Hot Enough For Ya?

Before moving to Doha, we knew it was going to be hot.  How bad can it be? I thought.  After all, I had lived through Canadian summers across three provinces and one territory with temperatures sometimes approaching 40C.  I thought it would be refreshing to have consistent temperatures.  I thought it would be manageable.  Actually, I thought it would be kind of nice.

I thought wrong.

Admittedly, the winter here was quite pleasant, and temperatures stayed in the high 20's and low 30's through March and April.  Mercifully, we've so far been spared the 87% humidity that greeted us when we got off the plane in August and stayed with us until November.  But in the last couple of weeks, with the mercury hitting 45C, I thought it was time to give a brief presentation on the basics of heat endurance.  Here is Surviving a Qatar Summer:  A Primer:

Driving

If 170F is the temperature at which to safely keep cooked meat to prevent food poisoning, then it’s a safe bet you can put those cooked burgers in your parked car while waiting for your dinner guests to arrive.  But, if you’ve simply parked at the mall for an hour and are hoping to head home, you need to follow a few basic steps.  If you’ve parked in the shade, place one butt cheek gingerly on the driver’s seat, reach around the steering wheel and turn the key in the ignition.  You’ll need to leave the door open for a few minutes while the air conditioning brings the internal temperature down to roughly 60C, at which point you’ll be able to touch the steering wheel with one finger to navigate home.  If, on the other hand, you’ve parked in full sun…may Allah have mercy on your soul.

Walking Outside

You’ve decided to walk to the compound clubhouse, let’s say to buy milk, or to go to the gym.  One block in and you’re committed, so you continue on to the clubhouse with its promise of shade and air-conditioning.  This is the point when you need to ask yourself one question:  Do I continue to walk slowly to conserve energy, but run the risk of my hair spontaneously combusting, OR do I break into a sprint in order to get there faster, but run the risk of all my bodily fluids evaporating before I reach my destination, leaving nothing but the shriveled husk of my former self as carrion for the circling vultures?  Answer carefully.

Groceries

Never before has shopping for groceries been such an adventure, and a lesson in thermodynamics all rolled into one.  If you’re planning to buy milk, it’s always a good idea to bring a cooler, otherwise that purchase of sour cream was redundant.  If ice cream is on your list, you can also buy frozen butter to help keep it cold, and pack them together in your cooler and hope that it survives the trip.  On second thought, it’s probably safer to pack five spoons and the whole family and just eat it in line at the check-out.

Tap Water

Most villas have water tanks on the roof, which is great for water pressure, but brutal for water temperature.  From about November through March, you can count on lukewarm water coming out of the cold tap.  The rest of the time, the two taps are distinguished by their new temperatures:  hot and scalding.  Laundry at this time of year becomes a challenge, with all loads now being washed in hot water.  So long, black bikini underwear.  Hello, grayish thong.

Attire
Picture a sunny clime and one immediately thinks of sundresses, tank tops and shorts.  Not so here.  Out of respect for local culture and religion, women should cover their shoulders and knees.  So, depending on what I'm wearing around the compound, I'll change before going out, often into something more, well, more.  Which usually translates into warmer.  But yeah, I totally get it.  These middle-aged knees of mine can be quite beguiling in a certain light.  However, there is something to be said for wearing a cardigan when it's 47 degrees C outside and entering a mall where the air-conditioning hovers just above freezing.  Maybe they're onto something.

And there you have it, a little advice and some insight into climate in the Gulf.  We're just going to hang out here and wait for this dry spell to pass.  After all, it's not the heat that'll get you...it's the humidity.

Playing It in the Key of Eh

My house is never quiet.  Looking back, I can point the finger of blame squarely at Avril Lavigne.

It was the summer of 2003 and Dan and I had just purchased Lavigne's first album, by then about a year old.  We packed Avril up along with our collection of preschoolers and toddlers and drove them across the Prairies to visit the grandparents.  We heard a lot from Avril on that drive as we had only taken about 15 CDs for the 38-hour round-trip.  By the time we got to Swift Current on the way back, we were desperately trying to find a radio station that would fill the silence.  The CD player in our van had declared an embargo on anything it had played more than 17 times in the previous two weeks.

