tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41234286402050083222024-03-05T13:19:20.099-06:00Getting to Know QatarKeeping up with Bob and Cindi as they live and work in the Arabian GulfLucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.comBlogger182125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-25619404251503210732015-01-30T04:37:00.001-06:002015-02-02T06:49:26.604-06:00Ma'a Salaama, Doha: No RegretsDashboard entertainment:
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWb6QnXvrIL_wxtS-SHEO6NnnMhuz_oqskaF6GhGUG2qKIrhdiNVSgSYtVqX1Az8H91WU_i-Ur7on4RCKfItkHr1q7mF9zRIRhQxYu1xV8tCECrxIQRR1F1on47oS-w-J0xPydOK0azzb_/s1600/image003-740963.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWb6QnXvrIL_wxtS-SHEO6NnnMhuz_oqskaF6GhGUG2qKIrhdiNVSgSYtVqX1Az8H91WU_i-Ur7on4RCKfItkHr1q7mF9zRIRhQxYu1xV8tCECrxIQRR1F1on47oS-w-J0xPydOK0azzb_/s320/image003-740963.jpg" height="318" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962246111908146" width="400" /></a></center>
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<i>yes, this really happened<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>at 80km/hr<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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But first, this happened:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5NkLcWHrr37q3evQgKSvocordrBo6LcPsAVyJpl39N36KlDewpEpsLLb22lABPBR69p4zWs6sVi9P4oUl5h_IApFbEjU7k3AA0oSKuvhKtV9U6UrDcEllmk7Jy3XtLaYRbaUfnrFkPsR/s1600/image006-744990.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5NkLcWHrr37q3evQgKSvocordrBo6LcPsAVyJpl39N36KlDewpEpsLLb22lABPBR69p4zWs6sVi9P4oUl5h_IApFbEjU7k3AA0oSKuvhKtV9U6UrDcEllmk7Jy3XtLaYRbaUfnrFkPsR/s320/image006-744990.jpg" height="327" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962259009470306" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Landcruiser idled in traffic<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>driver's door open<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>errant youth chastised;<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>traffic waited<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>without honking horns<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>even though the light was green<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Sure, driving in Doha is hazardous. Living in Qatar is like residing on a construction site surrounded by a construction site within a construction site bordered by a yacht-and-dhow-sprinkled moat overrun with princes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Abandoned buildings disintegrate in the wind and sun. Roads are rerouted to accommodate construction needs. Appointments, schedules, contract dates and <i>terms-set-in-stone</i> are fluid. No mail service. Empty grocery shelves, the metric system. Familiar, brand name products - made for an international market - taste or work differently. Services are discontinued without notice. Wet summer air puddles under thresholds, teases body moisture into clothes. Salty water stings eyes, dries skin. Rules about alcohol, behavior,<b><i> <a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/09/dear-doha-expat-about-your-cleavage.html">attire</a></i></b>. A mysterious, minority host culture. <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2015/01/a-made-up-place.html">Prejudice, bias, wasta</a>.</i></b> <o:p></o:p></div>
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And, yeah, traffic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibTIHP7jUfGA2wFJ9piH8UHUK5ci5OWWvIAhQNXPe_EgpJBYPNjVTDinxhBbaB_FcxjcBYeGCQass5w-TzExfP-9MLk224L8xOtl4CVc7O225Ax4UdwHBIQdbuUlEqRfi1G-F-TxSsaX6X/s1600/image014-747992.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibTIHP7jUfGA2wFJ9piH8UHUK5ci5OWWvIAhQNXPe_EgpJBYPNjVTDinxhBbaB_FcxjcBYeGCQass5w-TzExfP-9MLk224L8xOtl4CVc7O225Ax4UdwHBIQdbuUlEqRfi1G-F-TxSsaX6X/s320/image014-747992.jpg" height="368" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962270371574930" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>a different kind of traffic picture:</i><br />
<i>bare road plus<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>parked, red lakhiwiyya police SUV...</i><br />
<i>black sedan, tinted window<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>convoy<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>headed your way<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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But life in Doha is not all teenage boys, plugged intersections, rebar and concrete. For example, there is year round sunshine. Seasonal <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2015/01/birds-mud-and-poo.html">pink flamingos</a></i></b>, the souk. Gucci, Hermes, Giorgio Armani. Porsche and Lamborghini. Tennis, handball, camel racing, <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/11/question-is-call-to-prayer-like-siren.html">the Call to Prayer</a></i></b>, cute baby giraffes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishbCsyI7mvIbPD0iJPyCNhdkUSUHAoq3w7_mlSB0vYAyQStIM5RALoSFSzicIOI5p3qGWLm0aLGjRA-qi5eQNR_6yeM2vN93fC3kRgNxQTxqiwHyPmNlZpx4-NicSsijbCmVS3rmvXS_X/s1600/image015-751061.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishbCsyI7mvIbPD0iJPyCNhdkUSUHAoq3w7_mlSB0vYAyQStIM5RALoSFSzicIOI5p3qGWLm0aLGjRA-qi5eQNR_6yeM2vN93fC3kRgNxQTxqiwHyPmNlZpx4-NicSsijbCmVS3rmvXS_X/s320/image015-751061.jpg" height="381" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962290371315298" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>the Doha Zoo remains closed<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>this is what it looks like when you drive in unannounced<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>while the guard is on break<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>(then charm your way out in pigeon Arabic)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/06/baby-giraffe-is-born.html">click here to watch as a baby giraffe is born in Doha</a></i></b></div>
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Less than 100 years ago, Qatar was a vast expanse of sand. Today there are flowers and malls. Date palms hem a brick Corniche around a glittering Bay. An eccentric high rise skyline ponies up nighttime bling. The country's National Museum (under construction) is uniquely shaped like a <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/12/treasure-in-sand-not-oil.html">Desert Rose</a></i></b>. Three short years ago stereo speakers fixed in The Pearl's trees broadcast bird calls. Today real birds flutter in the fronds.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUXMDJ0Gqbg79BWAObvwQUpTXYb75jI62kUNQmbqoS35vzk2RLK68O65ni1_RW1Fm2ct5QC8ZmvkdVBph8_foEYoZkV8TnRDj52T5pzj_8Ag596tQ-nbFs6g5bKJrNHfV4UF13_5eYPpG/s1600/image018-754612.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUXMDJ0Gqbg79BWAObvwQUpTXYb75jI62kUNQmbqoS35vzk2RLK68O65ni1_RW1Fm2ct5QC8ZmvkdVBph8_foEYoZkV8TnRDj52T5pzj_8Ag596tQ-nbFs6g5bKJrNHfV4UF13_5eYPpG/s320/image018-754612.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962302131832418" width="250" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>behind the walls<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>a community park<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Shehanniyah<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Growing pains feature in Qatar's <i>dunes-to-mansions</i> story. But rapid growth is the tale's hero - and villain. Now, as we leave the desert behind, we choose to focus on the experiences that made our time here memorable.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVTDyIw69oRiuAAMqKlq6alQOIt2fRYwtFV5qhMagk_1_5utISI-SrqE_vOc_Ib46zPgw3g864Kexo4zUo6T1ffajBRNj4xyMy7pG99nRVb2j8lGRDn1uhs9An1qvfco5EqYR92GGBeMv/s1600/image021-757831.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVTDyIw69oRiuAAMqKlq6alQOIt2fRYwtFV5qhMagk_1_5utISI-SrqE_vOc_Ib46zPgw3g864Kexo4zUo6T1ffajBRNj4xyMy7pG99nRVb2j8lGRDn1uhs9An1qvfco5EqYR92GGBeMv/s320/image021-757831.jpg" height="352" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962314263213026" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>racing camels and trainer<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjvoWI0776ngRe5LYgXnOCFXpLz_ELs3dBdGUB6Q-L7ihS65YkkMjPAaOD6SUtOd7urfEqx0KSVaOwfGaLbiUmeRS7ydI2i0ugIZbhU18Ez82tSwi0lc2-Yl9yXi-VAsnGcb7oWlUrgScK/s1600/image024-760847.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjvoWI0776ngRe5LYgXnOCFXpLz_ELs3dBdGUB6Q-L7ihS65YkkMjPAaOD6SUtOd7urfEqx0KSVaOwfGaLbiUmeRS7ydI2i0ugIZbhU18Ez82tSwi0lc2-Yl9yXi-VAsnGcb7oWlUrgScK/s320/image024-760847.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962329926290994" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>camel jockey<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>once upon a time small children filled this role<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>today's jockeys are politically correct<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>monkey shaped robots<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The People<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Coworkers, desert strangers, locals, teachers, friends. Qatari women who invited me into their homes, shared cultural secrets and personal stories. Bob's golf buddies and the international team at Weill Cornell Medical College's Standardized Patient Program. More profiles than time to write.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBIJ7hFG5m6Q8xCFle0IkmjCd-OHbBPydTTMbhKJgWmsRBBYapQGKKIS4zDqxf8LCNpedcLIrQTuRnuBU8ijSSCrEzsa9eVogaEfM0_G5G40W9E7YywpI0vTZaVyxmEKCRiQCneL6f4aO/s1600/image025-763749.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBIJ7hFG5m6Q8xCFle0IkmjCd-OHbBPydTTMbhKJgWmsRBBYapQGKKIS4zDqxf8LCNpedcLIrQTuRnuBU8ijSSCrEzsa9eVogaEfM0_G5G40W9E7YywpI0vTZaVyxmEKCRiQCneL6f4aO/s320/image025-763749.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962341801621410" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Niqab and glasses<o:p></o:p></div>
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Read about it:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/03/we-are-bmd-abroad.html">We are BMD (Overseas Edition)</a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/03/meet-aisha.html">Meet Aisha*</a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/11/salaam-when-qataris-say-hello.html">Salaam! (When Qataris say Hello)</a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Places<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Deserts, beaches, resorts, churches, castles, pubs, B&Bs, spas. Ten countries, many cities. Exploring sand and rock from one end of the peninsula to the next.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1u4UQe9yFxq_8sBVGmyG6UcRr5YW83JmtDnth-VkADHE2RMPajWYo_W76w2ldVIhPOjMwj-GyTi5pzW6D1BjwlhgOwevNpjRMLWQOTAhogrh4zscuzuFt5eSn_a3k7kdzPWLcsZnoNuPz/s1600/image028-766701.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1u4UQe9yFxq_8sBVGmyG6UcRr5YW83JmtDnth-VkADHE2RMPajWYo_W76w2ldVIhPOjMwj-GyTi5pzW6D1BjwlhgOwevNpjRMLWQOTAhogrh4zscuzuFt5eSn_a3k7kdzPWLcsZnoNuPz/s320/image028-766701.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962354156248514" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Chris meets Corniche pearl<o:p></o:p></div>
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Read about it:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/10/expats-abroad-legal-in-spain.html">Expats Abroad: Spain</a></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/10/bob-and-cindi-do-greece.html">Bob and Cindi Do Greece</a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/02/camels-on-main-street-tp-in-can.html">Camels on Main Street, TP in the Can</a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Time Together<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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A three year Qatari honeymoon. Opportunity to show our kids the world. Friday walks, trips to the desert, touring the Irish countryside in a Beemer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKPwSy02UZ2i3-Dyo2Nk1AzflQX8a8by-_9czzDEqmpRaGiXt2emt3ZhrBbY97UDWBX6ypbsCfEX3ET0QRsosss80P9fO8y7PPUQSVTTlJwk-dDLzLOGG5ZDsMGzj7o832cmFPWUhsr1v/s1600/image029-769988.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKPwSy02UZ2i3-Dyo2Nk1AzflQX8a8by-_9czzDEqmpRaGiXt2emt3ZhrBbY97UDWBX6ypbsCfEX3ET0QRsosss80P9fO8y7PPUQSVTTlJwk-dDLzLOGG5ZDsMGzj7o832cmFPWUhsr1v/s320/image029-769988.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962365543745202" width="281" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>ma sha allah!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Katie and Kimber at Film City<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Read about it:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/01/six-days-in-doha-with-chris.html">Six Days in Doha with Chris</a></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/01/tourist-qatar-where-weve-been.html">Tourist Qatar: Where We've Been</a></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/11/four-days-one-mistake.html">Four Days, One Mistake</a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Culture and Language<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Six day work weeks and unrelenting traffic didn't leave much room for sightseeing. Still we managed to learn some Arabic and gain understanding of a sometimes mysterious culture.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDLoY6cWMG8Se7wQzNDNUH-ZLeK2JjF1dq_d54AjpgxMBdJMvuYOwiom6Xk3gvp59Q3Fp5DfGDFf79OepuUy8dIZir4ClASG9dvc1fE58qjqbFMiR2V65Hdx48vc_gQf8XRvZIRHDcqZJ/s1600/image032-774026.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDLoY6cWMG8Se7wQzNDNUH-ZLeK2JjF1dq_d54AjpgxMBdJMvuYOwiom6Xk3gvp59Q3Fp5DfGDFf79OepuUy8dIZir4ClASG9dvc1fE58qjqbFMiR2V65Hdx48vc_gQf8XRvZIRHDcqZJ/s320/image032-774026.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962385048430466" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Bob and Cindi meet Qatar's <i>Peace and Love Guy</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Read about it:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/01/my-first-qatari-wedding.html">My First Qatari Wedding</a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/04/modesty-covering-and-haya.html">Modesty, Covering and Haya</a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/06/machbous-prayer-and-god.html">Machbous, Prayer and God</a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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We leave Qatar now with quivers full and no regrets. Ready to love on our kids, grandkids, family and friends. Paint our kitchen, seed our lawn, plant a garden. And prepare for life's next great adventure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1RzAozxGe1ab0OaV7N04Xtoeb9WlIPagbXUwEusGxNdL7LzdLYMkQ6qzaG0r2S1PQkqcBfCVwgFTxo1mLQWBSfgtSWoUGbvlxt3Gkti7wPdsgDRjKYh3uio9U9ZF9U_RoN95dWZTFvLX/s1600/image035-777179.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1RzAozxGe1ab0OaV7N04Xtoeb9WlIPagbXUwEusGxNdL7LzdLYMkQ6qzaG0r2S1PQkqcBfCVwgFTxo1mLQWBSfgtSWoUGbvlxt3Gkti7wPdsgDRjKYh3uio9U9ZF9U_RoN95dWZTFvLX/s320/image035-777179.jpg" height="293" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962401352251282" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><o:p> </o:p></i></div>
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<i>yallah habibkum!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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This is the end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Journey over;<o:p></o:p></div>
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new tale begins.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Disclaimer:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<em>The essays in this blog reflect our experiences while living in Doha, Qatar during a particular 39-month period. Qatar is a new and evolving country; today, street names, shops and restaurant locations change overnight, tomorrow the landscape may be different. We hope you'll gain a positive appreciation for Qatar's people, religion, culture and history through our experiences.</em><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmJDFgfAQlA-vssFKkCjlBdw2HhxAurKfRZigONU9xg4VeSk32w0itLR6f3os2v9iobpkd7PkYcn25H4yi4liAbhnWZIBLGxRnixFbxAi5z057IJsgAmWmnm_Jmsqmc0N8VXCepCHEeyj/s1600/image036-780407.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmJDFgfAQlA-vssFKkCjlBdw2HhxAurKfRZigONU9xg4VeSk32w0itLR6f3os2v9iobpkd7PkYcn25H4yi4liAbhnWZIBLGxRnixFbxAi5z057IJsgAmWmnm_Jmsqmc0N8VXCepCHEeyj/s320/image036-780407.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6109962415465508994" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>ma'a salaama<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>ciao<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>arrivederci<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>adios<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>auf wiedersehen<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>illa liqah<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>'bye now!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-31930598178217905482015-01-23T03:18:00.000-06:002015-01-23T03:18:33.082-06:00Birds, Mud and Poo<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMorE7gi7QcWSzlDk5AvlVvT90va3H5U2LBNFj9WqNyYzZs-wzXQ4qmwKmrDO_2AswNYxL6BLoQ1mu-WGabbVz2zqRdIC86n18gP1njMeuxvoNxdaTXGmjSpVg7MSaqYKOm8mbOVf_aVzk/s1600/image025-790275.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMorE7gi7QcWSzlDk5AvlVvT90va3H5U2LBNFj9WqNyYzZs-wzXQ4qmwKmrDO_2AswNYxL6BLoQ1mu-WGabbVz2zqRdIC86n18gP1njMeuxvoNxdaTXGmjSpVg7MSaqYKOm8mbOVf_aVzk/s320/image025-790275.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375173871629154" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">muddy promontory between ponds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Qatar is more than desert vistas and high rise skylines. More than traffic, sand, rock, humidity, racing camels, robot jockeys, ladies in black, men in white.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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It's a place where emerald waters circle promontories strewn with reeds and wild, buoyant, floral flotsam. With furry tailed mammals, swollen hedges, congealed beaches. Teeming flocks of flying, floating, feeding birds that soar amid acres of composting earth. Where muddy fields constricted by power lines are squeezed by fences of throwaway brown-clumped tires.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVEbGlLQIvfjGrMeWxvS2EQq4Yk_4xB69c9jtRioFGSHSedxQbQzgyeyjQxLpUmGOTfi11RjELuTKnQVW1YoY4ME4YwiX1OXEolAvt3BK0hWYrH7A-R8-r3V54m7qtqlmTZNMbvmjxWZp0/s1600/image026-794297.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVEbGlLQIvfjGrMeWxvS2EQq4Yk_4xB69c9jtRioFGSHSedxQbQzgyeyjQxLpUmGOTfi11RjELuTKnQVW1YoY4ME4YwiX1OXEolAvt3BK0hWYrH7A-R8-r3V54m7qtqlmTZNMbvmjxWZp0/s320/image026-794297.jpg" height="258" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375191805659026" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">birds over poo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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That's right: I'm talking about the sewage ponds. Putrescent depressions, cavities of refuse, swollen receptacles of pungent effluvium bespattered with sometimes firm, sometimes sludgy, slimy, clotted emissions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Each winter migrating birds from all over the world surge toward the Arabian peninsula's spattered reefs. These flocks of feathered folk fling themselves upon odious shores in search of nutrient rich streams and ripe rivulets. Travelling birds loll under splattering showers, bathe in the texturous atolls before continuing long journeys hither and yon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4GcSBmFp0hM5MwnnINqdQJENlP9Hw1RrT_2dw_XRLl278rwQhNuPq6OXAdqBMXfNP0eetg8FYS0WM-ausIIFf4fKG0j1P7aqsQvTxtAPTmanB351bTZIB3zRMlqlGFoF_2zfQKTWHAq3/s1600/image027-798362.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4GcSBmFp0hM5MwnnINqdQJENlP9Hw1RrT_2dw_XRLl278rwQhNuPq6OXAdqBMXfNP0eetg8FYS0WM-ausIIFf4fKG0j1P7aqsQvTxtAPTmanB351bTZIB3zRMlqlGFoF_2zfQKTWHAq3/s320/image027-798362.jpg" height="245" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375206779847634" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">flamingos! pretty flamingos! pretty pink flamingos!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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If you want to see the birds, you gotta visit the "poo-poo ponds."*<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqE6VBFxos1En64P3s4Ol7JGxH2OJ_TTPyQrGFdzoC_kVfu_EVHvibWXVZDAhTlA26XASSQ6IYCRK6mbnMg3SdRpb0dkaRozU-XF4rCGdUSh3r9W1h7K5oJFHb82SvQxberKXYNULO1Lg/s1600/image028-702751.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqE6VBFxos1En64P3s4Ol7JGxH2OJ_TTPyQrGFdzoC_kVfu_EVHvibWXVZDAhTlA26XASSQ6IYCRK6mbnMg3SdRpb0dkaRozU-XF4rCGdUSh3r9W1h7K5oJFHb82SvQxberKXYNULO1Lg/s320/image028-702751.jpg" height="361" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375223780507042" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">slurpy muck, bare legs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Stick to the rear of the streaming trucks. Plop off the highway at the third exit from a roundabout that has no third exit. Slide between the fence posts and slip under the four footed electrical transmission towers. Push between the shimmering legs of one groaning structure and circle another. Head up a steep incline until you find the pebble strewn path where braided tires spot the earth in steamy heaps.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdm96AhCO9CCHNvvhW79EK5hbVPoeyJc_jOsxVBkGWRHLMsduRJesQNzjIT55emLHzukiAMhGtYoScK9wbkFsSHR9fEwO85ukvley-GIbB_qEJh4l32nF0-1CH1ece4s3HWQ5lmFkgC_E/s1600/image030-706544.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdm96AhCO9CCHNvvhW79EK5hbVPoeyJc_jOsxVBkGWRHLMsduRJesQNzjIT55emLHzukiAMhGtYoScK9wbkFsSHR9fEwO85ukvley-GIbB_qEJh4l32nF0-1CH1ece4s3HWQ5lmFkgC_E/s320/image030-706544.jpg" height="265" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375240239456258" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">trucks and tires<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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If you trail into the country's bowels after two rare days of spitting rain, like we did, the earth may be aromatic, thick, slushy, loose as wind charges over the hollows. White caps will discharge swells of odorous repugnance.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdIYfO5IyfrDGTifiGzpZAGlBhw4r5sTe9XAbCeHD9Aq24VAn2DRIQRjRA51pasw83wVkHy0Zco2eHx6JocZpRv0OTdYrRBvauz6XNm9vyKyEYhzy55G3nqkbeu9qFjsSQfx-bxohEF3h/s1600/image031-710516.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdIYfO5IyfrDGTifiGzpZAGlBhw4r5sTe9XAbCeHD9Aq24VAn2DRIQRjRA51pasw83wVkHy0Zco2eHx6JocZpRv0OTdYrRBvauz6XNm9vyKyEYhzy55G3nqkbeu9qFjsSQfx-bxohEF3h/s320/image031-710516.jpg" height="271" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375256911970370" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">odorous repugnance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Torrents of pungent, red tinted stuff may glop to your tires, streak windows, splatter explosive particles as you maneuver across <i>just-wide-enough</i> roadway mounds. Unremitting stripes of multi colored trucks will rumble over the headlands, raise back ends, pause. From some, liquid gushes out of circular orifices. Others use long hoses to dump waste from full bellies directly into the wetlands.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4tDxbKZyl5P5Mtb4zzBmitzJQDu1HAntpZq14TofctxrxhGILJTf5wOl0Jcjt3FHylp6gAWb2dnG5avl1A0Ys5l0z6oDqt_uaBcC0cWv40cXhO3g7h7fAA_-qfYxEqc0w6yCFt48_-W7/s1600/image032-714604.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4tDxbKZyl5P5Mtb4zzBmitzJQDu1HAntpZq14TofctxrxhGILJTf5wOl0Jcjt3FHylp6gAWb2dnG5avl1A0Ys5l0z6oDqt_uaBcC0cWv40cXhO3g7h7fAA_-qfYxEqc0w6yCFt48_-W7/s320/image032-714604.jpg" height="301" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375273983804162" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">circular orifice, belly gush<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In natural wastewater treatment systems, excretions are flushed through earthen barriers via a series of elevated waterways. Sediment is constrained by rock and earth so fluid becomes more potable as it trickles downwards. In modern facilities, water is treated using pipes. (Yeah, that's all I know.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Until recently the most popular place to see Qatar's migrating birds was a modern sewage treatment facility called Abu Nakhla. Inexplicably/one day/in the way things happen here, Abu Nakhla was drained. Rumor is it was done to prevent flooding in "sensitive" (military) "locations" nearby in the event of (the "t" word) "incident."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_xqn22aEh063gnuVjypDOTSlGiEKt7Wj5XlVAs98f0Sl2Ex-gkxrp-ggYaMIuG1C4ST9_5sdhwl9NLnJSEyfyz8xl8-6zdT3s8ENlrJzCUzM1PPKKCLuB5sI7fSVaXUL_mbuEljo5TXdm/s1600/image033-719112.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_xqn22aEh063gnuVjypDOTSlGiEKt7Wj5XlVAs98f0Sl2Ex-gkxrp-ggYaMIuG1C4ST9_5sdhwl9NLnJSEyfyz8xl8-6zdT3s8ENlrJzCUzM1PPKKCLuB5sI7fSVaXUL_mbuEljo5TXdm/s320/image033-719112.jpg" height="241" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375291279368194" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Abu Nakhla today<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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When you visit the ponds, be sure to bring a knowledgeable guide to share fun bird facts while zooming close up images with her monster camera through gob spattered windows.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8YD44CVbdTPMVztsTqvPjCdezwSMNiTSLx0AQ66hwL8FKSeLb4wQVS6YyCR95FZqdUbfeQ_t7coQDO2q0s35W5tbZrlw4tYTy8YkR0Z1LiNRSw0EOR6J1kAt5QydLKw6k42ppG1lR-_c/s1600/image034-722653.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8YD44CVbdTPMVztsTqvPjCdezwSMNiTSLx0AQ66hwL8FKSeLb4wQVS6YyCR95FZqdUbfeQ_t7coQDO2q0s35W5tbZrlw4tYTy8YkR0Z1LiNRSw0EOR6J1kAt5QydLKw6k42ppG1lR-_c/s320/image034-722653.jpg" height="356" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375308081658866" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">beautiful (<i>ma sha allah!</i>), knowledgeable guide Samantha Vidal<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Through your guide's eyes you'll see tiny stick leg birds and cute little swimmers who immerse themselves in the nutrient rich waters. You'll learn about the cormorant's funky wing drying dance and how the red breasted grebe's feet are set behind his body which makes him a clumsy face planter on land.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignk_3Z7Z7KvRujhf0EAT2HcLhLDJzP1i46D46OEkj9HvgzhhQIZZE2egRTZVwYXldyjEAkxGryZoWX7eUZ1FGkgVFKlFaizsnZV_6xggjM_9sxBH4uP8UN9vVM-U7jgWZHPGW9utPFFgg/s1600/image035-726655.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignk_3Z7Z7KvRujhf0EAT2HcLhLDJzP1i46D46OEkj9HvgzhhQIZZE2egRTZVwYXldyjEAkxGryZoWX7eUZ1FGkgVFKlFaizsnZV_6xggjM_9sxBH4uP8UN9vVM-U7jgWZHPGW9utPFFgg/s320/image035-726655.jpg" height="342" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375328218254866" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">stick leg bird<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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You'll tell bad poo jokes and laugh until maybe you pee a little.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHB2AgBmvFBPY1rJO6RAdRN1QW3415nIh3uq9Hf1C0XI0O3t33x3SI9EnN4SVDv3YjKCKAFxOZUDFmXsFbRr3baScDbuuG6GOwGijVmJqBFnbN9JVykJrG81dsToJi2BEtXmi9S9LQX1Em/s1600/image036-731364.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHB2AgBmvFBPY1rJO6RAdRN1QW3415nIh3uq9Hf1C0XI0O3t33x3SI9EnN4SVDv3YjKCKAFxOZUDFmXsFbRr3baScDbuuG6GOwGijVmJqBFnbN9JVykJrG81dsToJi2BEtXmi9S9LQX1Em/s320/image036-731364.jpg" height="322" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375349712599874" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">pretty pink flamingo flies!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Migrating birds don't care about oil, gas or sports. They're not interested in sponsorship, construction dates, contracts, how much money you make, what color you are or where you're from. Their only concern is nutrients in the water and getting a little R&R. To the birds, a pause at Qatar's sewage ponds is a sort of - potty break - in the middle of a long trip across the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8U01F-FubfBff6lUFaUNMTOeppAFYz5cnEK3USimuJ8vNofPvXdzpnvy8VkPNAYb1AaKSdr1ZWFu6tzS2ix4CwrTdp58gDKC20Q_HaPR6YWCEZgWbq3EEZvSElokU0j5Sb6bP-NghPBXL/s1600/image037-735008.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8U01F-FubfBff6lUFaUNMTOeppAFYz5cnEK3USimuJ8vNofPvXdzpnvy8VkPNAYb1AaKSdr1ZWFu6tzS2ix4CwrTdp58gDKC20Q_HaPR6YWCEZgWbq3EEZvSElokU0j5Sb6bP-NghPBXL/s320/image037-735008.jpg" height="297" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375367975917874" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">bird R&R<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Wear disposable shoes. Keep windows up. Breathe lightly and don't forget your camera. But (given the opportunity) definitely, absolutely, visit the ponds.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZ-bsBHytAM4MmWLteqFGCeCqiZaN80BFgjQjfWTZ3beLlDUjRDON1AnzyXBngO89cNRmOWJ7k_g7ot4cmgd5rQfFNLbaTS2-Az6mrV05KJI1pbJJxEIczdRLahfSccnkPQYJz5pWKg8o/s1600/image038-738756.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZ-bsBHytAM4MmWLteqFGCeCqiZaN80BFgjQjfWTZ3beLlDUjRDON1AnzyXBngO89cNRmOWJ7k_g7ot4cmgd5rQfFNLbaTS2-Az6mrV05KJI1pbJJxEIczdRLahfSccnkPQYJz5pWKg8o/s320/image038-738756.jpg" height="348" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6107375376992797634" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">beautiful (<i>ma sha allah!</i>) guide takes pics<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The birds are waiting.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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*credit to Samantha Vidal for use of the technical term "poo-poo ponds"</div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-73132820121661404212015-01-16T12:00:00.000-06:002015-01-16T22:03:04.573-06:00I Want Qatar To Be The Most Admired Country in the World<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4nKjXDuFXG0yQocMvMhunC1HAhJktM9NS7v1IrtTjDm9OhB6cGPu2hMX6oaFvSW5f7YlB_-YVWUhvqXyMr3GrUgP_aDu1pzMlEDB-Z6-qjZHhKjtNvhXKiI1oy23mmEK3tySaJYkv7_Y/s1600/image005-773790.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4nKjXDuFXG0yQocMvMhunC1HAhJktM9NS7v1IrtTjDm9OhB6cGPu2hMX6oaFvSW5f7YlB_-YVWUhvqXyMr3GrUgP_aDu1pzMlEDB-Z6-qjZHhKjtNvhXKiI1oy23mmEK3tySaJYkv7_Y/s320/image005-773790.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6104766335394696770" width="351" /></a><o:p></o:p>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Donna Benton and The Entertainer
