I wanted my parents to visit me... in Doha, about
three hours after moving here. The excitement of living in the Middle East in
an Islamic country has long since died out for me; but the thought of putting
my parents on a plane and just seeing their wide-eyed stares for my amusement
made the idea of a visit all the better.
Dad and I had discussed getting them over to Doha, but he had a major
demand, “I don’t want to spend all my time in Qatar.” I thought about trying to
convince him that Qatar deserved at least as much time as Paris or China, but
in all honesty, after two days you’ve pretty much seen it all. So I was ordered
to go out and search for an itinerary worthy of the physical and monetary cost
of a seventeen hour flight for my parents… and the search was on.
There were some rules, though. “Your mother doesn’t want to
go to India.” It turns out a leg of The Amazing Race went thru the Calcutta
ghettos and the abject poverty, filth, and potential aroma had soured my plans
for tea plantations and the Taj Mahal. “January and February will work best for
us.” Damn you Dad and your devotion of doing taxes for the homeless and
elderly! He needed to be available for the late filers in April, so scratch off
northern Europe and Poland. “We like cruises.” Oh for God’s sake! How in the
world am I supposed to get a cruise out of the Persian Gulf? (*note – there are now cruises out of Dubai).
Months went by of searching guidebooks, travel websites, and
staring at Google Earth. Would they like an African safari where you pitch your
own tent surrounded by bugs and hyenas? How about Thailand with its incredibly
spicy food and ladyboys? How about a few days of seclusion in the Maldives with
unlimited booze? I sent Dad an email asking for some clarification, and got the
following response with my father’s standard dry wit and sarcasm. I can hear
him typing this with a slight chuckle:
“Wait a minute! You were supposed to be finding a trip for
us. You said you would take care of it, keep it on budget, and make sure that
your mother would feel safe. Don’t come
back to me trying to worm your way out of your promise… go find us the trip
that you promised!”
Unfortunately, my father has trouble reading the small type
on his laptop… and instead of enlarging the font, he types in all caps. So re-read the same paragraph exactly as he
sent it to me:
“WAIT A MINUTE. YOU
WERE SUPPOSED TO BE FINDING A TRIP FOR US. YOU SAID YOU WOULD TAKE CARE OF IT,
KEEP IT ON BUDGET, AND MAKE SURE YOUR MOTHER WOULD FEEL SAFE. DON’T COME BACK
TO ME TRYING TO WORM YOUR WAY OUT OF A PROMISE… GO FIND US THE TRIP THAT YOU
PROMISED!”
I was sitting at work, reading this email, struggling to
hold back tears as the paragraph came off the page in the voice of my father
yelling at me like when I sat on the dryer door and broke the hinge. I half
expected the email to finish with him telling me to go his closest and grab the
belt. I sniffled my way through a phone
call to Dad explaining to him the protocol of ALL CAPS means yelling in emails.
“Well… if they made the type bigger...”
Months of searching later, I finally found it. An “off-season” Mediterranean cruise. Much cheaper than the summer cruises to keep
us under budget, multiple stops to places neither my parents nor I had ever
visited, plus some time in Doha before and time in Italy after. This could work!! I sent off the itinerary to my parents for
approval, wonderfully entitled,” Your Grand Tour: Houston, Doha, Dubai, Rome,
Genoa, Marseilles, Malta, Alexandria & Cairo, Israel, Palestine, Cyprus,
Crete, Naples, and some more time in Italy to finish it off.” Mom was thrilled! She was going to get to see the Pyramids; Dad
was going to get to see Israel! He wrote
to say that Mom went on the computer “by herself” to look up the places we were
going to visit… she was that excited. Proud in my accomplishments and thinking
about changing careers to travel planning, we spend the money, bought all the
tickets in advance, and just had to wait another two months…
And then... the Arab Spring.
I had one job to do. Plan a
vacation so that my parents could see the wonders of the world… and Egypt burns
to the ground. Dad wondered if we should
cancel the entire trip as the U.S. news was reporting that the entire Middle
East had erupted in protest. I had to
buck him up, saying that Qatar was stable and very secure. The cruise ships sent notice that they were
going to bypass Alexandria and cancel the excursions to the pyramids. Mom,
without a word of protest, said it was OK… but I could tell she was a little
upset, but she would never show it to me. If Egypt ever calms the fuck down, I
promise to take her, if just for one day.
I spent three days scrubbing my apartment, washing all the
sheets and towels, and paying the maid extra to soap down the windows. The
fridge was stocked with apples for Dad, the freezer with discount cigarettes
for Mom. They boarded the plane, and
were on their way.
