Don't Walk in Doha

If there's one thing I love, it's exploring new places. Whether it's a new neighborhood or a new city, I'm all about figuring out what nuggets of interesting-ness I can find in a new locale. And the best way to start is usually a simple walk around. But a walk around in Doha is not so simple.

This morning, being still quite jet lagged from my long trip from Portland to DC to Toronto to Frankfurt to Doha, I woke up early to see what I could discover before having to attend my first class at 11am. My mission was to make it from my hotel in the West Bay cluster of towers to the Corniche, a pedestrian area that loops around the horseshoe-shaped bay of Doha's main developed coastline, essentially connecting the old downtown Doha to the newer development that is the skyscrapers of the West Bay.

Doha West Bay towers

On a map, it's not far at all. But we all know how maps can make places look deceptively simple and so easily navigable. I decided to take the more scenic route to the Corniche, making my way toward the diplomatic road lined with embassies. Perhaps this was my first mistake--not taking the most direct route, and therefore wearing myself out, giving myself more road to navigate and thus more road that is likely not to have ample or any sidewalk area. Within the first two "blocks" (I'm not sure if this is the proper word, since this area is not set up in a traditional block-style), I encountered my first where-the-sidewalk-ends moment. Construction is so commonplace in Doha, and little thought seems to be given to preserving what sidewalks there are around construction areas. I had to climb over cement blocks placed every so often to hold up a metal fence surrounding a new building's construction areas. Upon getting to the diplomatic road, the sidewalk was also scarce, often transforming into sand or road. I chose the sand, since on the road giant cars were barreling towards me at very high speeds. At least on the diplomatic road I had the opportunity to admire the different architecture of various embassies, including the Egyptian, Korean, Jordanian, Moroccan, Pakistani, and Japanese. My favorite was the Iranian embassy, whose architecture and decoration is styled to match the blue iwans of Isfahan.

The Iranian embassy in Doha

Another shot of the Iranian embassy in Doha

A narrow sidewalk. And my shadow.

Here's an interesting sloped sidewalk

A no-sidewalk-sand-lot

 After looping around the diplomatic street, I reached the Four Seasons hotel, Ooredoo (Qatar's mobile company) headquarters, and the Sheraton. The pyramid-shaped Sheraton, built in the late 1970s, was for a long time the most recognizable building in Doha. But now perhaps that hotel has been overshadowed in notoriety by the West Bay's newer skyline, especially the "condom building," which just so happens to look like a giant phallus. Which I suppose is quite appropriate for the GCC countries' race-to-the-top and their vigorous attempts to out-do each other with the most spectacular architecture (e.g. Dubai's Burj Khalifa--the world's tallest building, and Saudi Arabia's more recent announcement regarding its ambitions to build an even taller building, the Kingdom Tower). But I guess size doesn't matter so much, at least in this case, for the "condom tower," (or Doha Tower as is its official name) recently won an award for the Best Tall Building in the world by the Council on Tall Buildings and Urban Habitat.

Doha's Sheraton Hotel

The (in?)famous "condom" building of Doha

Upon reaching the Sheraton, I knew I must be getting close to the Corniche, but couldn't see a great way to actually get to it. The park next to the park was closed for construction, inconveniently (and absurdly) once again blocking off any semblance of a sidewalk. I decided at this point I better give up on the Corniche and turn towards my hotel again, because I had already been walking almost an hour, it was hot and I couldn't see what lay too far ahead. But in order to turn back to my hotel, I had to cross a couple roundabouts that didn't offer anything in the way of a crosswalk. So I waited for a lull in traffic and sprinted across the roadway. Eventually I made my way back to the hotel, after really not going very far, not making my destination, sweating profusely from the hot sun and having to walk on sand or a narrow curb.