<br />American Women's Association Qatar (AWAQ) meeting
<br />Doha, Qatar, January 2015</span></div>
<o:p>She's a self-made millionaire.</o:p>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Donna Benton is owner and CEO of The Entertainer, a popular two-for-one coupon book available in an ever expanding list of countries throughout Africa, Asia, the Middle East and Europe. She landed in Dubai from Australia 14 years ago for a job that didn't work out. With $3,000 in her pocket and not much else, she built a profitable business as a woman in a male dominated culture. Today her start up is a multi-billion dollar enterprise with themed books in UAE, Qatar and many other places including Johannesburg, Malaysia, Hong Kong, Jordan, Lebanon and London. The product is newly available as an app that downloads coupons and updates to a subscriber's smart phone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN"><em>"…the company currently has more than 100 employees worldwide, with around 70 based in Dubai. 'We have a new employee every fortnight and are expecting more new hires'…"</em><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><a href="http://gulfbusiness.com/2013/08/interview-how-dubais-entertainer-group-became-a-global-brand/#.VLSqIaMcQhk" target="_blank">GulfBusiness.com</a>, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Today, she's a wife, mother, CEO, visionary. She's strong and personable, fascinating, inspiring, approachable.<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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But Donna Benton is not the reason a room full of international women still hums long past the featured speech. She is not why women continue to sip coffee in a well-appointed social room at Souq Waqif's Al Mirqab Hotel an hour after the end of the meeting. <i>Nope.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The buzz is all about Khalifa Saleh Al Haroon. Or, as he's better known in these parts, "Your Friendly Neighborhood Qatari, Mr Q."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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He's late.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2vjw8MNn5aSfvdsTUFi28peTzq4LIK99ZOb1Fp-qRj80TqVgAeQyyZfpwUrbA585lA7Tt2xrtTdXvzoD0ZpTwnreXY2Mi9ftNxtor4xjOG5BSmTQ28x2ocsK0z8yZ4-hOX42cPliBmDY/s1600/image006-778073.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2vjw8MNn5aSfvdsTUFi28peTzq4LIK99ZOb1Fp-qRj80TqVgAeQyyZfpwUrbA585lA7Tt2xrtTdXvzoD0ZpTwnreXY2Mi9ftNxtor4xjOG5BSmTQ28x2ocsK0z8yZ4-hOX42cPliBmDY/s320/image006-778073.jpg" height="268" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6104766355830924706" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">waiting on Mr Q
<br />Mary Anne, Sam, Cindi, Wendy
<br />AWAQ meeting
<br />Doha, Qatar, January 2015</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Qatar, Mr Q is a celebrity. His one to three minute, fun and funny videos introduce the inquisitive foreigner to curious Qatari habits: <i>Why do Qatari men rub noses? What's the proper way to sit down? Shake hands or don't shake hands? Do Qatari men wear pants under their thobes?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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"I wanted to be the first Qatari movie star in Hollywood," says Khalifa. "But my dad laughed." He shrugs. "I went into law."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Watch Mr Q<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span class="watch-title"><span lang="EN"></span></span><br /></div>
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<span class="watch-title">QTip: Why are Qataris Smelly? (5 ways to smell good!)</span><br />
<o:p><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/w5mShJVusHI" width="460"></iframe></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Today Khalifa aka Mr Q is dapper in a brown winter thobe and a white ghutra worn in the "cobra" style. He is enthusiastic, friendly, outspoken. And tardy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But, "I'm not a late Qatari," he insists. This is an isolated instance, not a cultural event. He points to the usual delay-making factors: <i>Traffic. Road closures. No parking around the venue.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Spoons clink porcelain, the scent of sweet bread warms the air. Heads nod, corners of mouths turn up politely. <i>Donna Benton was on time. We were on time</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Still.<i>Whatev.</i> "Late" is the name of the game in Qatar. He is Qatari. He is forgiven.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7bReSJWAQ5gLmoBFzA2VYPPkSopr9-UtykqjrMwxHB_5UOQamgjqZn6MSxhiWXgk8mdIY0IcIhcfhA35T3p4jH2ipATqs35NQ8nTS8ekNrsmPfPw5lFQwg1695eVtox8mQ_6jU9D_Q3h/s1600/image009-782357.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7bReSJWAQ5gLmoBFzA2VYPPkSopr9-UtykqjrMwxHB_5UOQamgjqZn6MSxhiWXgk8mdIY0IcIhcfhA35T3p4jH2ipATqs35NQ8nTS8ekNrsmPfPw5lFQwg1695eVtox8mQ_6jU9D_Q3h/s320/image009-782357.jpg" height="385" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6104766370343639666" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Selfie with Mr Q</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">AWAQ meeting</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Doha, Qatar, January 2015</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Besides, he's adorable. Charming, outgoing, charismatic. He holds law degrees from the UK, speaks colloquial American English with a shiny bit of <i>I-attended-British-university</i>. He likes dogs. And bonus: he's 30 years old and single.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Khalifa's Linkedin resume outlines an impressive list of achievements dating back to his high school graduation: board member, shareholder, founder, CEO, ambassador, business owner, head of this, chair of that. Young Achiever of the Year, Qatar's Top 100 Hot List for 2014. He's the founder of ILove Qatar.net, (http://www.iloveqatar.net/) which just celebrated its 5th anniversary. His numerous skills include "…start-ups, business strategy, entrepreneurship, business development…" and more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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He flips his ghutra over a shoulder.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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"The BBC claims that Qatar is schizophrenic," he says. "That we don't know if we want to be cultural or modern."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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He straightens his shoulders. "I want Qatar to be the most admired country in the world." <i>Futuristic, progressive, modern, tolerant.</i> As he says in inspirational speeches to school aged Qatari boys, "You <i>can</i> have it all."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2I0zWZm-G-e2L2XbHgu41dsLk5onBMIeXdyVy8Al10bpWVl2nZj25BhiyLnuSM8C3Uz0yYXc1AV8DrBn04oGrXDUI_aZv_lCSsrJMAgCzPByrh8nVs9dh6FR2oew-hhSfbMotbLWVragu/s1600/image011-785767.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2I0zWZm-G-e2L2XbHgu41dsLk5onBMIeXdyVy8Al10bpWVl2nZj25BhiyLnuSM8C3Uz0yYXc1AV8DrBn04oGrXDUI_aZv_lCSsrJMAgCzPByrh8nVs9dh6FR2oew-hhSfbMotbLWVragu/s320/image011-785767.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6104766383175303650" width="261" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Khalifa Saleh Al Haroon, aka Mr Q</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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One woman raises her hand. "What about the generation of Lost Souls?" she says. You know, the boys who rev engines at The Pearl late at night, race motorcycles in creeping, bumper to fender Doha traffic? Chase tourist filled dhows on jet skis? Cruise bars? Wreak havoc from one end of the country to the other? Those <b>wasta</b> employed, over privileged Middle Eastern goodfellas?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlokP96KPLyb-a9p_V2LUAaMtwUw6hxYxmqaxAZI37hp3iEt68BSTH3oiRDYetElvouSDcQaeXyRrEVKbOc1cBuCUnrp2uio-5DFuxPoJEz3BWNmj1TXmoibF-ussWdev5p3LFGeCWOMxo/s1600/image014-790062.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlokP96KPLyb-a9p_V2LUAaMtwUw6hxYxmqaxAZI37hp3iEt68BSTH3oiRDYetElvouSDcQaeXyRrEVKbOc1cBuCUnrp2uio-5DFuxPoJEz3BWNmj1TXmoibF-ussWdev5p3LFGeCWOMxo/s320/image014-790062.jpg" height="205" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6104766406488156834" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Qatari boys chasing tourist dhow on jet skis</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Yes, this really happened)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Outside Doha, September 2014)</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Khalifa shakes his head. <i>Have you heard of the Doha Depression?</i> he says. This is about boys with more time than things to do. And a culture that indirectly teaches its young that it's not okay to fail.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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"I believe there's a generation between mine and my father's that became too rich too quick," he says. In a survey the most common goal of this group was to "achieve their own skyscraper." Today things are turning around as a new, up and coming group seeks bigger dreams. "Guess who's the current largest audience on youtube," he says. "Saudi Arabian females<i>. </i>Most popular topic? Education."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Another hand goes up. <i>Why do Qataris keep separate from expats?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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"For every expat to have one Qatari friend," he says. "Every Qatari must have seven expat friends." He laughs. "I already have more than 100 family members!"<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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A third hand. "Can we get a dog park in Qatar?" And finally, "Who do I talk to about setting you up with my daughter?"<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<i>Um.</i> "Just ask," he says. "I won't say no."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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With grace, sincerity and for coming up with a politely generic response to the dog park question, Khalifa aka Mr Q is a stereotype-busting ambassador to a place that has blossomed high rises from sand in the way a 12 year old boy sprouts six inches overnight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But Donna Benton? Who started with nothing, generated a marketable idea in a place where it can be difficult for women to be accepted on the same platform as men? And, without maids, nannies or someone to carry her cell phone, turned her idea into a multi-<i>billion</i> dollar venture? <i>She's amazing</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<em>"…The Entertainer now has 12 types of discount voucher books that include many two-for-one deals on waterparks, fine-dining restaurants, hotels, golf courses and adventures in the desert. The company's deals now go further afield than the Middle East, and cover the Maldives in the Indian Ocean to Cyprus in the Mediterranean. Two new books are also slated to be launched next year in Riyadh and Jeddah…"</em></div>
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<a href="http://www.thenational.ae/business/industry-insights/retail/a-successful-idea-brought-to-book#full" target="_blank">TheNational.ae</a>, August 2011</div>
<o:p></o:p>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG1jcr5CAFjLMuqQA2soBclYE2vPt0hH-OOgJ5DiSJJrhVp5lY2bN0ODPU_4RRoXirj7hqvKbpDnTYJwKpOO7HPqU8JimW1qBKZHxPZC3lq_WbXgipJAQzNZFK00O52PC8zjGDRPi8O5g-/s1600/image003-740916.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG1jcr5CAFjLMuqQA2soBclYE2vPt0hH-OOgJ5DiSJJrhVp5lY2bN0ODPU_4RRoXirj7hqvKbpDnTYJwKpOO7HPqU8JimW1qBKZHxPZC3lq_WbXgipJAQzNZFK00O52PC8zjGDRPi8O5g-/s320/image003-740916.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6105154033410839714" width="341" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Fans<br>photo courtesy Samantha Vidal</span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/(http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9G_Ug3avO9MVdRZksotQSk6EAaXzBUZq" target="_blank">Watch more QTip videos</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.theentertainerme.com/" target="_blank">Learn more about Donna Benton and The Entertainer here</a></div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-5599880294153518992015-01-08T20:37:00.001-06:002015-01-09T06:37:40.983-06:00Humidity on Fire<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xTxxHfGrD7HV9__JwYfY4b6SjnmYkqWg3vOZ21vmc4-hTXr-RYRblv9UGHTfv2GXiwmierPHRqd2w9b2BNUmC7XPIDaO_4zvHytPekkgh_l1hf8uuODzkdJ6UHjyIDVa-083bzfKqalu/s1600/image003-708622.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xTxxHfGrD7HV9__JwYfY4b6SjnmYkqWg3vOZ21vmc4-hTXr-RYRblv9UGHTfv2GXiwmierPHRqd2w9b2BNUmC7XPIDaO_4zvHytPekkgh_l1hf8uuODzkdJ6UHjyIDVa-083bzfKqalu/s320/image003-708622.jpg" height="268" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6102160295068527794" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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humidity fog encircles Fanar<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I'm inside my peaceful apartment when the alarm goes off. <i>Get out get out get out!</i> it shrieks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Mid-September in Doha. Outside temperatures hover just above hell and death. Humid, boiling air shimmers, a pavement tornado. Hair wilts. Shoes melt. Water courses down buildings, fogs window panes, puddles on sidewalks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Hot is sunshine, warmth, rosy cheeks. Humidity is clothing glued to slick, greasy skin.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Love the hot. The humidity? Not so much.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The boardwalk below my window is empty as a world of people seek relief from the boiling, burning steaminess in air conditioned interior Doha. Where always on AC's hum icy wind into corners. And temperatures range from <i>cool-and-breezy</i> to <i>Alaska-meets-Antarctica</i> levels. I huddle in a thick blanket wearing fuzzy socks and a sweatshirt. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs. My scalp tingles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I am polar ice wrapped in equatorial fire.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I turn off the AC and the ice in my nose melts. I remove the blanket, toss aside the socks. Comfortable - but only for a moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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When muggy air stops moving, summer smells like warm bread and beach morph rapidly into moldy shower and old meat. Spicy food scents shuffle in through the ceiling and walls and make me sneeze. The kitchen vent bleats open/shut/open/shut as laborers toiling over yet another roof construction project allow sultry air in/out/in/out. Sweat mounts the hair on my arms and bubbles at my scalp. The wet tickles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I flip the AC back on. But this time I also open the balcony door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sweltering air mixes with frosty wind like hot and cold tap water. Soon the environment is a perfect combination of winter's chill and summer's scorch. I move easily from the air conditioned balcony to the heated living room. I am a grassy bank in the American Midwest Fall, a trip to the lake in the Missouri USA Spring. Feet tapping cool water, skin caressed by the perfect breeze. Garnished with just enough hot.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I fold the blanket, toss socks and sweaty shirt into the laundry, dance across the living room.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The alarm is shrill and sudden, a horn in my ear. Lights flash at the intercom. <i>Fire? </i>The hallway outside my apartment is silent.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I search the single bedroom, living room, kitchen, bath, laundry space. No fire, no embers, no smoke, no place to hide.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I call the front desk. The receptionist yawns. "Someone will come," she says. <i>In sha allah.</i> "No worries."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Head throbbing from the shrieking alarm, I slam and lock doors, stumble down two flights of stairs, run across a garage, descend two additional floors and hurry through a hall to the front desk. "There's a fire in my apartment," I say. <i>Maybe?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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"He is coming," says the receptionist. She shrugs. "Never mind."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I reverse the journey, return to the apartment. The alarm is off. The frozen room hums. <i>Let it go,</i> it seems to say.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Twenty minutes later a single security guard arrives, wearing a coat. He wanders the apartment, peeks into corners. "Did you open the door, ma'am?" His voice accuses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I nod.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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He shakes his head, sighs. "It's the humidity, Ma'am. But do not worry. If it was a real fire, we would come."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I reach for my blanket, a clean pair of fuzzy socks. Another sweatshirt. <i>The cold never bothered me anyway</i>, I think.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Only…it's not true.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Read more about (my experience with) Doha's weather:<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/08/on-86-humidity.html">On 86% Humidity</a></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/01/lets-talk-doha-weather.html">Hot and Hotter: Doha Weather</a></div>
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<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/06/inside-day.html">Inside Day</a></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-75680780914392160822015-01-02T01:55:00.000-06:002015-01-02T05:02:53.630-06:00A Made Up Place<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTn5i4jRHw_3rxMx0HC55_GCVUbgkRN7TDP_XsaeNm3HiQDVDWfBOeqHSXT0Q_bJBSlK5Xm03cNi7L5kFTRGVqS7mzTdmSTTgYCVRCMK5giZCsRmZfAAUVWkb5jIRyxk0MlsIft5n4lgM/s1600/image003-722340.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTn5i4jRHw_3rxMx0HC55_GCVUbgkRN7TDP_XsaeNm3HiQDVDWfBOeqHSXT0Q_bJBSlK5Xm03cNi7L5kFTRGVqS7mzTdmSTTgYCVRCMK5giZCsRmZfAAUVWkb5jIRyxk0MlsIft5n4lgM/s320/image003-722340.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6099616450210626450" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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under-tenanted at The Pearl, 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<em>"…the number of residents here will grow on average by 7.4 percent annually in the coming years, reaching 2.5 million by 2016…"</em><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://dohanews.co/new-wave-expats-arriving-qatar-says-qnb-report/" target="_blank">Dohanews.co</a></div>
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If you're among the thousands of new expats expected to relocate to Qatar in the years leading up to the 2022 World Cup, here are a few things you should know:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">1. It's KAH-tur.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 20pt;">قطر</span><span style="font-size: 20pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Not Cutter (US), KAH-TAH (Brit) kuh-TAR (everyone else).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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There are three letters/sounds in the classical pronunciation of the country's name : qaaf (enunciated deep in the throat)/tah (with a concave tongue)/ray (rolling r).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Exception: in Qatari (KAH-ta-ree) dialect qaaf is pronounced with a soft gee, as in gas, so locals refer to their own country as GUH-tur.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_mIqqivxmXy6fB_QxXsrWCl7gm9J7ELcSHlRmzLv3tFAna3g3pdz5Or_IhFdK5lbvaD7eWFrlEeHO5jRj1YbKLOTE-d3s0W4-z9AB0Pk7_PyjM1lg9B0kEUqtEFvAx8HrioEMrMPorfDu/s1600/image006-726753.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_mIqqivxmXy6fB_QxXsrWCl7gm9J7ELcSHlRmzLv3tFAna3g3pdz5Or_IhFdK5lbvaD7eWFrlEeHO5jRj1YbKLOTE-d3s0W4-z9AB0Pk7_PyjM1lg9B0kEUqtEFvAx8HrioEMrMPorfDu/s320/image006-726753.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6099616467859601810" width="348" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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this way to "the spa"<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">2. <i>They</i> are not Qatari.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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There are somewhere around <i>a whole</i> <i>lot </i>of people living in Qatar - but only 1/3 of them are bonafide, card carrying Qatari nationals. Of the remaining 2/3, most are unskilled laborers from India and Nepal or service workers from Philippines. A small percentage of the larger population are from the US, Britain, Australia and other European nations. Even shopkeepers dressed in traditional thobe and ghutra at the <i>brand-new-made-to-look-old</i> Souk Waqif are from somewhere else.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Sure, Qataris are out and about. You'll see them in malls, feel your car shake as their Land Cruisers rush past, smell their oud in elevators. And, yes, Qataris work! Not every day or regular hours. They take a lot of vacations. You'll never meet a Qatari taking orders at McD's, working the DQ drive thru or answering phones at the Ramada. <i>But still.</i> Fresh out of school they claim top tier positions as government school teachers, administrators, CEOS and entrepreneurs (see #3, below). Qatari law requires that a local own a minimum 51% share of every business.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Qatar, there are lots of layers between the larger population and nationals, even in independent business. Unless you come to Qatar as a nanny, maid, driver or clerk, hang around <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/09/goodbye-lighthouse.html" target="_blank">Fanar Islamic Cultural Institute</a></i></b>, get into trouble or enjoy a busy night life (see #4 below) - you may never come to know a Qatari in Qatar.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">3. Wasta. Bias. Traffic.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Wasta is nepotism without stigma; specially packaged bias in a place where employment, accommodation, financial perks and social rank are already determined by nationality and race. Where a high school graduate may be absorbed into university with low expectation and flung into a high level position without experience. It's a culturally approved professional track for the young and privileged when rules already preclude attendance at government funded university beyond age 40 and foreigners may be expelled once they reach age 60.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Hooray for traffic, the great equalizer. No amount of wasta exempts you, it doesn't matter where you're from, the color of your skin, language you speak or how old you are. Cars, trucks, vans, buses, Land Cruiser, Toyota loll bumper to fender; nationals and expats together in endless smoky lines, late for work and play; listening to Taylor Swift on CD, blaming <i>them</i> (see #2, above) for their troubles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQRtaFldNGZaQfXq5c5o0DlxSjTYU8odZC770spLooY4OF1_FHZv9tzmpNs9Y7tTzWU8Jh3lFleXkEixo3iIEZw-YUUQpl5Dtd6zwwuVRh8qCkMJkYuyYy_ewXASXBDEZFifbn-_y4rdu1/s1600/image008-730495.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQRtaFldNGZaQfXq5c5o0DlxSjTYU8odZC770spLooY4OF1_FHZv9tzmpNs9Y7tTzWU8Jh3lFleXkEixo3iIEZw-YUUQpl5Dtd6zwwuVRh8qCkMJkYuyYy_ewXASXBDEZFifbn-_y4rdu1/s320/image008-730495.jpg" height="223" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6099616485081806546" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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wasta in action?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt;">photo courtesy Matt Mikus<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt;">visit Matt's travel blog: <a href="http://postcardsandplaylists.com/" target="_blank">postcards and playlists</a></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">4. Not as conservative as you think.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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If she's local, between the ages of 25 - 50 and dressed in abaya and hijab, she likely has a college degree. She's fluent in three languages, well read and considering a new business venture. Odds are, she's travelled the world, holds a driver's license, manages a busy household in a rapidly changing environment and works too. She's thoughtful and interesting and you'll never meet her. At least not in Qatar. (See #2, above.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The face of Qatar is English speaking/educated abroad/thobe-wearing/wasta employed/under-30 year old, young men.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Time Magazine, they stand stoically for photos before West Bay's whacky skyline. They're a vision in white at the Qatar Tennis Open (and other celebrity events).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Qatar? They're hanging out of SUVs as they circle the camel race track. Flashing Lamborghini headlights in your rearview mirror. Swerving in and out of the everywhere traffic clog. Performing motorcycle tricks in intersections as multitudes of incidental spectators idle. Escorting falcons through the souk. Creating an impassible <i>thobe-to-thobe</i> chain along the Pearl's boardwalk. Sliding down dunes in $60,000 USD cars.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/11/salaam-when-qataris-say-hello.html" target="_blank">Nose tapping</a></i></b>, laughing, hand holding. In restaurants, hotels, movie theaters and, yes, wearing Western clothes, in bars. (Traditional attire - and local ladies - not allowed.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPMY4zz0hJDDvjdsydMrw2YL9ZnOdFI_zfDVtvRGWnmbGw0J2V6Iy0Y5V2NU6z_II6uLZRYwtgaeHdJayRQaT3MtrmKQ996_U5EoEsI-EnRqwEXANouN4SCggKB01pj34jiPC1M76UGcLF/s1600/image010-733984.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPMY4zz0hJDDvjdsydMrw2YL9ZnOdFI_zfDVtvRGWnmbGw0J2V6Iy0Y5V2NU6z_II6uLZRYwtgaeHdJayRQaT3MtrmKQ996_U5EoEsI-EnRqwEXANouN4SCggKB01pj34jiPC1M76UGcLF/s320/image010-733984.jpg" height="287" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6099616500147549826" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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(highlight added)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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White thobe and sandals, ghutra. Male traditional attire is legitimately worn by conservative Muslims of all nationalities as a humble religious gesture. It's worn by shopkeepers and other workers to provide ambience in the souk and at special events. But if it's after 3pm, he's under 30, heavily starched ghutra is tipped at a jaunty angle and other expats are stepping aside and/or changing lanes? He's probably local.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6ikHgpP97dMVsetUM3KcFb7AI5dkGhQCrG1s208dDHMlkrRGvdHXcGHLwBOnWT-7oDzy1jnnTmPrOzERlReOdOE6h2RiM5zmWtui0Txpb_yK822IXBgFRFpTVzeg0JIMu1Py-hlh9Bqo/s1600/image015-736886.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6ikHgpP97dMVsetUM3KcFb7AI5dkGhQCrG1s208dDHMlkrRGvdHXcGHLwBOnWT-7oDzy1jnnTmPrOzERlReOdOE6h2RiM5zmWtui0Txpb_yK822IXBgFRFpTVzeg0JIMu1Py-hlh9Bqo/s320/image015-736886.jpg" height="220" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6099616511947072658" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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have-your-pic-taken-before-a-Bedouin-tent<o:p></o:p></div>
