doha daily 4/5/06

thierry's bike just before unloading from container - note misc items scattered to and fro as well as damage to top case

It has been more like 2-3 weeks actually. Lots of things to write about since the 24th of March. Everyday since then, I have been picking a room to finish unpacking and getting things in order. Every time I walk from upstairs to down or vice versa, I am always putting something AWAY! There is STILL stuff sitting where it does not belong, but I’ve been told after only 2 weeks, “that’s normal.” I attended a coffee morning just three doors down the other day for all of the ladies and their kids in our compound. It was great to meet everyone and the villa is furnished so different than ours – it’s fun to see the difference actually and get ideas. I suggested we do a “pub” crawl so to speak and check out everyone’s villas once they are moved in. There are quite a few Danish families in our compound; several Scottish, a few Australian and I did notice a Muslim family, although the woman did not attend coffee. There is also a couple from Wyoming, but I haven’t met them yet.

The landscaper came March 31 and spent two days arranging the garden and spreading fertilizer. With fertilizer comes lots of flies. And the minute you crack open the door THEY GET IN, WATCH IT!!! Now that it has been a week, they have gone, but everyone in the neighborhood seems in the process of getting their gardens completed as well, so there will be more flies arriving…Every morning I take Thierry to work (until we figure out the car situation), Tristan to school and return to the house to water the plants/flowers which takes about 40 minutes. We have two water spigots along our perimeter wall where the water is controlled by the government. In the morning, the water is available from 6a-11a. In the evening, 6p-9p, so unless you want to hook up your hose in the house at the back of your washing machine and deplete your homes’ supply, you need to make certain you can water the plants within these allotted times. And there is no pump to create any type of pressure – the water practically trickles out of the hose. Of course for 700+ riyals we can get a pump – BOY! This place is going to go for millions after Thierry and I and all of the other villas move on. We’re doing all of the work getting everything up and running – it’s the families that follow who get to reap the bene’s of the garden growing in, the blinds being installed, wardrobes built and now, I’m fighting for a dryer. I swear that when we signed on the bottom line, we were told a washer AND a dryer would be provided. Albeit, they are the European sizes, which means SMALL, but I’ll take it! And once you start that wash cycle on the clothes, there is no turning back – that door locks tighter than tight once the light comes on. For now, I’m having to dry clothes across some metal shelving units in Tristan’s play area. At least he has a play area, I cannot complain too too much : ). I could go out and buy a drying rack, but I REFUSE! I WON’T DO IT!

The Internet connection seems great – the unfortunate thing is, we may have lost skype. I’ve been told that Qtel has blocked any VoIP programs that provide free telephony service. The hotel doesn’t seem to have a problem as they receive their Internet service from Malaysia. I’m still checking on this…

To sell the house in Pasadena, Thierry and I needed to go the US Embassy to get something notarized, TOGETHER, ugh! Mine just wasn’t good enough. While we were there a woman in an abaaya walked in – she knew some of the people waiting; mostly there for passport issuance for kids, etc. Anyway, she was clearly American but married to a Qatari man. Thierry immediately thought to himself, (to quote a line from the great movie, “Dances with Wolves”), “Turned Injun dincha…?” She sat down and showed pictures of her kids to another woman. She owns a party favor store that sells Halloween Costumes, etc…I commented how it must have been easy to get a good sponsor (Her Husband!) to have the business here in Qatar. In order to have a business here, it must be at least 51% Qatari owned and from what I understand, you pay your sponsor a fee each month, similar to a Management Fee. One woman told me that you have to be very careful who you do business with, but actually as I write this you have to be careful ANYWHERE, so never mind. When it was Thierry’s and my turn, the man asked for payment of 110QR’s. I had only 90. The American Woman spoke up and offered to us the missing 20QR’s. She was so nice – I dropped the 20QR’s by her store yesterday, but she wasn’t there.