The lack of pedestrian infrastructure in Qatar, to me, is a big issue. People love their cars, especially their big gas-guzzling cars, and gas is cheaper than water.  Coming from Portland, where I've lived for five years without a car, relying on my bus pass, bicycle and own two feet, this is outrageous. But really, who wouldn't drive in such an atmosphere as Qatar? People don't--and really can't--walk as their main mode of transportation, because the city is simply not set up for it. And it seems to be taking a toll on the country, as around 71% of all residents (and 75% of Qataris) are obese. Granted, walking outside can be difficult not just for lack of infrastructure, but also the harsh desert climate, in which temperatures can climb well over 100 degrees during the summer months. As I made my way back to the hotel, balancing on narrow curbsides and dashing across the roadways, I wondered at how unfortunate it was that the city wasn't more walkable, and at what it would take to make changes in the city to make it more pedestrian-friendly.

My concerns were quite directly addressed during an afternoon field trip our group took to the Msheireb education center, which is a barge set up on the West Bay side of the horseshoe-bay to house a museum/educational facility about a brand-new development being built in downtown Doha. It really is a spectacular project, and the sustainability certification side of it is wonderfully headed up by a Portland native. He gave us an extensive run-down of the project, and then we got to tour the beautiful exhibit showcasing the plans.

The Msheireb educational exhibit. It's floating.

The exhibit introduction shows the beginnings of Doha, then moves through the present and future.

Msheireb Downtown Doha is a property development chaired by Her Highness Sheikha Mozah, the founder of the Qatar Foundation and wife of the previous emir. It is a cluster of 100 buildings that will all aspire to be LEED gold certified, making it the highest concentration of LEED-certified green buildings in the world. It is a mixed-use area that is designed to bring Qataris and expats alike "back to their roots" and to "rediscover a sense of community and togetherness." The streets will be narrow and pedestrian- and bike-friendly and naturally cooled. The area includes apartments, offices, town homes, a school, mosques, museums, entertainment, leisure activities and a hub for the new metro system. This project largely seems to be a response to the criticism that the country has shouldered for the certainly less-sustainable West Bay area of solar-sucking curtain glass skyscrapers that don't speak to the country's traditional values or architecture, nor promote sustainability or walkability. Overall, the presentation of the project was extremely impressive and optimistic, and I'll be excited to see the project once it's complete.

A spectacular scale model of the Msheireb Downtown Doha project.

Another shot of the Msheireb model.

An impressive light-up 3D model of the Msheireb Downtown Doha project. You can press buttons on a touchscreen that activate different parts of the light on the big screen to highlight certain elements of the project.

After the Msheireb presentation, some of us made our way to what is currently the most vibrant leisure area of Doha, Souq Waqif. We ate a dinner of traditional Qatari foods, none of which I can remember the name except harees, a porridge-like dish. We also got a glimpse of the construction so far on the Msheireb project, which is being built right next to the old Souq.

Current construction on the Msheireb Downtown Doha project.

I'll leave you with a few night shots of Doha.

And a Christmas tree in case you didn't think Christmas happened in Doha.

A Doha Christmas tree

Daily Dose of Cuteness - Courtesy of the Pet Souq in Doha, Qatar

I was going back through photos of my travels today, and stumbled upon this collection from the Pet Souq in Doha's Souq Waqif. The Pet Souq is a small section of the maze-like market where you'll find all types of pets for sale--from fish and reptiles, to exotic birds (& dyed chicks), to kittens and puppies. While the animals were absolutely adorable, it seemed like the shopkeepers did not care much to ensure that they had suitable living conditions, and you can almost sense the sadness of these animals because of their poor treatment.

I recently read this article in Time Out Doha about the Souq. In the article it describes the reaction of one Qatari to the Pet Souq: "‘It’s very terrible, the Souq, for me. It’s something that embarrassed me a lot. When I have friends that are visiting me from somewhere else I try to avoid Souq Waqif as much as possible. I remember I had a visiting vet from Spain who came here to Qatar, and we passed by Souq Waqif and he literally teared. I was so embarrassed. I really felt horrible,’ he says. He’s not alone: al-Naemi says many of his Qatari friends are equally troubled by this portion of Souq Waqif."

Even though we in the United States still have a long way to go in terms of regulating animal welfare, we have really come a long way and do a lot to protect our animals. And even though those commercials with Sarah McLaughlin's "Angel" playing in the background and scenes of hurting animals can be particularly distressing, we are lucky that we have such causes in the U.S. to provide for the protection of animals.