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Souk Waqif, 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">5. A made up place.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/05/qatar-wheres-that-brief-history-and.html" target="_blank">Less than one hundred years ago</a></i></b>, Qataris were pearl divers in the summer, Bedouin camel and sheep farmers in the winter. Locals lived in fabric tents and porous rock huts. All of which have long since dissolved into the landscape.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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There are no pyramids, castles, ancient mosques in Qatar. <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/02/camels-on-main-street-tp-in-can.html" target="_blank">Zubarah Fort</a></i></b> wasn't built until 1938. There's no indoor snow skiing, walk-through aquarium or Burj Khalifa.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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What Qatar does have is a rocky coastline, dunes, <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/02/sheikh-faisals-museum-not-in-kansas.html" target="_blank">Sheikh Faisal</a></i></b>. There is evidence of ancestral participation in the Orient's purple dye industry. Living people who remember (if you're fortunate enough to meet one; see #2 above).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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And, <i>oh yeah</i>, <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/10/show-me-money.html" target="_blank">money</a></i></b>.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9CdQ6qS5wBGZTEwQhAUVdSFYQyMn3jakrVGBdw6myMQ6dNI7PNIZx-vUG5Nn7l5ANjdxYMcpR_1BzvuQK-hTM_zmoH2ghAw1-_RAbiABVk0UYMJJ8bpZMFMeODCDE0Y-P8xB3qw_ZujL/s1600/image003-748945.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9CdQ6qS5wBGZTEwQhAUVdSFYQyMn3jakrVGBdw6myMQ6dNI7PNIZx-vUG5Nn7l5ANjdxYMcpR_1BzvuQK-hTM_zmoH2ghAw1-_RAbiABVk0UYMJJ8bpZMFMeODCDE0Y-P8xB3qw_ZujL/s320/image003-748945.jpg" height="276" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6099630735518027602" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Damien Hurst's "Miraculous Journey"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sidra Medical and Research Center, Doha</span><br />
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Thanks to oil and gas income, today's <i>Qatar-in-the-making</i> is a new money <i>let's-build-something!</i> playground produced by underpaid Asian laborers held captive by the <b><i><a href="http://thegulfblog.com/tag/qatar-kefala-system/" target="_blank">Kefala sponsorship system</a></i></b>. In which a worker relinquishes his dignity along with his passport.<br />
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As the country hasn't been industrialized long enough to provide its own architects, engineers and skilled workers, for its reinvention it must rely upon the talents of foreign professionals. These educated, experienced, often pushing-60 individuals are paid to design and implement infrastructure, roads, stadium projects, a multi-billion dollar downtown, zoo and possibly the world's-longest-strip-mall - a shopping shell pocked with <i>inaccessible-due-to-construction</i> businesses.<br />
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Thanks to money, sand is processed, water desalinated. Humid, shimmering air is recycled so interior temperatures remain arctic even in the most <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/09/on-missing-eyebrows-and-other-doha.html" target="_blank">eyebrow sizzling weather</a></i></b>. Under-tenanted resorts exist in places that once belonged to the sea. Elaborately decorated mansion sized villas bloom in artificially enhanced areas that once couldn't sustain life. Homes feature his'n her majlis spaces where she sips tea and nibbles sweets with the ladies while he smokes sheesha and hangs with the guys.<br />
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Thanks to money, there are highways garnished with floral displays, modern automated billboards, plazas, parks, old malls, new malls, malls-to-be. But no tourists.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<em>"…We don't want people to come for a $50 room to lie on the beach all day and walk around with a backpack and shorts. These are not the type of people we're targeting. We are different from the neighbouring countries. They focus on tourism as a source of income. If (the tourism market) crashes, it makes no difference for us…"</em><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Qatar Tourism Authority's Ahmed Abdullah Al-Nuaimi,</span><br />
<a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/08/22/uk-qatar-tourism-idUSLNE77L02T20110822" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Reuters</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">, August 2011</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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In 2014 Doha, oil and gas funded high rises and hotels stand empty. Bored clerks check facebook and play games on phones. <b><i><a href="http://news.nationalpost.com/2014/12/17/2022-world-cup-migrant-workers-in-qatar-are-getting-paid-to-pose-as-sports-fans/" target="_blank">Laborers are paid to attend world class sporting events</a></i></b>. Doha's version of the Big Red Bus, the cheerful green and yellow, double decker <a href="http://dohabus.com/" target="_blank">DohaBus</a>, trundles empty from Lagoona Mall to the (under construction) National Library. At night, West Bay's skyline strobes above sporadically populated party lit dhows.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PiAMQkt9n0LyxR3QL9hHidBmVcOx2wW46246KQBIujDMDwMLAwENTWC4THTwIgZz2Q-CJRMPDsbhW0jxECq4fKeltNyJYOW9-9YFMc3swtX6t8lBGvMYErXkC6Po8-PMao5D7yHDhRxb/s1600/image018-740338.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PiAMQkt9n0LyxR3QL9hHidBmVcOx2wW46246KQBIujDMDwMLAwENTWC4THTwIgZz2Q-CJRMPDsbhW0jxECq4fKeltNyJYOW9-9YFMc3swtX6t8lBGvMYErXkC6Po8-PMao5D7yHDhRxb/s320/image018-740338.jpg" height="321" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6099616527053746962" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Thank goodness for money! Without it, today's Qatar just wouldn't…be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-79811952237878105922014-12-26T08:55:00.001-06:002014-12-27T10:39:21.806-06:00Expat, Short for Expatriate<div class="WordSection1">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/01/doha-to-dubai-and-back-again.html" target="_blank"><img alt="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/01/doha-to-dubai-and-back-again.html" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnOzc61WStn0HeTqxUm2t1Y6Om8KCyzglvrcxdBqWXD6iyaC8elMyZKbJFKMMjevm1XK1YkttlsQA2sx_lo3giVjyU_BjCS9WKq71n0jGOq-700SfRKQHPP1Njz-F7ScMzVarwzG91EicP/s320/image002-718795.jpg" height="295" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6097151122762435570" width="400" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Christmas surprise for Katie and Kimber, Christmas 2012.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It's easy and inexpensive to fly from Doha to Dubai.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><em>Expat</em>, short for <em>Expatriate</em>: someone who lives in a country not his own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2011/12/merry-christmas.html" target="_blank"><img alt="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2011/12/merry-christmas.html" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_yVhyphenhyphenjU81cp1NPNsTPUyadE9XuwChmlRnLbyv-496hqWfrtuPmtoDx6XrvI3dtDIFVVsp0D1YKzRYadRF7pMBMRw8fSRJncNTLYckuDFBP_-eCqz1AKBf3GW1RQMoDseGCdSCIzvOkss/s320/image003-724109.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6097151145653200818" width="308" /></a></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2011/12/merry-christmas.html" target="_blank">Katie 2011</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/12/on-family-foundations-and-being-together.html" target="_blank"><img alt="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/12/on-family-foundations-and-being-together.html" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVh6lsu8pIf-stJ1z9Iy9kgqlxhhFkH0BGVNkSJlwZlcwTCHOhAHqWlDQ2X3qkqQREIj9DktqoUTcVXGhlZQSuYqZYzJ5rte5zevtwCBqHoOgwBR3qQUYVl9_XxPL6L444HFqH70g1PGFi/s320/image004-727282.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6097151155615870994" width="400" /></a></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/12/on-family-foundations-and-being-together.html" target="_blank">Kimber 2012</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/06/peace-love-and-new-emir.html" target="_blank"><img alt="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/06/peace-love-and-new-emir.html" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwiP22jaBbGPmGWCCjlBuBqs_50x56qIEJRF5n_0FPEMprf24lSuDBoeNcU63nl0nK2qa8N1GqDGHCO-cUdB5frnzkygXjtKNFekkKYF1-HL5Xfn78m-o6Z8lpc8RBIAtGllcTMx5AgLsI/s320/image009-730711.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6097151169286722018" width="400" /></a></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Bob and Cindi and the <b><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/06/peace-love-and-new-emir.html" target="_blank">Peace and Love Guy</a></b>, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/01/six-days-in-doha-with-chris.html" target="_blank"><img alt="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/01/six-days-in-doha-with-chris.html" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbKib9HuMb9C3ZKlWb3NkbVCk1UwgpVTCAr4tIj6sUvCutxgIn0N6KiHAaTOKj3iFqyDK1oyPbKTl7Evqb368sn4Zpc0G_iLVurZXXmTMYvnKI3dkqL7FbgnpXX8x0IAw1bpfZFq58N71/s320/image012-734947.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6097151190943276466" width="322" /></a></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/01/six-days-in-doha-with-chris.html" target="_blank">Chris 2014</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">displaced, exiled, deportee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">banished, outcast, refugee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">roamer, rover, Gypsy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_8kGE1MdbXCb4E05R5mtkDsmbGDlPaAGRWXZ-ryVyIu6UDL9ZS5ZNoMjBN4x4Rm9VgiqoqgRgntjpsC0kgb2Ag4IdJfHGKN_uX12I_IjFBKlkxuiOcqFB8bWjXUKrp2twnhkukIfphgv/s1600/image013-738786.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_8kGE1MdbXCb4E05R5mtkDsmbGDlPaAGRWXZ-ryVyIu6UDL9ZS5ZNoMjBN4x4Rm9VgiqoqgRgntjpsC0kgb2Ag4IdJfHGKN_uX12I_IjFBKlkxuiOcqFB8bWjXUKrp2twnhkukIfphgv/s320/image013-738786.jpg" height="262" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6097151203318996802" width="400" /></a></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Christmas 2014<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Merry Christmas from near and far...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-85127156423307433272014-12-21T05:38:00.000-06:002014-12-21T05:38:17.537-06:00We Would Like to Inquire of Your Absence<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANOdN_cmMvj5NtYemsUulQFtPJDCwM_30KiE6brtxyqrkhu6bj4OaPz1V3kvV-OdZPqc-52-rZWFvi9xkXoO7fRNmFXKgY5HDQviaMRM8fy40RlriQuMlnD2j16yTQ_hgG5deo2uzM7A3/s1600/image003-755465.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANOdN_cmMvj5NtYemsUulQFtPJDCwM_30KiE6brtxyqrkhu6bj4OaPz1V3kvV-OdZPqc-52-rZWFvi9xkXoO7fRNmFXKgY5HDQviaMRM8fy40RlriQuMlnD2j16yTQ_hgG5deo2uzM7A3/s320/image003-755465.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6095248605312216834" width="282" /></a><br />
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"As we aim to improve educational environment in our institute, We would like to inquire of your absence from sessions?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Your clear answer support us to develop our services."<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">اسماء عبدالله صالح قاسم اليافعي</span><span dir="LTR"></span><span dir="LTR"></span>'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANOdN_cmMvj5NtYemsUulQFtPJDCwM_30KiE6brtxyqrkhu6bj4OaPz1V3kvV-OdZPqc-52-rZWFvi9xkXoO7fRNmFXKgY5HDQviaMRM8fy40RlriQuMlnD2j16yTQ_hgG5deo2uzM7A3/s1600/image003-755465.jpg"></a><o:p>**</o:p><o:p> </o:p></div>
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Dear <span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">اسماء عبدالله صالح قاسم اليافعي</span><span dir="LTR"></span><span dir="LTR"></span><span dir="LTR"></span><span dir="LTR"></span>'<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Thank you for your email. This is why I stopped attending programs at Fanar:
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<li>You cancelled my upper level class after I'd worked so hard to get there
<li>You fired my teachers
<li>You would not allow a conversation <em>majlis</em> (ie, no opportunity to use what I'd learned)
<li>Poor parking around Fanar
<li>Ever increasing, horrendous Doha traffic
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I returned to Fanar in Fall 2014 after the summer break ready to begin LEVEL FIVE Arabic. There were just two people in the class, however, and we were told that a day class would not be made available. My classmate and I had worked hard for THREE YEARS and were the last two remaining from a 2011 entry program that had included 30+ students. Our efforts were rewarded with "the possibility" of an evening session but we have families and night classes are not feasible for us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Plus ever increasing traffic in the souk area makes night activities at Fanar undesirable.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I paid the 300 QR fee and prepared to retake level four Arabic just for practice. The teacher was <em>MUMTAZA JIDDAN</em>. I liked her very much. But in the end there was too much traffic to make the effort.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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With the help of your wonderful female staff (<em>ma sha allah</em>) I attempted to gain permission to organize a ladies' conversation <em>majlis</em>. I submitted a handwritten letter in Arabic to the <em>mudier</em> and met with your female staff. This would have been a hour once or twice a week when Arabic speaking staff and learners of all levels would gather, <em>yeshrub shay</em> and SPEAK ARABIC, whether fusha, khaleej or other <em>'amaayah</em>. This has never been allowed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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My teachers were <em>MUMTAZEEN</em>. As I reached higher levels, classroom instruction was always conducted in Arabic. The staff was kind and helpful and often let me sit with them so I could hear and speak Arabic. HOWEVER, as Arabic is generally not spoken on Doha streets and it is difficult to meet locals (especially the ladies), without a <em>majlis</em> there is LOW TO ZERO opportunity to practice what I've learned at Fanar in Doha.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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It is for all these reasons that I stopped attending Fanar programs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Sincerely,<o:p></o:p></div>
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سندي كنالي</div>
</li>
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</li>
</li>
</li>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-39240033598900998522014-12-14T08:03:00.001-06:002014-12-14T08:12:40.903-06:00Talk Like An Egyptian<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WuyrXh3sD2OKS5hqNXKDThIQsguIgBtVBjXUGN3tbSqPlKMXZbcGpTUB96ev9FUQ3sKQNzgXmeCUS2pLA02wbpXyben6VuISJiT_uIIVBFV9LkkBvh_-ogYplWC1hFw4P1uxWMTiGZfU/s1600/image003-749089.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WuyrXh3sD2OKS5hqNXKDThIQsguIgBtVBjXUGN3tbSqPlKMXZbcGpTUB96ev9FUQ3sKQNzgXmeCUS2pLA02wbpXyben6VuISJiT_uIIVBFV9LkkBvh_-ogYplWC1hFw4P1uxWMTiGZfU/s320/image003-749089.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6092687498774147106" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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pic borrowed from <a href="http://archaeology.leiden.edu/archaeological-forum/previous/walk-like-an-egyptian.html" target="_blank">the web</a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In the American Midwest tree branches are bare. Brown leaves litter streets and sidewalks, frost fogs windows. Crisp blades of frozen grass stand at attention. Breath puffs into the chilly air like clouds.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-w1CNek0dwGod6VnqgQ0TTo3MCg1InJ-tPC6Ha0sAfaIl55ARpQVZFedFlR7mAXbQ2Sh-ExBCUHBaLK56k-VCq5ZW-ruJoLbj_LKTQbC1d4ZFY9tb-TYk7OJzkFEE7Cvm201cZNr_urK7/s1600/image007-753810.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-w1CNek0dwGod6VnqgQ0TTo3MCg1InJ-tPC6Ha0sAfaIl55ARpQVZFedFlR7mAXbQ2Sh-ExBCUHBaLK56k-VCq5ZW-ruJoLbj_LKTQbC1d4ZFY9tb-TYk7OJzkFEE7Cvm201cZNr_urK7/s320/image007-753810.jpg" height="305" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6092687513817021058" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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winter in the American Midwest<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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We start out on the couch, but end up cross-legged on the soft, carpeted floor. Books and notebooks whirlpool around us. "Do you want tea or coffee?" she says.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<i>No, thank you</i>, I say.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She shrugs. <i>Okay.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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A 6-foot wide tapestry from Kuwait adds a bright bit of color to the cozy earth tone space. There's a dining room table, piles of books. A cheerful, functional kitchen. A bathroom with a spray nozzle built into the toilet seat. With a dial to select level of water pressure and a button to initiate stream.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3BSeSQiafyrlkb0uU3gYypQFn_tkgJUVL_0WNMrcGpy9fjDRF_8z-snSf4iz3buNyFxU3nsUW4dZc1URRk8y9j0A0tL4Oqr2E2LZRgFHeFSTGXrESXgCb7as5qR8bu3wEWk4V6wY5J1ID/s1600/image008-757112.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3BSeSQiafyrlkb0uU3gYypQFn_tkgJUVL_0WNMrcGpy9fjDRF_8z-snSf4iz3buNyFxU3nsUW4dZc1URRk8y9j0A0tL4Oqr2E2LZRgFHeFSTGXrESXgCb7as5qR8bu3wEWk4V6wY5J1ID/s320/image008-757112.jpg" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6092687532998740018" width="320" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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example of portable bidet<o:p></o:p></div>
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pic borrowed from <a href="http://www.wayfair.com/Brondell-FreshSpa-Easy-Attachment-Bidet-Accessory-FS-10-L807-K~RDL1026.html?refid=GX50899332420-RDL1026&device=c&ptid=75694114020&gclid=CLK2pfLDxcICFRAtaQodBJEAsQ" target="_blank">the web</a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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We laugh about it, this bit of Middle Eastern preference tucked into America's heartland. "It's cool and refreshing," she agrees. Her smile is bright. "But then you're wet."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She has a Ph.D. in law and taught university before moving from the Middle East to Kansas. Where she takes the kids to school, meets up with friends at Starbucks, cleans house, cooks dinner. She's fun, funny, comfortable and smart and she wears a colorful, friendly hijab. She's my colloquial Egyptian Arabic tutor.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<i>harakat!</i> I say. In written Arabic the word means movement and refers to those little dots and dashes that appear above and below the looping Arabic letters. In colloquial Qatari dialect it's how a teen might say <i>cool! </i>or <i>awesome!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She laughs. "In Egyptian dialect you could say <i>gamda aowee." </i>Which translates to<i> rigid a lot.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnxA7-RGI8BJ819KboewSzc0ShyUlJ_k-dqM4r15i6rrf-LwlbseQ_xuC_Bzda6tTUYVOEUKuWB3K3gL-9YuRiVi9BSKK55gdksgdgGiuAMDecqVC1Bf6rHE3tdeteSWeAV8G-oOvCaPt/s1600/image014-760574.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnxA7-RGI8BJ819KboewSzc0ShyUlJ_k-dqM4r15i6rrf-LwlbseQ_xuC_Bzda6tTUYVOEUKuWB3K3gL-9YuRiVi9BSKK55gdksgdgGiuAMDecqVC1Bf6rHE3tdeteSWeAV8G-oOvCaPt/s320/image014-760574.jpg" height="277" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6092687544677770386" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>da soura gamda aowee<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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not rigid in Cairo, 1974<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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All Arabs read and write using the same letters. Written Arabic has grammar rules, tenses, form, structure and is called fusha (fooS-Ha). It is the language of the Koran, and considered the foundation from which all Arabic dialect is derived.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Perhaps you, too, can read and write Arabic. Perhaps there is opportunity to use what you've learned on the street and in alleyways. Where educated Arabs recognize the high form of their language, chuckle at your stilted speech and respond slowly and carefully (because you're obviously not a native speaker). Perhaps communication happens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But not cultural appreciation, personal comprehension, empathy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGs988zNwCcHGxVPIopd2xpDl9qbZVN4IlRlvgi_A2onV2H44F5306DezMiNQqkWCKALSeIZ47Z1K8EvHLp1ThCc_Cj2gKAohhVCW4J4wdqy-s7wW5ug5MFzb86TRwdDSeTzN-DDzDRfNS/s1600/image016-764902.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGs988zNwCcHGxVPIopd2xpDl9qbZVN4IlRlvgi_A2onV2H44F5306DezMiNQqkWCKALSeIZ47Z1K8EvHLp1ThCc_Cj2gKAohhVCW4J4wdqy-s7wW5ug5MFzb86TRwdDSeTzN-DDzDRfNS/s320/image016-764902.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6092687560641208242" width="275" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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shiny flask<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Empathy is what happens in Qatar's silver and mirror lined window-less majlis spaces far from the English speaking streets. Where hidden women insist, just as it was in Egypt 30 years ago, a guest must eat <i>three</i> sugary dates as is stated in the Koran. To be a good guest here one must sip both tea <i>and</i> coffee, nibble cheesy bread <i>and</i> cake. Language flows fast, like the women who sit close, hover and fuss. It seems there are rules for everything from greeting one another to seating assignments, touching and laughing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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As in fusha, guttural 'ein is pronounced deep in the throat and "khaaf" spits like a hissing cat. But "jeem," a letter which says its name in fusha, is pronounced "ya" and the letter "qaaf" sounds like "g" as in "gate." Here "ee" means "yes" and "abee" means "I want."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Qatar's dialect, like its society, attempts to remain close to Koranic fusha. Both are ordered, structured. And changing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzz9SeV5THuurKqoQWfIA7vemQ4h2K3q-lRuXgrd4neRGuCl8CI6xaf3p67jvIZIYRLNMP_OPQihbLWjG3wAyDvrBfnDPU67UoJHt0Iy5NbGvEliUx7Em0y7zEsinY-hfVlpiAJYgmGzAr/s1600/image019-768650.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzz9SeV5THuurKqoQWfIA7vemQ4h2K3q-lRuXgrd4neRGuCl8CI6xaf3p67jvIZIYRLNMP_OPQihbLWjG3wAyDvrBfnDPU67UoJHt0Iy5NbGvEliUx7Em0y7zEsinY-hfVlpiAJYgmGzAr/s320/image019-768650.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6092687576934664882" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Egyptian children's stage show</div>