And that was when I received a call from an old family
friend in Houston. One of my mother’s closest friends had passed away. It was now
my job to tell her. For eight hours I wavered between joy and nervous energy
that soon my parents would be here, in Doha… and dreading the thought that I
was going to make my mom cry. They
showed up, joked about the multitude of different people and clothing on the
flight over, and stared out at the unfamiliar Arabic lettering and signage as I
brought them back to my old apartment. It was there where I had to break the
news to Mom.
With one sentence, I knew my mother would forever associate
this trip with the loss of her friend. Selfishly, I asked Dad if Mom was going to be OK, or stay depressed while trying to travel. Dad said
not to worry; she'll be OK. After a while, Mom
composed herself and simply stated that yes, she was going to be sad, but that
she came here to see amazing things and to enjoy her time with me and Dad… and
that’s what she was going to do. “Now… what are we doing first?”
That’s my mom…
My friends Ed and Nicole were having a “fancy dress” party
that night, so Mom and Dad put their shoes back on while I slipped into a
dinner jacket, and we went over for glasses of wine, Nicole’s amazing food, and
canapés. Dad drank an Old Fashioned
while we chatted with my friends in a strangely elegant setting before the jet
lag kicked in.
Next morning I pulled out the pre-packed cooler, told my
parents to put on a bathing suit, and headed out the door just as the sun was
coming up. We went over to Tim and
Melissa’s, two dear friends of mine, who agreed to help take my parents out to
the Inland Sea for a day of dune bashing.
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| Camel riding near Sealine |
We lowered the pressure on the tires to almost nothing, and
headed due south into the desert. Trying to describe the desert is almost
impossible… it’s not like the deserts we know in Texas or Arizona. These are bleak, eerie, and foreign; with
almost no guidelines or markers to find your way. As I gunned the engine to
climb the steep dunes, Mom was quietly swearing under her breath. She never did enjoy the driving in Doha. We bashed our way up and down the dunes until
we reached a quiet outlet near the Inland Sea passage to the Arabian Gulf. I
explained that the rocky outcroppings just across the narrow inlet was Saudi
Arabia, and pulled up a map on my phone to show them exactly where we were. We
set up a tent, fired up the charcoal, and spend the hours swimming in the cold
salty water and climbing the nearby powdered dunes. We sat for hours talking
about life in Qatar, drinking our beers in spite of the Saudis, and digging our
toes into the cool winter sand. Dad found the absence of any noise from birds
or insects fascinating. After our bellies were full of blackened hotdogs and
kielbasa, we packed up and headed back along our GPS path. Some traffic cones popped up in the middle of
nowhere, and we decided to follow them, trying to fathom who would need a path
out here. By accident, we found
ourselves driving onto the set of the movie “Black Gold” with Antonio Banderas…
prop biplane and all.
Instead of forcing my parents into Turkish or Lebanese food
right away, I thought I would take them to dinner at my favorite restaurant in
Doha… Thai Snack. I explained that the kitchen is how all of Bangkok smells;
herbal and fragrant of broth and pandan leaves. The table was soon covered with
dumplings, noodles, green curries and fried morning glory. Dad enjoyed it except for the spicy
heat. As for Mom, “it’s different.” Dad quickly interjected that “it’s different”
is her way of saying she didn’t like it.
The next morning was giving them a tour of work and
Education City. We had morning tea with the Bosses and I was able to give them
the grand tour, followed by a respectable lunch of Hot Chicken. Yes… Hot
Chicken… possibly the best restaurant in all of Doha. While I realize that at least half of the
meal is made up of Indian bacteria, the strange mix of Pilipino, Indian, and
Nepalese cuisine with mystery meat is still our most beloved lunch. And the
mixed chow mein is to die for. Mom and Dad rested while I went back to work, and
then picked them up to go to Sunday afternoon church in Church City. Not an
actual city of churches, but it is the location of all the non-Muslim worship
sites in Qatar. High security and way outside of town, we had to follow Tim and
Mel since I never went myself. While I
am Catholic… I’m not a very good
Catholic. To prove it, Dad and I almost
died laughing as Mom took a header into the pews. Sorry Mom. We spent the next three hours in
traffic trying to reach the gold souq to pick up the gift Dad had me order for
Mom’s Valentine’s Day present. On the way home, I pulled into Majelis
Restaurant, a good place for some authentic local lentil soup, hummus, mutable,
lemon with mint, and a big mixed grill cooked in a pocket of flatbread; the
standard fare at every restaurant in the Middle East. Mom… “It’s different.”
I had to work the following day, moving chemicals from an
old building into our new stockroom, while Mom and Dad chilled out in my flat.