Nevertheless, these animals are too cute. Can you too sense their sadness?

inside the Pet Souq in Doha... lined with cages

cuddled bunnies

dyed chicks.. not sure why they do this

Iftars & Vineyards

The Muslim holy month of Ramadan is now half-over, and I have loved being immersed in the strong community that binds everyone together during this time. During Ramadan, Muslims abstain from eating and drinking anything (including water!) from sunrise to sunset, in order to cleanse their souls and remind themselves of how fortunate they are to have food to eat, when there are others in the world who are not so fortunate. It is also a time of being with family and giving to charity.

Amman slows down quite a bit during the day, when those who are fasting (mostly everyone) would rather stay inside and relax than go out into the Jordanian heat. Many shops and nearly all restaurants are closed during the day, when their owners are fasting and their customers are probably opting to stay in as well. The city comes alive around 7:45, when the call to prayer sounds from the mosques, meaning that it is time to break the fast. The meal held at this time, called "Iftar" usually begins with a large glug of water and dates. Restaurants are overflowing with people and the waiters move swiftly from table to table passing out dishes to the starving and impatient customers. Last night I ate Iftar with a friend at Mat3am Hashem, a popular and inexpensive restaurant in the heart of downtown Amman. Some of the best meals I've had here in Amman have been the most simple--with freshly cut cucumbers and tomatoes, olives, hummus and foul, and pita bread, it's hard to go wrong.

hummus at Hashem

For many, Iftar is also a time to pull out all the stops when it comes to food. Sometimes people spend all day in the kitchen preparing Iftar. This was certainly the case with another Iftar I attended last weekend, at the home of the aunt of a student on my program. His mother was in town, and she just happens to be May Bsisu, author of The Arab Tale, a recipe narrative. They may also have the most beautiful house I've ever been blessed to eat dinner at. The spread was absolutely incredible; I did not have nearly enough room on my plate even to sample the entire offering.

infinity pool looking over the hills of Amman

the Iftar setup

and the Iftar spread

our personal shawarma man

On a completely different note, I also went last weekend to the farm and vineyard of our program director. She is an American woman who married a Jordanian man, and they now own their own land near the city of As-Salt, where they grow their own grapes and bottle wine on a small scale. We were invited to visit the farm, pick grapes, and have a barbecue.

friends cutting grapes off the vine

bottling wine

cutting grapes

crushing the grapes

I had never really been to a vineyard before (how is that possible? living in Portland? I have no clue), so this was an exciting experience for me. We had a great time picking the grapes, bottling the wine and then partaking in the wine and delicious food for Iftar. The view from their farm was incredible, and I will never forget watching the sunset over the Jordanian hills, with Palestine not too far in the distance.

looking out over the Jordanian hills

A weekend in the Jordanian Badia

Recently I had the amazing and unique opportunity to spend two nights with a Bedouin family in the Jordanian Badia, in the north of Jordan near the city of Mafraq (and very close to the Syrian border). This trip was arranged by the CLS facilitators in conjunction with the SIT program in Amman. This was a cultural and linguistic immersion in a traditional Jordanian/Arabic home, and an experience different from anything I've ever done before and which I will truly never forget.


I arrived at my family's house on Thursday evening after a day of class. They welcomed me with a bowl of mansaf, the Jordanian national dish which consists of rice, chicken and laban (a yogurty liquid). The mansaf was accompanied by kibbeh, a deep-fried ball of semolina stuffed with chicken and potatoes. The kibbeh was incredible, and I asked my sister, Wujdan, if she would please teach me how to make it. The family I stayed with was relatively small compared to other Bedouin families--a mom, dad, 2 sons and a daughter. The daughter was around my age, and the two sons were a bit older than her. The oldest was married and lived with his wife and two small sons in the house next door, and I think the other son lived at home (though I barely saw him and wasn't sure if he stayed at night).