Later that year, I heard Ben plunking around on the little battery-operated piano he had received for Christmas.  I said, "Hey, that tune sounds familiar - what is it?"

"Avril Lavigne," he said.  "Number four on her CD."

Alrighty then.

Thus began our career with Ben on the Party Circuit.  "OK, now Ben, play that Chantal Kreviazuk song for the nice lady!"  You might think we were getting carried away, but we were only reacting to our shock at this family development.  Any musical talent our kids might have is surreptitious, or at least curious in its origin - Dan and I both have a healthy smattering of very talented relatives in that regard, but neither of us share their company on that list.

Let me be clear:  we weren't the kind of parents to ensure that our children listened to classical music in utero, nor did we thrust "Baby Mozart" CDs at them in the hopes of developing them musically.  Rather, our kids were fed a steady diet of what some might call musical junk-food:  lots of pop, alternative and rock...basically what we listened to.  (Cue the collective cringe of music teachers the world over.)  I recall vividly when, at the tender age of four, Ben earnestly told Dan's aunt that he liked to listen to Sting's Ten Summoner's Tales, and that his favourite song on that CD was "the one where Sting loses his face".*

At the time of Ben's Eureka moment, I may have harboured notions of concert halls for my three-year-old.  But I resisted the urge to become the Mrs. Lindros of the piano world and decided instead to start asking around about music lessons.  After a couple of years of Orff Music for Ben, I enrolled him and Nicholas in piano lessons, and did the same for Jacob a few years later.

The boys brought what they learned and we brought our piano from Canada, and they continue to take lessons here.  In the last week, both Nick and Ben performed in talent shows at the Middle School and the Upper Elementary School, respectively.  Nick played "Surf Board" by N & R Faber, and Ben played his own arrangement of the theme from the movie Inception.  Click on the links below to see the video clips of their performances:

Nick - ASD's Got Talent 2011

Ben - Upper Elementary Talent Show 2011

Thanks, Avril.  I owe you one.

*If I Ever Lose My Faith in You, Sting, 1993

Rabbit, Interrupted

Spoiler alert:  If you're under nine-years-old, stop reading now.  In fact, just to be on the safe side, let's make it 10.

Now that we've established that you're old enough to read this, I can state the cold, hard truth:  The Easter Bunny Doesn't Exist.

He especially doesn't exist here in the Gulf, where Easter Sunday is just a regular work day.  Happily, Dan took a holiday day, and the kids had a day off school.  In Doha, in keeping with all its glorious weirdness and contradictions, there are a million choices for purchasing chocolate Easter eggs, baskets, and quacking ducks, so there was no problem getting prepared for Easter morning.  Buy the stuff, but keep your Eastery-Easterness out of my face, is the message I get.

I have to admit that we did have the weirdest Easter to date:  church on a regular business day, bike shopping at the souqs, lunch at a Lebanese restaurant - even hung out at the pool with the kids while the turkey was in the oven.

But getting back to the EB:  I've been lying about him for going on 13 years.  Not just lying, but completely making stuff up.  I've had an explanation for every seed of doubt, every chocolate purchase receipt that's been left out, and every chocolate egg I've been able to find that has escaped the kids' sight.  Sure, Nick and Ben are a little old for that stuff, but they have been silent accomplices to my fabrications.  They've been operating under the motto of "You've gotta believe to receive".  My objective has always been to keep Jacob a believer well into his thirties.

This is not the first time we've spent Easter away from "home" in a warm location.  Last year, we went to Disneyland over the break with my parents, and rented a house in Anaheim.  We arrived late on the Saturday before Easter, so I planned ahead and brought things to fill the kids' baskets (as did Grandma, as it turns out), and chocolate eggs to hide.  In each of their baskets they received, among other things, a coupon booklet for five free Slurpees from 7-Eleven.

