"A year full of raw honey and friends who show up"

So, guess who is turning 40 on Tuesday? Yep. I am this old. (But, I have put up this photo to demonstrate that, in the right light and in the right outfit, still looking okay.)

I think what you do on your 40th and whether you bother doing anything special is a very personal thing. Maybe somewhat cultural, too. I have been told recently by a few Russians that it was a bad luck to have a celebration of any sort. But I, despite having lived this long, have never heard of such bullshit excuse not to have a party, thus was not going to pay any attention.

As far as I always knew, 40 was a big deal. And the time to celebrate. However you fancy, or can afford to, really. But in any case, it had to be special.

A friend of mine in New York had his on a private boat and took a huge offence when I did not attend it. To him, the 40th party was big enough of a deal for me to spend a fortune jumping on an air plane and flying London-New York to be there. I wished I could have gone, but it might have been a little too extravagant for me at the time.

Another friend hired a restaurant in London and hosted a beautiful dinner party for about 20 friends. But, most of my friends who turned 40 before me went for a big party option.

So, after some deliberation (which included other options for a smaller group of friends only) I went for the big party, too. Thankfully, our villa in Doha is enormous, and there would be no issue with space. You see, one of my reasons to have it at home was  that I did not then have to restrict the numbers. I could invite people I liked but perhaps did not see that often, for whatever reasons. I felt like I should make some effort for my 40th, you know? Spend money, treat my friends, throw them a fun party!

What I know now (and I can't believe that it took me this long, i.e. till I am middle aged, to learn this) is that, if you want to know what people really think of you, invite them to your 40th party and see who shows up. 

The people who did not bother showing up split into two categories:

Category No. 1 waited till the actual day to tell me their plans have changed and they now had something more important on. Some of them had pretty good excuses, some- really lame ones. That also showed if they cared enough to come up with a decent excuse. Like someone who told me they had a car crush on their way to our house. I mean, that could have actually happened! In fact, I believe it did, because, throughout my 40 years of experience in the lying and bullshit area, I have not heard this one yet. (Also, we are in Doha and car crushes are pretty common) And even if it did not happen, I respect the guy for making up such a cool story. I mean, that shows a certain ( tiny) degree of respect, right?

Category No. 2 however, I was quite shocked with. Those were the people who said they were definitely coming only to then not show up. Without as much as a text message to apologise. "Oh, this is just so Doha!" Someone told me. "You invite 20 and can expect either 10 or 50 on the night. People will not tell you if they are not coming, neither will they tell you if they are bringing 5 friends along.'

In the end though, it was a good party, even with only 30 guests instead of the 45 I actually catered for. With a shisha man at the front of the house and a shawarma man at the back yard and some cool cake pops that I agonised over for a week or so.  And I loved my 40th party. I loved the fact that enough people cared to come. I loved the fact that they got me some lovely, thoughtful gifts. I loved the fact that they all said it was a fab party. And the icing on the cake is that now, after the party, I know who thinks what of me. You can tell that not just from what they give you for a gift (because, just like in dating a man, that is always a good clue to see if they value the relationship!) but also from whether they bothered to show up! What an easy test, really.

On the twitter, when I expressed my frustration at people not showing up at my party, a fellow blogger in Qatar wished me a "year full of raw honey and friends who show up". I guess the key word in that sentence is friends. Friends will always show up.

'Things have just taken a turn'

At some point last year, a new neighbour moved into our compound. Right next door to me. She knocked on my door the night she moved in, looking a bit frazzled. ‘Can I use your microwave to heat up this baby food?’ she asked, speaking fast and urgently. ‘Oh, by the way hi, I am from Australia, we’ve just moved to this compound! Bye!’

Before I could even tell whether I liked her or not, she disappeared. And that what is has been like with L, for a long time. She was always there, and I knew that, should I suddenly need an onion, or a quick advice how to find something in Doha (she has been living in Qatar for many more years than I have) I could always find her there, right next door.

I did not see a lot of her, and I never pushed for a friendship, assuming- maybe reasonably, maybe not- that having lived in Doha for so long, she already had a set of friends.

But with time, slowly, I was getting to see more of her. And I was beginning to like what I saw.

So, when she asked me a few days ago, whether I would like to talk about possibly sharing a new maid she was about to hire, I said ‘oh, pop round for a coffee and we shall talk!’ I was just coming out of the shower when I got a text message. ‘Sorry, can’t come!’, she said. ‘Things have just taken a turn, will explain later!’

