That was a quick weekend. An eventful one, mind you; but still quick, owing to the fact that it consisted of only one day: Friday.
It's not a problem, though. I'm not complaining. Long weekends are the mother of boredom and depression and eating and drinking too much. As it is, I got away with eating a big juicy hamburger at Fuddruckers, but we'll come to that in a bit.
The weekend started on Thursday afternoon. I had driven myself to Ras Laffan and back with the aid of an mp3 player on shuffle, and hadn't got lost. When I got back to Doha I checked out of the hotel and lugged all my gear round the corner to the apartment block. I spent an infuriating ten minutes trying to park the car (which is a big saloon) in a very small space in a very tight basement garage. They have a habit here of squeezing spaces between columns, and it makes for a good test of one's driving skills, even more so when there are no parking sensors. After parking, I collected the keys to my apartment and took the lift to the 9th floor. I had a pleasant surprise in store: the flat itself was fine, reasonably furnished and spacious, but the view from living room was of another apartment block about ten metres away. In the bedroom, however, one window gives a view to the rear of the block, and offers a very nice vista of Doha bay, across to the cluster of glittering skyscrapers that seems to grow by the day.
It wasn't all perfect, though. The distant, straight-ahead view as all very pleasant, but dropping my gaze, I noticed that the buildings around this block were a little on the rustic side. Every single scruffy roof had a dusty satellite dish perched atop it, and I noticed that there seemed to be beds and other furniture strewn over quite a number of them. That's right: people live on the roofs of these buildings. Furthermore, between my apartment block and the next, there is another building being crowbarred in, and they are up to about second floor level or so. I can look from my window down onto the men working below, and I could hear them rattling and hammering and sawing away at the reinforcement bars waiting for the concrete for the next floor slab. I wondered to myself when they were going to pour that, and I could only guess as to how high the building was going to be.
My answer to the concrete pouring question soon presented itself when I made a little sortie to search out nourishment. A large, white concrete pumping truck was now parked in front of the new plot, blocking the road completely. I stood for a few seconds trying to figure out a way past, and noticed people were just walking and ducking under the hydraulic stabilisation legs that sprouted from each corner of the truck, giving it the appearance of a giant scorpion with its tail being the piping mechanism. Going against all my Health and Safety sensibilities, I decided to go for it and also walked under the machine's legs, hoping it wouldn't decide to make a sudden movement whilst I was passing under it. It hadn't started pumping yet, so I was fine.
I found the hotel I had been to on a couple of previous occasions. It is even closer now, which is useful. They have a reasonably homely bar on the twelfth floor and they serve decent food like steaks and pies, so off I popped and enjoyed a couple of pints and a bite to eat. I was joined for bit by Mr. Next In Command, and we talked bollocks for an hour or so. He, along with a few of the others from my company, lives in the same apartment block as me. We touched on a subject that has come up with a few of us working out at Ras Laffan. It was discovered that our client has accommodation blocks at the site, and they are supposed to be of a reasonable standard. Mishter Bond has expressed an interest in staying there, as it would save him the three-hour round-trip every day. As he comes to the site every day, it would make sense for him. For me, I might still be working in Doha for half of the week, so it's not as clear cut, and besides, the apartment is good and there are things to do in Doha when you're desperate, and if anyone visits me, as they are threatening to do, the apartment could cater for it.
I digress, as I do. After my couple of pints I returned to the apartment and ducked under the giant scorpion's legs once more and went up to my apartment. About half an hour after I'd settled down to watch a movie on the very nice LCD TV (shame about the reception), the pumping started. It was fairly noisy, consisting of a loud mechanical whirring and humming along with the rattle of reinforcement bars being hit by concrete. I checked my watch and it was 10.30pm. Are they having a laugh? They're having a laugh! I decided I would just watch TV until they stopped. They did after 30 minutes, but then started again another 30 minutes later, obviously pouring the concrete in batches. I wondered if they'd pour the whole floor slab that night, which seemed optimistic as the floor area was quite large. As it was, they were still pumping and pouring and power-floating until God knows what hour. I gave in to tiredness at 12.30am and found it remarkably easy to get to sleep. The noise assumed a rhythmic, soothing quality after a while.
When I woke up, I heard nothing from below. I looked out of the window to see that the Martians had left the pit, and the fighting machines were nowhere to be seen. I looked down on a completed floor slab, covered in circular marks from the power-floater and drying in the sun. Incredible. I wondered if they would be back, but Friday is, of course, the day off for everyone, well almost everyone, and there was no further activity.
