Feasting during Ramadan

We have been keen to experience the legendary Ramadan feast and took the opportunity last Thursday night to go to the Marriott Hotel with our friends Racha and Tarek.

Tarek is an American of Lebanese origin who has lived a large part of his life in Saudi Arabia. Racha is from south Lebanon. They met in Lebanon when Tarek visited his grandmother. Racha and her family were in the restaurant that Tarek went to for a family meal and their eyes met across the room. The rest, as they say, is history - it truly was love at first sight. Tarek is a big man. His size and slightly gruff manner belies a talkative and hospitable person. He is thoughtful, funny and intelligent. Racha is a lovely warm young woman who I see often. She practises her English on me and I practice my Arabic on her. The boys and I adore her. When we visit her house she feeds us with delicious Lebanese food until we are nearly bursting. Tarek is fasting for Ramadan but Racha is not this time because she is pregnant with their first baby.

We went out for a memorable meal a couple of months ago with them. We were introduced to Lebanese food and had a great feast. The men smoked shisha (flavoured tobacco through a traditional "hubble bubble" pipe) and the boys snuck under the table and had puffs until they were busted. We were told that Racha was pregnant and the meal turned into a major celebration. I learned the word "mabrook" - congratulations - that night, as well as many other Arabic words as the evening went on. When we said good-bye outside the restaurant I turned to them both and warmly said, "mashnoon" to everyone's mirth. Instead of saying congratulations again I had just told them both they were crazy.

Tarek did the research for our latest meal, our Ramadan feast, as any food not cooked by Racha or his family is in danger of being "inedible". The Marriott fitted the bill. We all turned up at dusk for a 5.30 meal.


The Marriott had turned their ballroom into a magnificent tent.




We sat at our table and waited. There was a sermon being broadcast through the restaurant, a reading from the Qur'an, which Tarek translated for us. It was about going to mosque, how to prepare for prayer and how men and women should each prepare. At the end of the sermon there was a silence. The sun was going down although we couldn't see it. We waited. Then the boom of the cannon sounded, which marks the beginning and end of the fasting period. "Allahu akhbaar! Allahu akhbaar! Allahu akhbaar!" The hairs stood up on my neck. People sipped water and ate some dates and figs. The fast was broken.


It is not possible to convey to size of the meal, nor the variety. The buffet was groaning. There were whole sheep, tables of salad, hot dishes of every kind, falafel and middle eastern food of every description. The desserts were made of pastry, fruit and nuts, drenched in honey.


At the end of the meal I was nearly in pain and I was groaning. It was wonderful.

"Well", said Tarek, "shall we do this again before the end of Ramadan?"

"Yes!" we all chorused.

"Or shall we do the big feast? This one is only the equivalent to breakfast. There's another big feast that starts at 9pm and finishes at 3am before sunrise."

I think we will get a babysitter and wait a couple of weeks to recover.

Apparently some people put weight on during Ramadan. Now I understand why.

The Stamp in the Kitchen

Some time ago, the very day I got Priscilla Queen of the Desert, I put a scratch on the bumper when I backed too close to a temporary sign outside the school which Had Not Been There Before. Any accident has to be reported to the police, as none of the panelbeaters (called "Painting and Denting"!) can do anything without a police report. You have to stop your car right where you are, even if you are in the middle of a roundabout, and call the police who will determine there and then who is at fault with a logic that takes into account your nationality and gender, is mostly in Arabic etc etc. Then you go off to the police station and get the reports done, and it is a prolonged process. Well, a little scratch compared to engaging with the police just didn't add up, so I left it and contented myself with glaring at the scratch whenever I saw it.

A couple of days ago I found out that any accident not involving another vehicle can be reported to the local traffic police station after the event, so found out the details and off I went to Al Rayyan Traffic Police Station get my police report.

When I got there I found the sorriest collection of battered cars imaginable parked outside the police station. I realised that I had arrived at a concentration of the worst drivers in Doha, and I was very interested to go inside and see them all close up. The police station has a couple of Painting and Denting shops close by and a little man from one of the shops helpfully pointed me to where I was supposed to go and then showed me which shop he worked for. I went into the wrong counter at first and they then pointed me to the portacabin next door, where two traffic police were sitting in front of their computers. "Assalaam alaikum," I said in my best Arabic, "car scratch". "You bring here", said the round one with the stubble. I went out and the painting and denting man at the gate showed me where the driveway was into the compound, and I parked in front of the portacabin. The other policeman, who had a magnificent long beard, came outside and looked at my little insignificant scratch and walked around my car. "Come", he said. I sat in front of the first guy as he typed out the report. He handed me two official sheets of paper in Arabic. "Go to kitchen", he said. "The kitchen", I said. "The kitchen", he said firmly. "Next building".