I got home and picked up Dad to get a haircut and a shave. My father shaves everyday… no exceptions. The
only time in my life I ever saw him with any facial growth was as a kid when he
would go hunting for a few snowy days in Michigan. He would come back smelling
of kerosene from his hand warmers with just the slightest bit of shadow on his
cheeks. I told him that he had to let
his hair facial hair grow for a few days so he could enjoy the wonders of
having a haircut and a straight razor shave. Unbeknownst to him, I instructed
the non-English speaking Indian who would be cutting his hair to also give him
a facial scrub. After my woefully needed
shave and a haircut (I let my beard grow for four months just to hear my Mom’s
mocking), I opened the cubicle next to mine and saw my dad’s face covered in a
thick, pale-green paste. He heard me
laughing, cracked his eyes open, and saw me taking his picture in the
mirror. He tried to laugh, but the face
peel I paid for was hardening around his jaw.
Somehow, he was able to yell, “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord… I
will repay!” Later on he would tell me,
“The guy just started to put shit all over my face… I didn’t know how to tell
him to stop!” If I go to hell for
pulling that prank on my dad… it will totally be worth it.
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| He's about to yell out Biblical phrases at me... |
Since it was Valentine’s Day, I got reservations for an
expensive Italian restaurant on The Pearl called Bice (coincidentally, I now
live on The Pearl.) We walked around the promenade and gawked at the
mega-yachts docked at the water’s edge.
We went up for dinner, ordered some truffle pasta and a few bottles of
merlot from their extensive stock, when the waiter told us that it was a
“Muslim holiday.” Turns out, Valentine’s Day is also the Prophet Mohammed’s
birthday! And to celebrate, no alcohol can be sold! What kind of God would
allow this to happen?! You can ask my
sisters, there’s no way in hell we could get through Jesus’ birthday without a
fully stocked bar. This news just
totally killed the dinner. We were all
expecting some nice wine with our food, and the letdown was catastrophic. We spent the next two hours picking at our
food wondering how much better it would be with a cabernet. The only thing that saved the night was that
Mom loved her present from Dad; an Al-Jazeera teardrop necklace with her name
written in Arabic that I gotten made from a custom jeweler in Doha. We skipped dessert, headed home, cracked open
a few bottles of red and retired slightly drunk and early.
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| Mom left claw marks... |
I wanted to make sure that my parents got to see everything
the Middle East could offer. I knew early
on that this would probably be a one-time trip for my parents; so I needed to
make the best of it. Saving up my Qatar Airways miles, I was able to get three
almost-free plane tickets to Dubai for a one-day excursion to the United Arab
Emirates. We woke early and drove to the Doha airport, leaving my car in the
lot. I had pre-purchased tickets to the viewing tower atop the newly opened
Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world. The tickets are pricy and
time-stamped, so we had to be on time otherwise it would cost me a
fortune. We arrived in Dubai a little
late, and then had to wait for the metro train at the airport. Of course, I ended up paying for a cab to
drive us two minutes to the tower entrance because I feared we were going to be
late. Scrambling around, we found the visitor line where I explained between
wheezing breaths that we were late but had passes. The guide just laughed me off, moved us in
front of the crowd, and we got in line for the express elevators… no problems.
Burj Khalifa is tall… really fucking tall. It is 2,716.5 feet tall. The Empire State Building is only 1,184 feet
tall. It is much more than twice as tall as the Empire State Building… that’s
tall!! The elevators, the fastest in the world, take you to nearly the top
floor with 360 degree views of Dubai.
You can actually watch planes fly past the building below your
feet. Mom inched around the room, never
once letting go of either Dad or a supporting column. You could see her fingernail marks in the
walls. There’s also an ATM that spits
out gold bars… in case you need that sort of thing. There’s even an outdoor patio where you can
look straight down; that part even made my knees a little weak. Back on the ground we walked around and
enjoyed the musical fountain show, all the while constantly staring back up at
the building’s peak that was barely visible.
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| Burj Khalifa... |
We cabbed it over to the Mall of the Emirates (once again,
over here, everything is in the malls) to show them Ski Dubai. This is the same indoor ski slope that I
enjoyed three years previously, and where [NAME REMOVED] blew out her knee. I expected that Dad would want to have a go,
but he deferred. Instead, we went to the food court where we got Dairy Queen
and dip cones. From there it was another
cab to sightsee the seven-star Burj Al Arab Hotel, the Palm Jumeirah, and the
Dubai Atlantis. Mom and Dad were amazed at the wonderful architecture and how
much money each place must cost. I tried
to explain that to most of the locals, cost was something they never had to
worry about. At the Atlantis hotel, I walked them around to show them the
aquarium and the water park. The
Atlantis water park is designed and built by the same family who own and
operate Schlitterbahn in New Braunfels, Texas; one of the places my parents
love to visit. I expected them to want to spend the day at the water park
riding the uphill water coasters, cruising along the lazy river, and speeding
down the water slides that pass through shark tanks. I even brought their bathing suits in my
backpack. Instead, they both said
no. “What about the aquarium then?” Again… not interested.
