Doha in August
Posted on August 22, 2012 by gaelharrison
Ramadan is over, and the celebrations of Eid are at an end. John has gone back to work and suddenly the world has come alive. Traffic is flowing fast and furious and I am dreading having to cross the 8 lane highway if I want to go to City Centre mall to stock up on some vital necessity….there is a ‘green man’ but with all these Lamborghinis and massive 4 wheel drives, I just pray they don’t decide to jump the lights.
It feels good being back, and we are blessed with a fabulous apartment with 4 blue sofas, and a sitting area for morning and evening and enough marble floors to train an ice hockey team. I shall put dusters on my feet for the weekly mopping session I think, and just skate.
When we left, Doha was a building site, and 18 months later what was then going up is up, and now there are new constructions rising up all around. The heat is overwhelming, but August is always hot, and hopefully it will begin to cool down in September. I read in a magazine some useful bits of information about
Qatar. Apart from their notoriety of winning the 2022 World Cup bid, they have vast reserves of liquid natural gas, and it has made them the per capita, the richest nation in the world, with an annual income of £57,000 for every Qatari. Naturally this new-found wealth has given them lots of international clout. They are building the Shard in London, (the UK’s biggest sky scraper). They own Harrods, and a slice of Sainsbury’s and the London Stock Exchange. Al Jazeera, the Arab world’s answer to CNN , is based in Doha.
We passed the Sidra Hospital, based out near Education City (the amazing theme part of education, science and technology, the pet project of the Emir’s wife, Sheika Mosa) and I couldn’t believe the size…it had just cleared the foundations when we left. It is to be a huge cancer hospital and woman’s hospital. A shiny symbol of hope for the future. We then made our way to Kay and Colin’s (teacher friends from back in the Hanoi days) and they had just come back from a ‘foodies’ tour of Italy’ Oh my! They brought back knives, and mustards and shoes and goodness knows what! Kay was telling us of a wonderful dish called Girini, made up of porcini mushrooms, zucchini and chive flowers, all tossed in a pasta made of miniscule fish shapes and covered in thin layers of parmesan. It sounded so colourful…like eating the garden.
Because I arrived just at the end of Ramadan the coffee shops were still closed so John and I decided to go for coffee to the Four Seasons Hotel, a luxurious 5 star palace dripping with chandeliers and were ushered down to the restaurant where we were served two coffees. The bill came to 80 riyals, approx. £16! (thank God we didn’t have a cake!) Later in the day we had to fill up the car, a mighty Nissan pathfinder (which I need a ladder to get into) and it cost just under £10! How ridiculous is that?!
A mighty ‘must do’ was a trip to our once favourite beach, 80 kms north east of Doha. We did have a feeling of trepidation, and had visions of horrid hotels spoiling the pristine beauty…but we needn’t have worried. It was a vision of gold and turquoise and absolutely deserted. We floated on cushions of salty water…it was just wonderful. I did feel a little like Jemima Puddleduck in my new hat…small protection from the 47C heat!
We had dinner with a colleague of John’s the other night. I noticed he had a problem with one shoulder, and discovered that he actually didn’t have a shoulder. He then told us of his experience in Iraq. He was working there in 2003, as an electrical engineer…and on his way to the site his vehicle was blown up. He saw it all in slow motion, particles, pieces of debris, his driver’s head falling bloody and dead by his side, his own arm hanging between his legs, not really attached. I asked him about pain, and he said he felt nothing until they were shoved into an army jeep and taken to the field hospital. Later in Birmingham he was hooked up to a morphine drip, in between endless surgeries, and he said he felt more fear there, than in Iraq. Apparently the druggies hang out waiting for the patients to come down for their smoke time, and steal the morphine.
Anyway he took the company employing him to court…to the highest court in the land, and he lost. It was like a test case he thinks, for there were so many other civilian casualties waiting to see how his case went. The MOD basically pulled down the shutters. He is still paying off his barrister. And he sat with us, drinking chardonnay and making us laugh.
We went to the souk yesterday, and bought some material so I have no excuse now…the sewing machine is here, the material is at hand…the classes don’t start for ages, but I can keep busy and consolidate the skills I have learnt. John has been going through the final edit of Where the Golden Oriole Sang…so it shouldn’t be long before it begins its life with a cover and picture…and becomes something else…I have been working on that book for so long…and it has undergone so many changes I will feel very nervous about it leaving me for the final time!
In the meantime I have had good feedback from The Highland Games; it seems everyone would have liked to attend the Ghillies’ Ball!!!
Today is John’s birthday! So much for his retirement…but I shall make him a Bishop’s Cake for his tea…and we won’t bother with candles!
Doha Diary
Posted on September 3, 2012 by gaelharrison
I went for coffee at the Pearl yesterday and met up with some ladies that I knew before. The waitress brought us each our bills separately, and I was bemused as to how she could remember what each of us ordered. Lattes, green teas, cappuccinos etc, and then I saw the chits. Mine said, ‘flowery skirt’ the lady next to me was ‘white necklace’ etc…There was a system!