I could not think of what might have happened.  Was someone sick? Did someone die? Did someone have a car crush? All sorts of thoughts came rushing into my head. Finally, a text came, clarifying everything straight away. ‘My husband just lost his job’, she said. ‘We are now going home in less than 4 weeks.’

What? How? Why? 

And I should not have been so surprised. I heard about people losing their jobs in Doha in this sudden, unexpected manner. No explanations given, no hints that it might be coming…Nothing. No longer required. Thanks very much for the last seven years. Bye.

‘Come on!’ my mother in law said, when I complained about the lack of stability here. ‘It is not any better in the UK these days, either! Nowhere is safe, nowhere is stable right now’.

Well yes, that is true. However, should your husband lose a job in the UK, you don’t have to uproot in the matter of weeks and leave the country in a rush. You don’t have to pull your child out of school, sell your car, your toys and your furniture, leave your new friends and maybe even your own job…leave everything and run. Run away, as if you did something illegal. You just don’t do that in the normal life. 

And I realized- this is the kind of stuff that never even crossed my mind when we made a decision to try this expat life. It is not something you learn from travel books or some I-heart-the- country websites, advertising the joys of life in a hot climate with a pool and maids. This is the reality, and a mean one, too.

Tomorrow someone else will be asked to leave. Just like this, out of the blue. It might be our close friends. Or it might be someone we wish we were closer friends with. Or…it might be us. And it is not necessarily a bad thing, but something that happens when we least expect it, not on our terms or in accordance with our plans. And we just have to live our lives in this suspended, who-knows-where-we-will-be-tomorrow? Kind of mode.

And when a friend wrote to me the other day, asking if they could visit us sometime between Christmas and New Year, I did not know how to explain to her that I could not plan my life this far in advance anymore.

I said…We should be here. Inshallah, as they say in Qatar.  But what I meant to say was…Who the….knows?  Definitely not us. 

Arab Pop Music

I have recently, and what also is very important to add here- unintentionally, been exposed to a very fascinating genre of music- the Arab Pop music.

You see, despite not watching much television here, in Doha ( I am not implying that I am doing something useful or intellectual. It is just that there is absolutely nothing to watch on TV in Qatar) I still get to watch the Arab music videos when (very rarely!) I go to the gym. I have a program I follow at the moment, which takes thirty minutes on the treadmill. That means thirty minutes of being stuck in one place, waiting to collapse and die. So, any distraction is very welcome. Even in a shape and form of an Arab pop video.

It fascinates me how vastly different the concept of what  is considered cool can be in various parts of the world. Because, clearly, the creators of these videos must think what they are creating is cool. Or, at the very least, beautiful. Or, romantic?

Let me just give you one example of an Arab pop song video.

There is a beautiful, in a very obviously Lebanese way, woman, walking along the beach, looking sad and lost. A man in a very sharp business suit is walking and singing, approaching a farm yard where an old man is aiming a big rifle at a black horse who is refusing to behave and therefore, is going to get shot. The man in a suit runs up and grabs the old man's arm, stopping him. Every gesture is dramatic and in a slow motion. Even the running. He then tames the horse by throwing his smart jacket over its head. In the subsequent scene the girl sneaks into the stables and gets on the horse. The horse goes crazy and takes her into a forest, where the man ( at least not wearing his office suit any longer, but still in a smart white shirt) is chopping some wood. He saves the girl and they live happily ever after.

I was curious, after having watched that video, followed by another one of a dude clad all in white, playing a piano at the sea, right at the water edge....where do these videos actually come from?
Having Googled Arab pop videos, I learnt that most of them originate from Egypt or/and Lebanon.

But! I have two Lebanese girlfriends, one here, and one back in the UK; and I can assure you that these two girls are possibly two most stylish friends of all the friends I have. Sophisticated and cool, with taste. So, I am confused. Who dares to create these appallingly bad videos, embarrassing my Lebanese friends? Because, in all honesty, I might have to say that these videos are worse than Azeri songs at Eurovision. And that is bad, guys. That is really, really bad.

Why I am definitely, most certainly, not a cat person.

A long time ago, I was having a sleepover at my American expat girlfriend's flat in Baku. After a few  glasses of Baileys, cigarettes and chats about useless men, we decided to go to bed. 'Oh, can you put that turkey somewhere so the cats won't get it?' My friend asked sleepily as she got into bed.
She had a huge turkey specially delivered for the Thanksgiving party the following day. I went into the kitchen, picked up the huge box and shoved it on the top of the fridge.

The next morning, when we took the box down, there was a huge gaping hole in the turkey's chest.

