There are not many occasions that I can remember where I have been left speechless. There are also not many occasions I can remember where something that has no proximity or immediacy to me moves me to tears. The bombings in Jordan on Wednesday of this week were one such time.
Al-Qaeda has claimed responsibility for this sickening crime which will be added to their long list of travesties and tragedies.
Today there are 56 families who are missing one of their members and many hundreds more who have lost friends or have someone who was severely injured in the blasts. I have staff in my offices across the Middle East who knew people who were killed.
I spoke to three clients yesterday about the bombings. One lost a cousin, one his old friend from his university days and the other lost two of her closest friends in the bombings. Everyone in the Middle East has been touched by this appalling and cowardly attack.
Two of my staff were in Amman to run a major press conference for a large international American client in the Grand Hyatt. The event was a great success and fortunately was concluded a few hours before the bombs went off. If they had exploded earlier we would have lost many people from our firm and our client’s company, as well as journalists.
Later that evening, one of my team – a Jordanian who now works for my firm in Dubai - met up with one her best friends in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt hotel. After she said goodbye to him, they walked off in separate directions in the lobby. He towards the bar, she towards the entrance. 15 seconds later the bomb exploded and he was dead. My colleague was miraculously unhurt and lived – only to turn around and see the death and destruction just feet away including the remains of her friend.
Instead of breaking down, she started to find clients and journalists and assist them in their evacuation of the hotel. She then spent the next 10 hours arranging for new hotels, flights and cars to the airport. A group of Egyptian journalists refused to co-operate and told her that they were not going to go anywhere until she – the PR person – went back into the hotel and got their bags and personal belongings. They even started to abuse her when she explained that the police would not allow anyone back into the hotel. Idiots.
When I heard of the bombs back in Dubai – just 30 minutes after they had gone off – I spent the next three hours on the phone co-ordinating with my people across the Middle East to check on staff, clients and others. The girl who lost her friend in the blast was the last person I managed to reach and I was very concerned.
She was in tears and in a state of shock – She told me about her friend who was killed and I gave her my condolences. I had imagined that she was at home with her family by now so I rang off as I did not want to intrude into her privacy at such a terrible time. I didn’t know that actually this was just the beginning of her night and that she would spend the next eight hours or so ensuring the safety of others including the ignorant and intolerable Egyptian journalists.
Another member of my staff was at the Days Inn hotel, which was also blown up. She too was miraculously unhurt, although her car - which was parked outside the hotel - is now a windowless convertible as a result of the blast.
When I learnt of the bravery of my colleague in the Grand Hyatt I was simply astonished and totally humbled. I cannot imagine the feelings one has when one sees one’s best friend blown up and killed, seconds after saying goodbye to them. To see one’s home city brought to its knees with death and chaos all around. And then to spend the night taking care of others and making sure they are safe. Her bravery has been recognized within the company at a global level and indeed by the CEO of the WPP group - which owns our firm -who wrote her a personal letter. At my request we will also be making a donation to the appropriate fund that will help the victims of the blasts in Amman.
There were of course other tragedies in Amman. Ashraf Mohammed and his bride Nadia Al-Alami were celebrating their marriage with 250 guests in the ballroom of the Radisson hotel – scene of the worst blast which went off when the wedding party was taking place. Both bride and groom were injured and each lost their fathers. To begin your married life in this way is truly awful – and for the bomb to claim the lives of their respective father-in-laws was also tragic – (particularly as the mother-in-laws were unhurt!).
Jordan was targeted for three main reasons. Its close relationship with the US – politically and economically is perhaps the first reason. The second that it has maintained much closer relationships with Israel than the other Arab nations and this is seen as a betrayal. Finally, it is a hub now for mainly American and other foreign forces who use Amman and Jordan as a “pied a terre” for their activities in Iraq which the country borders. The attack in this sense was no surprise as it has been widely anticipated that the country would be targeted, and only the hitherto tireless work of the efficient intelligence service in Jordan has protected the Hashemite Kingdom from Al Qaeda until this week.
The Jordanian Royal family are Hashemites. This means they are blood descendants of the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH) and yet evidently Al Qaeda do not feel they are “Islamic enough”. This goes to show that actually Al Qaeda is nothing to do with Islam. These attacks and others around the world have nothing to do with Islam or the Muslim people. These are acts of pure terror without rhyme or reason and there are no excuses or ways of defending them.
This is the world we live in. New York, Madrid, London, Bali, Jordan, Egypt and so on. Nowhere is safe from this scourge and no-one can predict where next. Death and mourning in this part of the world are sadly so commonplace in the last hundred years or more, that society and communities have developed their own mechanisms for dealing with it. The Westerners are beginning to learn how to do this too. Not lessons that we would hope for in the 21st century.
It is God’s will say some, perhaps to remove the need to question the mindlessness and brutal unfairness of such early deaths in such tragic circumstances. Maybe this makes it easier.
The bravery, courage, commitment and strength demonstrated by my colleague in Amman on Wednesday and indeed many other Jordanians, made me realize how pathetic most of the problems we all worry about on a daily basis are. I was and am humbled by her and her actions.
I hope you will be too.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Sunday, October 2, 2005
Ships of the Desert . . .
There was a joke when I was teenager which went something like this:
Q: Why are camels called the ships of the desert?
A: Because they are full of Arab semen . . .
Geddit?
Today’s Gulf News, one of the leading English language daily newspapers, carried the following story on its website about a court case from the northern Emirate of Ras Al Khaimah:
Driver jailed for bestiality
By Nasouh Nazzal, Staff Reporter
Ras Al Khaimah: A man has been sentenced to three months in jail after pleading guilty to charges of bestiality.
The camel involved in the case is to be put down in accordance with Islamic law.
A court official said the Bangladeshi, who worked as a driver, had been spotted going into his employer's barn on a regular basis.
His employer became suspicious as his duties did not involve him dealing with animals.
The official said the employer, a UAE national, followed his driver into the barn one day and saw him starting to have sex with a female camel.
The owner lost his temper and started beating him. He then took him to the police station to press charges.
The official said the driver confessed to police that he used to have sex with one particular camel.
The police arrested him and the case was referred to the Public Prosecution.
The official added the man told the prosecution that he had fallen in love with the camel and had sex with the animal.
The emirate's Criminal Court sentenced him on Wednesday to three months in jail, to be followed by deportation.
It also stated that the camel be put down as its meat would now be tainted.
The animal will be put down at the emirate's slaughterhouse, a representative from the Public Prosecution will be in attendance.
In case you think I am making this up, click on the following link to see the original story on the Gulf News website:
http://www.gulfnews.com/Articles/NationNF.asp?ArticleID=184720
So, going back to the joke of my childhood, it would appear that Bangladeshi is a more appropriate adjective than Arab!
Of course this story is rather unpleasant all round. Back in the UK we are used to hearing of tall tales about Welsh sheep farmers (although I cannot ever recall a newspaper story or a criminal prosecution confirming what was bandied about as part of a rather puerile national stereotype). And indeed, there were the legends of Greek mountain shepherds and their goats which were in a similar vein . . .
The story does raise some interesting questions – some of which I won’t go into here as they relate to biology and gymnastics – but one that has been bothering me since reading this article is the fate of the camel . . .
This poor animal, which one must assume was at the very least an unwitting (and I suspect unwilling) partner in this bestial act, is immediately sentenced to death, while the Bangladeshi offender is given a rather pathetic 3 month sentence in jail, followed by deportation.