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performed at Doha's souk waqif, 2012<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Egyptian dialect, on the other hand, is loose, easy, indulgent, fun. Words flow, structure transforms to suit the moment, sound bits mix, muddle and sing. Egyptian dialect is the language of colloquial Arabic tv, music, books. Cartoons, comic books, children's programming is often produced using Egyptian dialect too. In Egypt, unlike Qatar, people speak their own language in the shops, markets, businesses and on the street.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Here, "ah" or a close lipped "mmm" translates to "yes." It's perfectly polite to add "ya" to the front of a person's name in greeting and everyone is "habibi/habibti" (my sweet one). In Egyptian dialect, "jeem" is expressed as "g" in "gate" while "qaaf" is eliminated altogether. There are words like "bass," "kidda," and "mish" which pepper speech like "yeah" and "uh huh" in English and "aiza" means "I want."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Sure, there are rules and structure, but rules are meant to be broken, right? The language, like the people, is vibrant, relaxed, comfortable, forgiving.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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And changing. Like Egyptian society, which has experienced much turmoil in recent years - I am told there is a movement in Egypt to return the language of the street…to fusha.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvSBjsyrp5bMw-_kK-sObaW9fIAnTSKCl3h0iDHWPOHlFNNqZJytqUKjgW6KDGsERVDSub0W4dNkqsA9stD5noQlCe4l1J2qvkBUXl8llbtjLBIvA0qJ_5SEIWxFhrb9skTMnz9IPm0IE/s1600/image020-772090.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvSBjsyrp5bMw-_kK-sObaW9fIAnTSKCl3h0iDHWPOHlFNNqZJytqUKjgW6KDGsERVDSub0W4dNkqsA9stD5noQlCe4l1J2qvkBUXl8llbtjLBIvA0qJ_5SEIWxFhrb9skTMnz9IPm0IE/s320/image020-772090.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6092687593692810706" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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returning soon to Cairo?<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-35888806451161399552014-12-07T10:15:00.001-06:002014-12-07T10:29:30.356-06:00Treasure in the Sand (Not Oil)<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9dbWQg9czzoshsWHkfiVsTbhVaNbLi9WYYm9HZp7bgW2VdiHldK9eTw_u_0MfZZM-sr_wIcl7m9L7SA2XYUQpwQMFfd-nBYJFbBSodtRLi-VnfSJOXRlIkiAFyq1KTqUCkxePQkhI-2eG/s1600/image006-703004.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9dbWQg9czzoshsWHkfiVsTbhVaNbLi9WYYm9HZp7bgW2VdiHldK9eTw_u_0MfZZM-sr_wIcl7m9L7SA2XYUQpwQMFfd-nBYJFbBSodtRLi-VnfSJOXRlIkiAFyq1KTqUCkxePQkhI-2eG/s320/image006-703004.jpg" height="305" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124486540084482" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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desert rose<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Qatar is known as the wealthiest country in the world, per capita. Here you'll find world class sporting events, resorts (under construction), stadiums (in the works), spas and restaurants (coming soon). Qatar is also surreal traffic, tower cranes, nepotism (<i>wasta</i>), prejudice, bias and <a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/11/smells-of-qatar.html" target="_blank">pollution</a>. Countrymen huddle behind 10 foot walls, no one, it seems, speaks the local language and there's no such thing as a Qatari restaurant.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSvt_f5vfqWkltALmamaffhrxo8ubYFab24BEWRTcypbEXT48cQG-Hp0iaWeaNVYC65E1DRUGyeLeS96Ra2UaCc7B2LXq8PVsVutvjjJgQdq73-BECHPAoORa8f2LTM0Y9LN2RJUBAf7f/s1600/image007-707072.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSvt_f5vfqWkltALmamaffhrxo8ubYFab24BEWRTcypbEXT48cQG-Hp0iaWeaNVYC65E1DRUGyeLeS96Ra2UaCc7B2LXq8PVsVutvjjJgQdq73-BECHPAoORa8f2LTM0Y9LN2RJUBAf7f/s320/image007-707072.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124506805633410" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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seen in the desert<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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There are, however, remaining pockets of untouched earth. Where no one has marred the landscape with <b><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/05/qatars-man-of-steel.html" target="_blank">weird steel plates</a></b> and called it "art," filled the sea with concrete or crumbled porous stone with trucks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdjJqUCUyd_UmHxgV9Chm9Kz0Oo-AGLiOAhZD06Guf4QYe9Hka7Inhvu0vC87FKtFDDmP-Dfs5N2cu6-3Y9EYgO_TVQerKmIOKFTKt6MiKmLQc0Y3EBw0C87xoYumr0v1ozvb2FuMmsIp/s1600/image021-710673.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdjJqUCUyd_UmHxgV9Chm9Kz0Oo-AGLiOAhZD06Guf4QYe9Hka7Inhvu0vC87FKtFDDmP-Dfs5N2cu6-3Y9EYgO_TVQerKmIOKFTKt6MiKmLQc0Y3EBw0C87xoYumr0v1ozvb2FuMmsIp/s320/image021-710673.jpg" height="211" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124518086505362" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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behind the wheel in Doha<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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To find this disappearing space you must venture far from the city's desalinated river of life. Past the tower cranes and thirsty trees, water and sand processing plants. Beyond Lagoona's zig zag buildings and West Bay's whacky high rises. Far from roads lined bumper to bumper with SUVs, rumbling concrete mixers, rebar loaded semis and the neon night where stars twinkle from party dhows that drift under strobing towers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Here you'll find the under populated, plaster coated old neighborhoods of early Qatar.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_spvM2M8FZRHWZ41kyeSjHyMGGR7C00iN2dAlgYr8Pt-9-NhQngxC6LdjOb_uRTNP8A8y4rAWswJ-endQflxJzevoHXnaGrQXdkwnwFvAPow60BgU3RcnDeXIECYxnJOAifxDSAd7egG/s1600/image022-713914.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_spvM2M8FZRHWZ41kyeSjHyMGGR7C00iN2dAlgYr8Pt-9-NhQngxC6LdjOb_uRTNP8A8y4rAWswJ-endQflxJzevoHXnaGrQXdkwnwFvAPow60BgU3RcnDeXIECYxnJOAifxDSAd7egG/s320/image022-713914.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124529450126914" width="360" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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(pic taken thru a dirty window)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Slide between the houses, majlis tents and mosques and aim for the desert. Continue to where the soft sand is a crisscrossed network of animal, foot and tire tracks. Where hills of porous rock slip into plains of earth and sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZ5OBNHziw235ifWo2HMZG8LMEwsovtkfQ66KsAM7b3esE5PDTwUYoMfWY2iib-tCxrYmjrfKn0RqAEtmpalmKhkb5ujNDUiHGGjwc3QLyXEQnTL4AoIzXDOznWJF-Cc0Wl7lbK7qmSYb/s1600/image023-716764.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZ5OBNHziw235ifWo2HMZG8LMEwsovtkfQ66KsAM7b3esE5PDTwUYoMfWY2iib-tCxrYmjrfKn0RqAEtmpalmKhkb5ujNDUiHGGjwc3QLyXEQnTL4AoIzXDOznWJF-Cc0Wl7lbK7qmSYb/s320/image023-716764.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124544252773490" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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seen in the desert<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the only sign of civilization is the persistent trail of power lines and race camel farmers, search the sand for splotches of white <i>sabkha</i> salt flats and scattered amber disks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YzThUqV0YUcd1hKiP06McNeETu1Jf6EMDcpuHbdLDHFdoykJ0m2SjfC8WtBN2lIdGcp1XxMzk35YcK3FYmY4-Hiu0QvyIUL6FztP0Prx8B3GR81ldoKCO18v6s9B66EVC6SZKlCZihza/s1600/image024-719697.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YzThUqV0YUcd1hKiP06McNeETu1Jf6EMDcpuHbdLDHFdoykJ0m2SjfC8WtBN2lIdGcp1XxMzk35YcK3FYmY4-Hiu0QvyIUL6FztP0Prx8B3GR81ldoKCO18v6s9B66EVC6SZKlCZihza/s320/image024-719697.jpg" height="233" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124556880742434" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Mary Anne, Ronita, Samantha, Cindi<o:p></o:p></div>
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desert rose hunting<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the land of Qatar's desert roses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5ZTTVnbiHPpMyFDOGo8dxomgx5FJYdFCfsrzHqNyF3AhMz6zOaxso27c7IoJzOTI19Guro77kdcdWv4Ds0IussMMJr-MsW77jKkAzrI-nkmIZSvlwE9S4_6W_pEi2ycwyMYuj3gBhnE-/s1600/image025-722582.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5ZTTVnbiHPpMyFDOGo8dxomgx5FJYdFCfsrzHqNyF3AhMz6zOaxso27c7IoJzOTI19Guro77kdcdWv4Ds0IussMMJr-MsW77jKkAzrI-nkmIZSvlwE9S4_6W_pEi2ycwyMYuj3gBhnE-/s320/image025-722582.jpg" height="307" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124570908850946" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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"Desert Roses are found in areas of <i>sabkha</i> either lying on the surface or between the layers of wet and dry sand. These roses…are intricate, petal-like clusters of crystals, mostly composed of gypsum…"<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Qatar Kaleidoscope</i>, by Frances Gillespie<o:p></o:p></div>
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Desert Roses are not exclusive to Qatar; they're found in other hot, dry, sandy places, too, like Mexico, Morocco, Spain, Tunisia and Arizona. They are mineral formations, composed of gypsum (selenite) and barite, shaped when fine sand is trapped between mineral fibers and then crystallizes. Barite is the heavier mineral, while gypsum is more fragile and fibrous. A rose occurs when multiple discs adjoin at angles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCs1TlYO8m6cKTZaG7ZUi8_xgWnVRAQs58pIrkrnWyTB75nWGpzhZGBMHlJ21WK_M5GVhJ8jBhS5UQfl7Uv93l2P78i8Hdo54goU6rH4ZT4By4AumGHBI9i66q801H_r28iVhk2J0h7b3/s1600/image029-725964.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCs1TlYO8m6cKTZaG7ZUi8_xgWnVRAQs58pIrkrnWyTB75nWGpzhZGBMHlJ21WK_M5GVhJ8jBhS5UQfl7Uv93l2P78i8Hdo54goU6rH4ZT4By4AumGHBI9i66q801H_r28iVhk2J0h7b3/s320/image029-725964.jpg" height="318" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124583241713346" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Gypsum roses are more commonly found in the Middle East, Southwest USA and Arizona. Barite roses are found in Oklahoma, England, Italy (and many other places). Because the mineral is softer, gypsum roses are more fragile appearing than barite roses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Some believe the sharp but delicate objects have supernatural qualities that can neutralize bad energy, purify, heal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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"…Some of the inhabitants of the Sahara desert believe that what they call the 'Sand Rose' has an internal energy that is used for protection, prosperity and purification…"<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.mindbodyspirit-online.com/desert_rose" target="_blank">Mind Body Spirit online</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Qatar, the best formations are found in the desert's salt flats, deep in the heavy sand, where the earth is moist and cool. Dig carefully with gloved fingers and brushes to avoid nicking the sharp, but delicate leaves. The right locations yield an abundant supply of crystals.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil69DLpG7WrHVO76J5Y8n07ZH7J04G5owDnZ8aPjvJyroGPSEKPTOksQajfucozxxtO11KktqvsOMPG91mMOYfiofw9qyqfcTKFOuQ3FHmgeyaHFbrXs3tkvC84WP2HTOAepPK3x0aD0Hf/s1600/image031-729035.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil69DLpG7WrHVO76J5Y8n07ZH7J04G5owDnZ8aPjvJyroGPSEKPTOksQajfucozxxtO11KktqvsOMPG91mMOYfiofw9qyqfcTKFOuQ3FHmgeyaHFbrXs3tkvC84WP2HTOAepPK3x0aD0Hf/s320/image031-729035.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124593367798050" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://3-im.com/projects/national-museum-of-qatar/" target="_blank">Qatar National Museum (under construction)</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">"The (Qatar National Museum's)…striking design was inspired by the desert rose, an other-worldly mineral formation of crystallized sand found just beneath the desert's surface. The pavilion's sand-colored floors, walls and roofs resemble the sharp bladelike petals of the desert rose…"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333;"><a href="http://www.wrmea.org/2010-may-june/a-desert-rose-takes-shape-plans-for-national-museum-of-qatar-unveiled.html" target="_blank">wrmea.org</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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In Qatar nothing is as it was. There are no more pearl divers. Salty sea water is desalinated, sand is processed, even the sun is filtered to assure arctic interiors as outside temperatures soar to somewhere between hell and death.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqDqmb7s5NxPfPlFNlAz4JH_cEYMgOeQi-jmTM4n0M_aP6alS5C4Mw_K9y0f3aGIr4kZlFcpdwq4A1QNHswfRkVD5h1TDNKqXvyf8m5ADxxp-9oh5v1X6pg0xetBUK8ghcf6jqHnLUMtp/s1600/image032-732514.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqDqmb7s5NxPfPlFNlAz4JH_cEYMgOeQi-jmTM4n0M_aP6alS5C4Mw_K9y0f3aGIr4kZlFcpdwq4A1QNHswfRkVD5h1TDNKqXvyf8m5ADxxp-9oh5v1X6pg0xetBUK8ghcf6jqHnLUMtp/s320/image032-732514.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124612196193698" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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West Bay<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Skyscrapers lord over a once vast expanse of camel spotted sand. Grocery stores feature potatoes from Australia, carrots from Philippines, apples from France and cheese from Lebanon. Qataris are a minority here - in fact, many expats have never met a local. Laborers, administrators, engineers, geologists, architects and the cable guy are flown in to mold and shape the environment to accommodate the Qatari vision.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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It seems that nothing and no one is from Qatar.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioIfOF6-7HopBkBiSmbo_UPqcEKnDqnZsf3Lf9BVEOxBXm3boHCB7P-DQP3GRZ7nzjiTQUqBDqj_rVrcZYP4zg20IxQI8dNc25vY5Doq5KY9-_pr6IHIew1sUzlU7fnNgt9MgL0JX1xRr/s1600/image033-735404.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioIfOF6-7HopBkBiSmbo_UPqcEKnDqnZsf3Lf9BVEOxBXm3boHCB7P-DQP3GRZ7nzjiTQUqBDqj_rVrcZYP4zg20IxQI8dNc25vY5Doq5KY9-_pr6IHIew1sUzlU7fnNgt9MgL0JX1xRr/s320/image033-735404.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124625316660514" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Except (oil and) one rare and beautiful thing: the Qatari earth still shapes its own desert roses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9yULMwfKpiNVJUnVMwt4VqYW4xPoNo8sjTR5IscxY7BNxOiSY5ka3jGbTuCGkgqAvw_LOdO45Pbcj6earm8JUa75aC0udyU8_HjX6cbwWoEKrKp4gan5bF4gyX2J2teEpG4w9dbd47dq/s1600/image034-738389.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9yULMwfKpiNVJUnVMwt4VqYW4xPoNo8sjTR5IscxY7BNxOiSY5ka3jGbTuCGkgqAvw_LOdO45Pbcj6earm8JUa75aC0udyU8_HjX6cbwWoEKrKp4gan5bF4gyX2J2teEpG4w9dbd47dq/s320/image034-738389.jpg" height="288" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6090124636695189394" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Ronita's desert treasure<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-51956411942133525652014-11-21T19:08:00.000-06:002014-11-20T19:09:12.143-06:00Why I'm Not Posting a Blog Today (Yeah, Again)<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34Rup6VT85Db6erdbWfOr0qd0mQbsFGG_X97iYTeCRNNiKBTZ35sTiLdB8-5mUNJiD0XxW611K5S39TorBb8Z9XCr52xeoNcH1ouZ_3JrxpYHlWz83tKZWtIOHJt57WBr7xYXNAI_RBuS/s1600/image002-790486.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34Rup6VT85Db6erdbWfOr0qd0mQbsFGG_X97iYTeCRNNiKBTZ35sTiLdB8-5mUNJiD0XxW611K5S39TorBb8Z9XCr52xeoNcH1ouZ_3JrxpYHlWz83tKZWtIOHJt57WBr7xYXNAI_RBuS/s320/image002-790486.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6083823717991328978" width="392" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Summer 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I should tell you about my Egypt-themed story published in October 2014's Highlight's for Children. Or meeting with a lovely (ma sha' allah) Qatari woman and her female relatives in a gold, silver and mirror lined majlis as part of the American Women's Association/Qatari Women's Association "language buddies" program. Learning conversational Arabic in Kansas City. Or what it's like to live in the heart of the Middle East during a crisis period.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpDnkiArx1l1CG85Fc0qKWavfJgdz0wO3j2juWaYicX2pSdL5rzWsxGoFr7txteJv5Uk5lx4i0iKRi1PXB4g_DitsJi-rjevRViux7XOpY0ukEK5E02e5xiAOipoTOdkci-N0-cdJas-4/s1600/image008-794798.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpDnkiArx1l1CG85Fc0qKWavfJgdz0wO3j2juWaYicX2pSdL5rzWsxGoFr7txteJv5Uk5lx4i0iKRi1PXB4g_DitsJi-rjevRViux7XOpY0ukEK5E02e5xiAOipoTOdkci-N0-cdJas-4/s320/image008-794798.jpg" height="310" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6083823736013946258" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Katie and Krissy snuggle<o:p></o:p></div>
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Summer 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I could write about Qatar's falcons and how these birds get their own business class airplane seats. Or about shopping for groceries in a place that doesn't produce its own produce. Or what it's like to sit in one airplane for 16 3/4 hours, nonstop. And why some expat women in the Middle East take up drinking.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Or perhaps:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Desert Rose Hunting<o:p></o:p></div>
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When Humidity Set Off My Fire Alarm<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sounds of Doha (Traffic Redux)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Why I am not Muslim<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIf_aQNjy1EsdhLVTR_P8Tjvd_sCoL2jRn8VEJYlUPfihVQFhCQCM2XwwYTlLGARl8xl4T5GbUR2Gyg7KfSBtdK9GLxmzMhHmpj09fQw-dRp9jl2zKBZz1WeNxd24J-mH-u-3v3zeZVF4a/s1600/image012-798886.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIf_aQNjy1EsdhLVTR_P8Tjvd_sCoL2jRn8VEJYlUPfihVQFhCQCM2XwwYTlLGARl8xl4T5GbUR2Gyg7KfSBtdK9GLxmzMhHmpj09fQw-dRp9jl2zKBZz1WeNxd24J-mH-u-3v3zeZVF4a/s320/image012-798886.jpg" height="250" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6083823751867087842" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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my babies<br />
omg I love them<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Sigh. Yeah, I know. I should write a blog today.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9r7tRMAdKXjj5l3tqxAnynZdEfBub5cBYS0Wh1fGKGtQ9qKNuU17gJE545snxlDB8191WlquLCkW_Bfb5qVt_95y09yLk3ThkmkQ6lA-NJHbWupI0dlK3rkdzr3ncbV6oTGMwIz8VMTEz/s1600/image013-703151.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9r7tRMAdKXjj5l3tqxAnynZdEfBub5cBYS0Wh1fGKGtQ9qKNuU17gJE545snxlDB8191WlquLCkW_Bfb5qVt_95y09yLk3ThkmkQ6lA-NJHbWupI0dlK3rkdzr3ncbV6oTGMwIz8VMTEz/s320/image013-703151.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6083823775859192114" width="328" /></a><br />
Killian<br />
adorbs<br />
<br /></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9jqS1LvhB1dF5e66EyQqbEdOgdJpyK0lX7_YS5Sgd1kQTI2b5B3ojWVgh6ImP7nT99a8IP4K9QymFpjiY_SRny9x1GYmefCBANcIQLlpUHmlOAWR7rRNlB-ke5zM9Tw5qgGnhkNCdkA-/s1600/image014-707471.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9jqS1LvhB1dF5e66EyQqbEdOgdJpyK0lX7_YS5Sgd1kQTI2b5B3ojWVgh6ImP7nT99a8IP4K9QymFpjiY_SRny9x1GYmefCBANcIQLlpUHmlOAWR7rRNlB-ke5zM9Tw5qgGnhkNCdkA-/s320/image014-707471.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6083823794375208114" width="276" /></a></div>
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Krissy</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
tutu perfect</div>
<o:p></o:p><br /></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But doggone. I'm 16 3/4 hours from home - and five of the most beautiful people ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCo0bBWQoC_ooLsSVU8gQ9qVTtjgEPbzt8zkVaKBZFWPX5tzKs8c7hlD9ZTkU8TwO862gsz7Xi9oQi5TlecgyIaC8FsG4L7tjucVJ4GZc3Ow52a_Y7javO_19zTBQXBXDqhk1AL5Oc6vaC/s1600/image016-711073.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCo0bBWQoC_ooLsSVU8gQ9qVTtjgEPbzt8zkVaKBZFWPX5tzKs8c7hlD9ZTkU8TwO862gsz7Xi9oQi5TlecgyIaC8FsG4L7tjucVJ4GZc3Ow52a_Y7javO_19zTBQXBXDqhk1AL5Oc6vaC/s320/image016-711073.jpg" height="323" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6083823810724598754" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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these faces<o:p></o:p></div>
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Seriously. Wouldn't you be distracted too?<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-40097583855723512752014-11-14T03:50:00.000-06:002014-11-14T03:50:53.333-06:00An Ordinary Life<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLaWLvm2mJeFyKGvpFLxhzgbrDC-CVdUukNuIKS2nW8UV4SqbtnqE3RtABo5u5N-qOdBPmwQGo4jHYiM2ywiscDsHI0ogaF1vIbol_aLFZAZrmbFpxbpT3BNSxIGI2tKe_oHM-Ucayyeu/s1600/image002-700715.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLaWLvm2mJeFyKGvpFLxhzgbrDC-CVdUukNuIKS2nW8UV4SqbtnqE3RtABo5u5N-qOdBPmwQGo4jHYiM2ywiscDsHI0ogaF1vIbol_aLFZAZrmbFpxbpT3BNSxIGI2tKe_oHM-Ucayyeu/s320/image002-700715.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6081393671493939330" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Museum of Islamic Art<o:p></o:p></div>
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from the park<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Her husband works in oil, construction, water, marketing. He's an executive, engineer, architect, accountant, geologist, pilot.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She's lived in Doha 5 years. Before that, home was Bahrain, then Kuwait. Her children attended American schools abroad, university stateside. Grew up, married, reproduced.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhubfpHhsUnNZrCttIUQXp6CU7nYmiLawEDj3HHSOc19FQa2QLOsjIofWV_S09Cl8Q6qfSmRz1pL_CVHIyOppKLc74O5j0nEcDduXStbQJYfLFYzYNx128W_CxYVmo-NiPsSQt7jSgW34hm/s1600/image011-704110.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhubfpHhsUnNZrCttIUQXp6CU7nYmiLawEDj3HHSOc19FQa2QLOsjIofWV_S09Cl8Q6qfSmRz1pL_CVHIyOppKLc74O5j0nEcDduXStbQJYfLFYzYNx128W_CxYVmo-NiPsSQt7jSgW34hm/s320/image011-704110.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6081393680801999602" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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feeding the birds<o:p></o:p></div>
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on the Corniche<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She lives in a three story villa tucked inside a walled compound with other families from her husband's company. There's a pool, tennis courts, gym, spa, convenience store. A live in maid mops floors, scrubs bathrooms, walks the dog. A driver escorts her to American Women's Association meetings, Tuesday Ladies Group, monthly mani pedi, weekly kaffee klatch.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidN9L6K7HH4Vp5hpUeOlZ4JW3IQTkCDzQy5jseOm5NN0Tgp0XrgE9qZJrdvqtcnosUPpyLlFqK-j5jicKgtuzIOM2nkWK0M6I0GxJti2kvROQz8nBhuUwVL0FnM-q7R1qwLrHCtZ8mlAT/s1600/image012-707073.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidN9L6K7HH4Vp5hpUeOlZ4JW3IQTkCDzQy5jseOm5NN0Tgp0XrgE9qZJrdvqtcnosUPpyLlFqK-j5jicKgtuzIOM2nkWK0M6I0GxJti2kvROQz8nBhuUwVL0FnM-q7R1qwLrHCtZ8mlAT/s320/image012-707073.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6081393694393677186" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Qatar National Theatre<o:p></o:p></div>
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from the inside<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Her highlighted hair is neatly coiffed. She wears a loose fitting cotton shirt in the Middle Eastern style, Donna Karan jeans, high fashion pumps. Her bag is Gucci, bought cheap at <i>that little place, I'll take you</i>. She's a skilled bargainer, as demonstrated by the gold that shimmers at her neck and wrist, and glistening pearl earrings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA83fWoS_z-1k_TGl0dD64t5hcSTCLGYjIyVxeNCVGw2NxwFCMbHhp1lSAuBoeIGc90_xzYGWEp-H_asgxgu06dJA2IyYFoidzjU63WJkPxKeXUgCoQBytqjLbybpE1RbQHT5Q0WT6bTGe/s1600/image015-710079.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA83fWoS_z-1k_TGl0dD64t5hcSTCLGYjIyVxeNCVGw2NxwFCMbHhp1lSAuBoeIGc90_xzYGWEp-H_asgxgu06dJA2IyYFoidzjU63WJkPxKeXUgCoQBytqjLbybpE1RbQHT5Q0WT6bTGe/s320/image015-710079.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6081393709520377106" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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shopping Doha<o:p></o:p></div>
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International Trade Festival<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She travels home three or four times a year, enjoys golf and shopping weekends in Dubai and Istanbul, beach holidays in France and Greece.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-E0lfbEHofZa8dFHElqygdTuEmzTq3TZLs9s5Qk1HFqip2Ye78FwVMjCe1RS8XQWGgSr2a-syGIH_n7RiV7rOQrWwiHyPuVZiG6pRMcJG2L-NjfQp4wEry6ijHj_M0dqUai7no5M9pOZd/s1600/image016-713264.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-E0lfbEHofZa8dFHElqygdTuEmzTq3TZLs9s5Qk1HFqip2Ye78FwVMjCe1RS8XQWGgSr2a-syGIH_n7RiV7rOQrWwiHyPuVZiG6pRMcJG2L-NjfQp4wEry6ijHj_M0dqUai7no5M9pOZd/s320/image016-713264.jpg" height="298" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6081393731929222178" width="400" /></a></div>
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Bob and Chris</div>
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atop the singing dunes, 2014</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<i>Some people camp the dunes, shop the souk, eat a late meal at Kempinski</i>, she says. "But we mostly stay home at night. We eat dinner, watch tv, go to bed. Get up, do it again." A young man in a white waist length vest slips between us, spirits away the used dishes. The smell of just baked bread courts the scent of honeyed lamb. An air conditioner hums.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2VgNSceHJTgPothgNDlnheeBccXjT_uOAQ770Am0G_A88a6TnPXKcUrzrJ_0KzDtrRJZKRSi_9FdLX1y13Vkr6mzJXQxHbRzdyXGqSZRKHtsxU7ntbRjY056uMfLjxdl28tQA8D9FmRV/s1600/image020-726138.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2VgNSceHJTgPothgNDlnheeBccXjT_uOAQ770Am0G_A88a6TnPXKcUrzrJ_0KzDtrRJZKRSi_9FdLX1y13Vkr6mzJXQxHbRzdyXGqSZRKHtsxU7ntbRjY056uMfLjxdl28tQA8D9FmRV/s320/image020-726138.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6081393783780743906" width="390" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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ladies' tea<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She slides a cube of sugar into milky tea and circles the confection with a shiny spoon. It clinks against the saucer. She wraps pink fingernails around glittering porcelain, breathes in the bitter and the sweet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<em>There are perks to the adventure</em>, she admits. <em>But for the most part</em>, "we live an ordinary life." She smiles. "In an extraordinary place."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElFyJuUbimH8FhjDRdPTnd-d0Xbg0dWu1vJwSrz8QzPYTz_1Z6EfkqByLKWMv2TPkrVGHVmQKp6cI8azpDGseHjX9O28iJS6T4xXa4ObD6ARI2U07LXZY1eDXIFWDrqevYnhsxViWwPV8/s1600/image021-729552.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElFyJuUbimH8FhjDRdPTnd-d0Xbg0dWu1vJwSrz8QzPYTz_1Z6EfkqByLKWMv2TPkrVGHVmQKp6cI8azpDGseHjX9O28iJS6T4xXa4ObD6ARI2U07LXZY1eDXIFWDrqevYnhsxViWwPV8/s320/image021-729552.jpg" height="266" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6081393796245396994" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-71833008032918724482014-11-07T22:20:00.000-06:002014-11-07T03:08:30.674-06:00Smells of Qatar<div class="WordSection1">
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Leaky sewer, step wide:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QbIvmL37k4f6fI62ZL-5Ixs55YrudZrpumuZ-G2GNkNDFuyBGUq5z4HLuxoSuqAixplpDaI4BcjX3hYn5CWlYh9uUa4G9dya76b2lTau72uURbOqSAkGlrip-5i3t6yBt7_yqKwUMCJa/s1600/image003-778691.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QbIvmL37k4f6fI62ZL-5Ixs55YrudZrpumuZ-G2GNkNDFuyBGUq5z4HLuxoSuqAixplpDaI4BcjX3hYn5CWlYh9uUa4G9dya76b2lTau72uURbOqSAkGlrip-5i3t6yBt7_yqKwUMCJa/s320/image003-778691.jpg" height="317" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6078808860665492002" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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smells bad<o:p></o:p></div>
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very, very bad<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Where many people are packed into a small space, infrastructure is a work in progress and smoldering air sizzles, there will be smells. And if you're sensitive to scent like I am, you know that odor has a taste. Sucked through the nose and pulled toward a hungry, absorptive tongue like it is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">"...Qatar's population hits 2.2million..."</span></em></div>
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<a href="http://www.qatarliving.com/forum/news/posts/qatars-population-hits-221-million" target="_blank">Qatar Living</a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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For example, baked trash smells sweeter than cooked sewage. One is moldy apple cores, bananas and meat - a noisome dog food pie. The other is sweat, excrement and vomit served up in a savory latrine casserole that's simmered for days under a hot desert sun.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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There's not always a visual clue identifying an odor's source. No piles of trash, sewage dumps, diaper pails, waste mounds. Because when it comes to dusting, cleaning, scooping, shoveling, taking-icky-stuff-away, in Qatar <i>there's someone to do that</i>. Here, malodorous flavors lurk, skulk and creep. One might be jogging along, enjoying the sunshine and colorful, just planted petunias when the heady bouquet of redolence drifts into range. Or descends in an invisible cloud like fetid smog.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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When the rogue's source is apparent, it's generally a waste receptacle (empty or full), men's bathroom, men's prayer preparation space, an unmarked, clean appearing structure tucked into a corner. Or a truck marked "sewage" its hose an elephant's trunk pressed into the sidewalk. Where non potable liquid is drained from an underground cavern and hauled off to wherever smells live in the desert.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: large;"><em>"...Qatar produces around 7,000 tons of waste each day..."</em></span></div>