I've learned not to argue or question when something strange is said to me here. Off I went with my forms to the next building and sure enough, there was a grubby sign at the end of the entranceway with an arrow saying "Kitchen". Another errant driver was waiting outside the kitchen with a queuing number in his hand. Nobody was in the kitchen, but there were a couple of chairs. "No need", he said when I asked him where to go to get my number, "someone is here in five minutes. Sit down." In a couple of minutes a man turned up. "Twelve riyals", he said to me. I rummaged in my purse and he rummaged in his shirt pocket and produced two bright little stamps, licked them and stuck one to each form. "Go to counter. First building". I went back to the very first building and stood again in front of a battery of policemen behind their computers. "Assalaam alaikum", I said and proffered my forms. The policeman examined the report closely and entered some stuff on the computer. With a flourish he stamped my forms. "This for insurance", he said pointing to one of the lines of Arabic. "Thank-you. Khalas?", I said. "Yes, finished", he said.

I have no idea what happened.

With ma'al salaama I was off out the door and into my car, a shining scratch-free future vision in front of me.

Ramadan

Today is the start of Islam's holy month of Ramadan, where believers fast from sunrise to sunset for the month. During these hours they also abstain from drinking any liquid, smoking and sex. The fasting person is also expected to show self control through the day, to refrain from harsh words and to show tolerance and respect for others. As I understand it's an opportunity for several things,

• to understand how others less fortunate than yourself are experiencing life, through your own experience of going hungry and doing without, thus developing compassion.
• to develop better habits in your own life by exercising self control, therefore improving your character. This helps to resist temptation for things which are unnecessary or harmful in your life.
• to develop a closer relationship with God through the experience of purifying your body as well as your soul.

Here's a good link written for teachers with a general explanation of Ramadan, and here's another written by an Imam (Muslim cleric) for older students who might want to know about Ramadan, it's about mending habits and developing character. Here's a link to the BBC's webpage on Islam in general. It's all very interesting.

We've been warned about the changes in Doha during Ramadan. People will get up before sunrise to eat and drink before they fast for the day, and after sunset there are huge feasts where families get together and have fun far into the night. The cafes and restaurants are all closed during the day for the month, and the streets and shopping malls are mad in the evening. Businesses and schools support Muslim staff and students by allowing them them to work shortened hours and govenment departments are open from 8am - midday. People often sleep during the afternoon. Nobody is allowed to eat or drink in public. It is unwise to drive on the road towards sunset, as hungry and dehydrated people dash towards mosque and their homes to break their fasts.

We are planning to go to a few of the big Ramadan buffets during the month - all the big hotels put on special meals.

The Muslim kids at school really look forward to Ramadan. Some of them are trying their hands at fasting for all or part of Ramadan. Leo and Robbie are keen to fast for the odd day during the month - many non-Muslims support Ramadan by fasting themselves, even if they are not Muslim themselves. So in the words of one of the local bloggers,

May This Ramadan be as bright as ever. May this Ramadan bring joy, health and wealth to you.
May the festival of lights brighten up you and your near and dear ones lives.
May this Ramadan bring in u the most brightest and choicest happiness and love you have ever Wished for.
May this Ramadan bring you the utmost in peace and prosperity.
May lights triumph over darkness.
May peace transcend the earth.
May the spirit of light illuminate the world.
May the light that we celebrate at Ramadan show us the way and lead us together on the path of peace and social harmony
�Wish you a very happy Ramadan

Back to Doha

We arrived back late on Friday 7th, the boys and I. The trip was uneventful. Once we got onto the plane. Unfortunately at Heathrow Airport I had omitted to tell staff there was a toy gun and a carving knife in my check-in luggage. I heard my name and the boys paged urgently as we went to the gate and was asked to "come with me" by an airport official. When we did I was confronted by armed police who opened my suitcase and went through all the offending contents. In front of the other passengers filing past me as they were boarding. Oops. Thank goodness only my clean undies were in evidence. Moral of the story, tell them everything at the check-out desk even if they only ask you about what is in your hand luggage.

The boys have been remarkably happy to go back to school and have been back now for four days. Robbie is a prefect and has lots of additional duties which he is taking very seriously. He looks after his prefect badge carefully and pins it to his backpack at the end of the day. His teacher is called Mr Gribble and he seems to be up to the challenge. Leo has cruised into the school year effortlessly.

The Valley of Death is no longer our preferred route to school as it is being turned into a Real Highway, and we can't get into the back alley that leads to all the schools now. Instead we go along a proper road which leads off the Thursday-Friday Market Roundabout, by the Wholesale Market on the end of Salwa Rd. The trip is a bit longer and not nearly as exciting as before.