Another question which has been giving me trouble is the confession of the offender that he “had fallen in love with the animal”. Without wanting to get into the deep philosophical discussion of “what is love” – it strikes me as somewhat farfetched to claim to have fallen in love with a camel (or any animal for that matter) and more to the point, how did this happen on the basis that communicating with camels is not a qualification that even the best linguist can claim, let alone a Bangladeshi driver . . .
I wonder what The Sun newspaper in the UK would make of this story in terms of a headline?
(I apologize in advance! )
Camel Hump-ing!
Or perhaps . . .
Dromedary Desire Derails Desperate Driver
Or perhaps . . .
Barnstorming Bangladeshi Banged Up For Bestiality
Or finally
The Camel Sutra
Q: Why are camels called the ships of the desert?
A: Because they are full of Arab semen . . .
Geddit?
Today’s Gulf News, one of the leading English language daily newspapers, carried the following story on its website about a court case from the northern Emirate of Ras Al Khaimah:
Driver jailed for bestiality
By Nasouh Nazzal, Staff Reporter
Ras Al Khaimah: A man has been sentenced to three months in jail after pleading guilty to charges of bestiality.
The camel involved in the case is to be put down in accordance with Islamic law.
A court official said the Bangladeshi, who worked as a driver, had been spotted going into his employer's barn on a regular basis.
His employer became suspicious as his duties did not involve him dealing with animals.
The official said the employer, a UAE national, followed his driver into the barn one day and saw him starting to have sex with a female camel.
The owner lost his temper and started beating him. He then took him to the police station to press charges.
The official said the driver confessed to police that he used to have sex with one particular camel.
The police arrested him and the case was referred to the Public Prosecution.
The official added the man told the prosecution that he had fallen in love with the camel and had sex with the animal.
The emirate's Criminal Court sentenced him on Wednesday to three months in jail, to be followed by deportation.
It also stated that the camel be put down as its meat would now be tainted.
The animal will be put down at the emirate's slaughterhouse, a representative from the Public Prosecution will be in attendance.
In case you think I am making this up, click on the following link to see the original story on the Gulf News website:
http://www.gulfnews.com/Articles/NationNF.asp?ArticleID=184720
So, going back to the joke of my childhood, it would appear that Bangladeshi is a more appropriate adjective than Arab!
Of course this story is rather unpleasant all round. Back in the UK we are used to hearing of tall tales about Welsh sheep farmers (although I cannot ever recall a newspaper story or a criminal prosecution confirming what was bandied about as part of a rather puerile national stereotype). And indeed, there were the legends of Greek mountain shepherds and their goats which were in a similar vein . . .
The story does raise some interesting questions – some of which I won’t go into here as they relate to biology and gymnastics – but one that has been bothering me since reading this article is the fate of the camel . . .
This poor animal, which one must assume was at the very least an unwitting (and I suspect unwilling) partner in this bestial act, is immediately sentenced to death, while the Bangladeshi offender is given a rather pathetic 3 month sentence in jail, followed by deportation.
Another question which has been giving me trouble is the confession of the offender that he “had fallen in love with the animal”. Without wanting to get into the deep philosophical discussion of “what is love” – it strikes me as somewhat farfetched to claim to have fallen in love with a camel (or any animal for that matter) and more to the point, how did this happen on the basis that communicating with camels is not a qualification that even the best linguist can claim, let alone a Bangladeshi driver . . .
I wonder what The Sun newspaper in the UK would make of this story in terms of a headline?
(I apologize in advance! )
Camel Hump-ing!
Or perhaps . . .
Dromedary Desire Derails Desperate Driver
Or perhaps . . .
Barnstorming Bangladeshi Banged Up For Bestiality
Or finally
The Camel Sutra
Friday, September 30, 2005
Food, Glorious Food!
Arab television kind of leaves me cold - and it isn’t just that I don’t understand the language. It’s really about why most TV internationally fails to hit the mark when compared to the BBC - it just isn't very good.
Naturally, I have subscribed to a cable TV package here in the UAE which provides me with news, movies and documentaries to while away those boiling summer evenings, when it is just too damn hot to go outside. After largely ignoring the ubiquitous CNN and MTV offerings, my cable box seems to be stuck on one channel for about 90% of the time - the wonderful, indulgent, decadent BBC Food Channel. . .
This is cable TV at its best - a 24 hour TV channel devoted to just one thing. Food. Yup, BBC Food Channel does just exactly what it says on the can. It brings food, gastronomy and culinary chaos to my screen every hour of the day and every day of the week. I like to think of it as gastro-pornography.
You know that watching it now and again probably isn’t too bad. But, you can’t help watching it all of the time - and I mean all of the time! It becomes an addiction, a craving which, until you have had your fill of Lancashire Hotpot, Bouillabaisse, Dim Sum, Thai Green Curry, Asparagus Risotto and Shrimp Tempura, you cannot resist.
Does the Food Channel inspire me to cook? Well. . . no. Does it inspire me to go to new restaurants? No again. In the same way pornography does not inspire you to become a better lover or seek out new sexual partners, the Food Channel is about living vicariously, about voyeurism and about acts of unashamed gastronomic indulgence. A spectator sport par excellence and without any shopping, chopping or washing up.
Like pornography it is, of course, artificial, fake, unreal. You, the viewer, cannot smell the food, taste the flavours, or feel the textures. Just like pornography, where one has to rely on the grunts and groans of the “actors” to communicate stimulation and satisfaction, on the Food Channel the viewer is reliant on the expressive gestures and gasps of the presenter or Chef to be convinced that everything tastes good.
Suspension of disbelief is also a major feature - just as some of the more bizarre positions and contortions featured in blue movies look like they might be rather painful, some of the stranger recipes on the Food Channel programmes (chicken entrails in vegetable broth springs to mind) look and sound disgusting. However, just as the smiles of pleasure in porn flicks convince one otherwise, so does the cheesy grin of the TV chef as he puts the entrails in his mouth - and yes, the TV chef does swallow . . .
TV chefs are the new celebrities of the modern generation - with the same or similar levels of recognition as singers, actors, politicians and the business elite. They influence fashions, opinions, purchasing behaviour and the way we view the world.
In the microcosm that is the world of TV cuisine, we meet food liberals, food communists and food fascists. We meet modernists, traditionalists, futurists and the avant garde. We meet the old, the young, the middle aged. Some are rigorously scientific, some are slapdash improvisers. Some are pioneering, open minded experimenters - others are treading the well worn paths of gastronomy, but simply wearing new shoes. To coin a phrase and risk a pun - food TV is the melting pot with something for everyone.
Jamie, Delia, Antony, Nigella et al are our friends, our guides, our leaders. Follow their instructions and the world will be a better place. We will be happy, we will be satisfied and of course we will be the envy of our friends. Their books sell more copies than the Bible in any given week and are probably read and consulted more religiously.
In the MTV world, food has replaced sex - easier to plan, often more satisfying and there are no taboos or restrictions. And if you don’t have time to cook, then you can always get your jollies by watching someone else do it better than you ever could on TV.
What has this to do with Arabia I hear you ask? Well perhaps not much, other than the fact that I haven’t seen any TV Cooking programmes on any of the Arabic channels and the vast array of restaurants here in the UAE are packed with people merrily enjoying the real thing, with doubtless many more people practicing “safe food” in the privacy of their homes and behind closed doors.
Having said that, His Highness Gordon Ramsay (Chef Extraordinaire and full blown gastro-celebrity) has recently arrived in Dubai, grabbing the front cover of Time Out magazine talking about guess what - food!
