Reverse culture shock

In my zeal to get a good ticket home for the summer, I searched by price not dates. As a result, I accidentally purchased a flight leaving one day after my visa expires. Oops.

Solutions:
1) change my flight and leave a day earlier. Unfortunately, the ticket prices had gone up $4000+
2) pay a fine of 500QR for over-staying and face possible heat upon departure
3) Go to the visa section today and get a visa extension for 100QR

Not only was number 3 the cheapest option, I had braved the Mogamma in Cairo how hard could this be?

I barely need to write about this. A far cry from the circus in Cairo, this visa section here was a well-oiled machine. There were still a few Pakistanis and Egyptians who didn't want to wait in the orderly and quiet line, but there were enough law-abiders to scold them when they tried jumping the queue.

We were in and out in less than 10 minutes. All the counters on the visa payment side were run by efficient Qatari women, all with hand held credit card swipers. I punched in my pin code, they deducted 100QR from my account and sent me to the other side of the room, where a neat little sticker was printed out (in the time it took me to cross the room. Impressive.) and placed in my passport. (The man who processed mine was Officer Adul Aziz Hideous. I swear to God.) So I am legal again. Phew. No fuss, no muss. A nice change from sweating it out in France or the insanity of Cairo. I almost found myself disappointed by the anti-climax.

Every time Brits and Aussies ask us how we are adjusting, I force myself to pause and think about my response. I know they'll think I am nuts if I say that I am in awe of the shiny new-ness of the place or the technology and organization. They want to commiserate about beening dumped in the desert where nothing works. They haven't come from the epi-centre of lively chaos and colourful insanity like I have. I have to remember that before I speak. So, not to disappoint, I just smile and say how beautiful the sea and the sand is and that it'll take a little while but I'm sure we'll get used to the place.

Keepin' it real

Showing 1: "Hi there, just calling to confirm our 1.00 pm appointment -- give me a call when you arrive, I'll be waiting in front of the Ferrari dealership."

Showing 2: "I'm calling to confirm our appointment to see the 2 bedroom, 3 bathroom at 3.30pm. Lets meet in front of the Rolls Royce dealership. If you reach the Armani, you've gone too far."

uh. Yeah. One might argue the whole development has gone too far but that's just the middle class Canadian in me talking....

So that's our potential new neighbourhood: Missoni, Canali, Jimmy Choo, Armani, Hermes, Kenzo, Maze by Gordon Ramsay, Casa del Habana -- I could go on but I think you get the picture. Gorgeous, no doubt. And certainly plenty of inspiration to keep me from going out in flip flops and my favourite ripped cargos on a Saturday morning.

So after we saw the apartments, YK and I were strolling along the boardwalk to check out our potential new "hood". We were admiring the designer boutiques and 60 foot yachts moored in the private marina and - stop - what's this? Is that what I think it is? I am sure my eyes are playing tricks on me... In the middle of the most glamourous and exclusive real estate development in the Middle East: a COFFEE TIME. Only someone from Ontario can appreciate the hilarious irony of this. Coffee Time is the skeeviest coffee shop in Toronto. Seriously. Joe for crack addicts and winos. I've only been in one ONCE and that was because we were in the middle of nowhere and I really really really had to pee. And no, I did not sit down.

We were doubled over laughing and HAD to stop, buy a coffee and drink in the irony: the most upmarket area in the region enjoying a decidedly downmarket slice of Ontario.

Ahh, maybe all this designer lifestyle and sheeshy-fabulous is fine as long as we have Coffee Time to keep us grounded. This could be the place for us afterall.