The lady next to me was about to go to France for a week, and she closed her eyes, and said she could smell it. For at this time of year the air is heavy with the smell of peaches. Dropping from the trees, overloading the stalls in the markets, and I was so beguiled by the picture she painted I went straight to Carrefour and bought 6 beauties from Spain. One I ate, dripping over the sink, the others I made for dessert, with crumbled almond biscuits in the centres and placed in a baking tray with brandy, brown sugar and a cinnamon stick. With vanilla ice cream at the side, it was just perfection.
I have been meeting up with friends from our time here before. I met Pat and her artist daughter, Jenna who was on her way to Finland. We ate lunch and chatted, and then Jenna described the birthday meal she cooked for 9 of her friends. It was a Prince and Princess theme and the recipes came from Heston Blumenthal. She described some of the dishes, the ‘mock turtle soup’; the Jack in the beanstalk plate with magic eggs hidden in a large white chocolate egg that she had made (took her 3 weeks to complete all 10 pieces). I couldn’t concentrate on the rest of the conversation as I imagined the meal, the beauty of each plate and the detail that had been put into each creation. When I got home, I googled Blumenthal and saw a couple of his fairy tale dishes. Seriously….Oh my!
My friend Helen in Australia set me up on a ‘blind date’ to meet her friend, Pam who is here with her husband. We duly met and it was just so nice. We got on well and then John and I were invited for drinks and nibbles at their house. I have never been in such a palace…they are so lucky, they got everything shipped out from the UK, so it is homely and elegant, with swimming pool facing a private park which leads down to the private beach. The house is awesome, and in one of the rooms is a ping pong table and in another a Canadian hockey table (John and I usually enjoy backgammon.) I came home and suddenly our apartment seemed so empty of ‘things’. Her husband is out here setting up some judicial system so is being treated very well by the Emir and others in high places.
I came home and suddenly our apartment looked so plain and empty. The little plant I bought last time here in the Omani Souq is flourishing, but other than that there are no personal touches. I am so reluctant to buy anything, as we have everything at home. We are only here for a year or two…but I really think I am going to get some cushions…at least 2! ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbours’ cushions or candles or bedside tables!’ Hmmmm.
Yoga has been fun. Luca from Rome is the charismatic and perfect teacher. So calm and gentle, and the first time I went, I was the only student…so had one-to-one tuition, which was a bit daunting. He had me doing the she asana with my legs up against the mirror and then he lowered the lights…I did feel a little self-conscious, though very relaxed! Luckily this week, other people showed up.
I’m still sewing. My piece from the souq is almost done. Now I understand why the quilting ladies are so snobby about fabric…the cheap stuff I got is so thin and keeps puckering, still never mind, I am only practising and consolidating what I learnt in Edinburgh. The original quilters, those pioneer ladies of yore used flour sacks and sugar bags for material. They weren’t so fussy.
Friday is still beach day…which is just perfect. I think the sea is cooling ever so slightly. The first week the water was hotter than a bath. The temperature is still far too hot and humid. 45-47C. The winds are like a hairdryer on ‘ hot’ mode…and so I am slathering my poor Scottish skin with Olay and Nivea and Elizabeth Arden and just hoping I can preserve some moisture. John told me in Kuwait the wind would sand blast the cars, taking the paint off the number plates, then the police would be waiting to charge you for not displaying a legal plate
This last week John and I have gone through the manuscript for Where the Golden Oriole Sang for the last time. It was quite a moment when I sent it off. Images came back of the various locations where I wrote it. I remember sitting looking out at our snowy street in Kiev, then later reading it by the Lavra monastery in the summer whilst sturdy Ukrainian women with flowery headscarves forked hay on to the back of a tractor whilst the male driver filed his nails! This picture is not of them, but could be…dressed up to perform later in the day!
But the first memory was of sitting with a block of foolscap by the pool at the Army Hotel in Hanoi and writing that first sentence, ‘It was only an old tin box on a worn rug.’ 8 years ago. Time really does fly.
And now at last The Moon in the Banyan Tree is available as an e book and good for kindle and The Highland Games is being read by glamorous ladies in Italy!