I suppose now it is only a matter of time before I start tuning in to the Al-Jazeera Food Channel to get my pleasure of an evening . . .
Naturally, I have subscribed to a cable TV package here in the UAE which provides me with news, movies and documentaries to while away those boiling summer evenings, when it is just too damn hot to go outside. After largely ignoring the ubiquitous CNN and MTV offerings, my cable box seems to be stuck on one channel for about 90% of the time - the wonderful, indulgent, decadent BBC Food Channel. . .
This is cable TV at its best - a 24 hour TV channel devoted to just one thing. Food. Yup, BBC Food Channel does just exactly what it says on the can. It brings food, gastronomy and culinary chaos to my screen every hour of the day and every day of the week. I like to think of it as gastro-pornography.
You know that watching it now and again probably isn’t too bad. But, you can’t help watching it all of the time - and I mean all of the time! It becomes an addiction, a craving which, until you have had your fill of Lancashire Hotpot, Bouillabaisse, Dim Sum, Thai Green Curry, Asparagus Risotto and Shrimp Tempura, you cannot resist.
Does the Food Channel inspire me to cook? Well. . . no. Does it inspire me to go to new restaurants? No again. In the same way pornography does not inspire you to become a better lover or seek out new sexual partners, the Food Channel is about living vicariously, about voyeurism and about acts of unashamed gastronomic indulgence. A spectator sport par excellence and without any shopping, chopping or washing up.
Like pornography it is, of course, artificial, fake, unreal. You, the viewer, cannot smell the food, taste the flavours, or feel the textures. Just like pornography, where one has to rely on the grunts and groans of the “actors” to communicate stimulation and satisfaction, on the Food Channel the viewer is reliant on the expressive gestures and gasps of the presenter or Chef to be convinced that everything tastes good.
Suspension of disbelief is also a major feature - just as some of the more bizarre positions and contortions featured in blue movies look like they might be rather painful, some of the stranger recipes on the Food Channel programmes (chicken entrails in vegetable broth springs to mind) look and sound disgusting. However, just as the smiles of pleasure in porn flicks convince one otherwise, so does the cheesy grin of the TV chef as he puts the entrails in his mouth - and yes, the TV chef does swallow . . .
TV chefs are the new celebrities of the modern generation - with the same or similar levels of recognition as singers, actors, politicians and the business elite. They influence fashions, opinions, purchasing behaviour and the way we view the world.
In the microcosm that is the world of TV cuisine, we meet food liberals, food communists and food fascists. We meet modernists, traditionalists, futurists and the avant garde. We meet the old, the young, the middle aged. Some are rigorously scientific, some are slapdash improvisers. Some are pioneering, open minded experimenters - others are treading the well worn paths of gastronomy, but simply wearing new shoes. To coin a phrase and risk a pun - food TV is the melting pot with something for everyone.
Jamie, Delia, Antony, Nigella et al are our friends, our guides, our leaders. Follow their instructions and the world will be a better place. We will be happy, we will be satisfied and of course we will be the envy of our friends. Their books sell more copies than the Bible in any given week and are probably read and consulted more religiously.
In the MTV world, food has replaced sex - easier to plan, often more satisfying and there are no taboos or restrictions. And if you don’t have time to cook, then you can always get your jollies by watching someone else do it better than you ever could on TV.
What has this to do with Arabia I hear you ask? Well perhaps not much, other than the fact that I haven’t seen any TV Cooking programmes on any of the Arabic channels and the vast array of restaurants here in the UAE are packed with people merrily enjoying the real thing, with doubtless many more people practicing “safe food” in the privacy of their homes and behind closed doors.
Having said that, His Highness Gordon Ramsay (Chef Extraordinaire and full blown gastro-celebrity) has recently arrived in Dubai, grabbing the front cover of Time Out magazine talking about guess what - food!
I suppose now it is only a matter of time before I start tuning in to the Al-Jazeera Food Channel to get my pleasure of an evening . . .
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
The World’s Largest Cigar & Other Assorted Superlatives . . .
The first trip I made to Qatar was courtesy of the national airline Qatar Airways – another “Emirates in the making” backed by the desires of a small state to gain global recognition and with the helpful deep pockets of an oil rich governing family. The airline’s new slogan is particularly noteworthy – “Qatar Airways - Taking you more personally”. This is announced by a soft and seductive male voice on the airline intro video as you buckle up for the quick hop up to Doha from Dubai.
To be honest, I think “Taking you more personally” would be more naturally suited as a subtitle to a European soft porn movie, rather than an airline . . . “Valerie in Vienna – Taking you more personally” . . . “Doreen in Dortmund – Taking you more personally”. . . kind of works better that way, doesn’t it?
Anyway, the flight was but a brief 40 minutes old when we began our descent into Doha, the capital of Qatar. The terrain leading to Doha is the typical fare of the region . . . sand. Lots of it. Indeed Qatar is a peninsular outgrowth from the cost of Saudi Arabia which is home to between 50-150,000 actual Qataris depending on who you ask (although the official figures say the population is between 750 and 800,000 people – mostly expats and pumped up to make the minimum population figures to accede to the WTO . . .). There is a lot of empty space in this country which will take them a long time to fill – although they are already building islands in the sea in the same manner as Dubai with The Palm islands.
Incidentally, the word “peninsula” is often used in Qatar, as it not only describes the shape of the country, but also the name of its #1 global export after oil and gas . . . Al Jazeera TV.
Al Jazeera is the Arabic word for “peninsula” and is headquartered in sleepy Doha with the blessing of the Emir of Qatar, Sheikh Al Thani. The channel is the pride of the Middle East, despite its controversial profile internationally. Staffed by ex BBC trained journalists, it is the most popular Arab news channel, providing quality news reporting of the region, by the region, for the region, combined with a plethora of live debate shows which the Arabs seem to adore. Later this year Al Jazeera International (an English language TV channel) will be launched as well as Al Jazeera Children’s Channel which is aimed at providing infotainment to the Arab youth of the region and will be broadcast from 5 cities as far apart as Doha in Qatar and Rabat in Morocco. It will also re-launch its web site (aljazeera.net) as part of its expansion internationally. Watch out CNN!
Doha is not only the capital of Qatar; it is practically speaking the only place that is inhabited in this desert kingdom. The Al Thani ruling family has palaces spread across this pleasant town which is now seeing some of the development that Dubai has become famous for over the last few years. The rather charming corniche that frames the bay area around the town is the site of an explosion of luxury hotels springing up cheek to cheek next to luxury office blocks as the old monoliths of the 1970’s are now being upstaged by the latest in glass, steel and concrete some 30 years later. A bit nouveau riche perhaps, but then Qatar is rather “nouveau” anyway, having really only just hit the big time. . .
With the world’s second largest proven reserves of liquid natural gas and a very respectable supply of oil, Qatar’s small population now enjoys the highest GDP per capita in the region and is in the top 10 worldwide. This new wealth has come after a long period where the Qatar reserves of gas and oil were managed by Japanese corporations who had negotiated exclusive extraction rights for some 20 odd years with a very large percentage of the revenues ending up in Japanese rather than Qatari pockets, thus keeping the Qatari income comparatively low until the contracts ended a couple of years ago. Then suddenly, and literally overnight, all that came out of the ground went into the Dish Dash pockets of the local chieftains and their respective clans and spending began in earnest.
