Yesterday, we (the guys) rode in a motorcade of CMU-Q students to Saleh’s desert tent. Despite thinking we were already in the desert, we went to what the Qataris consider desert, which is about an hour and a half away from our beloved Movenpick, which means the desert is about an hour and half away from “the desert.” So we basically crossed the entire country of Qatar…in about an hour and a half.

Riding in the night to our desert oasis, I kept my eye out for license plates of all the expensive cars. Now I know that the number of numbers on a license plate is a symbol of status. The fewer numbers you have, the more expensive it is.

Everyone is identified in relation to their cars (and hey, you need a way to identify your friends in the Land Cruiser conga line). By that logic, the shorter the number, the easier it is to remember. You wanna be 111? Well, you better be the Emir, but you can purchase shorter, sweeter numbers. The Ministry of Transportation actually assesses each number and puts them up for auction based on how cool the number seems (license plate number 1574 in Arabic spells “love” in English, which is pretty cool). A 702 plate was auctioned for 140,000 American dollars, and that is on top of the money spent on the car.

We followed Mr. 702 to the desert, along with a fleet of Toyota Land Cruisers, which are kind of a big deal here. Everyone has them, everyone wants them (so they buy more than one). They are seen as the best and most reliable vehicle to have out here. They are big and beefy and won’t get you crushed in a roundabout. I heard about some kid who got hit by a schoolbus (wait, that kid was riding with us). They are spacious for stuffing in your sixteen best friends and heading to the drive-through for a late-night round of karak or McArabia meals. Unlike in America where SUVs just guzzle gas cruising suburban neighborhoods and freshly sweeped streets, here you can drive on pavement, on sand dunes, over roundabout dividers, off-road, and over curbs.

After seven days, we’ve seen it all. In addition to regular off-roading and curb-jumping, they frickin race these things here. This is not your grandma’s Toyota. This is a souped-up Land Cruiser with turbos, superchargers, and NOS.

Showing off your Land Cruiser is part of the foundation of Qatari culture. The running joke here is that you could put a picture of a Land Cruiser on the Qatari flag. No one would have a problem with it.

— Joshua Debner

While we ponder how to throw the freshman in the well, our minds wander to today’s adventures. Before we begin…allow us to preface the best blog entry ever with a brief profile of the authors:

Sarah Sheikh (written by her associate Jess):

• If you want someone to tell it like it is, especially if you enjoy ridiculous British accents, you need to talk to this girl. She talks. She eats. She laughs. She laughs at me. It’s always a party.

Jessica Wille (written by her extraordinary partner in crime Sarah):

• A delicate young lady whose ability to use proper diction in everyday conversations astounds everyone. Her (not so brief) pauses between thoughts, sentences, and words emphasize her hidden genius.

For us, eating is a form of entertainment. It’s a past time. It’s continually on our minds. We have a love affair with food.

Hotel buffet: been there, done that. But fancy fruit is not hacked up lamb on a monster-truck-tire-sized bed of raisins and rice. Finely prepared waffles cannot compare to al harees, a traditional Qatari dish of boiled chicken and wheat which we would call pudding. That was our lunch feast at the Islamic cultural center, FANAR.

But, no. This was not enough. We needed to spend the final ten minutes of our break in the local souq to devour an 89QR Haagen-Dazs ice cream fondue. For the vivacious authors of this post, the dish was well warranted. However, the rest of the group seeing us eat it in five minutes was embarrassing – no, wait, it was heroic.

We noticed that each restaurant was unlike the next. Lebanese, Iraqi, Moroccan, Yemenite, Iranian, good old Haagen-Dazs, it was baller [at this point Sarah Sheikh was restrained from reusing the word baller. Just by writing this and using the word baller, she is exceeding her limit.] The thought of being able to eat the entire Middle East within a couple hundred feet brought us to tears of joy.

Warning (randomness): As Josh continues to take hot model photos of himself, flipping his hair as the sun glistens off his skin, Patrick sits nearby happily picking at his faux crepe—a delicious layer of cheese, spread onto freshly pan-fried dough from a bucket. Meanwhile, our little freshman still has no idea of our ploy to lure her into a deep well.

In fear this blog will be edited of its wit and raw beauty, we will quickly note the day’s final activity: the Dhow Cruise. Our group joined CMU-Q students on an incredibly romantic joyride across the Doha Bay. No one puked, the food was meaty, wind was blowing, and everyone seemed to really enjoy themselves. Mel treated the group to a final karak. No more eating till tomorrow.

— Sheikh & Wille

This morning we took a break from official university business to engage in the traditional Qatari pastime of “dune-bashing.” Piling into Land Cruisers, we sped through downtown Doha until the villa compounds and glittering buildings blurred into petroleum refineries and vast swathes of sand.