Cyprus in September
Posted on September 19, 2012 by gaelharrison
It seems to be the season for the ‘wrinklies’ and ‘crumblies’ to come to North Cyprus in September. The land is dried up and brown and baked. The once vibrant yellows and greens of spring time is just a memory. The houses that we had a slight flutter over in April look sad and poor and neglected. The rural villages look so poor, and wrecks of cars hold summer hay for the winter feed for goats and sheep. Our ‘arches’ house still looks charming, but the neighbourhood looked so sad and destitute. All along the coast are half finished projects…houses started and left to disintegrate into ruins, yet further on, closer to Kyrenia are ‘Brookside’ estates of shiny white boxes all in a row with names like Romantic Waves or Blue Paradise. In the resort where John’s son has an apartment, the summer season is over… we see signs for discos, karaoke, bingo, pool parties and the waiters at the restaurant have a tired air about them. They are happy to bring us a beer and a Brandy sour, knowing we don’t need to be entertained. Instead we have the pool, the ambience, the sumptuous bougainvillea and the wonderful beach. The first day at the local shop across the stippled hay field we found a basketful of fresh figs which we bought. The owner was kind enough to give me a special knife to skin them with…which I am now a little annoyed as I see John is using it to splice a washing line to make a rope for the heaviest mirror known to man. We bought it at the shop in Famagusta. It is to mirror all my lovely new dresses bought on a shopping trip to Kyrenia. I do love holidays.
Please note, Gael with her two fans!
Before we left for North Cyprus I went to the Tuesday’s Ladies’ Group coffee morning, which happened to be the first of the season. There were lots of newcomers so we had the chance to meet people. The organisers cleverly devised questions that we had to ask ourselves in front of our group then answer them, a way of breaking the ice, and getting conversation away from ‘how long have you been here, how long are you staying.’ Mary selected Elizabeth Bennet as the character in a novel that she would have liked to have been, Kate told us what she would look for when buying a house. I was stumped. ‘Which book do you wish you had written?’ there are so many, my mind was awash with Wuthering Heights, Anna Karenina, Sunset Song, even Little Women when suddenly one lady said, ‘I wish I’d written a book about a boy wizard!’ Do you know I never even clocked that one.
Later I was reading ‘And the Land Lay Still’ and there was a description of a highland man walking along a beach, and he found a man’s body, obviously uncovered from a sandy grave, due to the tides. It had been there for ages, its body half bone and half dried leathery skin, with sand and shale and the odd feather stuck to the ribs and in the eye sockets. He was asked if he reported it, and he said most definitely he had not. The man had come to this wasted, deserted beach to die, and he was at peace. He said he sat down beside him and asked him what he should do, and together they stared out at the sea, and then he got up and came home. I suppose you never know how you will react to a situation until you are actually in it. You can talk as much as you like. I wish I had said Harry Potter, but I didn’t.
From out of the sand, grows the most beautiful flowers. And when the tide goes back, we see the remains of the defenses used in the war. Scary.
When we arrived here the electricity had been turned off. Horrors upon horrors. We had to sweep and mop the flat, get it all presentable again, while the temperature of 36 nearly boiled us up. That night, we left all the windows open to get some cool air circulating and now, I can only give thanks to the good Lord that there is no malaria or dengue fever in Cyprus. I look as though I have chicken pox… I must have about 100 bites that have gone into water blisters all over my shoulders and legs. I am allergic to bites of any kind, especially wasps, so I look like a plague victim.
Although there is rubbish strewn everywhere, building sites and abandoned ruins, there is an air of tranquillity in the north, compared to the bustling cities of Larnica and Paphos. And the people are charming, and attractive.
We ate lunch yesterday in the walled city within Famagusta, and ate homemade ravioli. There is no menu, just the dish for today. There is the usual chicken and chips, but if you ask for something else the cook shrugs and says OK, and we have had such a variety of fabulous Turkish dishes. My own attempts at ravioli are laughable. The dough just sank to the bottom of the pan in a soggy heap, and I vowed never to do that again. Yesterday each little parcel was as light as air, meat flavoured with mint and covered with a drizzle of parmesan and mint. I had to come home and snooze. John had some strange kofka thing, but different from others we had had.
Below is a picture of egg shaped stones. One part of the beach was full of them. A giant chicken laid them, or maybe they are solidified maiden’s tears, back in the days of mythology!!!
I do admire the men’s eyes here. The guy who hired us a car is called Ali (he is actually called Ferit, but he says he doesn’t want to be called that, as that is an animal that climbs up men’s trousers) and I was overcome with lust for his eyelashes. They were so long and curled tantalisingly up to his eyebrows. His eyes were green and gold flecked. His wife had just left him…we learn so much just passing the time of day, and he is putting us in touch with a Russian masseur, who lives on the resort. John is very wary, in case it is Vladimir from Kiev, emigrated to a life in the sun! In the mornings we have to say ‘dobra din’ as so many of the apartments are owned by Russians.
Later this week we shall drive up the Karpaz to St Andrew’s monastery where we visited in March. This time I shall buy three dolls and cut off their heads, their tummies and a back, and offer them to the saint with a candle and say some prayers. Although I think our faith in Cyprus must work, for already John is without a headache and has had 4 days now with no pain killers. Magic, or faith, it is pretty good.
And today we are staying put. A gentle day to show of our crumbly bits and wrinkles by the pool! No wonder the waiters are keeping their distance!