I spent most of my time with the daughter, who was 23 and had just graduated from a nearby university with a degree in science. She told me that she wanted to go work in Amman (about 2 hours away from home) in a private hospital laboratory. Although her father did not have a problem with this aspiration, her older brother was against the idea. I got the feeling that without sanction from her older brother, Wujdan would not be able to go work in Amman.

My second and only full day there, I spent most of my time with Wujdan in the kitchen. She was clearly the one who took care of the home instead of the mother (I did not see the mother lift a finger to clean or cook anything). Wujdan cooked every meal, cleaned the floors daily, and waited on her mother, father and brother. We cooked kibbeh, magloubeh (literally "upside-down" in Arabic, because eggplant, potatoes, carrots and chicken are cooked at the bottom of the pot with rice on top, then the pot is turned upside down onto the platter to be served), and an okra dish (okra, I learned, is "bamia" in Arabic). Everything was absolutely delicious, though I especially loved the bamia dish and kibbeh. I tried to help by rolling the balls of kibbeh, but after one my sister took the semolina mixture away and told me that I had "other work" to do.

There were a few difficulties/oddities surrounding living in the Badia for the weekend.

1. The bathroom. The hammam, as it is called in Arabic, was located in a small hut outside the house and was basically a hole in the ground (Google search "Turkish toilet" and you will see what I mean). I won't go into too much detail about it, but it was certainly tricky and quite uncomfortable.
2. Eating. Everything in the home is done on the floor. There are no couches, instead there are simply cushions around the wall of a room and everyone sits on the floor. Even preparing food in the kitchen might be done on the floor instead of a counter. There is also no table to eat at, instead they spread out a mat and the food is served on a large platter with everyone sitting around. Bread is served with every meal and distributed at the beginning to each person. From the start I had to come to terms with the idea that my bread would be on the floor near everyone's feet. This was weird at first, but I came to appreciate the simplicity of life and the people's closeness to the earth they live on.
3. Modesty rules. The family I stayed with, along with most--if not all--families in the Badia, are conservative practicing Muslims. The women wear headscarves and long, loose-fitting robes, and the men also wear traditional Jordanian dress of a white or off-white thobe (a long robe) and the red checkered keffiyeh on their heads. Luckily, I bought a black thobe with a beautiful blue thread design from a shop in downtown Amman before I left. This came in very handy, because I don't think I would have been comfortable in any of the clothes I already own. I arrived to the house in jeans, and even with pants on the father handed me a blanket to put over my legs for modesty's sake. Modesty rules also governed what I could and could not take pictures of (I do not have any pictures of Wujdan, sadly), where I could be in the house, and with whom I could be alone with.
4. The language. The Bedoun dialect was extremely difficult to understand. It did not help that the older women also generally had pretty raspy voices, probably from a long life of smoking. Luckily Wujdan was able to translate a bit for me, either in more basic and classical Arabic (fusha) or in the bit of English she knew.

Although I was the only student from my program in that house, my roommate from CLS, Courtney, was actually placed in the house just across the street from mine. This house belonged to my sister's maternal uncle. Kinship and family are extremely important in this culture, and there are special names for maternal vs. paternal family members. A maternal uncle is "'khal," maternal aunt is "khala," and cousins from them are either "bint khal(a)" or "ibn khal(a)"--literally daughter or son of the maternal aunt/uncle. This can get extremely confusing in speaking. Courtney's family had nine children, so her house was a bit more exciting than mine and I spend some time with her playing with the kids. We also went together to the Badia's Ecological Center, which housed several animals native to the desert, including lots of snakes, a hyena, wolf and owls. After that, we trekked up a nearby hill and looked out across the desert and Bedouin villages. The place where we stayed was just a few kilometers away from the Syrian border, so we could see Syria from atop the hill.

Overall the trip was truly illuminating and I feel extremely lucky to have been given the opportunity to experience a traditional Bedouin family life. The simplicity of their way of life, the strength of their family bonds, and their closeness to the land around them made me reflective on the way I live my own life and the luxuries that I have every day. In the end, we all eat our food, love our families, use the bathroom (in our own way), and have a crazy aunt.

Here are a few pictures from the Badia - of cooking, the delicious food, my host family, friends, and exploring the Jordanian desert.