Al Khabail Grocery

There are grocers. And there are green-grocers. And it would seem there is at least one pastel-green-grocer, nestled snugly in downtown Doha, somehow keeping its head below the demolition radar. It would almost be camouflaged, if there were anything growing within a hundred yards, apart from children.

An Alternative Energy Plan

Now, it might be pure coincidence, but a mere three weeks after the second visit to Qatar, in as many months, by the Irish International Alternative Energy (IIAE) Consultant Patrick O'Donohoe (103), from Connemara, the first tentative steps towards establishing a fall-back turf economy are already in evidence. Not that the natural gas is expected to run out any time soon, but as Patrick says, 6 times a day and 8 on Sundays, "A good stack of turf will never let ye down", with the special extra message for Qatar, "Ye're starting a bit late, but that's a fine drying bit of sunshine ye're getting. Ye should make the most of it, before it rains".

How to dump a load, Doha style

All was going smoothly. The truck was parked in position and the hydraulic ram was raising the huge hopper to tip the load conventionally through the back flap. Until, inexplicably, it tipped over sideways. like this:

unconventional offloading, by falling over sideways

And in so doing, it twisted the trailer out of recognition, or at least well beyond repair. Fortunately, no-one was standing where the load fell.

shame about the trailer though...

Boat Roundabout sans Boat

the boat, no more

Another of Doha's landmarks has disappeared, possibly temporarily but time will tell. This excavation site is Boat Roundabout which, as you can see, has been levelled to the ground and the boat (an old Dhow) removed.
Another missing landmark is the old red fire engine (built on a bull-nosed Mercedes truck chassis). For years it sat outside the Civil Defence building by Defence Roundabout. This week I was disappointed to find an empty plinth where the fire engine had been. I hope it turns up again as I was planning to photograph it to add to my bull-nosed Mercedes collection. Doha life engenders odd hobbies like that!

If you knows of a better 'ole. . .

"Well, If you knows of a better 'ole, go to it"

What you do, of course, is scramble over the mound of rubble, picking your precarious way until you can go no further, leap across the trench grabbing the red boom to stop yourself slipping back and into the hole, then squeeze out between the red and the white booms to the relative safety of the road beyond. You do this on average three times a day if you're a Doha walker. You do it in Musheireb, in Muntazah, in Mansoura. You do it because the alternative is usually to retrace your steps for up to a hundred metres and walk round the outside of the barriers, cheek by jowl with the crazy traffic. You do it because, second only to demolition, Qatar's national pastime is digging up the roads and pavements. And unlike most other cities, in Doha they generally make no provision for alternative walkways, probably because if you are insignificant enough not to be driving a Land Cruiser you don't really merit 'normal' consideration.

My caption, "Well, If you knows of a better 'ole, go to it" in case you were wondering, was first used by the World War One cartoonist Captain Bruce Bairnsfather. If you've not come across his work, check it out. Nearly a hundred years on, we're still blowing ourselves to bits. Only the weapons change. The inhumanity is constant.

The Pantheon has stood for Two Thousand Years

A few of us were talking the other night about Qatar's long term game plan and the conclusion we came to was that it's certainly not obvious what it is. The city reconstruction goes on apace and for the next few years we'll all be putting up with the dust and noise that goes with it. But thinking ahead to when it is finished, who is it all for? Who's going to live here? The 180 thousand locals don't need a city big enough for 2 million. And the huge numbers of ex-pats won't be hanging around when the work is finished. They're not trying for Dubai-style tourism (or if they are, they need to try harder!) and no amount of museums and sports events will bring people in sufficient numbers. One almost wonders if the game plan is simply permanent demolition and reconstruction on a twenty year cycle. If so, it could just about work but the prospect could hardly be more depressing. I wonder if anyone knows what's really going on? Either way, one real Pantheon knocks spots off twenty glass malls.

Standing in the Heart of Doha

just another friday night, for the men who are building a new doha

It has all the appearance of a muster point. Why else would several hundred people gather in a condemned cul-de-sac in the heart of Doha, except to stage a march or demonstration? But no, this is just another Friday night. The same crowd gathers every weekend, and for no better reason than Eccles' excuse - everybody's got to be somewhere! They don't march. They don't protest. And at the end of the night they melt back into invisibility. These are just some of the men who are building the bright new Doha, not the Engineers and Architects, but no less vital in the grand scheme of things.
But why choose the demolition site as a hangout, especially when the Corniche is less than a kilometre away and the fashionable Souq Waqif a mere three hundred metres? Could it be that this is one of the few places from which they won't be 'moved along' by the police? The simple rule here is that rich people should not have to see poor people.
So they stand. Or sit. Or squat. They smoke. They pass around little sachets of gutra or manikchand. They chew. They spit red gobbets in the gutter. They talk. Then they go back to their 'bachelor quarters'. And next week they'll do it again. And weekly thereafter, until the Heart of Doha is finished.