Buffovento and the Karpaz
Posted on September 27, 2012 by gaelharrison
I’m sitting in an apartment surrounded by boxes of baklava, Turkish Delight, melons, pomegranates and peaches that are too luscious for words. I feel like the man from Del Monte… as I drip peach juice with each bite. ‘Yes, this one is perfect, and yes, so is this.’ Hmmm what a wonderful job he must have.
Our days in Cyprus are coming to an end and soon we will be back in ‘the sand pit’ of Doha. We saw our spring flowers turned into hay bales, our green fields turn brown and it was good to visit Kyrenia and the Karpaz again. This time though I have no wish to prolong the stay, and certainly no wish to invest in any romantic notion of a house in the sun. The area around here in the north seems such a juxtaposition of big flash cars, and Russians investing in casinos and tourism, and dusty farms and depleted supermarkets. This time I could find no fresh meat or fish, the vegetables were tired, except for the roadside market stalls and I see now why the staples are hummus, olives and tomatoes.
We ate out last night at the most beautifully placed restaurant, right on the sea, the waves literally washing the walls, and we ordered sword fish for John and red mullet for me. The starters of meze were good, and then the fish arrived. Oh dear Lord. The sword fish was slimy and weird and my mullet had been deep fried with the chips. We hurled the fish out of the window and were amazed as a shoal of voracious cat fish savaged the offerings as fast as we could throw. So the entertainment value was worth the price of the meal, it really was a fish restaurant!
Our trip to St Andrews Monastery was nice, the drive was lovely, rural with scenes of donkeys, sheep and goats. The Karpaz is home to turtle beaches of golden sands, and there is very little tourist development which makes it quite restful.
We brought our offerings for the saint; the closest replicas that we could find that fitted our ailments!
We duly lit our candles, approached the saint, and found silver replicas of arms and legs and eyes hanging around and I realised that we were supposed to touch the appropriate organ or limb. I felt a bit silly with my child’s anatomy set and Toy Story’s Woody’s head in a bag. I surreptitiously left them behind a pew at the back, so goodness knows what the priest thought when he found them!
When we got out I thought of Jesus clearing the temple at Jerusalem of traders and money lenders. Here there were stalls holding Turkish evil eye things, table cloths, donkey replicas and a peculiar stall of knives and cut throat razors. Interesting what people sell outside a church!
Anyway when we returned John was approached by Ferit Ali, and he was led off to see Olexandre, the physio from Ukraine. Since our pilgrimage he has been going every evening for intense manipulation and massage of his neck and head and lower back and he swears he feels a lot better. I think a break from the computer is also a great help too!
We decided to pay a last visit to Kyrenia on Monday. So I dressed in a long white dress and flip flops and was prepared for a float around town, some lunch and an elegant day out. NOT so. We drove over the mountains and came to the turn off for Buffevento. We drove 6 miles along a precipice, scary as hell, with the drop just waiting for us to swerve off, and I was deeply relieved not to meet any car coming down. Eventually we found a car park, and looked up. The view was awesome.
This is a mighty castle built into the rock, 800m up, rather like the Albegension castles of southern France. I actually thought we were just going to photograph the silhouette in the sky, but no no….John was striding up and up so I just had to follow. The meaning of Buffevento is ‘not afraid of winds or not yielding to winds’ due to its exposure to winds from practically all directions. Well on Monday there was barely a breath, the heat was solid and heavy and we toiled up past lizards and pine trees growing horizontally out of rocks like a Chinese painting. We felt like marauders, and had to smile when reading of the last attack!
We climbed up and finally freaked out the resident lizards…a surprise attack by a mad Scots woman and intrepid Englishman, out in the mid-day sun, with no water, no climbing boots, no hats or weapons. And today we are crippled…John feels as though he is carrying bowling balls in his calves.
To try to recover we walked along the beach and soaked in the sea.
And now it is dusk and the sky is pink over the Kyrenia mountains. ~The last time we were here we were overcome with the yellow flowers, this time it has been the bougainvillea, pink and red and violent, the colours hot and contrasting with deep blues of the sea and sky. Thank goodness for the quietness of evening.
All Go in Doha
Posted on October 12, 2012 by gaelharrison
These last couple of weeks have flown. We left Cyprus and the beautiful Mediterranean and settled back quickly to our life in Doha, and last Friday we drove north to Fuwarait where we swam in the idyllic gulf of Arabia.
We met Kay and friends and I had to laugh as Kay, Jenny, Chris and I sat out in the turquoise sea and rekindled our friendship under an umbrella that Kay kindly held for us all. It must have looked quaint, and I was so happy to see Jenny, well and recovered from chemo, and full of her usual joy and zest for life.
I have been haunting the souq for material, and have spent so many hours wandering about, getting lost, smelling the smells of incense and buying metres of blues and whites and chunks of raw sugar and chocolates that look like stones.