The level of conspicuous wealth in Qatar is quite extraordinary, and they appear to be desperate to spend / invest it as quickly as possible in a bid to catch up with Emirates, Kuwait, Saudi and Bahrain. Everything from financial exchanges to luxury hotels, banks to boats, educational institutions, hospitals, research centres and of course the energy business and media have all seen enormous investment commitments in the last few years and the boom looks set to continue with the hosting of the Doha Asian Games in 2006 (the Eastern Olympics)
A prime example of their conspicuous consumption of money occurred shortly before this, my first visit, when the Emir’s son, the Heir Apparent, was married to the daughter of Sheikh Hammad Bin Suhaim Al Thani (whose wife is the Emir’s sister). The wedding was of course big news in Doha with the reception being held in a castle especially constructed for the wedding in the desert (the local mega hotels being simply too pedestrian for an occasion of such magnitude).
The city was dressed in a series of lavish flower arrangements and other decorations in celebration of the great occasion. One of the most incredible achievements of the wedding was its entry into the Guinness Book of Records for the world’s most expensive flower arrangement which was commissioned by Sheikh Hammad and cost US$1 million. Not a bad day for Interflora then . . .
Part of my trip was to meet with various members of the Royal Family with regard to the possibility of entering into a business arrangement together. (Like many Gulf countries whose laws for foreign firms require some kind of local partner or sponsor, Qatar requires a local shareholding in any registered business).
Our morning began with a meeting with a quite young Sheikh whose office is to be found at the Family Planning Centre in Doha. This, I discovered, is not a place where couples go to get advice on their sex lives and how to procreate, but rather a government institution set up to manage the Royal Family’s activities and development.
Our meeting with the Sheikh lasted some time, although his personal attention was not long held, as is common with Gulf Arabs. He was very polite in greeting me and my colleagues, then let the meeting be run by one of his employees while he sat quietly in the corner playing with his mobile phone.
After this meeting and a lunch, we returned to the office fighting our way through the extraordinary traffic of Doha. I should explain that Doha doesn’t have a great deal of traffic per se, just several hundred roundabouts and plenty of drivers whose relationship with a driving license is probably best described as a passing acquaintance.
As a result, the Doha Grand Prix, which is probably the best way to describe rush hour (which, incidentally, is every hour), is a rather terrifying combination of enormous 4x4s which do their best to attain supersonic speeds on the “straights” between roundabouts, and then go around the roundabouts without even touching the brakes, and certainly not going to the massive trouble of actually stopping to let other traffic through.
When one is unaccustomed to this phenomenon, as I was, the smell of fear pervades the air conditioned interior of your vehicle rather quickly. I found myself reaching for a second seatbelt and offering up small prayers to whichever Gods were tuned into my frequency. And I thought that Cairo taxis were bad!
Anyway, having risked life and limb to return to the office just a few miles across town, I settled down to the challenge of preparing for my evening meeting with Sheikh Hammad himself – he of the $1 million flower arrangements.
I was due to meet him at his Majlis at his palace at about 6.30pm. I was keen to arrive early (how naïve of me – thinking that my punctuality would be in anyway useful in Arabia!), and prepare mentally for the meeting.
A Majlis is a very common phenomenon in the Gulf countries (it is called Diwaniya in Kuwait). It literally means Council and it is a tradition which goes back many centuries from the first settlements in this part of the world.
The leader of a tribe, or Sheikh, would have a Majlis room or hall within the fort of the settlement and would sit in council there to advise and adjudicate disputes that may arise within the tribe. Today, many Gulf Arab houses feature a Majlis room which has a separate door from the main entrance of the house and is the exclusive domain of men who will gather at each other’s houses to discuss topics ranging from business to politics and social issues.
The Majlis is usually held at a certain time each day and anyone who wants to can attend (as long as you are male of course . . .). One simply enters the room which is a rectangular shape with a large seat or desk at one end where the leader sits and then seats or sofas along the length of the walls for the visitors to sit. People come to just listen as well as to ask the advice, guidance or permission of the leader on a variety of matters. The decision of the Sheikh is final and totally respected.
I arrived at Sheikh Hammad’s palace and went into the main part of the building. His personal collection of Porsches was neatly lined up in the central courtyard along with the Mercedes being quietly watched by some servants. I entered the Majlis reception area and announced my name. I was ushered into the hall where everyone stopped to look at a stranger dressed in a highly inappropriate suit and tie (instead of the local Dish Dash). It was quickly indicated that the Sheikh would receive me instead in his ante room office where I was promptly guided. Time 6.25pm.
In the office we were offered tea, dates, cigars, food and all sorts of things to while away the time – which was good as there ended up being a lot of it to while away! Chatting with the Sheikh’s Lebanese legal adviser we managed to cover world religions, international commerce, the delights of the highly complex Lebanese political scene (of which he had once been a part), the meaning of life and why English people are obsessed with the weather.
At one point the call of nature became so loud that I had to ask to use the “conveniences”. I was quickly escorted to the Sheikh’s own private office which adjoins his own private toilet.
I have never been in a more opulent office in my life, and of course the toilet was no disappointment either with a visual assault from all of the gold and silver plastered liberally over everything. Even more importantly, the Sheikh must do a lot of thinking in this room as it was exceptionally comfortable. Were it not for the fact that he was due to break off his Majlis any moment to grace me with his presence, I would have quite happily spent an hour or two enjoying these particular surroundings in peace. As it was I hurried about my business and returned to the other side of the palace to the ante-room to await His Highness.
After a short while upon my return, I noticed the end of a cigar enter the ante-room. Not just any cigar but a twelve bore cigar the likes of which I had never seen before. The cigar kept on entering the room inches at a time, and I was fully expecting to see a support team running underneath it to keep it steady.
After what seemed like three minutes, the owner of the cigar also managed to enter the room at the end of this monster from Havana. Sheikh Hammad had arrived and my speech went out the window as I stood admiring this Cuban Missile from the other side of the room.
Introductions were effected and I managed to stumble through my well rehearsed line about “how he must be delighted with the wedding to the Heir Apparent but saddened at the loss of his daughter” etc etc (not to mention the loss of $1 million on a bunch of flowers which were now sitting rotting in some dustbin in downtown Doha!) and we sat down to our earnest discussions about business with me honing my negotiation skills and showing him exactly who was boss here!
Sheikh Hammad: “So you want to do business with me?”
Me: “Er, yes please, that is to say, if it is not too much trouble . . .”
SH: “We make company?”
Me: : “Um, yes, that is more or less our plan , if you don’t have any objections sir, I mean Your Highness Excellency sir . . “
SH: “Ok. Speak with lawyer. Make the papers and I sign. Goodbye.”
And with that I concluded the deal with a dynamic and highly convincing performance. Bring me Donald Trump!
Sheikh Hammad stood up, lifted the mammoth cigar to his lips, took a puff, blew smoke in my face (clearly a gesture of great friendship and respect) and then turned and left the room to return to his Majlis.
We left by the tradesman’s entrance and went off to dinner to celebrate my enormous powers of persuasion and the huge coup of getting a deal with one of the top Sheikhs in Qatar.
While driving to dinner, my local manager who is very experienced in Arab ways and particularly those of Qatar, informed me that if this deal were to go through, I would have to present a gift to the Sheikh at the launch of the our new company. This seemed entirely reasonable to me until I enquired as to what kind of gift is usual in these situations.