Last week I went for my blood test and X-Ray to obtain my residency card for Qatar. THAT was an experience. The nurse from the Hotel accompanied me and thank goodness, otherwise I would probably still be there in line. We arrived at a building WAAAAY outside of town. There are tons of people standing around outside, I assume waiting for their loved ones (mostly female) who were inside in the blood test queue – women have a separate entrance where men are not allowed. I’ve heard that the local women here want the “separate entrance rule” changed by the way, to foster more “equality” between sexes. So, Sylvia (the nurse) and I shuffle through all of these men and enter where we find a desk to check in. She does this with EVERY SINGLE employee of the hotel, so she knows what she is doing. I just smiled and stayed close to her back. And it’s not one of those buildings that give you a warm and fuzzy feeling, like my Doctor in the States for example. This place is quite sterile and all aside from the check-in desk and a few of the nurses desks most of the employees are behind Plexiglas and you are required to speak though a small circular cut-out. Take the elevated noise level from all of the people trying to get through this process and mix it with a language barrier and you don’t really hear or understand a word that is being said – just smiling and nodding. The woman at the desk asked me for my cell phone number. I started saying, “6 5 0…” when she interrupted me, “ 5 0…what is rest?” in a thick Arabic accent. I said, “No, it’s actually “SIX 5 0…” She interrupted me again, “Cannot be! All cell numbers start with FIVE!” We went back and forth for literally 2 minutes and I offered to show her my phone, until her two friends intervened and told her Qtel is now issuing cell numbers that begin with a SIX because they have run out of numbers. BUT, if they had not said anything, this woman was steadfast on not believing me and was definitely NOT going to take my word for it. I knew that my number was bizarre, but had heard on the radio that Qatar has started issuing cell numbers beginning with a SIX the day before I received mine. It is in the news and I STILL to this day get business owners challenging me on my phone number. Well, we FINALLY leave that desk and Sylvia whisks me away to a corral-type line. It was my turn and I walk up to the Plexi and slide my paperwork underneath the glass to a woman who begins to enter some information into her computer. She asks for 200 riyals and as I am looking around, wide eyed in awe I’m sure, I turn back to the woman to find myself staring directly at a digital camera. It seems suspended in mid-air because she is sitting, yet holding it straight up in the air with her left arm as she continues to type on the computer with her right - she never takes her eyes off the computer screen. After a long pause I realize she has just taken my picture through the plexiglass. No warning, NOTHING! It was worse than the Cali DMV. I can’t imagine what my ID is going to look like. Next, I followed Sylvia to the next room where I had my blood drawn. That was quick and painless and over within 5 minutes. Then, I followed Sylvia to the next room where I met a line of 20 women wearing old hospital gown tops and waiting to get an x-ray. (To rule out tuberculosis) Sylvia told me that I could just turn my shirt around wouldn’t have to put on a gown. She then grabbed me and took me to the front of the line. There was big darkened room with a suspended x-ray machine in the center. Two large women behind a glass partition were yelling, “NEXT!” as we entered. Sylvia took my paperwork and through it on top of another woman’s who had probably been waiting in line like everyone else. Like Edna Mode ( The Incredibles), one of the ladies yelled, “GO HUG MACHINE!” All I could think of was…NO CAPES! And then she said, “TAKE SHIRT OFF!” Ugh, here I am in front of all of these women whom I just butted in front of in line and who are wearing the proper hospital issued gowns, and I have to take my shirt completely off and hug this machine to get an x-ray of my chest. And, I may add, there are two smooth circles imprinted on the front of this machine to indicate where one’s breasts should be placed while hugging – yuck! I hug the machine and hear Edna yell again, “TAKE DEEP BREATH AND HOLD.” After 2 seconds, “OK, FINISHED!” I put my shirt back on, grabbed my paperwork and followed Sylvia out the door.

To speed up the paperwork process I went to the American Hospital and got my blood typing to give to the Immigration office. And just yesterday, I went to get my fingerprints. WHY CAN’T THEY DO IT ALL AT THE SAME TIME AND AT THE SAME PLACE?!?!? HOW LONG HAVE THEY BE DOING THIS NOW?!?!?! HAVEN’T THEY LEARNED TO STREAMLINE THE PROCESS?!?!?! Sorry. A little lapse of frustration there…The fingerprint place was WILD. It’s like an old beat up trailer (the ladies section is at least). There were 3 ladies in Abaaya’s taking prints at 3 different stations. I entered (with Sylvia again) and stood in line. One of the ladies yelled to me, “Where are you from?” I told her the US and she pointed to Sylvia to take me directly around the line to the woman to check me in. After a quick check in, I went back to the women to get printed – she put me at the front of the line, took the prints of my fingers and whole hands and let me wash up with soap in a private bathroom, whereas everyone else was washing their hands at a trough-like basin. So that’s that. I should get my card within 3-5 days and then I am legal. Tristan too.

See you!