Fast-forward to July 2010.  It was finally warm enough to even consider getting a Slurpee, so the kids and I piled into the van and headed out to Sev.  I parked in front of the store and the three of them went in with their coupons.  A few minutes later they came out with their drinks, and as they were getting back in the van I asked Jacob if he had any problem using his coupon.  He said no, in fact the man behind the counter commented that they were great coupons, and he would really like to find out where to get one.

"I wonder why he would ask you that," I said.  "This is the location I bought them at."

What did she just say?

A time-warp had descended over our van.  Everyone stopped moving for a few seconds - Jacob in mid-sit, Nick in mid-buckle, and Ben in mid-door-closing.  As for me, I was frantically trying to figure out a way to pull the thread of my comment back into my mouth.

Then Jacob asked, with a look of incredulity, "You're the Easter Bunny???"

Busted.  After more than a decade of constructing the myth, of providing perpetual fairy tales for every question of suspicion, blithely deflecting my kids' misgivings with made-up, on-the-spot answers, I had blown it.  Not only that, but I had single-handedly set the charges and pressed the button for its implosion.  There was no way to unspeak the two fateful sentences that would fell this house of cards and bring to an end this chapter in my children's lives.

We haven't spoken about it since, so I was a little worried about how to handle it this year.  One night last week at dinner I said to the kids, "So, about Easter this year..."

They all looked at me and smiled.  And then Ben leaned over and whispered, "Just hide the eggs anyway, Mom."

Parenting Under the Influence

Thursday is the beginning of the weekend here, and is the New Friday for us Western expats.  As I've become fond of saying, "TAIT!"

With Nick approaching teenage-hood (teenage-dom?), he’s pretty eager to get out there with his friends sans chaperone.  So, the few times that he’s asked to go with his friends to the mall, we thought we’d let out a few notches on his leash and give him a bit of freedom.  Last Thursday night, he made arrangements to go to the mall right after school to have dinner, see a movie, and maybe go to the amusement park.  After we confirmed with two other moms that driving arrangements were in place, Dan and I were off the hook to let loose like the crazy party-animals we’re known for…which meant staying in and watching a movie with Ben and Jacob.

Just to set the stage, the mall that Nick was at is not in our neighbourhood; in fact, it is clear across the city, the same mall that the kids play hockey at.  In the back of my mind, there was that niggling, paranoid parent voice saying, “It’s a little far…what if something happened?”

Anyway, it being Thursday and all, Dan and I started in on the cocktails when he got home from work.  Nothing major:  a glass of wine when he got home, and beer with dinner.  With the blood alcohol limit for driving being 0.0%, this pretty much sealed the deal as far as staying home for the evening went.  I made chicken wings and the four us settled in to watch “Get Smart”.  That’s when our phone rang.

No one ever calls on our home phone.

“Hi, this is Nick’s friend.  Nick fell on the escalator and cut his leg really badly.  We think he needs stitches.  Can you come and get him?”

Damn.  I spoke to Nick and he was calm, and not lying in a pool of his own blood at the bottom of the escalator as I'd envisioned.  Now Dan and I had to settle two burning questions:  which one of us will go, and how will he get there?  Dan Rock-Paper-Scissored his way out of staying home, and I set about trying to get a taxi.  This is no small feat on a Thursday evening.  Finally, we tracked down a driver that I had used previously, and he managed to get Dan there, but it took just over an hour.

Meanwhile, Nick’s fantastic group of friends had already sprung into action.  As soon as he got hurt, they tried to find a security guard to help them.  Failing to locate one, they took matters into their own hands.  The kids went to the food court and got some napkins to stem the bleeding, while two of them ran down to the pharmacy and got alcohol, gauze and medical tape.  The Boy Scout in the group bandaged up Nick’s leg.  Had I not intervened to tell them that Dan was on his way, they were prepared to CARRY him over to the sports hospital next door!