It has all been sensory and wonderful, then back home to cut, piece and sew.
What on earth am I going to do with all these quilts? Well, they aren’t quilted yet. Now I understand when I hear about ‘finishing up’ days at quilting groups. We start and get excited by a project, and somehow never get back to that first project. Oh well, my sewing room is starting to look as though Birnham Woods has come to Doha….the material souq has come to my apartment, I should hang the pieces up, and it will soon resemble a harem. BUT the good news is that I have met Pixi. Pixi is the teacher for the Doha Quilters. I went to her house and was overawed by her sewing room. One whole wall was taken up with shelving containing her ‘stash’ arranged in colours. Proper material from the US and the UK. Not flimsy pretend stuff. She set us the task to make a quilt comprising of 20 different squares. I was in heaven.
I have almost completed my homework, and can’t wait till next Tuesday. I feel like a Chinese student. I remember someone saying how wonderful it was to teach students who want to learn. They had left Australia or where ever and had gone overseas to teach and were met with a class just hanging on her every word. I AM that student!!
From the domestic sewing house-frau, I was a wild woman at the Octoberfest beer festival. John kindly bought me new shoes just before we went as all I had with me was a variation of flip flops, so with my lady-like shoes, off we went and danced and danced, drank 1 litre of beer (my God you need large muscles)
and then danced and danced on the table.
It was all very good. I was not taken with the men in short white socks. I could understand the lederhosen, but white socks???? Hmmm. I loved the ladies’ lovely dirndls. We ate German sausages and sauerkraut, did congas with men from John’s office and bonded very happily with many of the Korean gents.
I had such a good time I didn’t notice my bunion was bleeding on to my beautiful new shoes. Damn. Amazing what a litre of beer will hide!
Today I went to Zumba. It started at 10 and by 10 past 10 my hair was soaked and my T shirt was sticky. I felt as though I was on a trampoline for an hour. Tomorrow I just dread the pain. I know my legs won’t work. I did salsa, belly, tango, and goodness knows what else. I did all these things, watching my very nice pliable teacher. The reality was the other figure in the mirror was me, a very stiff stick insect trying to emulate her, with my belt of silvery bells that she gave us all to wear to accentuate our movements. I have such great respect for all these stars that take up the Strictly Come Dancing Challenge. 3 Arab ladies arrived dressed in abayas. They stripped down to gym clothes and shimmied with the best of us, then covered up again and left! It was a far cry from the rippling melodies on the piano and the fierce discipline of the ballet.
Tonight it is yoga with Lucca. I just love it. So gentle and yet he makes us do quite challenging poses. His accent and his manner trick you into a false sense of security. For the first time ever I did Warrior 3…no blocks or help. Just me and the floor! John has started coming too; he finds it very good for his back and his general well-being. Mind you, he has started getting up at 5.30 and swimming one kilometre before work. I am very impressed; and he feels much better for it. But no, I will not be joining him!
Right, off to stand like a tree!
Aida in the Desert
Posted on October 24, 2012 by gaelharrison
And the fat lady sang. Rather like in Kiev when we saw Madame Butterfly played by a giant Wagnarian opera singer, Aida dominated the stage in more ways than one. The local paper described her as stunning the audience with her commanding presence and remarkable vocal range which soared over the 101 piece Philharmonic orchestra…They were right, her voice was unbelievable; it was like pure strands of sound just floating effortlessly above us all. I was in awe, and just loved the open air amphitheatre, the sets of gigantic statues of deities and pharaohs, and one massive head of what looked like a replica of David. Very good to focus on, when some of the music just passed me by. I feel you need to know some of the ‘tunes’ before going to sit through an epic 3 hour performance on hard steps cushioned only with a thin mat. Saying that…it was very good, and I’m all the better for seeing it…I tried a few notes when I got home, and my vocal chords felt a little strangulated…and a nasty screech came out. These ‘high’ arts are quite something, and makes us mere mortals suddenly aware that our bodies are actually the same as these stars, so why don’t they do arabesques the same, or make music so effortlessly?
I did have a little smile when I read about the British opera singer, Alfie Boe, saying he loves singing in opera but he hates watching it, as he finds it quite boring! Bring on the Mozart and the zippy melodies!
I have taken up aqua aerobics, which is not at all what I imagined. I thought we all did bounces and jumping jacks at the shallow end of the pool, and some gentle bends and stretches. Instead I was clipped into a wide belt, which gave me buoyancy and after a warm up, we then had to imagine we were sitting in a dining room chair and then paddle soundlessly down the length of the pool. It looked so surreal. Imagine, fifteen ladies all quietly sculling, moving as one down to the deep end. And that was where the action started. We had to manipulate weights, and do loads of stuff for the arms and tums and so on. I came out absolutely worn out!
