American Bedouin: Traversing Northern Qatar

"So we live in our old van; travel all across this land.

We drive until the city lights; dissolve into a country sky."

-Free, Zac Brown Band

So, back in Colorado it's one of my favorite activities in the whole wide world to load up my dad's Chevy Suburban and drive off into the mountains of Colorado. I've traveled those highways and backroads since I was a tiny tot, so I'm comfortable blasting down the highway, and four-wheeling over jeep trails. I find that when one needs to feel that sense of freedom, of overwhelming joy and tranquility, that feeling that all is well with the world; the road is your best friend. 

I've had dozen of impromptu road trips that have saved me pieces of sanity, calmed my heart, and re-situated me within the universe. That all sounds like such hippie-dippie talk, goddamn. But I guess I'm an introvert at heart, and some of my happiest days are those that I've spent elevated, cruising down the highway with a twangy country song wafting through the speakers...

In search of something remotely similar to clear my head of the incestuous city of Doha for a day, I loaded up tons water and my chihuahua in my little Toyota Fortuner - and hooked up my iPod, loaded to the brim with the best country music in my collection. 

The problem with going anywhere outside of Doha is that this country seems to be fundamentally opposed to maps, and good directions are almost as hard to come by. I had been planning a trip out of Doha for a while, but owing to my odd sleep/work/class schedule, I could never really make it happen. So when I happened to wake up early-ish on this most lazy of Fridays, I took it as a sign that I should take the plunge. After gassing up the tank and grabbing an extra-large karak, Farrah and I took off heading North, up Al Shamal road.

Initially, I was apprehensive to go, as I knew most of the journey would be on that awful Qatari highway, five lanes with no uniform speed average... Cars going 80 are interspersed amongst Land Cruisers flying by at 200kph. It's not a relaxing journey, and every now and then there happens to be that one car that has to drive next to you for 2-3 kilometers, staring intently, just to make sure they really are seeing a white girl in a car with Saudi plates. Yeah, go ahead, take a picture...

Anyways, eventually I reached the turn off for Al Ghuairiyat (otherwise spelled Leghriyat on the road signs), and was oh so pleased to discover that just past the (under construction) overpass the highway slimmed down into some familiar looking two-lane country. I even saw a sign that said "Highway 59", and my heart leapt a little in excitement. Finally, I really was away from Doha for just a moment. As I burned up that highway 59 tarmac, Farrah asleep in the passenger seat, I kept stressing that I would miss the turn-off for Al Zubarah fort, a monstrous landmark restored in 1937 by Sheikh Abdullah Bin Jassim, and I could not have been more wrong. The Zubarah Fort loomed in the distance a good while before it was even clear where one should be turning. I pulled in to the well-paved parking lot, and leapt out (Farrah in my arms, since there were 2 Filipino security guards milling around the parking lot). With a dozen other tourists, all of us speaking English, I read the signs that were posted, and took a handful of shots of the fort itself. I was not too impressed; only glad that I had made it to one of those gentle, introductory "historical" sites in Qatar. I heard some heavily accented English, and asked a Portuguese man to take a picture of me and Farrah over by the fort.  His companion, a pinky, round, Scottish man with teeth missing, asked me where I was from ("I figured you were from the States, but where?"). He went on to tell me that this was the first time he had left Doha in 6 months. Whether this was the total amount of time he'd since been in Qatar I didn't ask. After a quick pit stop (they have great bathroom facilities here!), Farrah and I loaded back up and went in search of the tiny abandoned fishing village of Al Jumail.

Having heard that it was visible from the road, and seeing tons of pictures before I went, I sort of knew what to look for. Just a little ways before Abu Dhalouf and the adjoining Al Ruwais, I spotted the rounded shape of the abandoned minaret in the center of Al Jumail. Pulling onto the rough, but in no-ways impossible, track to the village, the town came closer into view. I found a shady spot to park in amongst some of the buildings, and Farrah and I again got out to explore. Al Jumail is a really great spot to see in Qatar. Ruined houses and clearly defined streets (which you know aren't so old but feel ancient) lead to a (dirty) beach.