So, refreshed and raring to go, I drove out to Villagio Mall near the new stadium (I've been there before - it's the one with the gondolas and fake canals), and did a quick spot of supply procurement in the cavernous Carrefour. Every other shop was closed, even at noon. Starbucks, or the Evil Caffeine Empire as it may be called by some, was open when I left, but I'd already had a coffee and sandwich at the Carrefour coffee shop, which had probably saved me a good 20 Riyals.
After dropping my shopping back at the flat, I sat around for a bit and decided I should get out and about while I still could, bearing in mind the approach of summer. I drove down to the Corniche, parked up just near the Emir's vast, palatial palace (funny that) and had a little wander on the path running along the bay. The Corniche has to be Doha's best feature, with grass and trees and an ever-changing view as you move along. Little dhows run cruises around the bay from jetties dotted along the length of it, and it is really quite a popular destination for residents, especially towards late afternoon and early evening when the temperature drops. Many just walk along it, taking in the air; some maniacs jog; kids frolic on the grass. It's very pleasant.
Hunger seduced me away from the Corniche and I ended up at Fuddruckers, an American burger restaurant, but not a fast food joint by any means. Their burgers are pretty good, and you have the choice of a large range of toppings, which you help yourself to from a salad bar and large vats of sauces. I opted for a half-pound plain burger, which was more than ample. I couldn't even finish the fries that came with it, and I'm glad I didn't let greed get the better of me. I could have chosen the pound burger. A pound! That's a big packet of minced beef that you would use to feed a family of four with. It must be huge.
With my belly full, I left Fuddruckers and sauntered back to the car, wondering how I'd spend the rest of my evening. It was only early; about 5.30pm, and I didn't really want to go to a bar. As it was, I spotted the bright floodlights of the nearby stadium, just past the tennis complex, and wondered if a football game was on. I drove closer to it as I made my way onto the main road and saw the large electronic scoreboard lit up with two club crests and 0-0. It might have already kicked off, but chances were that it was only early in the game, so I drove round to the stadium itself. There were a few cars there, but it wasn't packed by any means, so I parked close to a set of stairs leading up to the stands and ambled up them. A man was selling tickets at the first landing, and he told me it was the princely sum of 10 Riyals. I asked who was playing and he smiled at me as if I was a simpleton and should automatically know. Still, I decided it would be worth a watch. I like to see football games in different countries, as much to sample the different atmospheres as anything. It was good decision.
From the scoreboard and the flags everywhere I established was between Qatar Sporting Club and Al Khor, and there was a crowd of about 1,500 to 2,000 in a stadium that could hold maybe 10,000. Many of the people watching were local men, dressed in their familiar, squint-inducingly brilliant white dish-dashes. Some had football scarves on, some carried drums of different shapes and sizes. There wasn't a single woman that I could see in the ground apart from one Western woman who walked past with her partner as I entered. Seating was a help-yourself, first-come-first-served affair, and I parked myself near the top row, just about level with the penalty area. I soon realised that this a big game by how professional everything looked. There were cameras everywhere and electronic advertising boards lined every side of the luscious, green pitch. They even had one of those little electric buggies to carry injured players off the pitch. It was driven in the style of a white Land Cruiser.
It's not a problem, though. I'm not complaining. Long weekends are the mother of boredom and depression and eating and drinking too much. As it is, I got away with eating a big juicy hamburger at Fuddruckers, but we'll come to that in a bit.
The weekend started on Thursday afternoon. I had driven myself to Ras Laffan and back with the aid of an mp3 player on shuffle, and hadn't got lost. When I got back to Doha I checked out of the hotel and lugged all my gear round the corner to the apartment block. I spent an infuriating ten minutes trying to park the car (which is a big saloon) in a very small space in a very tight basement garage. They have a habit here of squeezing spaces between columns, and it makes for a good test of one's driving skills, even more so when there are no parking sensors. After parking, I collected the keys to my apartment and took the lift to the 9th floor. I had a pleasant surprise in store: the flat itself was fine, reasonably furnished and spacious, but the view from living room was of another apartment block about ten metres away. In the bedroom, however, one window gives a view to the rear of the block, and offers a very nice vista of Doha bay, across to the cluster of glittering skyscrapers that seems to grow by the day.
It wasn't all perfect, though. The distant, straight-ahead view as all very pleasant, but dropping my gaze, I noticed that the buildings around this block were a little on the rustic side. Every single scruffy roof had a dusty satellite dish perched atop it, and I noticed that there seemed to be beds and other furniture strewn over quite a number of them. That's right: people live on the roofs of these buildings. Furthermore, between my apartment block and the next, there is another building being crowbarred in, and they are up to about second floor level or so. I can look from my window down onto the men working below, and I could hear them rattling and hammering and sawing away at the reinforcement bars waiting for the concrete for the next floor slab. I wondered to myself when they were going to pour that, and I could only guess as to how high the building was going to be.