Apparently, I was to get my people to start researching the purchase of a good camel for me to give to Sheikh H who already has more money than God and probably has a stable of camels. I was envisioning the press conference featuring me standing behind a podium giving my launch speech with a toothy camel tethered to the microphone, grinning to the cameras. . . . nice . . .
Later that night I heard a wonderful story (probably apocryphal) about Sheikh Hammad who had apparently been to Switzerland recently on a shopping trip. Sheikh Hammad is a young man and traveled casually wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a baseball cap and carried a small rucksack with his shopping money – in this particular case $1 million in cash.
Although his trip was to buy jewellery, gold and diamonds, it was not a total success, with him managing to only spend $600,000 on jewels, leaving the other $400,000 in cash in his rucksack.
On his return to Qatar he left his rucksack on one of the security scanners while he went to chat with some friends he had bumped into at the airport. After several minutes had gone by, he walked over to the scanner where various bags were piling up and wandered off.
After a few hundred yards, a voice started shouting for him to stop. Under ordinary circumstances, one doesn’t shout at Sheikhs, but this didn’t stop the aggrieved student who came running up to an astonished Sheikh H and then accused him of taking his bag.
Sheikh H glanced at the student who was carrying the same rucksack and saying that Sheikh H has taken his, and that he should check the luggage tag.
Still astounded, the Sheikh looked inside the rucksack he was carrying to find a laptop, some sports shoes etc. Thankfully for him, the student hadn’t looked in the bag he was carrying.
With some relief, Sheikh Hammad exchanged bags with the student and they both went on their merry way - the student never to know just how close he came to becoming a millionaire in Qatar.
So Qatar is a land of many superlatives, everything being the latest, the biggest or the best – and often the most expensive. But the Qataris retain their traditions – so far at least – while they acquire new habits and customs from the West.
Sheikh Hammad never, of course, signed any deal with me. After some backing and forthing with his legal representatives, more for face than anything else, he politely removed himself from negotiations. He had probably been mistakenly informed that we were a multi billion company for which his involvement would earn him several million a year in change. When he learnt that we were unlikely to financially change his life (in fact not even his living room) he played difficult just so we could exit the deal with face intact. Making sure no-one loses face is a very important part of Gulf Arab culture, and while frustrating on occasion, it is a rather endearing quality and should always be respected.
We ended up partnering with the shy young Sheikh of the morning meeting who will be happy to give us his time and his name, and who is still too young to be smoking half of the GDP of Cuba in one evening.
To be honest, I think “Taking you more personally” would be more naturally suited as a subtitle to a European soft porn movie, rather than an airline . . . “Valerie in Vienna – Taking you more personally” . . . “Doreen in Dortmund – Taking you more personally”. . . kind of works better that way, doesn’t it?
Anyway, the flight was but a brief 40 minutes old when we began our descent into Doha, the capital of Qatar. The terrain leading to Doha is the typical fare of the region . . . sand. Lots of it. Indeed Qatar is a peninsular outgrowth from the cost of Saudi Arabia which is home to between 50-150,000 actual Qataris depending on who you ask (although the official figures say the population is between 750 and 800,000 people – mostly expats and pumped up to make the minimum population figures to accede to the WTO . . .). There is a lot of empty space in this country which will take them a long time to fill – although they are already building islands in the sea in the same manner as Dubai with The Palm islands.
Incidentally, the word “peninsula” is often used in Qatar, as it not only describes the shape of the country, but also the name of its #1 global export after oil and gas . . . Al Jazeera TV.
Al Jazeera is the Arabic word for “peninsula” and is headquartered in sleepy Doha with the blessing of the Emir of Qatar, Sheikh Al Thani. The channel is the pride of the Middle East, despite its controversial profile internationally. Staffed by ex BBC trained journalists, it is the most popular Arab news channel, providing quality news reporting of the region, by the region, for the region, combined with a plethora of live debate shows which the Arabs seem to adore. Later this year Al Jazeera International (an English language TV channel) will be launched as well as Al Jazeera Children’s Channel which is aimed at providing infotainment to the Arab youth of the region and will be broadcast from 5 cities as far apart as Doha in Qatar and Rabat in Morocco. It will also re-launch its web site (aljazeera.net) as part of its expansion internationally. Watch out CNN!
Doha is not only the capital of Qatar; it is practically speaking the only place that is inhabited in this desert kingdom. The Al Thani ruling family has palaces spread across this pleasant town which is now seeing some of the development that Dubai has become famous for over the last few years. The rather charming corniche that frames the bay area around the town is the site of an explosion of luxury hotels springing up cheek to cheek next to luxury office blocks as the old monoliths of the 1970’s are now being upstaged by the latest in glass, steel and concrete some 30 years later. A bit nouveau riche perhaps, but then Qatar is rather “nouveau” anyway, having really only just hit the big time. . .
With the world’s second largest proven reserves of liquid natural gas and a very respectable supply of oil, Qatar’s small population now enjoys the highest GDP per capita in the region and is in the top 10 worldwide. This new wealth has come after a long period where the Qatar reserves of gas and oil were managed by Japanese corporations who had negotiated exclusive extraction rights for some 20 odd years with a very large percentage of the revenues ending up in Japanese rather than Qatari pockets, thus keeping the Qatari income comparatively low until the contracts ended a couple of years ago. Then suddenly, and literally overnight, all that came out of the ground went into the Dish Dash pockets of the local chieftains and their respective clans and spending began in earnest.
The level of conspicuous wealth in Qatar is quite extraordinary, and they appear to be desperate to spend / invest it as quickly as possible in a bid to catch up with Emirates, Kuwait, Saudi and Bahrain. Everything from financial exchanges to luxury hotels, banks to boats, educational institutions, hospitals, research centres and of course the energy business and media have all seen enormous investment commitments in the last few years and the boom looks set to continue with the hosting of the Doha Asian Games in 2006 (the Eastern Olympics)
A prime example of their conspicuous consumption of money occurred shortly before this, my first visit, when the Emir’s son, the Heir Apparent, was married to the daughter of Sheikh Hammad Bin Suhaim Al Thani (whose wife is the Emir’s sister). The wedding was of course big news in Doha with the reception being held in a castle especially constructed for the wedding in the desert (the local mega hotels being simply too pedestrian for an occasion of such magnitude).
The city was dressed in a series of lavish flower arrangements and other decorations in celebration of the great occasion. One of the most incredible achievements of the wedding was its entry into the Guinness Book of Records for the world’s most expensive flower arrangement which was commissioned by Sheikh Hammad and cost US$1 million. Not a bad day for Interflora then . . .
Part of my trip was to meet with various members of the Royal Family with regard to the possibility of entering into a business arrangement together. (Like many Gulf countries whose laws for foreign firms require some kind of local partner or sponsor, Qatar requires a local shareholding in any registered business).
Our morning began with a meeting with a quite young Sheikh whose office is to be found at the Family Planning Centre in Doha. This, I discovered, is not a place where couples go to get advice on their sex lives and how to procreate, but rather a government institution set up to manage the Royal Family’s activities and development.
Our meeting with the Sheikh lasted some time, although his personal attention was not long held, as is common with Gulf Arabs. He was very polite in greeting me and my colleagues, then let the meeting be run by one of his employees while he sat quietly in the corner playing with his mobile phone.
After this meeting and a lunch, we returned to the office fighting our way through the extraordinary traffic of Doha. I should explain that Doha doesn’t have a great deal of traffic per se, just several hundred roundabouts and plenty of drivers whose relationship with a driving license is probably best described as a passing acquaintance.
