfortable with throwing everything in the bin. We have now started recycling paper and cardboard, will do glass soon, but the water bottles still slip through the net. The most action our Lambeth Council recycling bags have seen is as an impromptu apron…

• When we were initially looking to buy a car, I told the second hand salesman I was looking for a Peugeot 206. I ended up with a 4x4 and cringed at my petrol consumption and general arrogance. We are both now not-so-secretly in love with the huge car, and find ourselves looking at other 4x4s as rather small. In fact perhaps we should get another one just for the flexibility…

• The Four Seasons is a 5 star hotel, and as a result costs a small fortune. Since it is our local bar, we no longer seem to notice the prices. Or at least not as much. £30 for the house white still seems a bit steep, but we’ll pay it without complaining. Visiting competing hotels for champagne brunches on Fridays is de rigueur. It would seem rude not to.

• It is apparently about 48 degrees during the day at the moment. It is quite hot, but presumably we have acclimatised a little because it’s not at all unbearable. Cars that have been sitting in that heat all day do tend to be a bit toasty and we are not yet used to burning ones skin on the seatbelt and being unable to touch the steering wheel until the aircon has been blasting it for 5 minutes. I ate a Babybel the other day (it’s a local delicacy, ok?) and the wax skin had melted by the time I’d finished the 15 minute drive home. But despite all this, perhaps the oddest thing we’ve got used to is having to remember a jumper on any trip to a mall or an office, where the air conditioning can be so fierce you begin to shiver in your thin cotton slacks. The cinemas are legendarily Arctic, which can be tricky when you’re sitting still for 2 hours. I lost feeling in the end of my nose last time.

• It is almost impossible to walk anywhere. We walk to the aforementioned Four Seasons and are treated as rare biological specimens when people find out. There are no pavements, or they’re continually being dug up, and there are rarely crossing points on 6 lane roads. We find ourselves genuinely considering whether to drive the 100m (as the crow flies, not as the pavements run) to our local Mall.

• Mr A speaks Arabic all the time at work. I never do but am soldiering on with my lessons nevertheless. Because everyone comes from all over the place, language is entirely confused. You find yourself listening to Arabs talking to each other in French, Pakistanis speaking to Philipinos in Arabic, and Germans talking to each other in English. Mr A says I should speak Arabic more often. I say he should shut up and leave me alone.

• Apart from a humanitarian delivery of chorizo and pepperoni from my sister, we haven’t had proper pork since December. We find ourselves thinking veal bacon is okay, beef pepperoni really rather tasty. I still don’t understand why if pork is haram, it’s entirely acceptable to eat another meat that has been dyed and flavoured to taste as similar to pork as possible. Mr A had a dream about pork pies the other day.

• The serviced apartment thing means we haven’t put up a curtain, changed a light bulb, or fixed ANYTHING since we arrived. It is physically impossible for us to clean our own windows, and the supermarket shop gets put on a trolley by a very, very nice man in a red uniform. The days of DIY seem to be firmly behind us, at least for a bit.

• Meeting anyone new inevitably involves the exchange of business cards at some point. I have two – one from work, one personal. My personal one doesn’t actually say what I do on it which mystifies people – why would you not put your profession plus every conceivable letter after your name? Why not your middle initials while you’re at it? And perhaps some gold embossing? Also neither card has my married name on it, which I think leaves Mr A feeling a bit miffed….. He always his forgets cards when we go out and asks if I have any of his. I often do, which is sadly extremely wifely and probably more than makes up for the name thing.

• On a more upbeat note, we are used to the call to prayer now but still love it. Even more so when sitting drinking cocktails on a rooftop bar just as the final call of the day goes out from the surrounding mosques… (I’m ambitiously trying video here. Apologies if this is a technical step too far).

Now I just need to get used to my work colleague cutting his fingernails at his desk……