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<a href="http://dohanews.co/qatar-dumps-400-tons-waste-daily-landfill/" target="_blank">Dohanews.co</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Less than 100 years ago, Qatar was an expanse of desert dotted with low prickly shrubs and limestone. Camels roamed the southern dunes and northern mesas. Bedouins camped in tents amid a sandy landscape marked by mangroves and rock. The hot air was ripe with the scent of oven roasted sand, wet camel, moist dung, salty sea, perspiration, perfume-sweet incensey bukhoor.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Today Qatar is a country under construction, its infrastructure persistently stretched to accommodate an ever increasing workforce population. As on any country-sized job site there are country-sized job site smells: engine fumes, exhaust, chlorine, smoke, sweat, coffee, cigarettes, portapotty.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Qatar was "...recently recognized by the World Health Organization as 2014's second most polluted country in the world (after Pakistan)..."</span></em></div>
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<a href="http://english.alarabiya.net/en/business/energy/2014/09/17/WHO-Qatar-ranks-2nd-post-polluted-country-in-2014.html" target="_blank">Al Arabiya</a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Oh sure, it's not all bad. There are flavorful restaurant aromas: oil, beef, chicken, shwarma, fresh bread. And (if you breathe toward the Gulf while standing in the desert or along the coast) delectable summer scents: sunshine, grass, flowers, fertilizer, fish, salt, sea.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But in Qatar today? Nothing beats the odiferous taste of sewer in the morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7ubc5eurg-Dmqz8U9pjb1reMB-g5ICt4J4txqyl7TJc7zPCRORdmMd7evp1ePAjKchMJ7Z_51lef2ybEMSWef7TGAGltOR3fhRBw6xmS0GO9SzvT8NVYPaSHWIGJSSPf3kLaWkW2KhM3/s1600/image005-782255.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7ubc5eurg-Dmqz8U9pjb1reMB-g5ICt4J4txqyl7TJc7zPCRORdmMd7evp1ePAjKchMJ7Z_51lef2ybEMSWef7TGAGltOR3fhRBw6xmS0GO9SzvT8NVYPaSHWIGJSSPf3kLaWkW2KhM3/s320/image005-782255.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6078808876486007570" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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lovely day in April 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Pearl, Doha, Qatar<o:p></o:p></div>
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(all senses not displayed)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-20967013677982707812014-10-31T00:51:00.000-05:002014-10-31T03:52:58.503-05:00Home Team<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Um7vvBoHqt40j9vvBHE1_8gAXDlwO6ABFzlzgpAFfgq5PVyESKYW-h9gFxhkXqai0f9wyAwW2G-8XffmvzmmjCG9odAf5HR7h3b8cLV3P0SZG3ec0XKtW0LItCqpjMw-nGyU1YT0gUKD/s1600/image002-794762.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Um7vvBoHqt40j9vvBHE1_8gAXDlwO6ABFzlzgpAFfgq5PVyESKYW-h9gFxhkXqai0f9wyAwW2G-8XffmvzmmjCG9odAf5HR7h3b8cLV3P0SZG3ec0XKtW0LItCqpjMw-nGyU1YT0gUKD/s320/image002-794762.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208754572012834" width="286" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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come on in<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Home might be Egypt, Brazil, France, Doha, Johannesburg, Reykjavik, Kansas City, Missouri. A farm, shack, mansion, apartment, townhome or raised ranch suburban house. It could be a field, rink, soccer or baseball stadium, thobe, abaya, jeans, tennis shoes, heels, flip flops, cleats.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9XT2XxjSBXtdil0lV1dJt9WSEU2SUb97hqwCZJ7j-AZ23-ykghR_khiCIqSLbgcdhPoeZ_A5h92TFunifmtgY9SmrK70CHuTrGRvX408oqJYx9Muh_ykVU5GfLoen6kh03wldExaxkoU/s1600/image004-798303.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9XT2XxjSBXtdil0lV1dJt9WSEU2SUb97hqwCZJ7j-AZ23-ykghR_khiCIqSLbgcdhPoeZ_A5h92TFunifmtgY9SmrK70CHuTrGRvX408oqJYx9Muh_ykVU5GfLoen6kh03wldExaxkoU/s320/image004-798303.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208774013778802" width="387" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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next big event on deck<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The <i>where</i> and <i>who</i> is as different as the people who seek it, but there are a few things your home and mine have in common:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Home is the person you can't wait to tell when you pass that big exam. It's the arms you crawl into when bad stuff happens. It's the people who love you through the silent-but-deadlies and other aromatic facts of life and stick by you when you're stupid, selfish, rude, dumb, fat, skinny. The ones who see beyond the sweat, wrinkles and belly wobble to claim your wide smile and rosy cheeks. Those with whom you can eat so many garlic crackers that your skin stinks (Kay?) and celebrate engagements, weddings and new babies. Home is your partner for all night pool tournaments, marathon tv sessions and long, meandering walks. It's who you turn to when the plumbing goes out and you and the kids need a place to stay.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLuYOyOGJciAoUNxiR_ZXOV_oVJtQ2jU-PYPy_VrtWxcd3PpSn8A2H1grPZfbS6_xoh71yb65o8rM0wKbn8t4m_fSnQXfxFPoqKKAfdQQjfFgOL6P-Wqc0LJzpMEN1nOnDglZLwc7mABsd/s1600/image007-702626.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLuYOyOGJciAoUNxiR_ZXOV_oVJtQ2jU-PYPy_VrtWxcd3PpSn8A2H1grPZfbS6_xoh71yb65o8rM0wKbn8t4m_fSnQXfxFPoqKKAfdQQjfFgOL6P-Wqc0LJzpMEN1nOnDglZLwc7mABsd/s320/image007-702626.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208788960129170" width="281" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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serving up comfort at 3am<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Home is the people who occupy the space where you're most comfortable, especially when you're far, far away from, well…home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCS-I4eXyKWnZGduwZJTSFNx7U1oubsHTm8bfWMXbPo-t-BvVhoxxHA4uKfoqhQ2oqgkaIs-r2GzaNSWmaKMIPdeNLlEgQFbAyoQx1fNzCEZkPKKJCxifeu9JfPcP16svuYao3azVWz-do/s1600/image009-706310.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCS-I4eXyKWnZGduwZJTSFNx7U1oubsHTm8bfWMXbPo-t-BvVhoxxHA4uKfoqhQ2oqgkaIs-r2GzaNSWmaKMIPdeNLlEgQFbAyoQx1fNzCEZkPKKJCxifeu9JfPcP16svuYao3azVWz-do/s320/image009-706310.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208807991338098" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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not seen in Doha: green and rain<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Doha, home is a beautiful (<i>ma sha allah!</i>) 9 month pregnant woman who rises at 1am every day for seven days to serve a multi course breakfast to a crazy bunch of baseball lovers. It's a guy who shows up every morning to eat that breakfast. In his socks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRlpUcis6c3N5SKeQuMUP-ksxmuYUdLLFuBMEv2HH4cW38d0Lzvp7pCpZD-SKkRG7Dzd8EgvFgXw9wYmMA-ZOvtO4wovPVF5g8Nui-1fHEK1GTif3JNPIfn4lSZMeRLSjp0CMPIekFnjt/s1600/image011-709644.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRlpUcis6c3N5SKeQuMUP-ksxmuYUdLLFuBMEv2HH4cW38d0Lzvp7pCpZD-SKkRG7Dzd8EgvFgXw9wYmMA-ZOvtO4wovPVF5g8Nui-1fHEK1GTif3JNPIfn4lSZMeRLSjp0CMPIekFnjt/s320/image011-709644.jpg" height="330" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208818883015794" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirQ-A_PJzE68qEChuFymTE2cT7L3KhR_6F_Dqo6I_QjP0tEpm_Ju2YpSg4E11VE9VlQ70ibG5cjvznO_aG-o9DGMo7VrDZfiHJPb2kaj6X_zqNrmAOhORZ8ySANnkb2Y_7VPwx36KnJz0N/s1600/image022-714358.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirQ-A_PJzE68qEChuFymTE2cT7L3KhR_6F_Dqo6I_QjP0tEpm_Ju2YpSg4E11VE9VlQ70ibG5cjvznO_aG-o9DGMo7VrDZfiHJPb2kaj6X_zqNrmAOhORZ8ySANnkb2Y_7VPwx36KnJz0N/s320/image022-714358.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208843366313762" width="368" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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It's lap-sharing memory-making with three beautiful babes. Watching a video about sharks snuggled up close. Middle of the night smiles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHq031PTgTg51yEEqTXaLXglv3VmT5c1mvttKJhKLQB1fYvluRkJNj32ls-D68smEPXpmJxVubXQsBuePodGhLUTWZAc2WtFcpCMoAuXzxdviRB0K4LrZ4HHK3Ag78EAKkuWCPKYnUDEJU/s1600/image025-717475.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHq031PTgTg51yEEqTXaLXglv3VmT5c1mvttKJhKLQB1fYvluRkJNj32ls-D68smEPXpmJxVubXQsBuePodGhLUTWZAc2WtFcpCMoAuXzxdviRB0K4LrZ4HHK3Ag78EAKkuWCPKYnUDEJU/s320/image025-717475.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208853722924130" width="395" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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these faces<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQvtgpY1tn01Ljf9mhdCdi2LTrtq02NhrznmFhRJu5APG5uR8RmeHtNXvN4E0Lr1MsAjQe0B0U2Zhznq7sotPE1Xltr_Ii8OA8MRA2wiAMwWh9rVyzFRpQ-PG-Z4DA9HgV8e56rEaXNDO/s1600/image026-720505.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQvtgpY1tn01Ljf9mhdCdi2LTrtq02NhrznmFhRJu5APG5uR8RmeHtNXvN4E0Lr1MsAjQe0B0U2Zhznq7sotPE1Xltr_Ii8OA8MRA2wiAMwWh9rVyzFRpQ-PG-Z4DA9HgV8e56rEaXNDO/s320/image026-720505.jpg" height="361" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208865374269298" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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movie star smiles at 3am<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhrZGXmgkJdaQYEQ1zSTSPmTGPVHaCLDCQ10PByciZVqiXEBzFGJyJCw2RN8j8ueMYzPC9zG4HghKPESmHJ-C4aRaBzMtXk7cD9V1DvXGiTcby_NHiUJAxv7Nog-I59WGz6dSqTaXT2Kb/s1600/image028-724052.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhrZGXmgkJdaQYEQ1zSTSPmTGPVHaCLDCQ10PByciZVqiXEBzFGJyJCw2RN8j8ueMYzPC9zG4HghKPESmHJ-C4aRaBzMtXk7cD9V1DvXGiTcby_NHiUJAxv7Nog-I59WGz6dSqTaXT2Kb/s320/image028-724052.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208879295223938" width="386" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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say it with me: "awwww"<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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It's <a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/03/we-are-bmd-abroad.html" target="_blank">Turkey Central dinners</a>, surprise birthday luncheons, baby showers, football get togethers, souq shopping, sand golf. It's BMD wives' club, church, Fudd's Thursday, mani pedis.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgow4L81ou0-reoZ1qw74hMQeiThKftkwTUUrUJCBKBsSOTeEn555PcBuEAk-6bLZYh2u6tlu6xMpLW6_hsdiEJIJi8WCUwG7m80R-GZPgzzMtFay9ORQdTOv5AYkiLMgFPMrg_lZxOFz3z/s1600/image029-727292.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgow4L81ou0-reoZ1qw74hMQeiThKftkwTUUrUJCBKBsSOTeEn555PcBuEAk-6bLZYh2u6tlu6xMpLW6_hsdiEJIJi8WCUwG7m80R-GZPgzzMtFay9ORQdTOv5AYkiLMgFPMrg_lZxOFz3z/s320/image029-727292.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208897400245202" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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at Turkey Central, 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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And, yes, it's the World Series at 3am - home team playing at home - losing with two outs, bottom of the ninth, tying run on third base. It's the disappointed silence from a packed stadium - as fans buy 2015 season tickets on smart phones before the final score is even posted. (Anybody got tickets to share?)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Because we may be <i>way the heck outta Dodge</i> (euphemistically speaking; "Dodge" is <i>Kansas</i>; we are <i>Missouri</i>) but hey Royals! you're our team. And pssh. Doggonit, we love you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWiZFxTUL1tez7QF_0pw2s0SwWfOnQgkdp7JYcD3YOAzRaimeYo1GhK3JO9OmJgmOTvsVKKyn2MHRVHCfaNfUkl7iaUDjfTFkp4qzdvsFt0UMRxwqMZE-6AcBmUzzNwnyib6qtYApA5p8/s1600/image033-732104.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWiZFxTUL1tez7QF_0pw2s0SwWfOnQgkdp7JYcD3YOAzRaimeYo1GhK3JO9OmJgmOTvsVKKyn2MHRVHCfaNfUkl7iaUDjfTFkp4qzdvsFt0UMRxwqMZE-6AcBmUzzNwnyib6qtYApA5p8/s320/image033-732104.jpg" height="266" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6076208920655867522" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt;">photo credit: Matt Mikus, <a href="http://postcardsandplaylists.com/" target="_blank">http://postcardsandplaylists.com</a>/<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Great Season, Royals!<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-20257407981991441482014-10-24T01:14:00.000-05:002014-10-24T01:41:26.213-05:00Ballad of the Men in White<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbJk3k46h6A4FqwLX9hi0kqmDzlWJe_b5M7vw91haIc8cJeuX10-xr0qjf6SpnV5pu3RZU5CyWAZjIaNNjU4sboUcFeM-btAI9VCTxepbB7lVW8F3QSR2YYPlDF2F9Xtuwsp9XSFlctj4/s1600/image003-757822.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbJk3k46h6A4FqwLX9hi0kqmDzlWJe_b5M7vw91haIc8cJeuX10-xr0qjf6SpnV5pu3RZU5CyWAZjIaNNjU4sboUcFeM-btAI9VCTxepbB7lVW8F3QSR2YYPlDF2F9Xtuwsp9XSFlctj4/s320/image003-757822.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6073620884263400658" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 8pt;">photo credit: this pic brazenly borrowed from the web<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 8pt;">will be deleted if the blog ever goes public again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The rags to riches story is a tale as old as, well - sand. There's Oliver Twist; JK Rowling; con man Billy Ray Valentine (Eddie Murphy) in the 1983 movie <i>Trading Places</i>; Dubai; <a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/05/qatar-wheres-that-brief-history-and.html" target="_blank">Qatar</a> (<a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/05/qatar-wheres-that-brief-history-and.html" target="_blank">click to read brief history and answers to commonly asked questions</a>); Jed Clampett.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcg7JNMNI0gQSbPIuBFJBl3c3MqsV3IJtqTZsiZxFKywl5nxyEfs8xaPbyqn8Q1hjIZSoSICbeD4suxT_3C2Ppm0bHBrX2RoeoYnB81PrJAOT5vJdBAICeBg5vGcBic0kK9Nv8_I29uuN/s1600/image006-761943.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcg7JNMNI0gQSbPIuBFJBl3c3MqsV3IJtqTZsiZxFKywl5nxyEfs8xaPbyqn8Q1hjIZSoSICbeD4suxT_3C2Ppm0bHBrX2RoeoYnB81PrJAOT5vJdBAICeBg5vGcBic0kK9Nv8_I29uuN/s320/image006-761943.jpg" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6073620897625182850" width="191" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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American actor, Buddy Ebsen, as Jed Clampett<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">photo credit: photo bucket, </span><a href="http://s659.photobucket.com/user/edtombell/media/First%20%20Song/jed-clampett.jpg.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">edtombell</span></a> </div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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As the patriarch of the popular American 1960s era tv show, <i>The Beverly Hillbillies</i>, Jed Clampett discovers oil on his rustic (ie, poverty stricken) mountain property. Together with Granny (Irene Ryan), Max Baer, Jr. and sweet, buxom Donna Douglas, Jed lits out for "Beverly Hills, Californee" where the family's lifestyle is dramatically altered by Jed's "crude" discovery. They now live in a spacious mansion with swimming pool and photogenic stairway instead of a one room log cabin. They hang with movie stars and shop for thousand dollar (USD) huntin' togs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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If you're unfamiliar with the show and its catchy 40 second musical introduction, grab a listen here: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwzaxUF0k18" target="_blank">The Ballad of Jed Clampett</a>.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Then read my loose lyrical rewrite, below.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHHCWysqvuzGKKF6miy_6RY9Wh7EXirWP_N_OjUc3Ty7Rys-51DuZbMKRN6lwQJ9TPCLbwi90ZRYiTLuzxwKrHaMU4HiOOhQe0qrlQkXsCri3Mh7HUHrSkgZok0k5k0WciWG54UWlAQzv/s1600/image007-766275.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHHCWysqvuzGKKF6miy_6RY9Wh7EXirWP_N_OjUc3Ty7Rys-51DuZbMKRN6lwQJ9TPCLbwi90ZRYiTLuzxwKrHaMU4HiOOhQe0qrlQkXsCri3Mh7HUHrSkgZok0k5k0WciWG54UWlAQzv/s320/image007-766275.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6073620919217506642" width="235" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Dhow festival 2012<o:p></o:p></div>
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local poses for photo wearing<o:p></o:p></div>
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traditional pearl diver attire, sort of<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Ballad of the Men in White<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Come and listen to my story<o:p></o:p></div>
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'bout the men in white.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Once pearl divers sleeping<o:p></o:p></div>
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on the sand at night.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Then one day<o:p></o:p></div>
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as they were camping on a dune,<o:p></o:p></div>
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up come the Brits<o:p></o:p></div>
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with startling news.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<i>About oil…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<i>Black gold…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<i>Texas tea…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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First thing you know<o:p></o:p></div>
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these men are billionaires.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Slipping starchy scarves<o:p></o:p></div>
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over beards and hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Emir said,<o:p></o:p></div>
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"Our desert's the place to be!<o:p></o:p></div>
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For soccer, building, fun and<o:p></o:p></div>
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fast food KFC."<br />
<br /></div>
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<i>World Cup, ya'all…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Stadiums…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>New downtown…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Today instead of dhow boats</div>
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there are high-rises and schools.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Foreigners from everywhere<o:p></o:p></div>
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breaking Muslim rules.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Clogging streets and malls<o:p></o:p></div>
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with their rude proclivities;<o:p></o:p></div>
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like eating pork, sipping scotch,<o:p></o:p></div>
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baring arms and knees.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<i>Skin…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>All colors…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Haraam…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Men in white aren't divers now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They're wealthy businessmen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Driving fast in SUV's,<o:p></o:p></div>
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hanging out with friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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These multi lingual Western grads<o:p></o:p></div>
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watch American tv,</div>
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party on the dunes at night,<o:p></o:p></div>
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eat fast food KFC.<br />
<br /></div>
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<i>Rolex…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>BMW…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Land Cruiser…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbTbGuuy8dXeoasBIDZoVqbb4B4uvqQk_i1yAbWkXzFu6vc2fKRMoEdTcTfkvBLUtBdO9TSBinxP1cK0NPBamYoPyCg_yJYUTvqqNVRlajynNzbVuhhizZIPYwZ_laJz2PuHgV3q7BZcJ/s1600/image011-769579.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbTbGuuy8dXeoasBIDZoVqbb4B4uvqQk_i1yAbWkXzFu6vc2fKRMoEdTcTfkvBLUtBdO9TSBinxP1cK0NPBamYoPyCg_yJYUTvqqNVRlajynNzbVuhhizZIPYwZ_laJz2PuHgV3q7BZcJ/s320/image011-769579.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6073620928319984210" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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it says: <em>Dajaaj Kentaacky, drive thru</em></div>
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The Colonel flies high over C-Ring Road<o:p></o:p></div>
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Doha 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>This is a closed blog and unauthorized readers are prohibited. If you are offended by any content found herein, please cease reading immediately, notify me of your accidental consumption of my material and I will promptly remove your name from the list of approved readers. For your own protection, of course.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-56245103100131795832014-10-17T02:49:00.002-05:002014-10-17T02:49:24.645-05:00Baseball and Abayas<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYSqilvBknQvcV0BXzS0aAfhTiK6vo-qgU363E5iyaa_v_foBdcHLGjRFewl2iEPqhg8uneNWxiD8QozU11hQ1e9ARBRk6lQUGepYjNRy127IzArFbEi6-uessOLDz8HbwCUM3L4ggWgOa/s1600/image003-786767.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYSqilvBknQvcV0BXzS0aAfhTiK6vo-qgU363E5iyaa_v_foBdcHLGjRFewl2iEPqhg8uneNWxiD8QozU11hQ1e9ARBRk6lQUGepYjNRy127IzArFbEi6-uessOLDz8HbwCUM3L4ggWgOa/s320/image003-786767.jpg" height="213" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6071061212406423170" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Bob, Kyle, Brad, Matt, Dawn (with little Mikus on deck), Aaron<o:p></o:p></div>
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celebrate the home team's ALCS victory 3am in Doha</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">photo credit: Matt Mikus (read Matt's travel blog: <a href="http://postcardsandplaylists.com/" target="_blank">postcards and playlists</a>)</span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Thousands of miles away and across the road too, the rest of my world celebrated the Kansas City Royals baseball ALCS victory and qualification for World Series competition.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4-EIAA96ryJjYzkRfZz_rxasiFQi3bCcqx-BMoPG8uzIMQdL2MNqi3cmy0irMWzhO45qdfIX6RjDay8xJsk3QRes1ojDn0SprzS0kRzXbfLOWrqVwSnEeJLKOErQBaGijieLqyyxSt7A/s1600/image005-792092.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4-EIAA96ryJjYzkRfZz_rxasiFQi3bCcqx-BMoPG8uzIMQdL2MNqi3cmy0irMWzhO45qdfIX6RjDay8xJsk3QRes1ojDn0SprzS0kRzXbfLOWrqVwSnEeJLKOErQBaGijieLqyyxSt7A/s320/image005-792092.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6071061229467024482" width="377" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Go Royals<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I slid into abaya and hijab to attend Arabic classes at someplace new.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuyHGhTENm5fhjBUm97pjl21GmPulPSESAFy9gJNTBDl2Da8GQgSAztAvX2phsd9X7MuZ-0wLiEZRk5sWajvpZHxeeQnq5l_3wzSlN53Sz73OkktVzAHydeYlN5phjXRa0m34ZsYMM_BV/s1600/image007-795176.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuyHGhTENm5fhjBUm97pjl21GmPulPSESAFy9gJNTBDl2Da8GQgSAztAvX2phsd9X7MuZ-0wLiEZRk5sWajvpZHxeeQnq5l_3wzSlN53Sz73OkktVzAHydeYlN5phjXRa0m34ZsYMM_BV/s320/image007-795176.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6071061244312735650" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Maryam Center "Markazy Maryam" offers courses in Arabic, Quran and Islam</div>
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to Muslim women<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The villa was surrounded by a high wall and tucked into a quiet community near a mosque. In front of the wall, a man guarded the sandy street. Behind the modesty-protecting barrier, shrouded women slipped through a paper covered door. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFUK9oVuZVX-ZEBxdV6RjwAaSMcLdCnbnRgrJ1ChaIJ7c2arcqZU8EVpVQUtqsoUD6mQM6l7Ia5e9hm_ll7ccUZwOegc2yEbuBg5S9W1FHFZlXv_09TunC1pm-eRkU3dVeamHlR2Bp-uz/s1600/image013-799422.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFUK9oVuZVX-ZEBxdV6RjwAaSMcLdCnbnRgrJ1ChaIJ7c2arcqZU8EVpVQUtqsoUD6mQM6l7Ia5e9hm_ll7ccUZwOegc2yEbuBg5S9W1FHFZlXv_09TunC1pm-eRkU3dVeamHlR2Bp-uz/s320/image013-799422.jpg" height="301" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6071061261510725522" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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sorry, guys<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Inside, black garbed women circled a stairwell. Windows covered in stained glass muted the hot sun. Like everywhere interior Doha, the air conditioning was set to "arctic" and the chill raised goose bumps on my blanketed skin. Three ladies worked at computers as dark eyed women rustled in and out of quiet rooms. In a windowless office, a lone woman sat at a mahogany desk, her title etched in Arabic on a wooden nameplate.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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A brief consultation and the mudiera left the room. When she returned, she said: "Our classes are for women who are already Muslim. But you are so," here she supplied an Arabic word that she explained meant <i>you-seem-Muslim</i>, but might also refer to the preacher kid in me, ie, <i>perhaps-<b><a href="http://blog.charleshedrick.com/" target="_blank">your-dad</a></b>-was-a-pastor-and-<b><a href="http://www.peggyhedrick.com/" target="_blank">your-mom</a></b>-a-church-pianist</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She handed me a registration packet. "I told <i>him </i>I wanted to give you a chance."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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"Him" (no, not God): the unseen man who maintains unilateral authority</div>