As a result, the Doha Grand Prix, which is probably the best way to describe rush hour (which, incidentally, is every hour), is a rather terrifying combination of enormous 4x4s which do their best to attain supersonic speeds on the “straights” between roundabouts, and then go around the roundabouts without even touching the brakes, and certainly not going to the massive trouble of actually stopping to let other traffic through.
When one is unaccustomed to this phenomenon, as I was, the smell of fear pervades the air conditioned interior of your vehicle rather quickly. I found myself reaching for a second seatbelt and offering up small prayers to whichever Gods were tuned into my frequency. And I thought that Cairo taxis were bad!
Anyway, having risked life and limb to return to the office just a few miles across town, I settled down to the challenge of preparing for my evening meeting with Sheikh Hammad himself – he of the $1 million flower arrangements.
I was due to meet him at his Majlis at his palace at about 6.30pm. I was keen to arrive early (how naïve of me – thinking that my punctuality would be in anyway useful in Arabia!), and prepare mentally for the meeting.
A Majlis is a very common phenomenon in the Gulf countries (it is called Diwaniya in Kuwait). It literally means Council and it is a tradition which goes back many centuries from the first settlements in this part of the world.
The leader of a tribe, or Sheikh, would have a Majlis room or hall within the fort of the settlement and would sit in council there to advise and adjudicate disputes that may arise within the tribe. Today, many Gulf Arab houses feature a Majlis room which has a separate door from the main entrance of the house and is the exclusive domain of men who will gather at each other’s houses to discuss topics ranging from business to politics and social issues.
The Majlis is usually held at a certain time each day and anyone who wants to can attend (as long as you are male of course . . .). One simply enters the room which is a rectangular shape with a large seat or desk at one end where the leader sits and then seats or sofas along the length of the walls for the visitors to sit. People come to just listen as well as to ask the advice, guidance or permission of the leader on a variety of matters. The decision of the Sheikh is final and totally respected.
I arrived at Sheikh Hammad’s palace and went into the main part of the building. His personal collection of Porsches was neatly lined up in the central courtyard along with the Mercedes being quietly watched by some servants. I entered the Majlis reception area and announced my name. I was ushered into the hall where everyone stopped to look at a stranger dressed in a highly inappropriate suit and tie (instead of the local Dish Dash). It was quickly indicated that the Sheikh would receive me instead in his ante room office where I was promptly guided. Time 6.25pm.
In the office we were offered tea, dates, cigars, food and all sorts of things to while away the time – which was good as there ended up being a lot of it to while away! Chatting with the Sheikh’s Lebanese legal adviser we managed to cover world religions, international commerce, the delights of the highly complex Lebanese political scene (of which he had once been a part), the meaning of life and why English people are obsessed with the weather.
At one point the call of nature became so loud that I had to ask to use the “conveniences”. I was quickly escorted to the Sheikh’s own private office which adjoins his own private toilet.
I have never been in a more opulent office in my life, and of course the toilet was no disappointment either with a visual assault from all of the gold and silver plastered liberally over everything. Even more importantly, the Sheikh must do a lot of thinking in this room as it was exceptionally comfortable. Were it not for the fact that he was due to break off his Majlis any moment to grace me with his presence, I would have quite happily spent an hour or two enjoying these particular surroundings in peace. As it was I hurried about my business and returned to the other side of the palace to the ante-room to await His Highness.
After a short while upon my return, I noticed the end of a cigar enter the ante-room. Not just any cigar but a twelve bore cigar the likes of which I had never seen before. The cigar kept on entering the room inches at a time, and I was fully expecting to see a support team running underneath it to keep it steady.
After what seemed like three minutes, the owner of the cigar also managed to enter the room at the end of this monster from Havana. Sheikh Hammad had arrived and my speech went out the window as I stood admiring this Cuban Missile from the other side of the room.
Introductions were effected and I managed to stumble through my well rehearsed line about “how he must be delighted with the wedding to the Heir Apparent but saddened at the loss of his daughter” etc etc (not to mention the loss of $1 million on a bunch of flowers which were now sitting rotting in some dustbin in downtown Doha!) and we sat down to our earnest discussions about business with me honing my negotiation skills and showing him exactly who was boss here!
Sheikh Hammad: “So you want to do business with me?”
Me: “Er, yes please, that is to say, if it is not too much trouble . . .”
SH: “We make company?”
Me: : “Um, yes, that is more or less our plan , if you don’t have any objections sir, I mean Your Highness Excellency sir . . “
SH: “Ok. Speak with lawyer. Make the papers and I sign. Goodbye.”
And with that I concluded the deal with a dynamic and highly convincing performance. Bring me Donald Trump!
Sheikh Hammad stood up, lifted the mammoth cigar to his lips, took a puff, blew smoke in my face (clearly a gesture of great friendship and respect) and then turned and left the room to return to his Majlis.
We left by the tradesman’s entrance and went off to dinner to celebrate my enormous powers of persuasion and the huge coup of getting a deal with one of the top Sheikhs in Qatar.
While driving to dinner, my local manager who is very experienced in Arab ways and particularly those of Qatar, informed me that if this deal were to go through, I would have to present a gift to the Sheikh at the launch of the our new company. This seemed entirely reasonable to me until I enquired as to what kind of gift is usual in these situations.
Apparently, I was to get my people to start researching the purchase of a good camel for me to give to Sheikh H who already has more money than God and probably has a stable of camels. I was envisioning the press conference featuring me standing behind a podium giving my launch speech with a toothy camel tethered to the microphone, grinning to the cameras. . . . nice . . .
Later that night I heard a wonderful story (probably apocryphal) about Sheikh Hammad who had apparently been to Switzerland recently on a shopping trip. Sheikh Hammad is a young man and traveled casually wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a baseball cap and carried a small rucksack with his shopping money – in this particular case $1 million in cash.
Although his trip was to buy jewellery, gold and diamonds, it was not a total success, with him managing to only spend $600,000 on jewels, leaving the other $400,000 in cash in his rucksack.
On his return to Qatar he left his rucksack on one of the security scanners while he went to chat with some friends he had bumped into at the airport. After several minutes had gone by, he walked over to the scanner where various bags were piling up and wandered off.
After a few hundred yards, a voice started shouting for him to stop. Under ordinary circumstances, one doesn’t shout at Sheikhs, but this didn’t stop the aggrieved student who came running up to an astonished Sheikh H and then accused him of taking his bag.
Sheikh H glanced at the student who was carrying the same rucksack and saying that Sheikh H has taken his, and that he should check the luggage tag.
Still astounded, the Sheikh looked inside the rucksack he was carrying to find a laptop, some sports shoes etc. Thankfully for him, the student hadn’t looked in the bag he was carrying.
With some relief, Sheikh Hammad exchanged bags with the student and they both went on their merry way - the student never to know just how close he came to becoming a millionaire in Qatar.
So Qatar is a land of many superlatives, everything being the latest, the biggest or the best – and often the most expensive. But the Qataris retain their traditions – so far at least – while they acquire new habits and customs from the West.
Sheikh Hammad never, of course, signed any deal with me. After some backing and forthing with his legal representatives, more for face than anything else, he politely removed himself from negotiations. He had probably been mistakenly informed that we were a multi billion company for which his involvement would earn him several million a year in change. When he learnt that we were unlikely to financially change his life (in fact not even his living room) he played difficult just so we could exit the deal with face intact. Making sure no-one loses face is a very important part of Gulf Arab culture, and while frustrating on occasion, it is a rather endearing quality and should always be respected.
