Archive for June 2010

city of life

If anyone is intrigued about life in this region, the dramatic film, City of Life written and directed by Ali F. Mustafa is worth the watch. Set in all the glitter, glamour, desperation, and diversity of the city of Dubai, this film follows the lives of three individuals: Faisal is a rich Emirati with little direction and mostly confusion in his life; Basu is an Indian taxi driver dreaming of being a Bollywood star; and Natalia is a Romanian woman who wants to earn a stable living and find love. Their paths interweave throughout the multiple storylines and ultimately come together in a way that drastically impacts each of their respective lives. In a city where social and class divisions remain strong, this film plays with such boundaries to illustrate their illusion and emptiness. Amidst gleaming high-rises and luxury hotels, the film also (though only slight) touches upon the harsh conditions of migrant workers invisible to many of residents of this populous city as well as the constant clash between modern advances and older traditions. Of course not everything can be tackled in one film; complex issues surrounding gender roles are not directly addressed, but again somewhat softly touched.

Yes, the storylines are relatively simple, if not at times predictable, however it was refreshing to see content reflecting life in this part of the world on the big screen. City of Life is the first feature film shot and set in Dubai. Evidently, not all cities in this region have developed in the unique way that Dubai has over the past decade or so, though what is portrayed definitely touches upon some of the issues and circumstances that I’ve witnessed even in my short time in the still young Doha. Immeasurable wealth, fast cars and extravagance. Racial inequalities. Inter-generational disputes and changes. Massive industrial growth. Traditional culture crisis. Gender roles. Ex-pat lifestyles. Emptiness, instability, desperation. Chasing dreams, succeeding and failing. Hope, settlement and survival. Overall, sadness prevailed in much of the story lines and at times, happiness seemed almost just as much of an illusion as the social boundaries.

The film is well shot; the cinematography is clean and crisp and exudes vibrancy. The film moves with a pulse that mirrors the pace of the city itself.

View the trailer here: http://www.cityoflifefilm.com/ (… though, quite a bit of the film is revealed!)

Unfortunately, I don’t think this film has North American theatrical distribution (actually I’m sure of it). It would have been a great film to recommend to anyone curious for a (albeit fictitious) glimpse of life in a Dubai, a pivotal city in the Gulf.

and we’re going underground!

Just today on my way home from work I was thinking ‘what this city needs is a metro’. Not because it really needs one – it’s not that sprawling yet, but because I adore the city life of hopping on and off the subway – finding  myself downtown in a moment and across town in another. I’m a fan of carless spaces, bicycle friendly streets and the convenience of great public transportation in busy city centres.

Qatar is pouring funds into making Doha a prime city known on the international scene – whether it be through development of  its arts, economy, culture, education, or tourism industry, the little state that could is leaping. Foundations are being slowly established, initiatives started.

Recently, I read that Qatar aims to be the ‘bicycle region of the Middle East’, Doha the bicycle city. I love this concept – however, hopefully we’ll also get along with, functional sidewalks and cross walks. Running across 4 lanes of speeding traffic through roundabouts and unfinished roads just to take a much needed evening walk is a pulse racing endeavour and at times almost pulse stopping. Plus, major education will be needed to make roads safe for the two-wheelers. As it stands, I wouldn’t set pedal on the roads here but I love these type of announcements. So. Promising.

And today, I came across this: ‘… new Doha International Airport Terminal Metro Station gets underway…’.  [article here: http://www.ameinfo.com/236158.html]

My metro is coming! This makes me happy.

dusty hallways

In grade 10 I had to switch high schools.  For a teenager, this was devastating. At the time Ottawa was divided into the Carleton and the Ottawa District School Boards. My family, having relocated unexpectedly, had crossed the borderline dividing the two. I was 15. At a time where external factors were unstable, I did not want to leave the comfort and stability of friends and I definitely did not want to start at a new school in the middle of my high school years – the impact of such a bold move heightened in technicolour. I hoped to at least tread under the administration’s radar until the start of the following year.

Unfortunately, one random day soon after our relocation, my sister and I were called into the principal’s office. We were told that we were no longer allowed entry at this particular school and that we had the morning hours to return any textbooks and school items. We were not permitted to enter any classes. Either my sister (who was in grade 11 at the time) or I asked, where would we go? Apparently this was none of their concern. We were devastated. We did as we were told and exited the property by the lunch hour. What educational institution we would be going to was still a mystery.

