Qatar is a speck of a country sticking out of the Arabian Peninsula like a pimple into the Persian Gulf. To the southwest lies massive Saudi Arabia. A stone's throw across the Gulf is Iran. At the base of the Gulf is Kuwait and, looming over it, Iraq. None of these ominous place names danced through our heads as we began dreaming about a year-long voyage around the world five years ago. The Middle East was one of the few places we'd decidedly scratched off the list of eligible stopovers. But that's one of the joys of independent travel. Your plans can react to changing circumstances. My Dad's decision to take a two year contract teaching engineering technology at the College of the North Atlantic - Qatar (I know, just forget the little geography lesson above) made a slight detour on the track from Nepal to South Africa irresistible. One week relaxing in a home-like atmosphere, cooking our own meals again and sitting on the couch watching the olympics sounded like a good break after the hustle and bustle of two months in Southeast Asia.
Tiny Qatar sits on one of the world's largest natural gas and oil reserves and is the world's largest exporter of liquified natural gas. As a result, it is rich. Very rich. The richest country in the world, in fact, when measured on a per capita basis. The wealth smacks you in the face the minute you get off the plane, especially when you arrive from the Indian subcontinent. The airport, which is in the process of being replaced by a new one, is spectacularly clean and modern. The roads into the City are paved with flawless asphalt and teeming with shiny new, American, European and Japanese cars. The downtown skyline is right out of a science fiction movie. It must be the funnest place on earth to be an architect.
Despite all this, it is a land of contrasts. The world's wealthiest country is ruled by an absolute monarch. There is a token parliament but everyone knows who calls the shots and who will be calling them when he dies or is deposed by one of his sons. The jaw dropping shopping malls are lined with the world's chicest stores selling designer jewelry, purses, shoes and sunglasses at markups that would make 5th Avenue blush. Yet the women, unless given a reprieve by their prearranged husbands, must walk around covered in black from head to toe. It's hilarious and disturbing watching them try and put down a Big Mac and fries without, Allah forbid, showing a speck of skin.
Of the one million people living in this country, only a quarter are Qatari. The rest, like my Dad, have been brought here to do the work that they can not or will not do themselves. Dad is one of the lucky ones. He earns a good salary, lives in a modern apartment and is relatively free to come and go as he pleases. For the rest, mostly Indian and Nepali, it's a challenge not to classify them as slaves. Most come on two year work visas and may not leave without the permission of their sponsors. Wages are meagre and basic human rights, respect and dignity border on non-existent. FIFA's decision to award the 2022 World Cup to this country has kicked of a construction frenzy. While there is hope that the decision to host the world's biggest sporting event here will improve the conditions of migrant workers, scores have already died on unsafe, sweltering construction sites. Back at the mall, most every black-robed Ninja is followed about sheepishly by an African or Philippine servant, covered in a modest head scarf. They carry the shopping bags, tend to the pampered little children and otherwise speak when spoken to or barked at. At the home, they may be lucky enough to have a small bedroom with locks on the outside of the door to rest after a long day of servitude. Many sleep on the kitchen floor. You look in one direction in this country and its 2050. You look in the other and it's 1861.
We have enjoyed our brief stay here. On our first day we visited the College of the North Atlantic campus where Dad works. It was Sports Day - a National holiday, and the college was hosting a Terry Fox Run. It was a strange sort of culture shock to be surrounded by scores of Newfoundlanders wearing red shirts with Terry's iconic image in the middle of the desert. We would have loved to have donned our runners and joined in the fun. After a tour of the college's impressive facilities, we headed to the Villagio Mall. This place is part Caesars Palace and part West Edmonton, with ceilings painted sky blue, a theme park, skating rink and gondola. You can get anything you want here - except a beer.
Dad worked the next two days so we spent the first relaxing, doing homework and watching the olympics. On Thursday we hired a car to take us out into the desert. We drove past massive gas plants on the ocean side and an endless sea of sand on the right. At the end of the road (and the country) we walked along the beach of the Persian Gulf and paid for the kids to take a camel ride. Deb and the girls stopped off at the Villagio again for an evening of ice skating while Dad and I chilled at home. On Friday we visited the Souk - a massive Arab market where you can buy anything from hunting falcons to exquisite Arab candies and spices. We stopped at a classic outdoor coffee shop where we enjoyed black, muddy coffee and Dad and I made like the locals and smoked a shisha - a tall water pipe filled with aromatic apple tobacco. Made me a little homesick for the camp! Last night Dad's friend Joe from St. John's came over and we cooked up some steaks and mash potatoes. It's been great to get our fill of salt and vinegar chips, bacon and processed cheese - but my guts are telling me it's time get back to simple food again.
Tonight we bored a Qatar Airways flight to take us southwest across the Arabian Peninsula, along the east cost of Africa, across the equator for the third time this trip and into Johannesburg, South Africa. It's the third longest flight we'll take but is, in fact, taking us further from home rather than closer to it. No matter, Field Marshall February has not yet outrun his supply lines in the Canadian North and we're ready for some Africa hot! Now it's off to explore Doha for another day and avoid the temptation to pull out my best Bruce Lee impression for the first black clad Ninja I come across.