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no matter how grand the boss-lady's desk.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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For three years I've participated in the Arabic program at <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2014/09/goodbye-lighthouse.html" target="_blank">Fanar, the upside down ice cream cone minaret lighthouse-for-God at the center of downtown Doha</a></i></b>. After a three month summer hiatus, one other woman and myself were ready to begin the final session of Fanar's five level program. That's when everything changed: new leadership, teachers fired, upper level courses moved from mornings to evenings. And new rules: we needed three more students before our class would be scheduled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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My classmate, a busy young Muslim mother and French expat, chose to go on to other things. I determined to follow our previous instructor to her new teaching position at Markazy Maryam.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXievRmM7qCVGGUvAyR8n9CwFfK12j0fGtEbS3X8g7nCrxx0qtfde2rL5L8TFllvSKefGbEW3wjYm-6gSix4E4QnSwHrlkhs3ksZVD3m27e6N8BN4mMcCyCL9sQGl_TNDZOEUSMRCeptf/s1600/image015-703418.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXievRmM7qCVGGUvAyR8n9CwFfK12j0fGtEbS3X8g7nCrxx0qtfde2rL5L8TFllvSKefGbEW3wjYm-6gSix4E4QnSwHrlkhs3ksZVD3m27e6N8BN4mMcCyCL9sQGl_TNDZOEUSMRCeptf/s320/image015-703418.jpg" height="61" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6071061278771785122" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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abaya and hijab required<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here's what it's like to climb stairs carrying a purse and book bag as a newbie in abaya and hijab: sheer fabric clings to jeans, tangles at knees like a bed sheet to pajamas and (especially if it's front snapping) the robe flaps open. You instinctively release the handful of material gripped to prevent abaya from dragging as the skirt extends beyond shoes. Muted hallway sounds increase as you flail at the fly-a-way robe. Meanwhile, hijab slides off ears, slips over face. Disoriented and off balance, you, too, might shuffle over the abaya's hem, drop purse, trip over bag, turn the wrong direction and, blinded by a scarf, face plant.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Other activities, like the aerobic event that is the <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2012/11/salaam-when-qataris-say-hello.html" target="_blank">Arab greeting</a></i></b>, maneuvering into a student desk or using the bathroom will be left to your imagination.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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My teacher did not immediately know me with my sun-bleached hair and western attire hidden. Upon recognition she wrapped me in her arms and joyfully praised God.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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"No, I'm not Muslim," I whispered in her ear as that's where my mouth was at the time. "I'm here for your class."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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She squeezed me tighter. She kissed my cheeks and introduced me.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYeKX-014qMaAacxXWdQqMV2ulV1bYpMAFfH1A0r2sYJphiXAjp6RjKFRLjz_whc0kdxbc8RBBsZQTmONoO9fZIe0BkeigkyFUgNAE3YrZFgNzNVggJXYi0YDTlZog8NxCGqqNqoofqBT/s1600/image018-706779.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYeKX-014qMaAacxXWdQqMV2ulV1bYpMAFfH1A0r2sYJphiXAjp6RjKFRLjz_whc0kdxbc8RBBsZQTmONoO9fZIe0BkeigkyFUgNAE3YrZFgNzNVggJXYi0YDTlZog8NxCGqqNqoofqBT/s320/image018-706779.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6071061292593076578" width="303" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I settled into a front row seat and, along with six other ladies in black, learned about 3, 4 and 5 letter past tense root verbs using examples from the Quran.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMa1l4EKFCTEjbim6HojjbRQARre0tEFfln09ufPSeM7YYsyhLNKfNKCf-AcgHexx6jlJJriGDfe0Fx-7dOxcI5MKeFIBSteeNmzTMGOTeMIhICE93qGICa8FA1AdP1qQKaw-Z6tpsrBzz/s1600/image020-710312.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMa1l4EKFCTEjbim6HojjbRQARre0tEFfln09ufPSeM7YYsyhLNKfNKCf-AcgHexx6jlJJriGDfe0Fx-7dOxcI5MKeFIBSteeNmzTMGOTeMIhICE93qGICa8FA1AdP1qQKaw-Z6tpsrBzz/s320/image020-710312.jpg" height="195" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6071061307765131586" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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foretelling baseball future?</div>
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Christmas Day Dhow ride, 2012</div>
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<o:p>Go, Royals!</o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-57260023207720233532014-10-10T01:49:00.000-05:002015-01-26T20:40:03.983-06:00Expats Abroad: Spain<div class="WordSection1">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOwRcTkrsW91PhdA0ozpXCBYhWJT6RSUfcsgHCX9THRZAtUIUpMW-E-7rrnppkVBKhIUQMxUALC2hWPlyLDNSTplcyH9btesUcL3vRCIgXgYbhWqmw-rVu_KhfsyqopPDBqUNQvjTmxgo/s1600/image002-717301.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOwRcTkrsW91PhdA0ozpXCBYhWJT6RSUfcsgHCX9THRZAtUIUpMW-E-7rrnppkVBKhIUQMxUALC2hWPlyLDNSTplcyH9btesUcL3vRCIgXgYbhWqmw-rVu_KhfsyqopPDBqUNQvjTmxgo/s320/image002-717301.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457298494206626" width="325" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Bob on board<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Expatriates are people who leave their homes to live in a new place, either temporarily or permanently. Most migrate legally, following the host country's rules and regulations.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="ssens"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Expatriate: (one who) leaves one's native country to live elsewhere…</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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- <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/expatriate" target="_blank">Merriam Webster</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8De-G9hUOfx-P0lzLoesnPKiIVgHtkqYZpoQzkPMTd1COxONpWhypuWwjL1YovrkI_H9_JeM6rqjqPWEzbLdRR_cAD8zTMYKMTSmVGCOdYKf8HF1_12fZPKOqSqXCLw4CWvMRsVzO0pJ/s1600/image005-720904.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8De-G9hUOfx-P0lzLoesnPKiIVgHtkqYZpoQzkPMTd1COxONpWhypuWwjL1YovrkI_H9_JeM6rqjqPWEzbLdRR_cAD8zTMYKMTSmVGCOdYKf8HF1_12fZPKOqSqXCLw4CWvMRsVzO0pJ/s320/image005-720904.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457308097866530" width="318" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Columbus points to sea<o:p></o:p></div>
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where Ramblas meets wharf<o:p></o:p></div>
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Barcelona, Spain<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Legal expats are subject to different regulations than those at home. Like, for example, covering from shoulders to knees even when jogging, avoiding physical (and eye) contact with members of the opposite sex, not eating or drinking in public during the holy month of Ramadan. A thoughtful Qatar expat, for example, doesn't enter religious spaces with an uncovered head or make negative comments about her host country's leadership online or, well, anywhere, ever. And when the rules concerning freedom of expression change, she renders her blog publicly inaccessible.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaicZJ9EN_ke4ve2xsKrloWzwQ-4xk6VESGj3RzofXunEc4b-_P-Cf3sxGFj8Fchsf0HfxoISdKDJJkkVzkyNhwlau5EICfNy5rC-lmUX-o0I-mkESFL_2w4ysd_5ngnReomKyUn0VIMQp/s1600/image009-724342.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaicZJ9EN_ke4ve2xsKrloWzwQ-4xk6VESGj3RzofXunEc4b-_P-Cf3sxGFj8Fchsf0HfxoISdKDJJkkVzkyNhwlau5EICfNy5rC-lmUX-o0I-mkESFL_2w4ysd_5ngnReomKyUn0VIMQp/s320/image009-724342.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457327966815394" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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contemplating the climb<o:p></o:p></div>
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church at Tibidabo, highest point in Barcelona, Spain<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the US, legal expats are those who followed US law to enter the country, typically for purposes of work, school or marriage. Sometimes these intrepid travelers take knowledge home to help change whatever caused them to leave in the first place. Other times they remain stateside and pursue the process to become permanent, legal United States citizens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLZop9pSwvPrNPRZ0W6qSnAJ9wwfWjWcWyju8djCVKKvBq-mI5lwEkzKRLYlMJjxrJ-4IrIujKwJkPdeYpi6YIAx98aNhWue0QAC8JT35ZcLterVZ9mhDOZTocG5h4PnGqpZVlDDidyED/s1600/image011-727195.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLZop9pSwvPrNPRZ0W6qSnAJ9wwfWjWcWyju8djCVKKvBq-mI5lwEkzKRLYlMJjxrJ-4IrIujKwJkPdeYpi6YIAx98aNhWue0QAC8JT35ZcLterVZ9mhDOZTocG5h4PnGqpZVlDDidyED/s320/image011-727195.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457334354190402" width="300" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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how Antoni Gaudi (gow-DEE)</div>
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covered one building's ducts and vents<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
atop La Padrera, Barcelona, Spain<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Illegal US expats sneak across the border. They work jobs, raise children, utilize health care, attend and graduate from US schools funded by government grants and, it is said, even vote! They're fast food workers who go on strike to demand that their illicitly-adopted country celebrate their home country's independence as a national holiday. They're back alley criminals, prostitutes - and top drawer straight A students, business owners.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Officially there are repercussions to sneaking into the United States, but a lot of people not only get away with it, but profit from the venture too. Some of these dauntless interlopers are eventually granted status as legal United States citizens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOPeMgyqKvNSFjzB9VIdZP4LAlL7UC2cffcdTIZiYH7X4aQX8X_pIwbOusCDks_5zez1IMnsb2tfTX4gWXSRLjiA1IArajSmCCRVR4NfvNN_vIihvZwO5XdLS-YEGtQ5PaRfdrJ6MIrwY8/s1600/image029-730226.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOPeMgyqKvNSFjzB9VIdZP4LAlL7UC2cffcdTIZiYH7X4aQX8X_pIwbOusCDks_5zez1IMnsb2tfTX4gWXSRLjiA1IArajSmCCRVR4NfvNN_vIihvZwO5XdLS-YEGtQ5PaRfdrJ6MIrwY8/s320/image029-730226.jpg" height="360" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457348057191458" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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"Sagrada Familia" means "Holy Family"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
a church designed by Antoni Gaudi<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Barcelona's ever-under-construction labor of love<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKYYtBOXi1js5jHih1YsieU7xG8EnRm_oHlA3Xa0oEH1S4oBXrz-ofswZyuxjapdtcArB1NY7ur8LZHwpMiWS-gvZ4GG-EPzu0VV4E5YYxV_Ka4L7beoIsEzKxr0X3f0ScM1hDH3GEeZY/s1600/image030-733484.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKYYtBOXi1js5jHih1YsieU7xG8EnRm_oHlA3Xa0oEH1S4oBXrz-ofswZyuxjapdtcArB1NY7ur8LZHwpMiWS-gvZ4GG-EPzu0VV4E5YYxV_Ka4L7beoIsEzKxr0X3f0ScM1hDH3GEeZY/s320/image030-733484.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457364481687810" width="288" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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there are funky shapes<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht4T8aty-SVm5ODtm7D3kMOKWjf4t-DOtwuNH5C1ad0oTCsnbxKIFJwaS-yYMZL1JTrMYtJRvIVmhLsSavcwlcVayrtcFBf9nyTb2Pyr6HslF6c4BW4kIRvMJnVGF8bPOCwwZSA9A2X8bB/s1600/image031-737031.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht4T8aty-SVm5ODtm7D3kMOKWjf4t-DOtwuNH5C1ad0oTCsnbxKIFJwaS-yYMZL1JTrMYtJRvIVmhLsSavcwlcVayrtcFBf9nyTb2Pyr6HslF6c4BW4kIRvMJnVGF8bPOCwwZSA9A2X8bB/s320/image031-737031.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457376967246530" width="390" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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fruit spires<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEict6L5eRl-8fihQxc1pJln_22oDFCJWB9VArXc0W1ZW7_SsjYVmW4fmFXFbEzPKQccoaNMncOzVdRheQ6K2g7_EuuIk5SforzToalE77jf9xik-uMoOjs8ZOnvtvtBLbV0ifXT7pv6L7bz/s1600/image032-739866.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEict6L5eRl-8fihQxc1pJln_22oDFCJWB9VArXc0W1ZW7_SsjYVmW4fmFXFbEzPKQccoaNMncOzVdRheQ6K2g7_EuuIk5SforzToalE77jf9xik-uMoOjs8ZOnvtvtBLbV0ifXT7pv6L7bz/s320/image032-739866.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457393754761618" width="278" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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wall sized doors that look like this<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gO4qD_1kpZHBdGCMzSQ4dRxHdN87-x4jMv2ROl-UY6N9dF313p7EGiNrcP6KJ9Cp8s5sG8fUAMzgpec-YcQkNftD2Dn19GRBLVl5diVgLwKRkfVD-Qa3aujfRA30NYX7SE5MWiMMVcWE/s1600/image033-743193.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gO4qD_1kpZHBdGCMzSQ4dRxHdN87-x4jMv2ROl-UY6N9dF313p7EGiNrcP6KJ9Cp8s5sG8fUAMzgpec-YcQkNftD2Dn19GRBLVl5diVgLwKRkfVD-Qa3aujfRA30NYX7SE5MWiMMVcWE/s320/image033-743193.jpg" height="292" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457406169207426" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
stained glass windows that alter interior color<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGcNeiKiuvjjveabX0PWm_Af5sYXCe4fSoM9LXVJ5QHRgGTRPCI98iztK4DQwHeGZ2yK5Y4h6MWbeKGo7idVd-JCXZK_rzPm0EQei8AOeIodkuBYTreSO3lP5Ee6wmUJJPCCszszLC7P5/s1600/image034-746510.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGcNeiKiuvjjveabX0PWm_Af5sYXCe4fSoM9LXVJ5QHRgGTRPCI98iztK4DQwHeGZ2yK5Y4h6MWbeKGo7idVd-JCXZK_rzPm0EQei8AOeIodkuBYTreSO3lP5Ee6wmUJJPCCszszLC7P5/s320/image034-746510.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457420545270690" width="291" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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and a flying Jesus<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnuL863TDXbltVFGKY6ZMqu4f6TUbpa14rzU-5tC8BA5ZWhsQI-HxwzJkXbiRwjiosGvzktHd2A6DWtXM5k-rSe6dgLAewrSh3XMLDWzSWoT_YIQgwhMWculBzWkdHJSV4uwonJNAaY1l4/s1600/image035-749384.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnuL863TDXbltVFGKY6ZMqu4f6TUbpa14rzU-5tC8BA5ZWhsQI-HxwzJkXbiRwjiosGvzktHd2A6DWtXM5k-rSe6dgLAewrSh3XMLDWzSWoT_YIQgwhMWculBzWkdHJSV4uwonJNAaY1l4/s320/image035-749384.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457432745567378" width="300" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Bob loved it<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Qatar, illegal expats are usually former service employees (nannies, maids and drivers) who entered the country legally and (in a wide variety of ways) find themselves without sponsorship. Babies born to unmarried (ie, unlawful) parents are on the list of border crashers. Illegal foreigners are also, as in the US, those who sneak across the border hoping for a better life in the world's wealthiest country (per capita).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51GgGXZgkKyOlt-6Uhld1N2gZUuCpqFtX_npTg4HxaISHE8UmnMQ9Huhjx3W143s4eGMZp63kblLFVIKVCDes9RmeEzBS7XTQ8T618smsQ3iUPmKdP37vUSN2sLDoL3pI7D8f2dK_vd7T/s1600/image036-752413.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51GgGXZgkKyOlt-6Uhld1N2gZUuCpqFtX_npTg4HxaISHE8UmnMQ9Huhjx3W143s4eGMZp63kblLFVIKVCDes9RmeEzBS7XTQ8T618smsQ3iUPmKdP37vUSN2sLDoL3pI7D8f2dK_vd7T/s320/image036-752413.jpg" height="327" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457446333403554" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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coed bathrooms are common in Barcelona<o:p></o:p></div>
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at the Olympic Stadium<o:p></o:p></div>
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girls use stalls on one side, boys on the other<o:p></o:p></div>
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wash up together<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Qatar children born to a married foreign mother and Qatari man are considered Qatari. Children born to a married Qatari woman and a foreign born man acquire the father's nationality. At this time it's not possible to obtain Qatari citizenship (thereby eligible to receive national dividends and land) except by birth.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxGL7fM-ZMzRHcwbDtga1AfciRnKFSSqTq4FIFlrXjQx78Jjh4_aEqmDltZ7jomkocMVKxIsY5Z4EfW43INGQLOZStuQr5P-gI5EENYM4SQuSNoKhtTqDymkkwmx3e6rBT7ax0nMpGLjH/s1600/image040-756042.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxGL7fM-ZMzRHcwbDtga1AfciRnKFSSqTq4FIFlrXjQx78Jjh4_aEqmDltZ7jomkocMVKxIsY5Z4EfW43INGQLOZStuQr5P-gI5EENYM4SQuSNoKhtTqDymkkwmx3e6rBT7ax0nMpGLjH/s320/image040-756042.jpg" height="395" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457458368673666" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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the Ramblas<o:p></o:p></div>
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a crowded, touristy, no-cars, shopping zone<o:p></o:p></div>
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and the heart of Barcelona<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Qatar, illegal expats are not allowed to work, attend school, utilize public health care, own a car, rent or buy a home, acquire a driver's license. Illegals' educations are not subsidized by the government. Without papers, they are also unable to leave the country.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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As a result (unlike the US), very few people aspire to be illegal expats in Qatar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEituWiYj_Ilpd7cTVuO2rZDCn4K_GJcy0YgFUR1vUGnUfeIXimD2SCOEmF6ub46vdlfb_SQQmRKaptl-Xv470BSEbxzIGVQXFOEZWyPstWYpmOHjJNFG4-B4aGubP8oN8CZTZImOvtpaBT9/s1600/image045-759711.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEituWiYj_Ilpd7cTVuO2rZDCn4K_GJcy0YgFUR1vUGnUfeIXimD2SCOEmF6ub46vdlfb_SQQmRKaptl-Xv470BSEbxzIGVQXFOEZWyPstWYpmOHjJNFG4-B4aGubP8oN8CZTZImOvtpaBT9/s320/image045-759711.jpg" height="318" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457478161418274" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Free Speech on the Ramblas<o:p></o:p></div>
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Barcelona 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As legal expatriates in Qatar, we have residency permits, government health cards and driver's licenses. We utilize government medical services, buy and sell stuff, attend programs, leave and come back. We drive the speed limit, cover our arms, keep our hands and words to ourselves - and seek the silver lining.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGXOvSYe5j8WCtFUmn2yStJkxqujj9Dbh7lIqLTnlV0wxWm2Oc7yRuUkEEVvQk8eNkIhmKR1WewdWICxX7ePuantxMw8FiRr_rAA3k35dGDlKye8SVAUnxaieU5jgCboGm5tlB-HtERYb/s1600/image046-763006.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGXOvSYe5j8WCtFUmn2yStJkxqujj9Dbh7lIqLTnlV0wxWm2Oc7yRuUkEEVvQk8eNkIhmKR1WewdWICxX7ePuantxMw8FiRr_rAA3k35dGDlKye8SVAUnxaieU5jgCboGm5tlB-HtERYb/s320/image046-763006.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457490254082322" width="390" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Barcelona Water Tower Garden</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
tucked among a cluster of buildings</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
in the heart of the city<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(Rick Steve's, <i>Barcelona</i>, page 144)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It helps to get away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJosvEHHh7S32nCtT9fOhsiQ9_sov6uBhaCL97UvZ1inP0QvfHRAEUZ7aE_ou09YTjDg4psg0EJraFm1UvctDtVN-jGSSIrzogiDdlMvS_Veq_0I8ik0j00Paav4N_c2Bpjqceoi-Qozr1/s1600/image047-766026.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJosvEHHh7S32nCtT9fOhsiQ9_sov6uBhaCL97UvZ1inP0QvfHRAEUZ7aE_ou09YTjDg4psg0EJraFm1UvctDtVN-jGSSIrzogiDdlMvS_Veq_0I8ik0j00Paav4N_c2Bpjqceoi-Qozr1/s320/image047-766026.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6068457503157343186" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Barcelona from the top of the Sagrada Familia<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Nativity Tower<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Spain 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-37625585458625236202014-09-25T23:08:00.002-05:002014-09-25T23:08:12.456-05:00Goodbye, Lighthouse...?<div class="WordSection1">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<em>In Arabic, fanar means "lighthouse." </em></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oJ-2u-vlDoXWbmqQUa-Pbl9hMo9BNAd1QT3NAl9X-gP3D4ivxLGE6rmUgjqL8Sl_2Le8sbtfdnCIQRmbsMXsT0WBzTaRSzzAZZvhDUbvmjyWNRWe1yma0ZAsNiyzPR0tIGZC8AIzgNjP/s1600/image003-790692.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oJ-2u-vlDoXWbmqQUa-Pbl9hMo9BNAd1QT3NAl9X-gP3D4ivxLGE6rmUgjqL8Sl_2Le8sbtfdnCIQRmbsMXsT0WBzTaRSzzAZZvhDUbvmjyWNRWe1yma0ZAsNiyzPR0tIGZC8AIzgNjP/s320/image003-790692.jpg" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6062974661171725954" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>In the same way a lighthouse illuminates safe passage for those seeking the comfort of shore, Doha's Fanar Islamic Cultural Center seeks to share the good news of Islam with the world - and you.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Inside, a wide, two story, tiled entry. A guard at a podium. An ornate split staircase leads to a first floor balcony. A tall vase stands at the heart of three doors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To the left is a majlis meeting space with authentic-ish red and white cushions. Glass bookcases highlight Qatar's achievements and a ceiling mural depicts the country's proud history.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The middle door opens into a narrow hallway filled with cozy leather couches where, if you sit, a bearded man in a long white robe might bring you a glass mug of sweet Arabic tea. "Welcome, welcome," he'd say as you peruse ancient Korans and other artifacts in square wooden display cases and read a book about Islam etched on the walls in life-sized, full color print.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCwIFJgXWBiSZUS-JOyp0xAp-6Vq4tuovbYcbehzqr2fxSatzZMX8ZZoSkZbPWYvNsJUnsNQXhZnqjwQX31T3Fes-B7PKDq6bWZvBxQLNx3hTG2-L012lGiCl6SKSM2UgxxnjUvosIMD1/s1600/image005-794711.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCwIFJgXWBiSZUS-JOyp0xAp-6Vq4tuovbYcbehzqr2fxSatzZMX8ZZoSkZbPWYvNsJUnsNQXhZnqjwQX31T3Fes-B7PKDq6bWZvBxQLNx3hTG2-L012lGiCl6SKSM2UgxxnjUvosIMD1/s320/image005-794711.jpg" height="312" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6062974671755870770" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A third door, to the right of the vase and tucked under the stairs leads to the <i>Ladies Section</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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This is where women from all over the world - including Qatar - meet for the purpose of spreading the good news of Islam - that all, including you - might see the light and be saved. If you are persistent, you might learn some Arabic here too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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You visit the lighthouse this week in hopes of enrolling for an Arabic class. After three years of study and association, all that remains is the final course in the Center's five level program.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But it seems that Fanar is under new management. The familiar, hardworking teachers you'd come to know are gone; fired. Arabic class times are limited. In the same way that laws pertaining to freedom of speech took your blog, and malware lodged in your internet provider curiously limits access to your own website…new rules promise to swallow your Arabic classes too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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An optimistic woman in black pledges to intervene on your behalf. "I will ask him to make a time for you," she says. But she does not add <i>in sha allah</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwvPwd9VT7JG0o7LLB7PYAMopVio7gPUPeOBT5jXZdj6OgaEmUqnB41LlNTXorsSjAQuH0m-a23N7xqdv6Zlv7UmB2WhfZ3wLKwAQiiqdfyDwDSQRhNN4r14jA-QlHQtPqBXxvNuQtyTac/s1600/image009-799366.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwvPwd9VT7JG0o7LLB7PYAMopVio7gPUPeOBT5jXZdj6OgaEmUqnB41LlNTXorsSjAQuH0m-a23N7xqdv6Zlv7UmB2WhfZ3wLKwAQiiqdfyDwDSQRhNN4r14jA-QlHQtPqBXxvNuQtyTac/s320/image009-799366.jpg" height="328" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6062974693737600754" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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You pay the fee for a class that doesn't exist in hopes of maintaining a connection. Then you leave the way you came in: through the door tucked under the stairs.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-33707786047633055982014-09-19T04:53:00.001-05:002014-09-19T04:57:23.123-05:00Waving a Smile, Making a Connection<div class="WordSection1">
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Bob and I walked the Pearl. He wore a tee shirt and to-the-knee shorts, just as he might stateside. I wore shin length, sweat wicking capris with a hip shielding tee shirt. No shoulder revealing tank tops or visible running bra for me; nope. No thigh high Nike jogging pants; uh-uh. Even as we sped, arms swinging, past strolling expats in spaghetti straps and tight dresses. As more of Qatar's expat women toss aside scarves and modest attire, I persist in covering up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Why, you ask? Because the Qataris asked me - and everyone else - to:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Please cover from shoulders to knees.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">- <a href="http://bobandcindi.blogspot.com/2013/09/dear-doha-expat-about-your-cleavage.html" target="_blank">Dear Expat, About Your Cleavage</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">At 7:30pm lights across the bay twinkled, a party like reflection in the mirror smooth water. Brisk air temps not quite 100F; this is fall in Qatar. Still, 57% humidity and no wind translates to sweat drenched tee shirts and capris so heavy I tugged through my tee shirt to keep them at my waist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Droopy drawers at ankles might not be modest, even if they were capris.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">A golf cart swept past us. My eyes met the dark, mascara and pencil-lined orbs of one of two teen/young adult-ish girls. Both covered top to toe in abaya and sheyla, faces visible. They took up the two seat space at the back of the cart, facing the direction from which they'd come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">The young girl smiled at me; I smiled back. Her smile got bigger, so mine did too. I raised my arm and waved, and she waved back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">"Do you know them?" Bob said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">"No." And I thought: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Perhaps there isn't true freedom of speech in Qatar. Perhaps the ladies don't return my emails or phone calls. Perhaps I've worked hard to learn a language I'll never speak - in Qatar, at least. Perhaps all my efforts to get to know the people and culture were for nothing. Perhaps. Still, this beautiful (<i>ma sha allah</i>) young woman is smiling and waving and <i>HEY,</i> <i>here's a connection!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">The cart was speeding away fast and so was she, so I straightened my elbow and waved a half circle smile at her…which she returned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">"Why is she waving at you?" Bob said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">I shrugged. "Just like Western women like me are curious about the Middle Eastern ladies…I guess they're curious about us too."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Thanks to the abaya - and distance and dark - I'd never know her if I saw her again. Still, the exchange made me feel good. Like maybe I should keep writing? Even if it's no longer public. Even if there are no more hits from curious strangers living in places all over the globe. Even if it's just for me (and my mom and dad).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Even if.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-85565502218885746282014-09-12T13:40:00.000-05:002014-09-12T13:40:15.056-05:00Hello Again, Doha<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwYrf8evUGRBMikJ5HV7rw8-l1XjVLN0BrhEAFrWKkCDDcMMkNHrbuUJQAZqVodemIyvsRU7JYYJ0D5KABcH2SNt3O4qO2k4puokVU_WiS2bzFR_VGk5oGxFMpONTBn2Ab7PWjlIhLizT/s1600/image002-743432.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwYrf8evUGRBMikJ5HV7rw8-l1XjVLN0BrhEAFrWKkCDDcMMkNHrbuUJQAZqVodemIyvsRU7JYYJ0D5KABcH2SNt3O4qO2k4puokVU_WiS2bzFR_VGk5oGxFMpONTBn2Ab7PWjlIhLizT/s320/image002-743432.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6058248703884446082" width="341" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Treasure Trove of Yummies<o:p></o:p></div>