A few days later, we found a school and showed up one morning to new halls, new classrooms, new cliques. I don’t remember much of that time other than slipping to and from school quietly. It was May and to be fair, who was thinking of making friends with the new kid in the class when the weather was getting warm and summer break was on the mind? Not too many.  Come September, first week sitting in French class, I stumbled into a random conversation with a few fellow classmates. Instantly I had met sweethearts who would prove to become friends of a lifetime. In an instant, life shifted.

In my first few days arriving in Doha and at my new place of employment, this memory shuffled through dusty hallways to my present consciousness.

I had arrived at an odd time – mid-February (who arrives mid-Feb? No-one). No multi-week long meet and greet orientation sessions at the college, no group of fellow jet-lagged expats walking through corridors as lost as me. No one to commiserate on the novelty of the call to prayer walking us up at 4AM. Instead, I had these conversations with my journal. It became quickly apparent that those who experienced the first weeks together had a particular bond that fastened their camaraderie tight. Less dramatic than many years prior, I felt like the new kid in class again. End of term was around the corner and it was time to flee Doha for annual leave, travel and homecomings.

Of course life is thankfully not nearly as dramatic as those earlier high school years. Everything comes with a grain of salt and heaps of experience. The necessity to belong is not in any realm as felt, needed, necessary as is the desire to feel strong in one’s own skin, solo. However, conversations with kindred friends are always noticeable when absent and cherished when truthfully present.  Since my arrival, I have met some lovely lovely people and for them I am thankful. Though, on the odd occasion, this memory, like a faded photograph at the bottom of an empty drawer, lays almost undetectable but not forgotten.

Recently, I have been asked to return to Doha this August to partake in the orientation meet and greets with the new lot of employees – 50+ new hires fresh off the plane walking into blistering Qatari heat and shiny college hallways. The photograph flutters slightly as the drawer opens. Perhaps on a random day in August, I will stumble into an unexpected conversation and life will shift.

on separation

We know separation so well because we’ve tasted the union. The reed flute makes music because it has already experienced changing mud and rain and light into sugarcane. Longing becomes more poignant if in the distance you can’t tell whether your friend is going away or coming back. The pushing away pulls you in.

Rumi

a reversal

I have spent the majority of my life wrapped up in winter – whilst in Montreal, ducking into buildings to avoid the – 30 degrees bite of February cold on my way to work, spending the most minimal moments actually in the white freeze (thank you Montreal for your underground passages!). As most other habitants of the otherwise absolutely stunning city, dreaming in vibrant colour of the summer months to arrive where life is breathed back into downtown streets through lovely heat, weekly festivals, stylish city-goers, people watching, wandering, lounging on patios, is a seasonal past-time. Even writing about this, I am mentally planning a Montreal-bound itinerary for this summer.

Hah. The need to escape from winter to summer – even in writing – is instinctive. Back to the winter months. I’ll give it to Montrealers, we never stopped moving even in the sub-zero temps. Nothing epitomizes the Montreal spirit better than the Ice Storm of 1998. (Here is a random person’s account of the storm for those in need of a refresher: http://bit.ly/p44Gw). I remember downtown Montreal a dark ghostly resemblance of its usual self due to a complete power outage, trees falling in front of me from the weight of ice around their tiny branches, frozen temperatures. I also remember bars and restaurants keeping doors open, serving food and drinks with the help of private generators and tea candles on tables, fireplace equipped houses home to massive parties. The city was still moving. Ten years later, living in Toronto, I must say this same spirit was not as easily apparent. Even though Toronto is lucky with its slightly warmer temps, with the cold and snow brings an almost shutdown of activity. Now people may disagree with me – and maybe it’s an old Montreal-Toronto rivalry surfacing affecting my judgement – but in any case, the point to both cities and stories is that Canadian winters are dreadful.

And here I am in Doha where all of a sudden my life in relation to my climate has toppled. I arrived in winter, mid February, to gorgeous mid-20 temperatures. The sun was glorious. I don’t think I’ve ever borne witness to so many seriously crystal clear skies. Wonderful. Fast forward 3 months into summer. Average temperatures of 40 degrees Celsius, with  ’feels like’ readings of 55 with humidity. Apparently this is nothing in comparison to what is in store for me come August where temperatures will soar even higher. And this is me, I love heat – but reaching 60? come on!

Now I live by my AC. I duck into buildings not to escape the cold, but the oppressive heat. I yearn in vividness for those winter blue skies and sun that almost sparkles its presence known. Eye glasses that used to steam up in coldness upon entering a building, now fog with humidity upon exiting. One step outside and the skin is immediately damp as is everything else; I was walking across campus the other day with coursework. The paper was damp by the time I arrived to my destination.