After about an hour, we pulled off the road and stopped for the drivers to let some air out of the tires. (This gives the tires greater surface area while driving on the sand.) Conveniently, a few enterprising camel drivers had set up shop close by. While waiting, a few of us caved into the touristy appeal of taking a short, bumpy ride around the parking lot.

With tires appropriately flat, our two adventurous drivers stomped on the gas and gunned it straight for the first dune. The result can best be described as a mixture between off-roading and a roller coaster…with extreme bouncing punctuated by extreme curves and dips where the horizon line suddenly veered off unexpectedly. In between dune climbing and diving, our drivers enjoyed showing off their fishtailing skills and other fancy maneuvers.

Just as whiplash and carsickness were starting to set in, we arrived at “sealine” — an oasis of tents set up next to the Arabian Sea. We enjoyed lunch there (chatting with a group of U.S. military members here on a 4-day leave from Iraq,) swimming, and napping.

On the ride home, we were treated to an encore performance, which was only slightly hampered by a flat tire for Land Cruiser #1. Meanwhile, the passengers in Land Cruiser #2, the “geriatric car” as Renee dubbed it, were busy squealing and holding onto each other as their driver decided he had no need to follow the pre-existing tire tracks. Despite Renee’s backseat driver advice on ‘blazing a new trail,’ everyone enjoyed forging new tracks out in the Qatari desert.

PS. Pictures & shaky video soon to come.

— Jennifer Marlow

Karak is a chai-style-spiced-tea that is the THING to get around Doha. Mel, Jessica DG, and Jenn woke up early to head out to the Corniche with Mohammad Abu Zeinab for some pre-brunch karak.

Since some of us lack the ability to wake up in the morning, we declined Mel’s wake-up phone call and missed out on the morning stroll. Luckily, we were presented with the opportunity to go out this evening, after the Qalta finale, for some karak and LandCruiser-spotting.

Saleh Alkhulaifi introduced us a part of Qatari culture that seems as impossible as the cranes and skyscrapers that dot Doha’s skyline. Six of us piled into his Toyota LandCruiser and headed off to the Wonder Bookstore shopping center. We’re not sure what the Wonder Bookstore is, considering it only sells plastic binders and kids’ backpacks. Pulling up under an overhang, Saleh passed over his teapot to a man standing on the sidewalk, ordered seven karak and a full pot, and drove off.

As we toured the parking lot, waiting for some indeterminable sign that the karak was ready, we counted the number of LandCruisers, while comparing dusty, beat-up pick-up trucks to the CLS 350 AMG class Mercedes Benz. Groups of men huddled outside, hung out of their cars, or idled side-by-side while they told stories indecipherable to Americans over their tea.

Saleh gave us access to a culture phenomenon that we never would have experienced.

— Patrick Gage Kelley

It’s past midnight and we’re sitting in our hotel room, watching Al Jazeera English. This wouldn’t be particularly noteworthy, except that we toured the news network this morning. After handing over our passports at the entrance gate, we ran into a bit of trouble getting through security. The hour of waiting in the idling van was passed by playing GHOST (a word game).

Omar, the Iraqi-American intern who worked his mojo to get us in to Al Jazeera, said “Security’s pretty tight; presidents get stuck here all the time, don’t worry about it.”

Background info: Al Jazeera is generally recognized in the U.S. as the network that aired Osama bin Ladin’s video statements after the September 11th attacks. They’re also known for allegedly airing videos of beheadings of hostages, although they’ve never in their 12 years broadcasted a severed head rolling on the ground.

In reality, the network has the most independent and free speech reporting in the Middle East. Through its Arabic and English channels, Al Jazeera is able to report from places that other networks can’t get to, such as the Gaza Strip. The network is dedicated to reporting newsworthy stories—their mission is to bring news from developing countries to developed nations. The network allows its viewers to have access to certain stories and video available nowhere else.

Lauren McCullough, director of International Media Relations, took us through the English network’s newsroom where the floor was scattered with staff members sitting at computer clusters—there were several monitors per person and random newspapers and atlases strewn on tables.

The meteorologist we watched on television last night was in front of us in the studio, forecasting the weather. It was a very modern studio—she had no direction from cameramen or directors except for a “starting in 5…” from an overhead platform.

Next, Lauren took us to the Arabic studio where we got a quick glance at Samil al-Haj, the Al Jazeera reporter captured in Afghanistan seven years ago. He looked well, or at least the back of his head did, considering he had engaged in a hunger strike to protest his incarceration. We also saw a room of artifacts from other fallen colleagues, including a battle-worn helmet and vest that read in faded yellow “REPORTER.” There was a sculpture constructed for reporters who passed while in action. Lauren mentioned that journalists are dying faster than they can add names to the piece.

This was my first experience in a newsroom. I was overwhelmed by the environment there—the level of content, the depth of what they cover, how concerned they are for what they report, and not necessarily the act of reporting—giving out news that people need to hear. It makes me respect the field of journalism so much more. I feel connected to the the craft of writing, of reporting, of informing the people.