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(but the real treasure is the note)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Long flight, a row to myself. Stretched out, movies, dinner, midnight meal, breakfast, snack, great book, tv shows, more movies, sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmg9uqaEjjW_K4Raxay9ogsh_gzqS28tqDjKG7qVAyHnpjAlDnar7pUQUMwwVgNZ66KstWF9enzc0J5uAM4nFaFp6BymlYeBlPIU-7TGlfhA10BhAUlf8_ZuMbvXq7qVBsUBqzv5EsIQ0/s1600/image006-746959.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmg9uqaEjjW_K4Raxay9ogsh_gzqS28tqDjKG7qVAyHnpjAlDnar7pUQUMwwVgNZ66KstWF9enzc0J5uAM4nFaFp6BymlYeBlPIU-7TGlfhA10BhAUlf8_ZuMbvXq7qVBsUBqzv5EsIQ0/s320/image006-746959.jpg" height="255" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6058248717731072946" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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sunset over water<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Evening arrival, shwarma, a toast…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIONiDK2DN5vmGPwCnpbxVqn58CoUq5-vCzYWZ_JvY7Xl_SiSKEXRSMm0Bwc3AQRTpTByncX4Rg7qKM9kZDjsCakZ5koHkKcePUFeYHa49jNnKig4x-q-_VTylvqNDCSvQuEwro4tX4ixF/s1600/image010-749622.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIONiDK2DN5vmGPwCnpbxVqn58CoUq5-vCzYWZ_JvY7Xl_SiSKEXRSMm0Bwc3AQRTpTByncX4Rg7qKM9kZDjsCakZ5koHkKcePUFeYHa49jNnKig4x-q-_VTylvqNDCSvQuEwro4tX4ixF/s320/image010-749622.jpg" height="378" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6058248726562800050" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Bob and Cindi, together again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4JoMJiKgx9XNkxWmH8-7SuBLOR_MIXbz0kET89KI1aoTW1oO0yXWWJ07RCoKWGLACwMwUyRD5HPaU5s7SkXZaX_QvphaSAC8Sx7BkSvdA_LU51DWdPEJxy8zsONdboot7vogXC1pRQA5/s1600/image011-752681.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4JoMJiKgx9XNkxWmH8-7SuBLOR_MIXbz0kET89KI1aoTW1oO0yXWWJ07RCoKWGLACwMwUyRD5HPaU5s7SkXZaX_QvphaSAC8Sx7BkSvdA_LU51DWdPEJxy8zsONdboot7vogXC1pRQA5/s320/image011-752681.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6058248738196877282" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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awwww<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-61854339830670868412014-09-05T07:50:00.000-05:002014-09-05T07:50:18.626-05:00Pondering the Positives<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDA_aBmt5lhIUSFfEZlFh4f_OBwXRra-tfwWhbKs74pwpmC5V996dsDFwliiIuBGGeekUr2ZerOWkIsHhFEWLSFMw4Wb7bztql7cn29FOCrMuzFtufidZEVqsNtcBqRoqePAaDIZr1zRFr/s1600/image003-797733.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDA_aBmt5lhIUSFfEZlFh4f_OBwXRra-tfwWhbKs74pwpmC5V996dsDFwliiIuBGGeekUr2ZerOWkIsHhFEWLSFMw4Wb7bztql7cn29FOCrMuzFtufidZEVqsNtcBqRoqePAaDIZr1zRFr/s320/image003-797733.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6055546543475908274" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
In Missouri, USA, summer thunder rolls in like a drum crescendo with wind that twists trees and whips grass, flowers, earth into a festival of scents. Then it rumbles away leaving a glorious, cloudless blue sky framed by lush multihued green and clean, crisp, 70Fs (20Cs), Fall-sweet air. Perfect for jogging, mowing, barbecuing, jumping into raked mountains of crunchy leaves, hay rides, apple picking, evenings roasting marshmallows over a patio fire pit.</div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
I watch the light show from my kitchen window wrapped in a cozy blanket, plane ticket in my hand, a 25-hour (minimum) journey in my future.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
(Excepting the way-cute hubby) these are the toughest moments for reflecting upon the positives of another long trip over land and sea. I begged help from my support network of seasoned, experienced, expat travelers.
<br />
<br />
"What's your favorite thing about Doha?" I asked.
<br />
<br />
This is what they said (edited for list-making):
</div>
<br />
<ul><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>sand dune bashing</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>Inland Sea camping</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>the souq</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>unexpected friendships</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>worldly conversations</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>exploring new interests</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>mangroves</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>Doha is a great travel hub</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>you can't take "weekend/long weekend" trips to random places in the world from the States like you can here</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>an eclectic group of friends from all over the world</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>free world class level sporting events</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li><b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2013/01/tourist-qatar-where-weve-been.html" target="_blank">the beach</a></i></b> on a regular basis</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>variety of foods</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>friends from afar: England, Scotland, Australia, South Africa, Lebanon, Spain, and Germany to name a few</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li><b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2014/01/lets-talk-doha-weather.html" target="_blank">winter in Doha</a></i></b>, bringing cooler temps and the chance to be outside</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>travel opportunities</li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li><b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2014/02/sheikh-faisals-museum-not-in-kansas.html" target="_blank">Sheikh Faisal Museum</a></i></b></li>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<li>understanding what really is the "Middle East" and having a new found respect for this part of the world - we are so accustomed to what we see on TV in the US that reality is quite a bit different than the news' sometimes "skewed" vision of the Middle East</li>
<br /></div>
</ul>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3yt-aBfymIEr6bMqT2a_04INSrawFCO4LoUXJ5_4t7X-z-mORP0MTpgEhYt5qvl9bD5VTtmupDR3tId0yyI0fEXDWtwSYV3avNCBIBg8o8chLXuiLfQ4qYxflEIbLHOfk6L4De6ny0uSH/s1600/image006-701967.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3yt-aBfymIEr6bMqT2a_04INSrawFCO4LoUXJ5_4t7X-z-mORP0MTpgEhYt5qvl9bD5VTtmupDR3tId0yyI0fEXDWtwSYV3avNCBIBg8o8chLXuiLfQ4qYxflEIbLHOfk6L4De6ny0uSH/s450/image006-701967.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6055546560525541138" /></a></div>
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BMD Ladies and friends gather for "high tea"
<br />
to celebrate Mary Anne's birthday
<br />
February 2014, Doha</div>
<br />
Thank you, <a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2014/03/we-are-bmd-abroad.html" target="_blank">BMD</a> Ladies Abroad, <b><i><a href="http://atravelersfeast.com/" target="_blank">Dawn</a></i></b>, <b><i><a href="http://theebbahrfamily.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Bridget</a></i></b>, <b><i><a href="http://thevidalsabroad.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Samantha</a></i></b>, Mary Anne!
<br />
<br />Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-2741629843015817272014-08-30T05:51:00.000-05:002014-08-30T06:19:48.273-05:00Expat Wife Life: Missing Who's Missing<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5RNL_UPlTPFoBatpgbbEck8igRMerIgFmyLF2iVvvmyrvKM8YpnGNwFplnjJ_U0UPtM3Js3Jh22q46TdLQJObeb8JwrRAy88VZ1WezxApEec8GIebWxxrlrnze2rnog6qRyoi5boPQll/s1600/image003-722985.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5RNL_UPlTPFoBatpgbbEck8igRMerIgFmyLF2iVvvmyrvKM8YpnGNwFplnjJ_U0UPtM3Js3Jh22q46TdLQJObeb8JwrRAy88VZ1WezxApEec8GIebWxxrlrnze2rnog6qRyoi5boPQll/s320/image003-722985.jpg" height="325" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6053200750345426802" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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summer 2014: laughter, love,<o:p></o:p></div>
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a house full of beautiful babies<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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To expats, <em>missing</em> is a living, breathing, moist and fresh word with long, sticky fingers. It links head to heart, toddling the gray matter so the heart is always thinking. Before each trip, whether traveling <i>to</i> or <i>fro</i>, we haul <em>missing</em> out, rub it off and try not to watch as the object of<i> missing's </i>affections changes.</div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p>No matter where we are, expats are always missing someone. </o:p></div>
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<o:p><em><br /></em></o:p></div>
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Summer 2014 it's been this guy:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHbZh6txuEOTUNkqH8yNJdlR9U9EnMeNiip3K9-7iA98KXkOeFm5eu5t8KlMqc4tZVlprihznVN3wRGjjsi5eZWrgjB9xnhb3Q_OGpQ9mkRwSffzL2ZGAfk50z5qu9BItjvGDyUe9nb-4/s1600/image005-729996.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHbZh6txuEOTUNkqH8yNJdlR9U9EnMeNiip3K9-7iA98KXkOeFm5eu5t8KlMqc4tZVlprihznVN3wRGjjsi5eZWrgjB9xnhb3Q_OGpQ9mkRwSffzL2ZGAfk50z5qu9BItjvGDyUe9nb-4/s320/image005-729996.jpg" height="366" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6053200775899267810" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Bob at the Singing Dunes<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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It helps to look forward to the next adventure. For example, also missing is the singing dunes, souk, the folks at Fanar, Arabic. West Bank vistas from Islamic Museum Park, a jog around the Corniche, the-latest-unique-thing-on-display at the Alriwaq exhibit hall, shopping; the adventure that is <b><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2012/09/driving-in-doha.html" target="_blank">driving in Doha</a></b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Missing is the <strong><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2012/11/question-is-call-to-prayer-like-siren.html" target="_blank">Call to Prayer</a></strong> that circles the city five times a day, a reminder via regularly spaced mosques to pause in the day's busy-ness to recognize, thank and praise God. Each invitation begins at a slightly different moment - the result is a rich mix of spiritually uplifting dissonance that fills one's senses like just baked bread.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlBT-KAJXiFk5c-9vkhsAc6rvldQ9-YMPjGF3mXkKk5YlVsIaUlc8YqkfWgll9fV2g_XFweYRQMFqwG4k5ADWyERwhLlI1ayWeiJhKay5gx9UosoTp8PkQEtxEqJbYs4zxUVnQzCMI45R/s1600/image010-735694.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlBT-KAJXiFk5c-9vkhsAc6rvldQ9-YMPjGF3mXkKk5YlVsIaUlc8YqkfWgll9fV2g_XFweYRQMFqwG4k5ADWyERwhLlI1ayWeiJhKay5gx9UosoTp8PkQEtxEqJbYs4zxUVnQzCMI45R/s320/image010-735694.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6053200809543385026" width="306" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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minaret, Grand Mosque<o:p></o:p></div>
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West Bay in background<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I like it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I miss monthly get-togethers with the fabulous <a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2014/03/wallahee-ten-arabic-phrases.html" target="_blank"><strong>Burns & McDonnell ladies and babies</strong></a>, dark early morning skies and the bright upside down moon. Beach sun (although I no longer bask), steamy sand, long sleeved slogs around the Pearl's bay in 115F temps followed by a dip in the resort pool. A clean apartment every Thursday, Fridays with my guy, camp outs at the Inland Sea, treks into the desert.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Doha, celebrity events are comparatively inexpensive (and free). World class tennis, soccer, film and art festivals are accessible. Comedian Gabriel "Fluffy" Iglesias, Yusuf Islam (aka Cat Stevens), and <b><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2013/01/why-do-qatari-men-touch-noses.html" target="_blank">Maz Jobrani have headlined Doha</a></b> in the last 3 years. There's <b><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2014/08/how-qataris-kiss.html" target="_blank">Mr. Q</a></b>, Arabic class, the fabulous people at Weill Cornell Medical Center, halloumi cheese at Zaatar w Zeit, family dinner at Turkey Central, <b><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2014/02/sheikh-faisals-museum-not-in-kansas.html" target="_blank">Nabil and the Sheikh's museum</a></b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSNier0nr_lg1EV5yyasDl0NFBdWA4DByGu1RdeGS84q6Rp1p8PE16aBGJZ4Ju4-1OLjZrmhQNL0AGO_ARzkGxKg2f1OqsnG8pyd7vnkn-7IKeCz7EV10_TL0hUs_yfFAE_4NDv08HDvv/s1600/image011-743606.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSNier0nr_lg1EV5yyasDl0NFBdWA4DByGu1RdeGS84q6Rp1p8PE16aBGJZ4Ju4-1OLjZrmhQNL0AGO_ARzkGxKg2f1OqsnG8pyd7vnkn-7IKeCz7EV10_TL0hUs_yfFAE_4NDv08HDvv/s320/image011-743606.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6053200829142692418" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Dubai's beaches, golf courses, and sites like the Burj Khalifa are an inexpensive 45 minute flight away. It's a quick hop to weekend (or longer) adventures in Muscat, London, Athens, Barcelona, Dublin, Rome, Amsterdam too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Just as life in Doha isn't all sand, grit and empty-shelves-at-the-Carrefour, a stint stateside isn't all perfection. There are weeds, bugs, dirty laundry, trash to take out, cars and dryers that break down, a crowd of babies in the bathroom, high gas prices, a towering, government owned, dead tree in the yard next door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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None of which eases this next - rapidly approaching - round of <i>missing</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJD2i4eF8YRWMdMMQteQAOhoyRoycpWInqoV_IjtmyeJWGOqeQo6blhSVm-cF49YKwsWQ7WYT1SEdN96itlAjzkP0tHOma1kyErsw9U2ImLyb8tQCDenAafiSe5Xl3Ak-KrBrneJuNXzJG/s1600/image015-748930.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJD2i4eF8YRWMdMMQteQAOhoyRoycpWInqoV_IjtmyeJWGOqeQo6blhSVm-cF49YKwsWQ7WYT1SEdN96itlAjzkP0tHOma1kyErsw9U2ImLyb8tQCDenAafiSe5Xl3Ak-KrBrneJuNXzJG/s320/image015-748930.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6053200854775065938" width="225" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Kansas City Northern Railroad Co.<br />
riding a kid-sized train with three of my babies<o:p></o:p></div>
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I'll be missing them soon<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-71022783755043731802014-08-22T12:46:00.001-05:002014-08-22T12:46:47.498-05:00East to Midwest Across America<div class="WordSection1">
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An American journalist is decapitated in Syria, Israel and Palestine bomb one another and racial tension explodes into gunfire in Ferguson, Missouri. Women aren't allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia and prejudice is a way of life in Qatar.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But when smoke bursts from Katie's car outside the Walgreens in Greenville, North Carolina, the world's problems seem very far away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJYYu7xis_Kfku3f3Y2vLYrimO1P6PXDOv7B4jNJ9QBsUzswyAw1qSwlYgdRo3hxrHKl1rEQF9YG4jNnJIR1EK9pEWtI9hi8tjL9WCfjRJUMZ3mboCkacmovA8zR1nv8oaPPZTQEFxBqr/s1600/image005-760439.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJYYu7xis_Kfku3f3Y2vLYrimO1P6PXDOv7B4jNJ9QBsUzswyAw1qSwlYgdRo3hxrHKl1rEQF9YG4jNnJIR1EK9pEWtI9hi8tjL9WCfjRJUMZ3mboCkacmovA8zR1nv8oaPPZTQEFxBqr/s320/image005-760439.jpg" height="216" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440533654575970" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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all her worldly possessions trunk to lid<o:p></o:p></div>
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the most important are two thin sheets of paper that say:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.katie.kennaley.com/" target="_blank">"Master's Degree" and "Registered Dietitian"</a></div>
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(car for sale soon)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Something pops and thick brown fluid gushes onto the tarry road. Before we're free of the steaming vehicle, a woman in a black Ford Explorer headed the opposite direction stops. She leaves her own car in the street as I raise Katie's hood. "Yo' radiatah is done, see raht thayah?" She removes the cigarette dangling between her teeth, and uses it to point. "Ya'll goan in the Auto Zone and see they kin hep."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In the Auto Zone, employees with names embroidered into red collared shirts leap into action. Sherwood* proclaims a broken heater hose the culprit as he single handedly pushes Katie's car out of traffic. Sue* calls auto repair shops. The one her sister works at is busy but we "ought to call over to Elronda at the Meineke."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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No fewer than seven cars and trucks stop as we wait for AAA on a curb near a field. "Ya'll need help? What's the trouble? Ah noticed you, thought ah'd see you're okay."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJ5UGy0u6a5NtOs04bwrs0dq60BZQ3YEvH2kn5TAwWtwztBEa2dt6K4oX6wg9OqS1MKurFoipxJtWDpvFhSyDnJpRSJuuSwxXUu88eesKkqP9XxhIMBboxCZXCx_BtB-HSHmQ6cUqeC_b/s1600/image007-765410.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJ5UGy0u6a5NtOs04bwrs0dq60BZQ3YEvH2kn5TAwWtwztBEa2dt6K4oX6wg9OqS1MKurFoipxJtWDpvFhSyDnJpRSJuuSwxXUu88eesKkqP9XxhIMBboxCZXCx_BtB-HSHmQ6cUqeC_b/s320/image007-765410.jpg" height="262" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440547347879442" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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waiting for AAA in bucolic North Carolina<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In America's east, country towns and metropolitan cities are linked by tree covered mountains, glorious azure skies and acres of rolling, green fields. There are good friends…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7kYOAHbSzKzeCwchjM2QlBKWQ2UBQRc62PAkOx2Hnfrha8Y7vW_6J_IXTiKSowb2hCWbrIfezP-XwZSVO_F6NhjbNGg0d2G67UGZAso4K3R-LfMJkI_fjs9dEh72aps9enGefbVwjxa6/s1600/image008-769849.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7kYOAHbSzKzeCwchjM2QlBKWQ2UBQRc62PAkOx2Hnfrha8Y7vW_6J_IXTiKSowb2hCWbrIfezP-XwZSVO_F6NhjbNGg0d2G67UGZAso4K3R-LfMJkI_fjs9dEh72aps9enGefbVwjxa6/s320/image008-769849.jpg" height="281" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440572506504034" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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three years together ends<o:p></o:p></div>
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a lifetime of friendship ahead<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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…Washington, DC with its waterfront, monuments and a beautiful woman who offers weary friends elegant hospitality and soft, pillowed beds.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCQYsn3WHJRQEcUKNlvluxbIYFrQztsefB5J53VHaoOrxL3Ml3jEO9uR6XgdoVgOKo7-pJDyVWSm2TAAqeiKTOsuDIJBp8jJs8v_pgNljGJ8aXn4_iAtbZEEHGyx-mRHeBn6NEZMxB_008/s1600/image023-774872.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCQYsn3WHJRQEcUKNlvluxbIYFrQztsefB5J53VHaoOrxL3Ml3jEO9uR6XgdoVgOKo7-pJDyVWSm2TAAqeiKTOsuDIJBp8jJs8v_pgNljGJ8aXn4_iAtbZEEHGyx-mRHeBn6NEZMxB_008/s320/image023-774872.jpg" height="347" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440586238710386" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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with wonderful Mary Ann<o:p></o:p></div>
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lifetime of friendship continues<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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There is Angel Gap, North Carolina with log cabin shops under pines so tall that clouds drift in and out of branches. Populations come in both black and white in nearly equal proportions, say "dang, ya'all" and "ah" instead of "I." There are slow moving tractors, freeways, country roads…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMd-dHH1JMHLH_advjAj7e_aTSRz8FnCHtnGjMZdkWkNA_Ub7g_-xSLs3lb_GdQE6piVC0leiA0GRLR5FlK_s1fo-pvD7VRPSuC3ByjiZL3qtQruKGcYt2lA6yEQ4ftlCP-vHeGnl7XqUo/s1600/image024-778854.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMd-dHH1JMHLH_advjAj7e_aTSRz8FnCHtnGjMZdkWkNA_Ub7g_-xSLs3lb_GdQE6piVC0leiA0GRLR5FlK_s1fo-pvD7VRPSuC3ByjiZL3qtQruKGcYt2lA6yEQ4ftlCP-vHeGnl7XqUo/s320/image024-778854.jpg" height="301" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440604341531842" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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…villages named for the scenery and businesses christened for people: Shady Spring, Skitter Creek, Laura's Restaurant, Peter's Orchard and Fruit Stand. There is summer rain, country music, the Seneca Nation and a 20-ish foot tall, thousand pound Indian Statue.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrR1Bt4czFMHDyDCR3R_d14WLdmATmtkWWErt_iAV6gvlLy3uDejxZ-vdmkUPfNeBoFDQdcoHRJkhvx35KCPqi3_MOOFZrxBOiHuLSrqGbRnZ5JvckLhcgvZr6Pm_m2yYaojhRa4XbmqJF/s1600/image025-782226.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrR1Bt4czFMHDyDCR3R_d14WLdmATmtkWWErt_iAV6gvlLy3uDejxZ-vdmkUPfNeBoFDQdcoHRJkhvx35KCPqi3_MOOFZrxBOiHuLSrqGbRnZ5JvckLhcgvZr6Pm_m2yYaojhRa4XbmqJF/s320/image025-782226.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440617467729986" width="301" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.post-journal.com/page/content.detail/id/611115/Standing-Tall.html?nav=5057" target="_blank">The Post Journal, Jamestown, NY</a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Fog skitters across dewy highways and the air smells of intermittent rain, sunshine and hay. Road signs announce "Beef and Ice Cream," "When You Die You Will Meet God," "Buckle Up - Next Million Miles." Tiny towns seem to have more churches than people; cows, goats and chickens frolic in front yards.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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So. Much. Green.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikRkIRDPo2wiZJALbV_PXWW0p9bdQPfq26SbZ_XBZfM3fapUXh-3lhj3hnz9sjIvKqOOt5G0kdMaGoi3qtyO_iGjioUPwkdFD9NiR6I56OPEn6RifrkmmYbQI0vOGPEf2imNZ6HrcfTkR2/s1600/image026-785519.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikRkIRDPo2wiZJALbV_PXWW0p9bdQPfq26SbZ_XBZfM3fapUXh-3lhj3hnz9sjIvKqOOt5G0kdMaGoi3qtyO_iGjioUPwkdFD9NiR6I56OPEn6RifrkmmYbQI0vOGPEf2imNZ6HrcfTkR2/s320/image026-785519.jpg" height="286" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440631411797986" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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every picture I take looks like this<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHrpbAQWCXkYz2UceQX1Tu6fVP8Ca7pyhvVCuhAynzjSBd0BSjB4D8BvxRi0_atsBdkTlza6afuoLbcbnVeUjbUHi0dS-1Wnq4gUDMRvlyM62JuwaejHcoW-Oazq5tvPK_9p_yQp6tHdI/s1600/image027-789316.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHrpbAQWCXkYz2UceQX1Tu6fVP8Ca7pyhvVCuhAynzjSBd0BSjB4D8BvxRi0_atsBdkTlza6afuoLbcbnVeUjbUHi0dS-1Wnq4gUDMRvlyM62JuwaejHcoW-Oazq5tvPK_9p_yQp6tHdI/s320/image027-789316.jpg" height="277" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440649310423586" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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and this<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Everywhere, all across the country, billboards feature Starbucks, Walmart, Taco Bell, McDonald's, Burger King and Cracker Barrel's pinto beans and corn bread.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The mountains of North Carolina and the Virginias ease into Kentucky, where horses graze in fields crisscrossed by rail fences; settle into the tree lined hills of Illinois and Missouri - until finally the world flattens and becomes Kansas.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyd2MdR737qRiAshUG7LjOIGtqxUJIyuRlC3PMRDQFnuX3mvcQNjDY4Zx4ocdQt5EdE5MUEqMEgBMjZHonUQ617HRl8Ikc7zxuERCAs4afVY4OmA5N_PKOia2vB90QBEbOynAbcSidC-Ym/s1600/image028-792833.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyd2MdR737qRiAshUG7LjOIGtqxUJIyuRlC3PMRDQFnuX3mvcQNjDY4Zx4ocdQt5EdE5MUEqMEgBMjZHonUQ617HRl8Ikc7zxuERCAs4afVY4OmA5N_PKOia2vB90QBEbOynAbcSidC-Ym/s320/image028-792833.jpg" height="223" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440664967861362" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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not Kansas<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But first Katie's car would need a new radiator, thermostat, battery and Sherwood's hoses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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As the good natured folks at Meineke's manage Katie's car repair (lifetime warranty!), we wander streets without side or crosswalks, eat lunch at a gas station and tour a Sam's Club.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Later, a mother and her four children join us in the Meineke waiting area. "Kin ah have a quarter?" says Little Boy, palm raised.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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"It's mah birthday next week," says Little Girl. "Ah'll be seven." She faces me, but nods at Katie. "Ah you her mommy?"<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7GtGsPzSTGjK3zmQt207wYOICf9HCpN5ArLxNmIK0j3-9JEvDnpizGc3ruiTx9hyIOa7rjTche_eOJG3Td_c59oqvXFROEVM5J00ghK-V0ZS7cpTNBKR1ZYg4nnGUUjpDKPobJd5ePjf/s1600/image030-796150.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7GtGsPzSTGjK3zmQt207wYOICf9HCpN5ArLxNmIK0j3-9JEvDnpizGc3ruiTx9hyIOa7rjTche_eOJG3Td_c59oqvXFROEVM5J00ghK-V0ZS7cpTNBKR1ZYg4nnGUUjpDKPobJd5ePjf/s320/image030-796150.jpg" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6050440679079631954" width="444" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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I'm her mommy<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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It may or may not be true that Americans are fast food fat and geographically illiterate. Perhaps our high school graduates can't pick out Azerbaijan on a map, outline the history of Syria or do simple math - and, in contrast to Qatar's children, most of us *only* speak one language. We have social, economic and employment issues like every other country across the globe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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But where pines march up mountains into blue skies and everyday folks sip coffee while waiting for buses on grassy streets; here, deep at its heart - I think America is pretty dang great.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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As her mother and four older brothers watch, Little Girl opens her arms wide and wraps us up. First she hugs Katie, then me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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*true story, real names<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-35489882240191682712014-08-15T07:07:00.000-05:002014-08-15T16:41:03.453-05:00How Qataris Kiss"Mr. Q" is a Qatari who writes a video blog for <a href="http://www.iloveqatar.net/" target="_blank">iloveqatar.net</a>. One his most popular pieces is called "Q Tips" where he offers bite sized information about Qatari customs and traditions:<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/2aGmLF6O7RQ" width="560"></iframe></center>
<br />
I hope you'll enjoy this fun peek into Qatari life as much as I do.