The thing is, you see...i am not a cat person. I have always had dogs. And dogs don't go around jumping on top of fridges, carefully sneaking inside cardboard boxes, leaving no evidence except for a huge hole in the turkey's chest.

Dogs are not like that. And cats...well, my dislike of them was deepened by the traumatic experiences associated with the above mentioned American girlfriend and her desire to adopt every stray cat in Baku; which was okay until she moved to Turkey and got a wild thing who now spends every single day of his life attempting to kill her and every friend who dares to step into her flat in New York. Ironically, she chose to call the evil monster Ashgim, which in Turkish means My Lovely. Yeah, right.

And then, there are the endless cute pictures of frigging cats on Facebook. And now...the dead cat in my car. Yes, inside the fan shroud.

It all started with a text message my compound friend sent me a few days ago. 'I have a dead f@@@@ing kitten in my car!' She said. 'I have just spent two hours having this thing scraped off the car engine at the Salwa road garage!'
According to my friend, there was a cross eyed dwarf male specialising in dead cat removals.  Oh, i laughed. I thought it was unbelievable. What a funny story! A dead cat in the car engine! Hahaha

Well, let me tell you. It is not that funny.

Imagine my feeling when two days ago, i started my car and heard a funny thumping noise coming from deep inside it. Hmm, i thought, something is wrong with my car? How worrying!
But after one more suspicious noise, before i could concentrate on what was going on, the noise stopped. The next day, husband commented on the bin getting quite stinky outside. I was just getting ready to go to the shops to get some food, and having started the engine, was revolted by the smell.

What was most disturbing, I knew, I just knew like we all do, somehow, that it was the smell of a dead body decomposing. Perhaps, we all have this knowledge deep inside our brain. Perhaps, we are pre-programmed to know and fear this smell. In any case, I told myself the chances of me having a dead kitten in my car after my friend just had one in hers were pretty slim. Let's think probability here. Let's think statistics, right?

Well, to hell with those.

In a few hours, walking the baby outside in the summer heat, I noticed that flies were not particularly interested in the rubbish bin. They were all trying to get inside the bonnet of my car.
I went home, and told Husband that, despite it sounding unrealistic, there might be a dead kitten in my car.

That day, we could not see anything. I say we, but you of course, realise, that there was simply no way I could make myself look inside the bonnet. Husband opened the bonnet and announced that there were cat paw prints all over. That was not a good sign. There was no body discovered at the first search.

However, the next morning, the smell was getting worse. Husband took the car to the garage but, sadly for us, the cross-eyed cat removing dwarf was having a day off. Husband decided to look properly.  Are you sure, I asked. 'I have seen a of of dead things before', he replied proudly. And then, I heard him retching  outside.

He tried to poke it out with a stick. The thing was baked on and would not come out. He then tried to pull it out with a bin sack. Right, right...enough details. Let's just say...it was pretty awful, and husband deserves a medal.

For hours later, all we could smell was the dead kitten. It was following us around. To the shops, to the jacuzzi at the pool...And even now, as I type this, my nose gets filled in with the disgusting, unmistakable smell.

'I will go get myself a glass of wine', I have just told Husband. 'I need a drink tonight!'

And guess what I saw on the box of wine? Yep. A frigging cat.

Just another morning in the multicultural compound, or a story about Vanilla.

On a sunny weekend morning my husband was enjoying the company of his compound friend  over a pot of freshly brewed coffee. They were having a man talk.

'We should buy a boat between us!', I heard one say...'No, we should buy a big old truck!' You know, that kind of stuff.

Suddenly, the neighbour glanced into the back yard. 'Hmm, he said. Is there any reason you have a covered up lady wandering in your garden?'

What? he caught my attention. He is kidding, was my first reaction.
-No, seriously. She just went behind the water tank!

Slowly, I crept up to the glass doors at the back of the house. At first, I could not see anyone, but then I noticed a pair of slippers placed right next to the wall of the water tank area. And, before I could think any further, a lady, covered up in black, appeared from behind the wall. She carefully put her slippers back on and slowly walked back to the side gate.

 As we tried to figure out what she might have been doing in our tank area, Husband jumped off his chair.

'Look!' He pointed to the kitchen window. 'She is walking back! With a chair this time?!'

I suddenly recognised the woman. It is our Malaysian neighbour, I thought.

'Well, go on then! Go ask what she wants?' husband encouraged me.

Why me? I wanted to know. Confronting a stranger in my back garden was not on my agenda for a relaxing Saturday morning.