We ended up partnering with the shy young Sheikh of the morning meeting who will be happy to give us his time and his name, and who is still too young to be smoking half of the GDP of Cuba in one evening.
Saturday, July 2, 2005
Friday in the Mountains of Oman
For photos from the journey described below, please right click on the link below to open in a separate window: http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/xenosdbx/my_photos
On Friday I decided to set off with my camera and go in search of some “real Arabia”. The road towards Hatta and Oman from Dubai is uninteresting in that it is straight most of the way, but what does capture your attention is the changing scenery around you.
Beginning with the almost white sand around Dubai, the desert is speckled with small green plants and, every so often, date farms and expanses of brilliant green. We are now in July, but in January, the colours are even more luscious – especially the greens, but they fade during the course of the year thanks to the harshness of the sun and wind.
As the tarmac unrolls in front of you, the scenery subtly begins to change with the desert taking on new hues and gradually transforming from white to yellow to a light orange and then into burnt orange, finally ending in a rich reddish tone about 70 kilometres from Dubai. The vegetation has also significantly decreased by this stage in the journey and there are just dunes which have been carved and shaped by the wind, forming peaks and ridges which, when the light falls on them, create impressive shadows and contrasts which keep attracting the eye.
As the road intersects Oman, after the village of Al Madam, the landscape changes once again. Now flat for miles around, the only features are small trees, their branches fanned out above them like some kind of amateur parasol. Camels wander with their front feet tethered, looking for food to graze on or the shelter of the tree for a lie down and a conference with their fellow camels. The ground is a burnt brown combination of dirt and sand, with rocky formations hinting at what lies ahead….
After another 10 kilometres or so, the horizon changes. A few peaks can be made out in the distance, although the first time visitor will fail to pay attention. After a brief moment longer the gaze is automatically focused on a sea of mountains that fill the distance like the crests of waves on an ocean shore. Suddenly the vast expanse of the desert has been framed, defined and bordered and you are simultaneously filled with curiosity and a sense of foreboding from their dark shadows and menacing edges.
The visual impact of the mountain ranges is so impressive after the flatness of the desert. On this trip I decided to try and find a way into the mountains to investigate further. This meant crossing into Oman, but I did not have my passport with me. However, I took a chance and found a track off the main asphalt highway and just aimed towards the mountains. No check points, no border control, I journeyed into Oman in much the same way as the traders and nomads of past times would have crossed the land and before the idea of borders had even been thought of – albeit in a 6 litre V8 SUV, rather than on horse or camel back. . .
After a short while, I spotted a man who was hailing me from the side of the road – hitchhiking Arab style. I was in two minds about whether to stop – on the one hand wanting to avoid any hassles or delays on my journey, on the other keen to meet and talk with a local.
It was 48 degrees outside in the desert sun and so pouring from the milk jug of human kindness, I decided to stop and pick him up. He told me he was heading to a garden and jumped into the back of the car. Looking around at the barren land and the scar-faced rocky mountains, the idea of garden seemed rather unlikely, and I began to wonder if he had been in the sun just a little too long.
I offered him a bottle of water which he accepted with good grace and profuse thanks in at least two languages, one of which resembled English.
His broken English was enough to let me know his name – Sultan Yousef – that he was an Omani, married with a wife and a small three year old son.
He was fascinated by an Englishman driving in the desert – obviously not used to being given a lift in such a vehicle by a strange white fellow with a pile of camera equipment. He became even more confused when he asked me where I was going and I replied that I didn’t know – I was just driving around.
Once he got the hang of my name, which I had to translate into Arabic (Da’oud) he asked lots of questions about London, my family and of course my children. He was quite puzzled when I told him that I have no children – this is a strange notion for the Arabs.
We then exchanged manly conversation about the world including his observation that while many children is a good thing, they do cost rather a lot of money to feed and so on.
After 20 minutes or so together, we arrived at his destination. It really was a garden – in fact an oasis with a swathe of green across both sides of the road, provided in the main by the mass of date palms, their enormous leaves floating gently in the breeze.
When we stopped he invited me to join him and his family to drink some water, but I was keen to get on and declined. He wished me a long and peaceful life and went to join the others.
I continued driving through mountains listening to the country /rock / blues sounds of Mark Knopfler’s latest album Shangri La – which features outstanding musicianship from Knopfler and his band. Using vintage guitars and organs the whole album was recorded in an old Shangri La studio in Malibu (a historic recording studio from the Sixties) and the sound of the album reflects that time in music – including the ensemble recording of the whole band and the use of original instruments. Nearly all of the songs were recorded in one take – a testimony to the musicians and their approach to making music – quite different from the over produced, 27 take songs of modern music today.
Knopfler’s sometimes haunting, sometimes soothing guitar sound is not at all out of place with the barren rocky mountains that punctuate the desert in this part of Oman. They stand like spikes rising out of the ground, hard and aggressive, and yet driving through you soon discover that they harbor and protect valleys of date farms where locals still harvest one of the most traditional crops of the region.
In one particular valley, driving down dust and stone tracks and praying not to have an accident of any form – no mobile phone coverage, no help and no proper roads for at least 20 kilometres! – I discovered a quite remarkable herd of goats living between a date farm and the dry Wadi. Mainly black in colour (with a black & tan and black & white variant), there must have been between 100 and 200 hundred of these animals roaming around, sprinkled with a few sheep for good measure.
It was quite tricky negotiating my way around them - and you must try or the owner will suddenly appear and charge blood money for killing any of his animals. Indeed I have heard people have had to pay 10’s of thousands of dollars for camels which have been fatally injured in car accidents - and that is on top of the cost of completely fixing your car. Camels are pretty large animals and most accidents involving vehicles and camels usually see the vehicle in just as bad a state as the camel or sometimes worse!
In total contrast with Dubai, which is only about 120 kilometres away, this part of the world seems to have changed very little in the last 100 or even 1,000 years. Yes, there is electricity and there are some asphalt roads running through, but the rest of life seems to have been left alone with traditional farming of the brilliant green date oases and the tending to a herd of livestock which provide milk, cheese, meat and other basic materials. You can’t help wondering how long this will last and also weighing up the pros and cons of each way of life.
The return trip back to Dubai was uneventful with the exception of two camel traffic incidents which are commonplace here, but which are somewhat bizarre for the first timer. One was in the village of Al Madam again where a herd of camels trotted straight on to the two lane blacktop and nearly caused a truck pile up with several 16+ wheelers slamming on the brakes and swerving to avoid the beasts. The camels, much like their shepherd, seemed completely unperturbed and simply carried on marching down the high street next to the cafes, truck stops and shops, as though it were their natural born right to browse shop windows on a Friday afternoon . . .
The second incident was somewhat more predictable as I drove past the Nad Al Sheba camel race course in Dubai. Approaching a roundabout, I slowed to see a convoy of camels go around the roundabout being lead by a traditionally dressed Arab rider and a dozen or so camels following behind. This was made all the more amusing by the fact that they were all going around the roundabout the wrong way causing even more disruption. When I pulled out my camera for a photo, the lead rider stopped and smiled a huge white toothed smile and gestured to the other riders to stop and pose for the photo – much to the delight of the waiting traffic!
The contrast of the camels on the roundabout just a mile away from the bustling centre of one of the world’s most sophisticated and luxurious cities, is what modern Arabia is all about.
Neither image fails to take your breath away, but for very different reasons. The important thing for visitors like me is to see both sides, and indeed all sides. To try and penetrate a little further than the surface and get a feeling for the people who came from their tents in the desert and built the most modern city in the world.