Sewing is still my main focus, and Pixi is guiding us through the blocks. I just wish I had posher material, but never mind, I am making the best of the souk fabric. She has so much, (proper stuff) her room looks almost like a shop! I have to try and not covet it. For my first block I used two handkerchiefs that a Japanese girl gave me for Christmas one year. Natasha brought her home, as she was alone in Edinburgh, so now when I look at that particular square, I remember a rather lovely Christmas dinner and like the look of the Japanese fabric. I love all the memories that are sewn into new creations. Lyn Edmonds in NZ made a quilt using hexagon squares of all her friends’ dresses. She looks at it now, and can say, ‘that’s Kerry, that’s Jan….’ Nice.
My friend Helen in Australia had a Spode dinner set that she had since she was first married. She told me that when it got chipped and broken she decided to preserve the set as a mosaic!
She calls the mannequin, Wendy…I do love her red lips. No doubt it is a very glamorous memory of a million dinners!
In Vietnam I met a Dutch lady, Merie de Geest who also had a wonderful way with mannequins. She hunted the streets of the old quarter in Hanoi, and collected beads, and pearls and trinkets and in her apartment she produced the most amazing art works. You can find more of her work at www.jatgappe.com .
I seem a bit obsessed with the recording of memories, and creating beauty out of little. Before the opera last Thursday, John and I stepped into an art gallery in the Katara cultural village. The artist on display was Yang Pei Lang. He records history, the makers of history, living and dead, and after looking at a huge wall of portraits , all in black and white and noted many kings and generals and the first Palestinian female suicide bomber, we moved into the bigger rooms. Again the pictures were all sombre, black, grey and morbid. Pictures of dead politicians, mostly murdered.
I think he was trying to interpret our history, without the tabloid photograph. Maybe to get back to a time when painters were once the recorders of The News…like David’s painting of the Death of Marat…We saw three of his interpretations of that scene.
So gloomy and macabre, and followed by three hours of another gloomy story of two lovers who are put to a living death in a tomb! Oh good grief!
Such a contrast to these last couple of days in Glenelg on the West coast of Scotland…the village is twinned with Mars it seems, and there is much excitement and celebrations going on…I do love the photographs that Chris Main is posting at the moment, I can just feel the atmosphere and fun of it all.
< http://www.bbc.co.uk/go/em/fr/-/news/uk-scotland-highlands-islands-19976650 >
There is a big exodus this weekend from Doha, as people head away for the Eid holiday. We shall stay put, and revisit the desert and see if we can rescue any more snakes that have fallen into the dried up old wells. More David Attenborough stories to come, that is if we can find our way in and out of the desert paths.
Tangled Stars
Posted on November 5, 2012 by gaelharrison
I am so cross, and so frustrated. I am learning a lot about myself with all this quilting malarkey. I have spent two days on this blasted star, and it is wrong…and I have made the borders too narrow and now I have to unpick and do them again.
Each block I do, there is so much wrong, and so much unpicking, the material is suffering from fatigue…as am I. Nothing much has changed since I was 12 and mucked up my baby doll pyjamas that we had to make in Form I. I cut up the fold, and the teacher was mad and sent me out in disgrace…I refused to hold a needle for decades after that, and now I am feeling the same sense of crossness.
Loved the joke about the two nuns in Transylvania, driving along when suddenly a vampire jumps out in front of their car. ‘Quick sister, show him your cross!’ and the sister opens the door and shouts, ‘Get away from my f….car!’
Ha Ha Ha.
John and I went off to the desert at the weekend, and it was so disappointing…50 shades of sand, and not a living thing to be seen. I suppose at midday only the mad dogs and so on were traversing the tracks, and all sensible lizards and other animals were having a quiet snooze. We revisited the wells, but only found 2 dead snakes, and the remains of a lizard. I distributed some cabbage around some acacia bushes in an attempt at being like St Francis feeding God’s creatures…but I won’t be heartbroken if we don’t go desert hopping for a while. Pretty vistas though, and gorgeous colours. One of these days we must sleep out under the stars. But first we need a tent to protect us from the scorpions!
We did revisit the souk,
and the cornich
and the Katara cultural village where we sat through Peter and the Wolf and the Carnival of the Animals along with about a hundred babes in arms and little tots…we felt VERY out of place! John was quite crotchety, and said why couldn’t we have gone to the Bach or the Mozart! The Philharmonic was having a day of music, for families. Ah well.
Big excitement this week as Where the Golden Oriole Sang is finally available to buy. I shall lose sleep in trepidation, worrying as usual. It is so scary when your stories suddenly leave home and are available for people to actually read. John and I did the final edits for The Highland Rocks which is due out in December. I absolutely love the cover.