Am I complaining though? Not at all! New experiences are amazing. And to those who’ve asked, isn’t a desert supposed to be dry?… well, perhaps yes, but not when it’s surrounded by a huge body of water called the Persian Gulf. The little state of Qatar is beaming with humidity as a result. Yikes!!

a shy encounter

I’ve been tripping over my own breath recently. A slightly altered inhale. A longer breath out. A silent feeling surrounds and catches me off-guard. In the moments between moments when no one is looking, I feel something rise. Sitting on the bus on the way home from work. a random melody floats in my ears while my mind drifts across dusty pale landscapes in front of me. Here I stumble over it. It’s soft. Still. And I think it’s looking to stay for awhile. Recently impeded by obstacles of all kinds stubbornly refusing to let go, it seems as if it now has the upper hand. Give it a few months or so, I think (in tentative hope) and breath will soon enter and exit freely. It’s odd. I’ve voluntarily separated myself from beloved sweethearts and have extracted myself from the work which directly inspires, yet, something is slowly seeping within and filling minute cavities stretched open by past tiring encounters, relationships, events, non-events.

…..

Hello happiness, it’s nice to see you again. It’s been awhile.

let’s talk

I’m going to try to get myself into the audience of one of the ‘Doha Debates’ when series seven begins October 2010.

The Doha Debates is hosted (and debates chaired) by BBC World newsman Tim Sebastian, while the series is financed by the Qatar Foundation (… for Education, Science and Community Development). 8 episodes per season. Past topics include: Hamas meets Fatah, Obama’s influence and the Middle East, breaking down the story of Dubai, Women, Islam and the Freedom to Marry, among many many others. 1 hour long. 4 guests (two pro the given argument and two against) clash on the topic at hand with Tim navigating through impassioned perspectives, heated statements, audience responses to keep all on track and all progressively moving the debate forward. Who can resist some healthy and provocative political chit chat?

When something of interest catches my eye here, the Qatar Foundation often plays a part. QF is a private non-profit organization ‘guided by the principle that a nation’s greatest resource is the potential of its people, Qatar Foundation aims to develop that potential through a network of centers devoted to progressive education, research and community welfare.’  http://www.qf.org.qa Pretty cool. What an asset for a city currently undergoing mammoth change in every direction to have such a strong force supporting the social, cultural, creative, and political fabrics of its identity.

Thursday evenings

The work week runs Sunday – Thursday. Friday is considered the Holy day where families seem to spend the mornings and early afternoons together, a part of which includes attending their local mosque for prayer.  The city becomes increasingly busier and busier as the morning turns to afternoon to evening where, by this time, people are relaxing in the parks alongside Al Corniche (7 km boardwalk lining the Gulf coast), dining out, or filling up the many shopping complexes across town.

One of the liveliest spots in the City is the Souq Waqif, [souq = market], cobblestone streets and clusters of alleyways selling anything to everything imaginable – clothes, trinkets, furniture, Qatari touristy gems, jewelry, fabric – and the list goes on. The main drag is lined mainly with restaurants and coffee shops. Whether you’re in the mood for a sweet dessert, a five-course meal, traditional regional cuisine, or perhaps some Japanese or Iranian, you’ll find it here. All restaurants have their claim on prime patio territory ideal for people-watching … a popular past-time no matter which country you find yourself in! The Souq predates modern Doha existing back to earlier times when the capital city was a small trading village. In 2004, the Souq underwent a comprehensive restoration project rebuilding traditional architecture, physical spaces, and enhancing the overall feel of the souq leading to it now being one of the main cultural hot spots of Qatar.

Thursday nights, a group of us walk down to the souq for some late night coffee and for some, their weekly shisha smoke available in many flavours, including the favourite ‘double apple’. Favourite spots: Cafe Terrace to unwind; behind which there’s the most delicious Italian gelato shack; in one of the alleyways is nestled the Japanese restaurant Soy; and off the main road is the Art Centre which often showcases local visual artists. Also around Souq Waqif you’ll also find the gold souq, furniture souq, plants souq, among others.

I have yet to explore this cultural and social hub to its fullest, nor capture it in images. Once I do, this post will be updated with a visual.

The Global Architecture Blog profiles this souq in their series on projects nominated for the 2010 Aga Khan Awards for Architecture. Read the profile here.

Souq Waqif = ‘Standing Market’. Read the history behind the name at Souq Waqif online.