For photos from the journey described above, please click on:
http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/xenosdbx/my_photos
On Friday I decided to set off with my camera and go in search of some “real Arabia”. The road towards Hatta and Oman from Dubai is uninteresting in that it is straight most of the way, but what does capture your attention is the changing scenery around you.
Beginning with the almost white sand around Dubai, the desert is speckled with small green plants and, every so often, date farms and expanses of brilliant green. We are now in July, but in January, the colours are even more luscious – especially the greens, but they fade during the course of the year thanks to the harshness of the sun and wind.
As the tarmac unrolls in front of you, the scenery subtly begins to change with the desert taking on new hues and gradually transforming from white to yellow to a light orange and then into burnt orange, finally ending in a rich reddish tone about 70 kilometres from Dubai. The vegetation has also significantly decreased by this stage in the journey and there are just dunes which have been carved and shaped by the wind, forming peaks and ridges which, when the light falls on them, create impressive shadows and contrasts which keep attracting the eye.
As the road intersects Oman, after the village of Al Madam, the landscape changes once again. Now flat for miles around, the only features are small trees, their branches fanned out above them like some kind of amateur parasol. Camels wander with their front feet tethered, looking for food to graze on or the shelter of the tree for a lie down and a conference with their fellow camels. The ground is a burnt brown combination of dirt and sand, with rocky formations hinting at what lies ahead….
After another 10 kilometres or so, the horizon changes. A few peaks can be made out in the distance, although the first time visitor will fail to pay attention. After a brief moment longer the gaze is automatically focused on a sea of mountains that fill the distance like the crests of waves on an ocean shore. Suddenly the vast expanse of the desert has been framed, defined and bordered and you are simultaneously filled with curiosity and a sense of foreboding from their dark shadows and menacing edges.
The visual impact of the mountain ranges is so impressive after the flatness of the desert. On this trip I decided to try and find a way into the mountains to investigate further. This meant crossing into Oman, but I did not have my passport with me. However, I took a chance and found a track off the main asphalt highway and just aimed towards the mountains. No check points, no border control, I journeyed into Oman in much the same way as the traders and nomads of past times would have crossed the land and before the idea of borders had even been thought of – albeit in a 6 litre V8 SUV, rather than on horse or camel back. . .
After a short while, I spotted a man who was hailing me from the side of the road – hitchhiking Arab style. I was in two minds about whether to stop – on the one hand wanting to avoid any hassles or delays on my journey, on the other keen to meet and talk with a local.
It was 48 degrees outside in the desert sun and so pouring from the milk jug of human kindness, I decided to stop and pick him up. He told me he was heading to a garden and jumped into the back of the car. Looking around at the barren land and the scar-faced rocky mountains, the idea of garden seemed rather unlikely, and I began to wonder if he had been in the sun just a little too long.
I offered him a bottle of water which he accepted with good grace and profuse thanks in at least two languages, one of which resembled English.
His broken English was enough to let me know his name – Sultan Yousef – that he was an Omani, married with a wife and a small three year old son.
He was fascinated by an Englishman driving in the desert – obviously not used to being given a lift in such a vehicle by a strange white fellow with a pile of camera equipment. He became even more confused when he asked me where I was going and I replied that I didn’t know – I was just driving around.
Once he got the hang of my name, which I had to translate into Arabic (Da’oud) he asked lots of questions about London, my family and of course my children. He was quite puzzled when I told him that I have no children – this is a strange notion for the Arabs.
We then exchanged manly conversation about the world including his observation that while many children is a good thing, they do cost rather a lot of money to feed and so on.
After 20 minutes or so together, we arrived at his destination. It really was a garden – in fact an oasis with a swathe of green across both sides of the road, provided in the main by the mass of date palms, their enormous leaves floating gently in the breeze.
When we stopped he invited me to join him and his family to drink some water, but I was keen to get on and declined. He wished me a long and peaceful life and went to join the others.
I continued driving through mountains listening to the country /rock / blues sounds of Mark Knopfler’s latest album Shangri La – which features outstanding musicianship from Knopfler and his band. Using vintage guitars and organs the whole album was recorded in an old Shangri La studio in Malibu (a historic recording studio from the Sixties) and the sound of the album reflects that time in music – including the ensemble recording of the whole band and the use of original instruments. Nearly all of the songs were recorded in one take – a testimony to the musicians and their approach to making music – quite different from the over produced, 27 take songs of modern music today.
Knopfler’s sometimes haunting, sometimes soothing guitar sound is not at all out of place with the barren rocky mountains that punctuate the desert in this part of Oman. They stand like spikes rising out of the ground, hard and aggressive, and yet driving through you soon discover that they harbor and protect valleys of date farms where locals still harvest one of the most traditional crops of the region.
In one particular valley, driving down dust and stone tracks and praying not to have an accident of any form – no mobile phone coverage, no help and no proper roads for at least 20 kilometres! – I discovered a quite remarkable herd of goats living between a date farm and the dry Wadi. Mainly black in colour (with a black & tan and black & white variant), there must have been between 100 and 200 hundred of these animals roaming around, sprinkled with a few sheep for good measure.
It was quite tricky negotiating my way around them - and you must try or the owner will suddenly appear and charge blood money for killing any of his animals. Indeed I have heard people have had to pay 10’s of thousands of dollars for camels which have been fatally injured in car accidents - and that is on top of the cost of completely fixing your car. Camels are pretty large animals and most accidents involving vehicles and camels usually see the vehicle in just as bad a state as the camel or sometimes worse!
In total contrast with Dubai, which is only about 120 kilometres away, this part of the world seems to have changed very little in the last 100 or even 1,000 years. Yes, there is electricity and there are some asphalt roads running through, but the rest of life seems to have been left alone with traditional farming of the brilliant green date oases and the tending to a herd of livestock which provide milk, cheese, meat and other basic materials. You can’t help wondering how long this will last and also weighing up the pros and cons of each way of life.
The return trip back to Dubai was uneventful with the exception of two camel traffic incidents which are commonplace here, but which are somewhat bizarre for the first timer. One was in the village of Al Madam again where a herd of camels trotted straight on to the two lane blacktop and nearly caused a truck pile up with several 16+ wheelers slamming on the brakes and swerving to avoid the beasts. The camels, much like their shepherd, seemed completely unperturbed and simply carried on marching down the high street next to the cafes, truck stops and shops, as though it were their natural born right to browse shop windows on a Friday afternoon . . .
The second incident was somewhat more predictable as I drove past the Nad Al Sheba camel race course in Dubai. Approaching a roundabout, I slowed to see a convoy of camels go around the roundabout being lead by a traditionally dressed Arab rider and a dozen or so camels following behind. This was made all the more amusing by the fact that they were all going around the roundabout the wrong way causing even more disruption. When I pulled out my camera for a photo, the lead rider stopped and smiled a huge white toothed smile and gestured to the other riders to stop and pose for the photo – much to the delight of the waiting traffic!
The contrast of the camels on the roundabout just a mile away from the bustling centre of one of the world’s most sophisticated and luxurious cities, is what modern Arabia is all about.
Neither image fails to take your breath away, but for very different reasons. The important thing for visitors like me is to see both sides, and indeed all sides. To try and penetrate a little further than the surface and get a feeling for the people who came from their tents in the desert and built the most modern city in the world.
For photos from the journey described above, please click on:
http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/xenosdbx/my_photos
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