Daily meanderings from here and there
Mad Passions
Posted on November 14, 2012 by gaelharrison
I just feel like a chat…John came home this afternoon looking like death. He is now in a dark room trying to kill the headache after a vile week trying to negotiate subcontracts. Biorhythms don’t help…he checked his on the computer and all the major lines are on low. I had a look at mine, and I was pretty low as well this week. Physical-low, emotional-low and intellectual-low…Oh well. Probably explains the great feeling of inertia we’ve been feeling lately. In the meantime I have cooked up a banquet of black eyed beans and some stuff, chilli, ginger and honey prawns and soy beans…but maybe I shall have to eat ALONE, like Grethe Garbo.
Today I have been sewing, sewing, sewing….actually made a block without the teacher – just using the BOOK!
I went to Pixi’s yesterday and she helped me lay out the quilt I made on Saturday and we put in the wadding and I sewed some of it….so that is another plus. I can stitch in the ditch.
Yesterday morning I went to the souk to meet some quilting ladies.
We were on a material buying mission….all was successful, then I got a lift back from Patricia ( a South African lady) who lives in a village about 20 miles north of Doha all by herself, (well with her husband, who goes to work at 7 and comes home at 7). She is so unique, no compound, no other expats around her…so different to me, who lives in a glassy tower in City Centre.
Today was sewing sewing…and I have cut out a whole pile of 2″ x2″ squares to make flying geese. I shall persevere and tomorrow I shall make ‘delectable mountains’….at the class with Karen. Pixi has flown away to Sydney to help her daughter buy a wedding dress….what kind of teacher is that? Leaves us in the lurch…but actually I really like Karen, and her friend, Carol. Carol has invited us to stay after class, to make some other project. Dearie me. I am a lost soul. This passion is taking over…and I have to get on with Chapter 6 with Alexander Squared (the new book.) When? I wonder. I am a woman of mad passions and just don’t have the time to pursue them all.
Went to a party on Saturday…all was good; nice people, food and drink and so on….I was quite disconcerted when suddenly our host started to put up a microphone, amplifier and synthesiser…then this woman, Vicky took the mike and belted out loads of songs. I am sure she was professional, she was so amazing. I am so glad they didn’t ask me to do my karaoke fave – Puff the Magic Dragon….wouldn’t have gone down well at all. John was dying to do his man on the moon routine, and house of the rising sun. Ah well. I did have a giggle when David, (our host) sang some lovely songs, and after one number, Koochie koochie man or something quite sexy, his wife, Margaret whispered, ‘he’s wearing his slippers!’ It sort of lost the passion then!
We were both so zonked as we had been up since 4.30 and I had been to a ‘quilt in a day’ work shop. It was good and I was so chuffed. I arrived at nine in the morning, feeling as though I was going to sit an exam…my tummy was in a knot, as I set up my ironing board, my cutting board and all my fabrics….I was a slave to the demands of Lori and Pixi, but at the end of the day…I had a quilt! Well the patchwork part….now I have to quilt it.
So Margaret’s party was good, nice people, happy atmosphere, but a sad lost quilter, needing her pillow! How do you return such hospitality??? I think I shall make them dance the 8-some reel! Ha!
The beach on Friday was too beautiful….I just lay about giving thanks there was not a sewing machine in sight!
Doha Film Festival
Posted on November 27, 2012 by gaelharrison
We are all ‘filmed-out’.
The Doha Film Festival has been in full swing and we saw 5 films in 6 days, so our nights have been a scramble of dashing off to the various venues, and the traffic has been horrendous. B~U~T it was worth it…saw some amazing films, and it must be so hard having to judge and be critical. There was actually 87 films on offer. I saw ‘No Entry for Men’, from Iran…so funny. Then, ‘Warriors of the Steppe’ from Kazakhstan, which was a fantastic epic. ‘What Maisie Knew’ was touching and the little girl was amazing, and ‘Argo’ was not good for anyone with an ulcer…not that I have one, but my tummy was churning with fear, and finally ‘Silver Linings Playbook’ which was maybe the best. I loved all these films, some made on small budgets, never designed for the block buster audience, and yet so good.
Doha really does all this cultural stuff well, the settings are so beautiful, and the new cultural village at Katara is quite special just to wander about in. There had been a dhow day, where all the boats gathered and the VIPs sat in armchairs to watch all the boats drift by, it looked very relaxing. I actually noticed that on top of one of the latest big sky scrapers to have been completed on the corniche, ‘the world trade centre’ they have built a dhow on the top…it looks quite good.
Now it’s back to the sofa for us, (but not down by the water,) and a nightly viewing of the series Band Of Brothers, which is quite powerful. At least we don’t have to find a parking for that.
Otherwise life has been routine. Sewing, classes, and this week we did the Mariner’s Compass which was very daunting. I have it all sewn, but am still not sure how to sew it on to the backing piece.
I have also made another ‘quilt in a day’ and last night attempted to quilt the piece and nearly went blind, as I had no proper light except from my sewing machine light….talk about seamstresses in the attic. Still have so much to learn.