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| "Mom can pull off European," I thought... |
“Shit,” I thought to myself, “now what the hell am I going
to do with them?” Dubai is all about shopping, which neither of my parents
could give two shits about. The
waterpark is the closest thing to a cultural highlight in Dubai! To make things worse, I realized I had our
return flight time wrong… I needed to kill five hours until our flight.
Thankfully, Mom came up with a solution. The hotel was a stop for an open-topped
hop-on/hop-off tour bus. I never took
these tours because I always wanted to be a “traveler… not a tourist” as Tony
Bourdain is want to diatribe. But here I was with my parents, being a tourist.
I bought the tickets, picked up the headphones, and climbed onboard. Mom and Dad said that they love to take these
buses; you get to see all the sights, don’t have to worry about cabs or metros,
plus you learn more about the history from the prerecorded history piped into
the headset. The bus swung us back
around the Burj Khalifa and past the three malls we had already visited. But it then took us to Dubai Creek and the
old ports and shipping areas where old dhows and rusty cargo ships were laden
with goods arriving daily from India and Iran.
The bus tour was actually a pretty good time, and it was nice to sit
back and have someone else do the explaining for a while.
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| Katara... |
We jumped off the bus at yet another mall to kill a few more
hours before our flight. We got some
coffees and relaxed outside as we watched the sun set over the amazing skyline
of Dubai. At some point we got into a fit of laughter at how badly I was
handling the timing of this trip… rushing to the airport, rushing to the tower,
getting the flight time wrong, too much time to kill. And then it hit me. “Dad, did you set your watch ahead an hour
for the time change when we landed?” Oh
shit… I never told Dad that Dubai was an hour ahead of Doha, and we had been
using his watch. I did the math… our flight left in seventy minutes.
Fuuuuuuuck… “We’re
going to miss our flight!!” We tossed
our coffees to the ground and raced to the nearest metro station, “Yes, we’re
going the right way, just get on the train Mom!” Arriving at the airport twenty minutes later,
I had no idea if we would get through customs in time. We ran (no really, we ran) to check-in and got through security. We busted our way to the gate on squeezed
onboard just as they were closing the gate. Onboard, Dad kept teasing me about
my planning, wondering aloud if I could get us to the cruise ship or whether we
would have to charter a fishing boat.
After paying almost a hundred dollars to park for thirteen hours at the
airport (never making that mistake again) we headed back to the flat and
crashed.
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| Downtown Doha from the MIA... |
The next two days were, thankfully, event free. Mom and Dad toured the Pearl again, the
Katara cultural center to visit the amphitheater and beach, a few of the more
scenic malls, and down to the Corniche to watch the local dhows. A spin through the Museum of Islamic Art finished
off the day, and dinner that night was scheduled in Souq Waqif. I tried to get
them some spiced camel meat, even just the hump, but the restaurant was sold
out. Instead, we spent hours drinking
scalding hot mint tea and digging tajine lamb off the bone with our hands. I ordered up some shisha for them to try, a
sweet mixture of local tobacco and grape Kool-Aid smoked through garishly
oversized water pipes. They puffed away and
swapped pipes while watching the array of Qatari locals haggling over pashminas,
old coolies ferrying wheelbarrows of spices, and the colorful barkers trying to
entice the tourists. As the waiter kept switching out our coals to keep the
smoke flowing, we were all aware that this trip, so far a mixed bag of new sights
and excitement had just begun. Because the
next night, we were headed to Rome.
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| Smoking a fatty that tastes like an Otter Pop... |
Our final day in Doha, I went into work for a while and came
back to an apartment that had been scrubbed down to an inch of its life… even
the baseboards. Those of you who know my Mom will understand; I guarantee you
my maid didn’t. I’m willing to bet the following week she walked into my place,
saw the floors, and immediately left knowing that she would never clean a floor
as good as Mom. A final dinner at Turkey
Central for shish tawook and kofta (“it’s different”) and my parents said their
goodbyes to Qatar. The taxi was picking
us up at eleven for our 1:45 a.m. flight.
My parents arrived in Qatar with expectations of the Middle
East, most of which we fashioned by too much FoxNews. But my mother, as we were leaving, told me
that she was totally surprised at how modern and beautiful Qatar actually was.
The Muslims she was always slightly nervous around were welcoming and friendly,
and not the screaming zealots they are always portrayed on the nightly news. My
mom, in a moment of complete sincerity, told me that this visit had totally
changed her views of the Middle East and Islamic culture…
I cannot find any better reason to travel…
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| On top of the highest dune in the land... |
Part II, we tour the Vatican, I chide Mom on her garbage
luggage, and Dad hoses down complete strangers…
