Half-way to my first five weeks being completed and getting back home to the family. Seventeen more days of driving back and forth to Ras Laffan. I might just have listened to every single track on my mp3 player by then, although it has a nasty habit of playing the same ones over and over again. I'm getting sick of U2's "The Fly". Buzz off, say I, as I jab the skip button.
Saturday night saw a nightmarish journey back to Doha. For some reason beyond the comprehension of sane people, the security personnel of Ras Laffan Industrial City thought it would be a good idea to set up a check-point on one of the main arterial routes towards the exit. Not AT the exit: TOWARDS the exit. This caused a long queue at the beginning of my journey. By the time I got to the outskirts of Doha it was dark, and my mind was approaching a somewhat stressed-out condition. The roads are bad enough in daylight, but in darkness you have to allow for all the usual perils plus the fact that it is harder to see cars coming out of hyperspace in your rear-view mirror, and if they haven't got their lights on - which is often the case - it makes it even more difficult.
Thankfully, with some extremely defensive driving, I made it to Doha. Then I had the traffic to contend with. It's not usually too bad on my route, but there is excitement added to by the seemingly random scattering of barriers and cones in the West Bay area where they seem to be resurfacing the road in segments. These barriers aren't very well lit anyway, which makes for interesting, last-minute manoeuvres by everyone. At the roundabouts, I generally try and stick to my chosen lane, which nobody else seems to want to do. In a bewildering blur, cars cut across from both sides as you try to negotiate your way around and off the roundabout. I think I must hold my breath every time I negotiate one.
Then I made another mistake of judgement, deciding to try a little short-cut towards the apartment. I will never learn, because I ended up getting stuck in a traffic jam down a narrow street, at the end of which were some traffic lights which stayed on green for around three seconds. I finally arrived, with a headache starting to develop, at 7.30pm. I am essentially doing a thirteen-hour day, with the long drive each way and the ten-hour working day sandwiched in the middle. It wouldn't be so bad if I was busy, but I'm not.
Still, I knew I had a gym session to go through, and it was a great stress-buster. My flames of my dark mood and evil thoughts had died down to smoking embers. I didn't want to go postal tonight, and I didn't want to jump on the first plane out of Dodge. Until the next day, at least.
With my mood lightened, I ate some reasonably decent, unprocessed food and settled in front of the goggle box for an hour. My noble aspirations of writing a book or something whilst I'm here have yet to take any tangible form. I'm just too beat by the time I've got home, exercised, eaten and then collapsed. Boo-fucking-hoo, eh?
What makes it slightly less tolerable is not having phone or internet in the apartment yet. They still haven't sorted it, and it's starting to seriously annoy me. All this driving and lack of facilities has made me think about asking to move to the on-site accommodation, but when I consider the even worse lack of facilities out here, I think I'm doing the right thing. If only they (my superiors) would sort out something so I could work in Doha half the week, which they keep saying they will, it would be so much more pleasant.
One has to be stoical though. I know what has to be done, and I'm sure things will smooth out along the way. The eyes have to remain on the goal, and knowing that I only have another seventeen days to tolerate until I go home is a big help. If it was a longer rotation, I'm not sure if I could put up with it. I should - SHOULD - also get my first pay within a week or two, which will make things seem better.
And finally, a pic I found. It made me laugh.
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