Last Tuesday, I went to hear a talk about Qatar’s wild flowers. The slide show was quite interesting, and gave glory to some of the poor shy specimens of the desert, and encouraged people to look at the trees and bushes that manage to live in such adverse conditions. I learnt about the mangroves, dwarf in comparison to many other parts of the world, but the seas around these shores have 3X the salt content, so the poor plant has to use all its energy in processing the salt and not on growth. I remembered floating effortlessly on top of the sea on hot days. Now amazingly, the sea is suddenly too cold to swim, and instead the kite surfers are the stars of the ocean, whizzing along in the wind, making the most of the sharp change in climate.
Anyway, I watched the slides and suddenly the lady introduced a flower that was so beautiful it just captured my imagination.
It was called the asphodel, and she said it was depicted in Greek mythology. I found out about the Asphodel Meadows, and discovered it was the place where souls of people who lived lives of near equal good and evil rested…rather like most of us I presume. A ghostly land of utter neutrality and the flowers were the favourite food of the Greek dead.
I have become very cut off, up in my sewing room, struggling with my various blocks and projects. I do have to finish reading the final proof spreads for The Highland Rocks. I found one error, and noted it on a yellow sticky and left it by the computer. On Sunday I must have tossed it away, when I was polishing…I can’t believe it, and I have been up since 4.30 trawling the pages trying to find it. It should be going back this week and will be off to the printers, so I HAVE to find it. Oh dearie me.
Last night, unexpectedly Kay and Colin brought round a copy of Where the Golden Oriole Sang…they had ordered a couple from Amazon and it had been delivered through their Aramex account…it was fantastic to see it! All those words, so familiar, and finally all bound up in a book.
Only a couple more weeks and I shall be back in chilly Edinburgh! And then it will be Christmas and then another year over …where does the time go?
NOW I must get back to Drum Mhor and find those errant words!
Bows and Arrows
Posted on December 7, 2012 by gaelharrison
I am so thrilled this week, as Gerry has just got a fantastic job in Edinburgh so she and Cathal will be moving back to Scotland in January to live for ever! Ireland was not the ideal they had hoped for, and she has had a bad year, with her health and her work, so a new start, doing a lot of research for the Scottish Parliament (as one of the company’s clients) should make 2013 a happy one for them. Of course they are coming over for Christmas with us, so we are all hoping snow and airports let us all travel easily. Natasha and Leo sign on the line this week, to complete their first house buying venture. They have bought a sweet little house outside Cardiff, which they have huge plans to fix up and make their own. I am flying down to see them next weekend, so am looking forward to seeing the new project. Nick and Katherine are off to Bali for Christmas, which is a far cry from snowy Scotland. It will be lovely I’m sure, and just what they both need, as they both work so hard….padi fields and spas and I have images of the movie Eat Pray Love. I was in Bali 34 years ago; I imagine it has changed a bit. So they are all doing their things, and making lives. Jenny and I had coffee the other day and we were talking about our children, and how we are so often separated by living on the other side of the world. She misses the day to day lives of her grand kids, but her son lives in Helsinki. She quoted a snippet of a poem…it is so apt. She sent it to me later.
‘On Children’ – Kahlil Gibran
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Nice.
Other news, is sewing, sewing and sewing! I have become a slave to my machine, and my sampler quilt is growing slowly. The process is teaching me so much about myself, and my inadequacies, and my obsessive need to finish. I was in floods of tears, because the circle of the Mariner’s star went in wrong and made everything go puffy. I sat there, weeping. I tried to make bias binding for the Celtic Knot. I apparently needed a gadget to turn the material round, but all I had was a screw driver, which I used. The result is OK, but I can see the un evenness of it all…so I wept at that.
My friend, Carol rang me on Tuesday and offered to help me with the Log Cabin…we worked together all afternoon, and the result was wonderful.
Log cabin quilts have been part of the European quilt heritage for hundreds of years. The design appears in Dutch, Swedish and British quilts and it is likely that settlers took it to America where it has become one of the most popular of the traditional patterns. The central square is traditionally red or yellow to represent the warmth of the fire or the light of the sun. Mine is white. Just because!… And this is what I’m finding; I love the people I am meeting, and the kindness that we all share with quilting.
Margaret and I went down to the souk, and had an early breakfast before shopping. We were treated to the police patrolling about on their beautiful arab stallions…
Today John and I are off to the beach in the north east of Qatar, where we shall walk for about 7 kms along perfect white sand. I am looking forward to that, as both of us need to stretch and get away from being crunched over computers and machines. And then I fly back to Edinburgh on Monday night…and I will have to give my sewing a rest for a while. When I went to the guild meeting a lady held up a sampler quilt that she has just finished…she began it 2 years ago. It is so lovely…and that is what mine will be like…ONE FINE DAY.
Tales from the Gael 