After Dan picked Nick up, he brought him to a hospital in a different part of the city and kept his driver on retainer for the return trip home.  Two inches of stitches to a cut near his ankle, bandages to his banged up knee, and a tetanus shot later, Nick hobbled in at about 11:00 pm.

I'm sure there's a lesson in all of this, but I'm having a hard time pinning down just one.  Bubble wrap your kids until they're 40?  Don't run up escalators unless you're bubble-wrapped?  Or, while we're living here at least, make sure one parent remains stone-cold sober at all times?  Maybe a combination of these.  But it's Thursday today...I'll have to think about it over a cold beer.

La Dolce Vita

Ahhh, spring break in Italy!  Check out the pictures on the slideshow to the right.  Here are the highlights:

Are We There Yet?
From Doha to Rome, the only direct flight (and the only one that didn't have us making a stop-over in Riyadh or Damascus) departed at 1:50 am.  We steeled ourselves for a lethal combination of over-tired kids and cranky parents, but were pleasantly surprised at how well everyone did after six hours on the plane and not much sleep.  Once we landed in Rome, we had the whole day ahead of us!

Our Homa in Roma
We rented a fabulous flat right at the Pantheon.  The recently renovated apartment was the top floor of a palace belonging to a Cardinal in the 16th century.  It had exposed beams, a loft, a hammock, a swing, bunk beds, and a dark red bathroom (!).  My favourite feature was the view of the Pantheon, which was about 100 metres away.  We could sit with the shutters open in the evening and listen to the musical entertainment in the piazza.  By some weird twist of fate, it was here that both Nick and Ben discovered that the Italian Tooth Fairy does exist, and pays out in Euros and/or Pringles potato chips.

Pay Attention, Boys, There'll Be a Quiz Later
We walked everywhere in Rome, and spent our first full day exploring the narrow streets and discovering little shops and restaurants.  Dan found a beautiful park, Villa Borghese, where we had cappuccino at an outdoor cafe, and rented a big five-person bike for us all to ride.

The next three days were spent touring with our wonderful guide, Cinzia.  We visited Ancient Rome, which included the Forum and the Colosseum; we toured Centro Storico, which was the area surrounding our flat, and included the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, Piazza Navona and the Trevi Fountain.  Finally, we had a tour of the Vatican.  The kids admitted they were a bit surprised by the Sistine Chapel, saying they thought it would be bigger!  Evidently, they are true Lemoings, and not easily impressed.

There are 400 churches in Rome and Dan seemed intent on visiting every one of them.  After awhile, the boys balked and set their own PDCL (Personal Daily Church Limit) to two.  Happily, we were able to bribe them into a couple more with the promise of gelato and a game of Angry Birds.

Salami is the New Bacon
If you don't like Italian food, you might want to skip this section.  You might also want to ask yourself, what the heck is wrong with me?

Interestingly, with all the people walking around Rome, we didn't once see anyone sipping coffee out of a cardboard cup or travel mug.  This is because it's just simply not done.  When you order a coffee, you sit down and drink it, out of a real cup, and enjoy it.  People of Rome, I like the way you think.

We ate breakfast every morning at the apartment, with bread, salami, cheese, fruit and yogurt purchased from the neighbourhood grocery store.  We had our other meals out, at whichever restaurant in the area caught our eye (or our nose).  I don't want to bore you with the details, so here's a summary:

Bruschetta, pizza, gnocchi, risotto, ravioli, lasagna, salami, spaghetti, prosciutto, porchetta, linguine, pesto, olives, artichokes, gelato, cappuccino, tortellini, canneloni.  'Nuff said.

Wine, wine, wine, it's all I ever do...
Shocking, yet true:  we had wine with every meal except breakfast.  Unless you count the glass of Prosecco I had in the morning at our hotel in Sorrento.  It was just sitting there on the drink table at the breakfast buffet.  What's a girl to do?