Husband pointed out that he could not go. 'It might be rude and inappropriate for a man to ask her any questions'. Hmm, I thought. Either that, or the real reason is he is afraid she might actually be a stalker or a psycho of some sort, and is sending me out first to find out. But curiosity took over, and I peeped outside. Some excited voices were coming from the side path of the garden.

I walked around and saw my neighbour (I guessed correctly, even though I barely met the woman and never saw her outside before) and two other women, one of which I guessed to have been her maid and another-her daughter. The maid was holding a wicker chair up to the high concrete wall calling to a white fluffy cat who was clearly not that interested.

 'Vanilla!!! Vanilla!' she kept calling, offering the chair to the cat. I was relieved. The women did not look that scary. (Maybe a bit silly for thinking the cat was ever going to come down on that chair, but that's a personal opinion. I could be wrong about that as I am not a cat person, whatsoever.)

I cleared my throat in my most polite British manner.  'Khmm...Excuse me?' I called out and smiled, just in case. I did not want to make it obvious that I thought it was very bizarre for me to catch them standing in my garden, without having knocked on the door and informing me beforehand. They saw me and thought it was funny. They laughed- happily and openly and I could not help but laugh with them. 'The cat!' They shouted all together, pointing to Vanilla, who was successfully ignoring all of us.

Ah, OK, I said. What else could be said? I returned home, to a very curious Husband and his friend.

'So? what are they doing in our garden?'

 I explained.

' Strange, isn't it' I said thoughtfully. 'Why would she not knock on the door first before appearing in our back yard?'

'Well, she might have been embarrassed in case I opened the door?' Husband tried to be culturally sensitive and understanding. 'Maybe she should not be speaking to strange men?'  'Yes, I said, but what if you were sun-bathing in your garden? Now that would be an inappropriate encounter!'  True, we all agreed. But the truth is...when such different cultures clash, there is no simple explanation. What might be a natural thing for a British (or an Azeri turned British for that matter) might never occur to a person from a completely different part of the world. Perhaps, it was not the question of being shy or not allowed to speak to a man, but also the desire to not bother or disturb us that was the case? And when you try to understand, it almost makes sense.

The world of freebies.

So, does anyone know how old the Queen is? Because I don't. Neither do I care, to be honest. But, last night, I was enjoying myself immensely at the British embassy's celebration of that significant day.

Don't ask how come we got invited. This is the beauty of expat life. You get to go to some very random, bizarre events, and do some very random stuff. 

Oh, Britain, love. I thought my feelings for you dried out like an old prune, but really, it was just that our relationship is so much better with some distance between us. It is almost like comparing an affair with marriage. I had an exciting affair with you, and I thought I would be oh, so happy if only you married me and let me live with you. But then, after 12 years...I figured I was getting quite bored. So I left. And now, look at this! I went out on a date with you last night, and what a fantastic time did we have! Oh, you looked so handsome to me again! (Even with Boris Johnson present.) And I was so proud of you. I thought you were a great, sorry I mean Great place to be in a relationship with.

But, joking aside, the reception pleasantly surprised me. I thought I was going to a very boring place, full of incredibly boring people standing around in a circle listening to boring speeches and sipping cheap wine. However, the set up was pretty good. There was a band full of good-looking boys; and an elegant young girl playing a harp, and a bunch of very English cars on display...and, and and...most importantly (for me anyway) there was a lot of very nice food. And a whole table full of CHEESE! And ALCOHOL! Pimms! G&T! Vodka! Wine!

Also, very interestingly, there were NO chavs. None, whatsoever. It was like someone took all the very best there is about Great Britain and left behind everything I dislike.

Finally, the best part of all of that was that everything was totally and utterly FREE. 

And this is something I am beginning to really enjoy. Recently, I have noticed that in the past two months or so, I barely paid for anything. Whether a day at a spa in a 5-star hotel, or a splendid dinner at the Four Seasons...someone arranged it for me, or paid or invited...in any case, I ended up enjoying a few fantastic freebies. I got so used to it now, that I announced to Husband that I cant imagine paying for expensive things like that ever again.

Even right now, as I am telling you this, my face is relaxed and moisturised, the fine lines smoothed by Lancome skin expert who gave me a free mini-facial earlier this afternoon. It was part of Doha Mums Mother's day treat. I mean, did stuff like this happen to me in the UK? Ha! Never.

I have discovered this fantastic new joy in life- getting expensive things absolutely for free, and I am terrified how I could ever be expected to give it up now. The only way is up. More treats, please and more freebies!

Oh, and Britain...I still love you.