Having read a blog which talked about how the old minaret was still accessible and climbable, I left Farrah in the car and trudged over to the old masjid, keeping away from the various Qataris hovering around in their Cruisers. I entered the old mosque ground, right foot first, and traversed what must have been the old prayer grounds, spotting the qibla on my right. I entered the small doorway of the minaret, and climbed a small, dingy staircase to come to the top of the old mud tower. Four windows speckled the dome, and the view from each was equally splendid, though the Westernmost window was unparalleled in the serenity it exuded. From it one could look out across the town, down towards the beach, with its wet patches and visible sand, due to the low tide. Beyond that the Gulf stretched out in mellow tranquility, soft and open.

Minaret at Al Jumail Masjid

Horsemen across the beach

I sat for a long while in the top of the minaret, trying hopelessly to catch the feeling of the moment with my little iPhone camera. Through the Southern window, I suddenly saw three horsemen appear along the waterline, dressed in dazzling white, each with a red-checkered ghutra. They had a fourth horse with them, not tied to any saddle or bound by any rope, the fourth horse trotted playfully alongside the horsemen, clearly familiar with them and their respective mounts. I lost site of the men as they rounded the Al Jumail beach, but just as quickly as they had appeared, I suddenly saw them loping leisurely along the beach through the western window, northwards up the coast, heading towards Al Ruwais. It was a moment lost in time, a moment non-repeatable, one unable to be captured by lenses or technology. 

Eventually I tired of the dome at the top of that tiny minaret, or it tired of me, and I made my way back to the car. I continued northwards just a bit, until I reached the signs for Abu Dhalouf Park & beach. When I pulled up at the far west edge of the cornish area (I hadn't wanted to go to the main paved area since Farrah isn't always received well), and was immediately uncomfortable. Two or three teenage boys would not stop whistling (at Farrah, but still), and almost sooner than I'd showed up I was gone, back on the road to Al Jumail. It seemed better to return by the two-lane country track than by the big, noisy, Al Shamal Road for the whole journey. 

The sun was setting, the country music was blaring, and the numbness was setting in. I kept pulling over periodically to take snapshots of the glorious sunset, typically Qatari in its magnificent splendor and extravagance. You could not have bought a more brilliant dusk. Meandering down the way, I caught sight of a cloud of dust and a strange, black moving mass on the horizon. As I rounded the corner, I came upon a scene straight out of the 1970s. An old, weather-worn man trudged along at the head of a large heard of floppy-eared goats. The man matched the animals, skinny yet tough, with a long-sleeved shirt a size too big, hanging about his torso like fur that needed a trim. In one hand he held a long wooden stick. I screeched to a halt on the side of the road and rolled down the window. Farrah quickly rushed to the window to stare at this odd pack of "dogs", and a cross cultural exchange of the next level transpired. The man saw what I was doing, and held out his arms to bring the flock to a stand-still. Once the goats stopped walking, and began looking around in confusion, the man put his arm up and waved. Hastily, I snapped as many shots as I could... It was one of those "National Geographic moments" as my Dad said.

I shouted "SHUKRAN" to the man, rolled up the window and continued on my journey. As I picked up speed, I realized that the whole situation had probably been equally bizarre to each of us. As one of those few rare glimpses into the traditional life of this tiny peninsula, I was overjoyed and floored to have ran into this man and his goats, just as the sun was setting. It was unforgettable. Though I thought, more-so for him. He had simply been running his sheep along, (he was experienced to boot, judging from the way he'd stopped the flock on a dime), when an SUV with Saudi Arabian plates had slammed to a halt, only for a little white girl with her chihuahua to emerge through the driver's window to snap a few shots with her sparkly iPhone. What a place, what a fantastic country.

I spent the rest of the drive collecting my thoughts and ruminating on everything I had seen.

Doha is incredible; an amazing place with the most fitting name that means: "The Big Tree". I love this name, because it's so accurate. Everybody within the city is from a neighboring branch of humanity, although often from a branch so far away you've only ever heard of it by name. Despite this romaticized image, the city can get incestuous and overwhelming. It's easy to lose yourself in the bad driving, unending traffic, city lights, late nights, and smoky mornings.

In Colorado I would just drive myself to sanity, going as far as I was able and comfortable - to get away from people and everything about society that depresses me. That's not possible to do all the time in Doha, but if you make a point of it and plan the journey well, it's something you can squeeze in over the weekend between deadlines. 

There should always be time to take a back-road and watch the sun erupt over the sea into broad, sweeping flame.

"Yield"

Don't forget that we live in a natural world.

Peace & love always <3