— Aliesha Jones

The sun rises here at 4:30, which was unfortunate for the room that forget to close their blinds. An informal survey of the group shows that breakfast in the hotel was the high point of the day. Trying to explain what the buffet was like would take up an entire entry in itself, and we probably couldn’t even do it justice with our description, but I might be willing to die for the French toast.

After breakfast, Darbi and Dave led us around West Bay, the downtown area of Doha where our hotel is. Everywhere we walked, there were construction sites—swinging cranes, gritty dust, and surly workers. A random cardboard box fell from the sky and almost killed us while we photographed it. And by we, I mean every single one of us has a camera, ranging from a RiteAid disposable camera to the Canon XH-A1, and it can be a bit ridiculous.

We managed to cross the street, leaving Sarah behind and Jessica shaking sand out of her heels, to reach Doha City Center, the second best mall in town. (We hear the Pearl has a shopping center with canals through it, if time allows Renee will be sure to investigate.) From there we were driven (or rather, looped around the roundabouts they use here instead of traffic lights) to Education City, where all the universities are located. Educational information: Virginia Commonwealth, Texas A&M, Cornell, CMU, Georgetown, and Northwestern are all in various states of constructing their campus, each a single building. CMU, Cornell, and Texas A&M have moved into their buildings, while the rest are temporarily housed.

Tour of the “city” began at the Liberal Arts and Sciences Building, which served as CMU’s temporary home, but we quickly moved onto the Ceremonial Court, an outdoor-granite-landscape-ampitheater that holds 3,000 people. It was last used for Carnegie Mellon’s building opening. More about the building later (including photos).

Other “highlights” of the day:

• Lunch at the “food court” aka Bateel, the only eatery in CMU’s building, was actually delicious. Paninis and peach-strawberry drinks for everyone.
• Loafing around on their version of the ‘black chairs’ and talking to students, we killed time until the tour of QSTP with the visiting Tepper MBA students.
• It’s not really important what the QSTP is. All you need to know is that we got a free Moleskine out of it, engraved with QSTP.
• Qulta, their version of Summit, included Arabic cooking (tabbouleh and some Qatari dessert that was doughy and fried), sword dancing, Arabic card games (bridge), Arabic dancing (basically, belly dancing), and an intense henna session.
• Dinner was Pizza Hut. They LOVE Pizza Hut.

— Patrick Gage Kelley

The eleven-hour flight was made somewhat tolerable by Qatar Airway’s extensive collection of movies, from Casablanca to Slumdog Millionaire, and The Devil Wears Prada to the latest Bollywood flicks. Melvin brushed up on his Middle Eastern pop music while slogging through Plato’s Republic and Aliesha crushed Jenn in an intense game of Tetris. Sadly, Sarah, Jessica, and Lauren were sequestered to the back of the plane, but we did manage to visit them and stretch our stiff legs (video on that later). Mixed reviews on the food—some people liked the lamb in a rectangular package, others disliked the tasteless pasta salad. After breezing through immigration (passport stamping) and customs (sending our luggage through some x-ray machine), we met Darbi and Dave (CMU-Q Student Development/Student Activities Staff) in the parking lot.

We were shuttled to the Souq Waqif, an open-air market. As we wove through the narrow alleyways, past tiny stores overflowing with colored fabric, it definitely felt like we were in a new place, even if the realization of being in Qatar hadn’t hit yet (not sure if it actually has). Dinner at Isfahan Gardens was a traditional Persian meal— we took off our shoes and sat in a low, cushioned area. The Student Majlis (Government) joined us for the meal and gave us the low-down on the food, their classes, and the campus. The recommendation of lemon mint tea was possibly the best of the night and even the vegetarians were happy with some rice and a mushroom dish that I couldn’t identify.

The carnivores were happy with their large plates of chicken and lamb, which is one of Qatar’s specialties. Dessert was strange—some rose-water-rice-like-substance-that-resembled-dippin-dots-sweet-strawberry-sauce that was not our favorite. After what seemed like five courses, the meal ended with a strong tea and tiny cookies. The whole experience felt like a technicolor dream (interior decor was crazy-colorful) that we woke up from with sore legs from sitting criss-cross-applesauce for way too long.

Finally: to the hotel, a Swiss chain called the Movenpick. In brief: classy rooms, immense windows, gorgeous views of the water and the city. Despite on-and-off sleeping on the plane, we crashed once we hit the rooms.

PS. To flush the toilet, there are 2 buttons. We’re not sure what the difference between the two are. More on this later.

— Caroline Kessler

This is going to be short, because after an eleven hour flight, a bus ride to the souqs, a dinner at (by some accounts) the best Iranian restaurant in town, and the trip to our hotel in west bay, we have finally checked in, explored slightly, compared rooms, and bought ourselves internet at $140 for the week, and are going to bed. Josh has some photos up. Tomorrow there will be more.

— Patrick Gage Kelley