My answer to the concrete pouring question soon presented itself when I made a little sortie to search out nourishment. A large, white concrete pumping truck was now parked in front of the new plot, blocking the road completely. I stood for a few seconds trying to figure out a way past, and noticed people were just walking and ducking under the hydraulic stabilisation legs that sprouted from each corner of the truck, giving it the appearance of a giant scorpion with its tail being the piping mechanism. Going against all my Health and Safety sensibilities, I decided to go for it and also walked under the machine's legs, hoping it wouldn't decide to make a sudden movement whilst I was passing under it. It hadn't started pumping yet, so I was fine.
I found the hotel I had been to on a couple of previous occasions. It is even closer now, which is useful. They have a reasonably homely bar on the twelfth floor and they serve decent food like steaks and pies, so off I popped and enjoyed a couple of pints and a bite to eat. I was joined for bit by Mr. Next In Command, and we talked bollocks for an hour or so. He, along with a few of the others from my company, lives in the same apartment block as me. We touched on a subject that has come up with a few of us working out at Ras Laffan. It was discovered that our client has accommodation blocks at the site, and they are supposed to be of a reasonable standard. Mishter Bond has expressed an interest in staying there, as it would save him the three-hour round-trip every day. As he comes to the site every day, it would make sense for him. For me, I might still be working in Doha for half of the week, so it's not as clear cut, and besides, the apartment is good and there are things to do in Doha when you're desperate, and if anyone visits me, as they are threatening to do, the apartment could cater for it.
I digress, as I do. After my couple of pints I returned to the apartment and ducked under the giant scorpion's legs once more and went up to my apartment. About half an hour after I'd settled down to watch a movie on the very nice LCD TV (shame about the reception), the pumping started. It was fairly noisy, consisting of a loud mechanical whirring and humming along with the rattle of reinforcement bars being hit by concrete. I checked my watch and it was 10.30pm. Are they having a laugh? They're having a laugh! I decided I would just watch TV until they stopped. They did after 30 minutes, but then started again another 30 minutes later, obviously pouring the concrete in batches. I wondered if they'd pour the whole floor slab that night, which seemed optimistic as the floor area was quite large. As it was, they were still pumping and pouring and power-floating until God knows what hour. I gave in to tiredness at 12.30am and found it remarkably easy to get to sleep. The noise assumed a rhythmic, soothing quality after a while.
When I woke up, I heard nothing from below. I looked out of the window to see that the Martians had left the pit, and the fighting machines were nowhere to be seen. I looked down on a completed floor slab, covered in circular marks from the power-floater and drying in the sun. Incredible. I wondered if they would be back, but Friday is, of course, the day off for everyone, well almost everyone, and there was no further activity.
So, refreshed and raring to go, I drove out to Villagio Mall near the new stadium (I've been there before - it's the one with the gondolas and fake canals), and did a quick spot of supply procurement in the cavernous Carrefour. Every other shop was closed, even at noon. Starbucks, or the Evil Caffeine Empire as it may be called by some, was open when I left, but I'd already had a coffee and sandwich at the Carrefour coffee shop, which had probably saved me a good 20 Riyals.
After dropping my shopping back at the flat, I sat around for a bit and decided I should get out and about while I still could, bearing in mind the approach of summer. I drove down to the Corniche, parked up just near the Emir's vast, palatial palace (funny that) and had a little wander on the path running along the bay. The Corniche has to be Doha's best feature, with grass and trees and an ever-changing view as you move along. Little dhows run cruises around the bay from jetties dotted along the length of it, and it is really quite a popular destination for residents, especially towards late afternoon and early evening when the temperature drops. Many just walk along it, taking in the air; some maniacs jog; kids frolic on the grass. It's very pleasant.
Hunger seduced me away from the Corniche and I ended up at Fuddruckers, an American burger restaurant, but not a fast food joint by any means. Their burgers are pretty good, and you have the choice of a large range of toppings, which you help yourself to from a salad bar and large vats of sauces. I opted for a half-pound plain burger, which was more than ample. I couldn't even finish the fries that came with it, and I'm glad I didn't let greed get the better of me. I could have chosen the pound burger. A pound! That's a big packet of minced beef that you would use to feed a family of four with. It must be huge.