Fasten Yer Seat Belts
After five glorious days in Rome, we rented a car and drove to Pompei.  Our guide, Lucia, showed us around these very cool ruins in an afternoon.  From there, we took the winding road to Sorrento, where we stayed overnight at a beautiful hotel right on the Mediterranean.

We made our return trip back to Rome the next day via the Amalfi Coast, along the Sorrentine Peninsula.  I think "Amalfi" must be the Italian word for "breathtakingly beautiful".  If you look at the pictures, you'll see that the houses are all built up the side of the cliffs, and the roads are extremely twisty.  Dan was at the wheel, while I provided what I thought was a critical yet helpful assessment of his driving.  His sage advice to future travellers:  get the extra insurance on the car rental - it'll pay off!

Arrivederci  Roma (did you seriously expect me close with any other line?)
Sadly, our trip had to come to an end, but I could have stayed forever.  Although I kept telling the kids that I was really going to miss them when they went back to Doha, they managed to wrangle me onto the plane and strap me into my seatbelt, despite my protests.  I hope the coins we threw in the Trevi Fountain ensure our return back some day soon!

Road Warrior

Things have been going quite smoothly lately, and frankly I've been feeling a bit too comfortable.  So I decided to embark on a new Doha challenge:  Vehicle Registration.

While many of you are holding vigil at the bedside of Old Man Winter, hanging on his dying coughs, and wishing you could trade places (for weather-related reasons) with us, I would encourage you to dig deep and really try to appreciate how good you have it in the simple and non-chaotic Western world.

Case in point:  You know every year when you're happily cruising along the highway of life, busy with school projects, the flu, Pilates class, Q2 reporting, piano exams and birthday parties, and then suddenly, out of the blue, with no warning whatsoever, you get a REMINDER IN THE MAIL THAT YOUR CAR REGISTRATION NEEDS TO BE RENEWED?  And then, to make matters worse, you've only got about TWO MONTHS to procrastinate and/or keep forgetting to go the registry office which is right by your house, so then you have to resort to renewing online the day before it's due?  Well, let me tell you, it's exactly like that here:  Once a year, you have to renew your registration.  Except without the reminder in the mail.  Or the ability to renew online.  Or getting the whole process done without driving to another planet.

About a month ago Dan said, "I'll take care of it...but don't let me forget that your car's registration is up on March 13."  So on March 16 (ahem) I enlisted the help of my friend Lynn, who also needed to go, and we took our cars together.

The process is simple if your vehicle is less than three years old.  My MRV, however, is not.  All cars over three years old need to be inspected before the registration can be renewed.  There is one place where inspections are done, and it's in what is affectionately and accurately referred to as The Industrial Area.  This aptly named area in the far southwest part of Doha is best described as the movie set from Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior, only with more buildings and nicer cars.  Picture the right lane of the roads filled with bumper-to-bumper big trucks, and the left lane filled with the rest of us.  Potholes abound.  Construction persists.  Congruously, on a map, this part of the city is depicted in complete grey.  Its saving grace from a travelling perspective is that it's on a grid, so in theory things are easy to find.  To make our trip even more authentic, we made sure we went on a day when the wind was howling at 50 km/h, so that sand was blowing across the road in blizzard-like fashion.

By some miracle and great navigation by Lynn, we made it to our location.  I was quite happy that my car passed the Technical inspection, but a little freaked-out that it failed the Legal.  Upon receiving this news, I went to the information desk where a friendly Qatari man with impeccable English (who apparently studied in Minnesota and called me "young lady" - I now have a new best friend) told me that this was no problem at all.  My vehicle had previously been registered as a five-passenger, while it actually seats eight.  Mr. Minnesota wrote something in Arabic on a sticky note and directed me to take my car next door for registration and insurance.

The deed is done, and now I can rest easy for another year.  I could always hire a "runner" to take my car for registration next year, but why deprive myself of another road adventure and an opportunity to take better photos of The Industrial Area?  Stay tuned for the results of next year's decision.