<br />
<br />
Want to know more?<br />
<br />
Read Mr. Q's blog: <a href="http://blog.iloveqatar.net/">http://blog.iloveqatar.net/</a>
<br />
View more Q Tips here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kh15zQhaHd4&list=PL9G_Ug3avO9MVdRZksotQSk6EAaXzBUZq">QTips</a>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-65213202025776965812014-08-08T07:28:00.000-05:002014-08-08T08:18:25.015-05:00Is Qatar Safe?<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkekkBQ3i3gCzxi00OaMqMbacIaVtxektbdvpvf5NSj0ADgDgTm73gnI0Aq8j6G5Z9ETLTMbgYx1DuAL76SA-s3J_waNbm-hnVhoq9_zGdNUaFpIoRRyeKVYKKAbN-SsG7Dk1oZEpBtZZQ/s1600/image002-732941.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkekkBQ3i3gCzxi00OaMqMbacIaVtxektbdvpvf5NSj0ADgDgTm73gnI0Aq8j6G5Z9ETLTMbgYx1DuAL76SA-s3J_waNbm-hnVhoq9_zGdNUaFpIoRRyeKVYKKAbN-SsG7Dk1oZEpBtZZQ/s320/image002-732941.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6045167044738443506" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The second most common question we're asked (after <a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2013/05/qatar-wheres-that-brief-history-and.html" target="_blank"><b><i>Qatar? Where's that</i></b>?</a>): <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 18pt;">Is it safe?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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After all, battle lights from Saudi Arabia, Syria, Iraq, Iran and Afghanistan sparkle over Qatar like a halo. The <i>Taliban Five</i> are housed here, those guys <i>the US President controversially freed</i> in exchange for a single American Marine. The five live in our resort "neighborhood," purportedly housed in a guarded, castle-like compound at The Pearl.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZuSD_hJdEtaSojMht-HXdDYamvsXXq7DNXvGJUiUvbd4Wmt19gDoDKf88nVUc4fwDT6tQjVWNZA8lCdtd8WA-Sji2e0Hu7JFqw129XQ6VDy6GxTJttpLlUkPqN4LemZCilJRIbhg8J7B/s1600/image007-736799.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZuSD_hJdEtaSojMht-HXdDYamvsXXq7DNXvGJUiUvbd4Wmt19gDoDKf88nVUc4fwDT6tQjVWNZA8lCdtd8WA-Sji2e0Hu7JFqw129XQ6VDy6GxTJttpLlUkPqN4LemZCilJRIbhg8J7B/s320/image007-736799.jpg" height="351" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6045167063878917906" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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no matter your size, there's a thobe for you<o:p></o:p></div>
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display at The Pearl<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The single land route out of Qatar is through Saudi Arabia. Permission to make the trip requires months of paperwork and is usually only given to drive straight through. A woman must be accompanied by her <b><i><a href="http://islamqa.info/en/137095" target="_blank">mahram</a></i></b> and covered head to toe, even in the car.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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There is the questionable treatment of migrant workers, <b><i><a href="http://californiainnocenceproject.org/read-their-stories/grace-matthew-huang" target="_blank">Matthew and Grace Hwang</a></i></b>, the unending parade of waste water trucks that disappear into the desert and return stocked with "potable liquid."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Plus, they wear thobes and abayas in Qatar, live behind forbidding ten foot walls, speak Arabic. And they're <i>Muslim</i>!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VuY8tGd7ay-uYsQBOjbXuhUVvA4xv97p3WVxa_b7TktpvjSGjjg2HTLUvaRmS1ZZLDZX0xOeJGVjdhL-Cp8PV3i30FBY2wH70BeLF-MU6e2CL8M76rcVOFngRu0pVTdN-TjX_kU-2Khi/s1600/image009-740999.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VuY8tGd7ay-uYsQBOjbXuhUVvA4xv97p3WVxa_b7TktpvjSGjjg2HTLUvaRmS1ZZLDZX0xOeJGVjdhL-Cp8PV3i30FBY2wH70BeLF-MU6e2CL8M76rcVOFngRu0pVTdN-TjX_kU-2Khi/s320/image009-740999.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6045167083160764498" width="387" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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While it's true that there are cultural and ideological differences that sometimes cause conflict, if you read my blog, you already know that Islam is a peaceful religion. And Qataris are, in a quiet, non attention seeking way - <i>Peacemakers</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3PvdedAr3h8OyOGZir_B3DDUqRMm352fLbXcHJSVF7Sn-7ZZwiIczlKRYX3ad0lgCTNllXIVl8tHi2U1CQ8rdNPM32234UtvFIiFutsQAHeqZgLlkys80KbHBxzzKnV2_mH0KYZHQDnw/s1600/image008-744900.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3PvdedAr3h8OyOGZir_B3DDUqRMm352fLbXcHJSVF7Sn-7ZZwiIczlKRYX3ad0lgCTNllXIVl8tHi2U1CQ8rdNPM32234UtvFIiFutsQAHeqZgLlkys80KbHBxzzKnV2_mH0KYZHQDnw/s320/image008-744900.jpg" height="358" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6045167098433421842" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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the <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2013/06/peace-love-and-new-emir.html" target="_blank">Peace and Love Guy</a></i></b> dances on his truck <o:p></o:p></div>
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in front of the Amiri Diwan<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Egypt, Israel, Palestine, Syria and with the Taliban (who, it's said, have offices in Doha) Qatari leadership quietly broker discussions to further peaceful resolutions to end the cycles of violence. In taking the <i>Taliban Five</i> off the road, after <i>the US President</i> <i>negotiated their release</i>, Qatar assures the men's physical non-involvement in conflict. As the first Middle Eastern country to host the World Cup (in 2022, in case you've been living under a rock), they're breaking new ground in communication and understanding.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Qatar has opened its doors to an expat majority who don't dress, look, eat, play, worship - and sometimes <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2013/09/dear-doha-expat-about-your-cleavage.html" target="_blank">don't even respect</a></i></b> - their culture, religion and way of life. Yet, before the roads, water lines and electrical networks had traversed the peninsula, there was McDonalds, Dairy Queen, Chili's and TGI Friday's. A new modern mall goes in, it seems, every week.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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There are Christian churches in Doha. And, even though it's <i>haraam</i> in Islam there is <b><i><a href="http://bobandcindi.kennaley.com/2011/11/lets-have-drink-on-it.html" target="_blank">a liquor store that sells pork</a></i></b>.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpUyAAbykJ47-TaJkHIYyQcnlL81BEHxm__h8fxfacqfF6mloyHCrywFoNImn2RstLbdPtI5YSx7XvFcO6ZVBewvCYx9JLcz5MzEif8zSTzBWyuB6_-TTZl7sNge4lZ5AGNpZkDn9eiq0/s1600/image015-749016.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpUyAAbykJ47-TaJkHIYyQcnlL81BEHxm__h8fxfacqfF6mloyHCrywFoNImn2RstLbdPtI5YSx7XvFcO6ZVBewvCYx9JLcz5MzEif8zSTzBWyuB6_-TTZl7sNge4lZ5AGNpZkDn9eiq0/s320/image015-749016.jpg" height="312" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6045167115888490946" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Sure, we feel <i>welcome</i>. But do we feel safe? We respect the culture, follow the rules, keep a low profile. And, <i>yes,</i> we feel safe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt7wrci4U_O2eL9bB3YOpOjIobtbOr9nf-aU9C0DGUyhtmqHJPtjsMrcIEeQaWo_Yo2pU8DDZZChVPiH5gSB7qCzsEbwyeJZcIyLkvArN0spv7clnJ-szpaU5_WX_glmb2RTGTCnJcZdgb/s1600/image016-753398.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt7wrci4U_O2eL9bB3YOpOjIobtbOr9nf-aU9C0DGUyhtmqHJPtjsMrcIEeQaWo_Yo2pU8DDZZChVPiH5gSB7qCzsEbwyeJZcIyLkvArN0spv7clnJ-szpaU5_WX_glmb2RTGTCnJcZdgb/s320/image016-753398.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6045167130800064978" width="288" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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giant pitcher on the Corniche<o:p></o:p></div>
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hospitality symbol<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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More safe than I feel right now, in fact, sleeping in my bed in America under a <i>US government owned</i>, 40 foot tall, 12 foot diameter dead tree. Paperwork, photos and bids have long been submitted requesting removal of the tree. Meanwhile, its 20 foot partner recently fell, taking out a neighbor's back fence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm95mAijUVUGJ2QsqsHcmGdPOjbcnb-MgD-JB1mg91EoqyxcRSbdR4DbaK0jcT6Q-dS5BkRnPW415vazOaEcvCS5CLIgsfgjg_bIUkWGSrFln51NATo4FRCRBxcdcPweQ68HACRWdiP6KF/s1600/image017-756856.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm95mAijUVUGJ2QsqsHcmGdPOjbcnb-MgD-JB1mg91EoqyxcRSbdR4DbaK0jcT6Q-dS5BkRnPW415vazOaEcvCS5CLIgsfgjg_bIUkWGSrFln51NATo4FRCRBxcdcPweQ68HACRWdiP6KF/s320/image017-756856.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6045167151136424642" width="303" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Please Mister President, cut down your tree so that I might return to the Middle East where I will feel safe.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4123428640205008322.post-67334883826008764212014-08-02T16:49:00.000-05:002014-08-02T17:00:07.894-05:00Peckish in Dingle or What We Learned on Holiday in Ireland<div class="WordSection1">
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_3CIeUihTNY-usLPYIzyY3BphSukFjo42MHW-Azj1VkDQhuSE5m_shKTIwLfHibffUFCWiKereUMPfSrzNv55z-idBnxdrzxttSucGdnM6i8zfK5sdmea3nU09f3O64I8j5g10pRzyZ-/s1600/image002-728485.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_3CIeUihTNY-usLPYIzyY3BphSukFjo42MHW-Azj1VkDQhuSE5m_shKTIwLfHibffUFCWiKereUMPfSrzNv55z-idBnxdrzxttSucGdnM6i8zfK5sdmea3nU09f3O64I8j5g10pRzyZ-/s320/image002-728485.jpg" height="230" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043083972900318786" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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narrow country road, Ireland<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Villages pinwheel about no-shoulder country roads boxed in by thick hedgerows, their sharp branches lopped inches from your car's passenger door. Your driver sits on the right at the center of the street where traffic headed the opposite direction is a sneeze away. Blue sky peeks through a bower of tall, green trees, a barrier between you and the scenic patchwork of rolling, green velvet hills.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Everything in Ireland, it seems, is green. Except the horses, cows, llamas, pigs - and sheep, which are splashed with red or blue paint to signify ownership.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsh4Hko2P65W6WSdYPLCgeKDn15A3H3d4Q0VGi7KBkGUXcyg0vlTYfIliWDza6vMRaHUfmW93M5kpfeM3Qw_SNB34GvhCHIDuUBl5JU0CN0pVqaNnHVz7_baITAnVZDVRoHCBAEbGyWO1W/s1600/image004-734513.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsh4Hko2P65W6WSdYPLCgeKDn15A3H3d4Q0VGi7KBkGUXcyg0vlTYfIliWDza6vMRaHUfmW93M5kpfeM3Qw_SNB34GvhCHIDuUBl5JU0CN0pVqaNnHVz7_baITAnVZDVRoHCBAEbGyWO1W/s320/image004-734513.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043083996473555730" width="300" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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watch for cows<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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You pop out of the green cave to a line of colorful, flat front townhomes. Each stretch of panes and doors is detailed a different vibrant hue and bright flowers tumble from mossy window boxes. Across the street, a pub proclaims itself <i>Murphy's</i>, <i>O'Donnell's</i> or <i>Grogan's</i> on a mirrored black sign.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVsAwLIjd-LWK-kR4xjbiDdocHTtTGxVM61WFFK4qlBRqC0nAUspApRYeuLI7AbO3cBx0P_nxICtdvo_JFA9FzaX0ulayu3mYv9d7sN3n_b72ewIPEf_yLrIGFBCafHe9NIUF8Ht-AO6LO/s1600/image006-739214.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVsAwLIjd-LWK-kR4xjbiDdocHTtTGxVM61WFFK4qlBRqC0nAUspApRYeuLI7AbO3cBx0P_nxICtdvo_JFA9FzaX0ulayu3mYv9d7sN3n_b72ewIPEf_yLrIGFBCafHe9NIUF8Ht-AO6LO/s320/image006-739214.jpg" height="317" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043084011287209298" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Dingle<o:p></o:p></div>
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You hear rhythmic thrumming and glimpse what appears to be a large white dog rushing toward you. It has black pin prick eyes and stubby legs. It's big and barrel chested, hair tightly curled, a splash of blue on its neck.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It's a sheep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Beyond, two men in jeans and collared shirts stand shoulder to shoulder, hands on hips before a green shrouded home. They watch the sheep, their faces a confusion of patience and irritation - like parents correcting a toddler for the same naughty behavior for the thousandth time. Under the men's feet, an asphalt driveway meets a wooden fence behind which wait a quiet flock of blue brushed sheep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRATIR82kiWu-9pnN6HR8zbPCdFrijHE7mpA8-xeqbRaq-jXWmjMHf7s5iA-KYBYxiQgqKRZSrY4x4CkP66qZ1OVjjrd6PiKY8F9Kd7weUgshBKo48HNEz-DzNYyTyTyV1ZFevX2F38ex8/s1600/image008-743672.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRATIR82kiWu-9pnN6HR8zbPCdFrijHE7mpA8-xeqbRaq-jXWmjMHf7s5iA-KYBYxiQgqKRZSrY4x4CkP66qZ1OVjjrd6PiKY8F9Kd7weUgshBKo48HNEz-DzNYyTyTyV1ZFevX2F38ex8/s320/image008-743672.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043084034052310978" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Bob at the Guinness Academy</div>
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where we learned the proper way to pour a pint<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you live where rules are complex, locals inaccessible and no one speaks the native language - or, wait, if you live anywhere - Ireland makes for a restful holiday. It's a girdle loosening, shake out the curls, relax the abs place. It's bacon, beer, music, holding hands in public. It's that happy-all-over feeling you get after a good run mixed with the cozy acceptance that happens when your kids are home, everyone's laughing and talking at the same time while downing handfuls of M&Ms from a shared bowl.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sh_4SMl0qQTviD_8LMEPFpR5mfJ_wO470NzNdcoZ88hsKqfHLXW7rBNNkpQ7nR1MPAIqosf_azF1195er21VRWyGh7rw3wE21m6pJ3NTOV3TXJeQbMEBo-dBdihZHoaQz748Vpjo3t1y/s1600/image010-748152.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sh_4SMl0qQTviD_8LMEPFpR5mfJ_wO470NzNdcoZ88hsKqfHLXW7rBNNkpQ7nR1MPAIqosf_azF1195er21VRWyGh7rw3wE21m6pJ3NTOV3TXJeQbMEBo-dBdihZHoaQz748Vpjo3t1y/s320/image010-748152.jpg" height="295" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043084051699312098" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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breadin' da lurvley ahhr<o:p></o:p></div>
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Contrary to what your red headed castle tour guide says about ruby tresses going extinct in Ireland, it seems every third person has red hair. And the Irish speak English. Sort of. They say things like "lurvley day," "the coffee is brilliant," "do you fancy some ice cream?" and "I'm feeling peckish." They pronounce "th" as "t" or "d" so you're not sure if "turdee'" is thirty or thirteen - and they laugh when you get it wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXBufUd-0jLEBwB2zjTBKlqncAXPP6ygaiCjJLgEttSUp0SL7YMLvnGQ_MwscCMIZL9ffUU5zlcDASmg71v5p9WJuQ6oH8RkoOjJfMtI71RTikBR3lnReUmFBO6OwPXk7wKyyzr1nlYf1/s1600/image014-752022.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXBufUd-0jLEBwB2zjTBKlqncAXPP6ygaiCjJLgEttSUp0SL7YMLvnGQ_MwscCMIZL9ffUU5zlcDASmg71v5p9WJuQ6oH8RkoOjJfMtI71RTikBR3lnReUmFBO6OwPXk7wKyyzr1nlYf1/s320/image014-752022.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043084067873830098" width="260" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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ahhr ye peckish? eat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You'd be good natured too if you lived this close to the Guinness Factory and <i>Ballyduff, Dingle</i> and <i>bog</i> were everyday words meant for regular conversation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you were to stay in Dublin's Temple Bar District in a street facing room, you'd fall asleep to lively folk music and wake up to accented singing under your window at 3:30am. At 4:00am you'd hear a cheery "g'morning 't is" as Dubliners arrive to work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You'd hear stories. Like how Arthur Guinness signed a 9,000 year lease (45 pounds a month, still in effect) and his wife Olivia gave birth to 21 children.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And Joseph Plunkett married Grace 10 minutes before he was executed at Kilmainham Gaol. And how Grace, who never remarried, was later incarcerated in the jail herself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrqgQ3ntZKx1rz7S0pxDRS3dbs0cP3eeYP3DVP0tppgBj-jZTWgh2Wkstw3KT2HxqnAd8jd29uD0aEBm1lOyNRLfUiwIOJFtLv539ILTaw9eb2i31Qf8_FBfqJEz-VKBkldeU96m4_ghM/s1600/image024-755713.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrqgQ3ntZKx1rz7S0pxDRS3dbs0cP3eeYP3DVP0tppgBj-jZTWgh2Wkstw3KT2HxqnAd8jd29uD0aEBm1lOyNRLfUiwIOJFtLv539ILTaw9eb2i31Qf8_FBfqJEz-VKBkldeU96m4_ghM/s320/image024-755713.jpg" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043084080679981474" width="400" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Bob demonstrates how guards appeared</div>
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to prisoners in Kilmainham Gaol<o:p></o:p></div>
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In Ireland, you'd enjoy <i>The Full Irish</i> each morning: a hearty egg, bread, fruit, sausage and ham breakfast. Your Big Red Bus tour guide might sing <i>Molly Malone</i> as your driver belts the <i>Hallelujah Chorus</i> into a microphone. You'd drink Guinness, get rained on, swim in emerald water overlooking the idyllic Blasket Islands, tour castles and breweries, hike.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHq2eleNkbJ7K0gpJMfyIePRBgkZ3VnXYLuX-4ruEbLBr4Rw0FZkXNmciHv7TJyCQ88kv95aKiubVfir9lyuZtJEyn25EJyd2DC36F5GakLKi7J8YoI8fz7wF1Osijuqi10qncRwNyZ-c/s1600/image025-759277.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHq2eleNkbJ7K0gpJMfyIePRBgkZ3VnXYLuX-4ruEbLBr4Rw0FZkXNmciHv7TJyCQ88kv95aKiubVfir9lyuZtJEyn25EJyd2DC36F5GakLKi7J8YoI8fz7wF1Osijuqi10qncRwNyZ-c/s320/image025-759277.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043084101308195554" width="300" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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the short hangy things on the back</div>
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are longer for older students<o:p></o:p></div>
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At Trinity College, a Robert Pattinson lookalike in a Harry Potter vest tells a story about students who killed a professor then went on to high level political jobs. He explains that points, not extracurriculars or personality get you into the exclusive institution. And that good students (and those from the North) attend for free, eat in special areas and may graze their sheep in St. James Park.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As long as runaway ewes stay off the sidewalk.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgMWdNKTZCP3oMpb3j61LtNkPoBXkQ7LcBQ4LnU-P1g5g5Zgvc6V-_dSPDHXplPxB_9jL4px2C0LfR9OBBWQy3YaZ15ZJOCHXkJAgdjWpSosj6cWpbwdw8o3Mt0x9SMksNwGfBkmvQJwr/s1600/image026-762977.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgMWdNKTZCP3oMpb3j61LtNkPoBXkQ7LcBQ4LnU-P1g5g5Zgvc6V-_dSPDHXplPxB_9jL4px2C0LfR9OBBWQy3YaZ15ZJOCHXkJAgdjWpSosj6cWpbwdw8o3Mt0x9SMksNwGfBkmvQJwr/s320/image026-762977.jpg" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6043084116857841506" width="313" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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'ere's to ye<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lucinda H. Kennaleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11021632314350458654noreply@blogger.com4