With my belly full, I left Fuddruckers and sauntered back to the car, wondering how I'd spend the rest of my evening. It was only early; about 5.30pm, and I didn't really want to go to a bar. As it was, I spotted the bright floodlights of the nearby stadium, just past the tennis complex, and wondered if a football game was on. I drove closer to it as I made my way onto the main road and saw the large electronic scoreboard lit up with two club crests and 0-0. It might have already kicked off, but chances were that it was only early in the game, so I drove round to the stadium itself. There were a few cars there, but it wasn't packed by any means, so I parked close to a set of stairs leading up to the stands and ambled up them. A man was selling tickets at the first landing, and he told me it was the princely sum of 10 Riyals. I asked who was playing and he smiled at me as if I was a simpleton and should automatically know. Still, I decided it would be worth a watch. I like to see football games in different countries, as much to sample the different atmospheres as anything. It was good decision.
From the scoreboard and the flags everywhere I established was between Qatar Sporting Club and Al Khor, and there was a crowd of about 1,500 to 2,000 in a stadium that could hold maybe 10,000. Many of the people watching were local men, dressed in their familiar, squint-inducingly brilliant white dish-dashes. Some had football scarves on, some carried drums of different shapes and sizes. There wasn't a single woman that I could see in the ground apart from one Western woman who walked past with her partner as I entered. Seating was a help-yourself, first-come-first-served affair, and I parked myself near the top row, just about level with the penalty area. I soon realised that this a big game by how professional everything looked. There were cameras everywhere and electronic advertising boards lined every side of the luscious, green pitch. They even had one of those little electric buggies to carry injured players off the pitch. It was driven in the style of a white Land Cruiser.
When the game kicked off at 6.30 or so, with Qatar SC in yellow and Al Khor in blue, the drumming and chanting started, all conducted by a large man in a yellow T-shirt. I couldn't help but smile. The throbbing rhythms and enthusiastic chanting won me over straight away. The noise ebbed and flowed with the game, which was played at a good pace considering the climate. Within 2 minutes there was a goal for the home side as a hapless defender glanced a long, raking cross past his 'keeper. The drums and chants became louder and confetti fluttered down from the stands. Then, after another minute, Al Khor had equalised after a free-kick from the left edge of the penalty area was smashed into the opposite corner. I laughed and shook my head. Utter madness. The video at the bottom gives a little taster of the atmosphere.
Sadly, the action died down a bit, but there were still moments of excitement. Some of the attacking play was quite impressive, but then some of the defending was of the slapstick variety. I couldn't see it finishing 1-1. Qatar Sports Club's defence looked particularly shaky, especially with a very short goalkeeper who was good at shouting, but not so good at coming for high balls. The first half ended with Qatar SC earning a penalty and taking the lead.
Half time's arrival means only one thing wherever you watch a game: refreshment. I'd seen people coming down the steps with packets of pumpkin seeds, shwarmas and little cartons of juice or water. I left my seat to find the source of the food and drink and saw a man at the top of the stand with boxes of the stuff I wanted, so I bought a drink and a packet of seeds (2 Riyals), and returned to my seat for the second half.
The second period was a story of missed chances. Al Khor pressed for an equaliser and Qatar played on the break, splitting the defence time and again, but missing every time. The local supporters became more and more frustrated, shouting, "YALLAH!" whenever they broke, then tutting and stamping frustrated sandals onto the concrete when they again failed to score. The odd English term could be heard, such as "shoot" or "offside", but sadly I never heard an, "Abdullah, you're shite!" I don't know what the Arabic is for that.
As it was the home team held on for the win, as far as I know. I left the game with a minute or two of injury time to go, mainly to beat the rush. As I left, a local teenager held his scarf over his head and grinned at me. "Winners!" he said as I passed him. I smiled and nodded. This is what makes the game of football what it is. Cultural divides just melt away when it comes to willing your team to stick the ball in the onion bag. Or it could be goatskin sack.
EDIT: Just having had a look on the net about Qatar Sporting Club, I've found out that they have some bloody big names on their books, like Christophe Dugarry, Claudio Cannigia and Marcel Desailly. I don't think any of the big names played last night, but one could be wrong. The number 23 looked familiar. The announcements were all in Arabic. The one name I remember hearing was Karkouri, who used to play for Charlton Athletic in England. Also, it was Emir's Cup quarter-final, and QSC are now in the semi-final, to be played on 3rd May. Here is the report from the official QFA site.
Good to see your alive and well and posting as ever.
ReplyDeleteKeep going.
S'sprog
A great read again. I'll stick it in my favourites and keep an eye on how you get on.
ReplyDeleteCraig