Ian is well and unfeasibly pleased to have us home again. He is working very long days. He managed to tear himself away from work last night to go to the Al Ghazal Club with us, where the boys were presented with certificates by Yacht Club officials and Captain Arshad during a formal ceremony. A meal followed. It was a good evening; a great mixture of all kinds of expatriates and their kids and Qatari locals with their kids, all dressed in snowy-white thoubes.

I have been job-hunting since we got back. I went for an interview with a recruitment agency yesterday, who were interested in my CV. They are recruiting for positions soon for a new social service being set up by Sheikha Mouza, one of the Emir's wives, who is the driving force behind education, scientific and social service development here. So that looks quite promising and is in my field. However all things take time here, so it is unclear how soon it will all happen, particularly as Ramadan starts tomorrow.

Here's a link to an interesting article about Qatar, if you are interested.

Blackpool

Yesterday it was time for the final fling. The Watt kids were going back to school today and we leave to go back to Qatar Very Early Friday morning 7th. We decided that Blackpool was just the place to go with the bonus of a train trip there and back.

Blackpool is a seedy old seaside town. It was full of hard looking northerners and pensioners who apparently take advantage of midweek specials to have a break in Blackpool, playing bingo and going tea dancing. There a lots of cheap hotels, souvenir shops and arcades along the seafront. They are redeveloping the esplanade and have big plans, dependent on government grants to redevelop the area into a "people's park" that also showcases the town history. We walked along the seafront to Pleasure Beach, the themepark we were visiting.






We spent all day frightening ourselves on the rides and eating junk food. We bought stuffed toys and photos of ourselves on the rides.










Here's a little video of Leo and Robbie on the cheesiest ride we found.


We bought Pleasure Beach rock. When I bought some I Love You lollies to take back to Ian, Leo told me to get a room.

We caught the 5.38 back to Manchester. We sat next to a milktruck driver and his can of Carling Black Label on the train trip. He had started work at three in the morning, delivering to Tescos but had broken down in Blackpool. He had been drinking for six hours and had decided to catch the train back. He was 41 but looked ten years older, teeth missing and weathered drinker's face. Decent man, loved his family. Too frightened to win the lottery in case he drank it all away but had bought the same numbers for the last 20 years. Interesting lesson for Leo and Robbie in the class divides in England as he talked with Clare's and our kids, each finding out about hopes in life, what was important, where each person was categorised.

Warwick Castle

Yesterday was Warwick Castle whose tagline is “Britain’s Greatest Medieval Experience”. I had visited it nearly twenty years ago when the special events and entertainment was very limited, consisting (from memory) of a couple of “knights” on horses. The owners are the Tussauds Group, who bought the castle in November 1978 from the 36th Earl of Warwick's son, David Greville. It has really changed since I was there last. The medieval experience was had was done in a professional, engaging and enjoyable way. There is a programme of entertainment, each section presented by experts, enthusiasts.

We saw falconry.

We watched jousting and medieval weaponry.

We saw a working trebuchet, the largest in the world (a medieval catapult that hurled 4 tons of rocks at a time at castle walls during sieges. It could also throw other less savoury things – dead animals, burning pitch and dead messengers – over the walls). The whole device was primed by four people walking in the wheels you see at the bottom of the trebuchet, hard work and, because the flickering effect of the light through the slats induced motion-sickness, in the old days this task was carried out by blind people.

We visited the great hall, the dungeon and walked the ramparts.

Robbie and Harry on the ramparts of Warwick Castle.

The highlight though was the bowman who was giving a demonstration of archery and telling us about the War of Roses. He picked Leo to demonstrate armour and bowmanship to the audience. Here are some pictures of Leo strutting his stuff.

We also found that Robbie is a natural archer.

The Murus at Stratford-upon-Avon

We left Cornwall on Saturday. We packed up in a jiffy, and drove slowly to Worcester to drop Jon, Tome and Georgie off at the railway station to go back to Manchester. Lots of holiday-makers, all leaving Cornwall. We then went to Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s hometown. We passed White Ladies Aston, Upton Snodsbury, North Piddle and Shottery. Shakespeare wasn’t on our minds, however. Catching up with the Murus was. They are friends from Ohope who have been living in the UK and are three quarters the way through their year here. They drove an hour and a half to have a meal with us.

We met them in a park by the Avon, a canal full of narrowboats running through the town. Grant, Sharon, Liam, Paraone and Ngahuia. A kiwi reunion.

The kids didn’t miss a beat and the grown-ups didn’t stop talking for the whole time we had together.

Lovely pic of Clare and Harry

We had a fish and chip meal together. Leo ordered a big traditional meal which was a big battered fish fillet, chips and horrors, mushy peas. Leo and Liam eyed the peas.

“That looks wrong”, said Leo.

“It looks contagious”, said Liam.

What can I say about the evening? I had tears in my eyes greeting them and had to have a little cry when we said good-bye, much to the amusement of my unsympathetic sons. Happiness, sadness, temporariness, homesickness.