Meanwhile:
"Dohaland celebrates 2nd anniversary with a host of achievements and milestones. Over 5 million man hours completed on company's signature project Musheireb".

Just sayin'...

A peaceful afternoon, shattered

It had to come sooner or later and today was the day. The Heart of Doha demolition phase is spreading its destruction wider and wider. A couple of days ago, the labourers moved out of their squat, the one right below my balcony, and today the JCB moved in. Here's what it looked (and sounded) like:

In fact it was quite impressive to watch at such close quarters, and in its favour, the demolition noise completely masks the pile driving from Qatar Airways crew city construction site in front of my apartment block. I'm now wondering what will happen next. The footprint of the demolished hovel isn't big enough for the type of high-rise they're putting up around here. Unless, of course, they knock down my block too. It's not unlikely, as it's only on three floors and fairly run down. Oh well, house-hunting time again...

Goodbye Musheireb, it's been a ball...

Just two of the dozens of closed shop fronts in Musheireb (and one of them a King!) The demolition continues apace, sacrificing the present to a promised future. Compulsory purchase compensates the owners of the buildings who are, of course, local people and for the most part absentee landlords. Certainly they don't live above their shop units. But for the tenant shopkeepers it's a different story. Short term eviction notices, possibly with the offer of a new tenancy in a remote place at triple the rent. Good deal. To ensure compliance with the eviction orders, the Authorities have simply cut off the electricity and water supplies to the condemned area. Many of the shopkeepers have rigged up small petrol generators to power a few lights so that they can try to sell off the last of their stock.
Last night I took a couple of photos from the roof of Sofitel (see below). The extent of the blackout is impressive, and sad. Goodbye, Musheireb. I'll miss you.

the blackout that was musheireb

must unto dust be brought

A modest family house

a modest dwelling

I pass this villa most mornings. It is abandoned now, the boundary wall is breached and, like so many of its kind, it is waiting for the bulldozers to move in. It sits on the C-Ring Road, at White Palace Junction. For all I know, it might even be the White Palace.
For this much is certain. There was a time, not so long ago, when even a Qatari citizen would have been proud and contented to raise a family in a villa like this. Not huge, but spacious, not imposing, but proportioned, with its high ceilings and slender-columned verandah. A wrap-around garden for the children and adequate parking for a family car. It's only blemish is the painfully cramped maid's annexe, (that little lean-to appendage back-left), but that could easily be rebuilt to humane proportions.
Sadly, the era of moderation represented by villas such as this is over. It is now de rigeur to flaunt riches, with fleets of Land Cruisers parked in the grounds of bloated mansions. And to feed this appetite, the demolition continues apace. Soon, there will be nothing to remind us of healthier times.
Except, of course, the painfully cramped maids' annexes. Some things don't change.

Doha: the Kings, the Roundabout, the Lambs & the Chickens

The King of Fashion was pretty central in Doha, about a hundred yards from Sofitel on the road towards the Royal Palace. It's not there any more of course, having been cleared to make way for Dohaland Phase One, the city centre reconstruction project. King of Shoes has gone as well. We do still have a King of Toys (such names!) in a part of Musheirib that has so far escaped demolition. This makeshift roundabout...

is right in front of where King of Fashion used to stand. It now marks the end of the road, except for Dohaland construction traffic. Everything beyond, excluding the Palace itself, has been flattened. It's hard to mourn the passing of the irremediable slum areas, but we have also lost a richness of small businesses from the city: hardware stores, haberdashers, tailors, juice stalls, barbers. The word community springs to mind. Still standing, but earmarked for demolition in Phase Two, is the locally named Chicken Street:

not named after this particular chicken, but the many thousands of its friends and relatives that have been sold live (or at least, neck drawn at point of sale) from the many chicken shops along the way. And before anyone says cruel, please note that these chickens are on wood shavings, with space to move, and have beaks and feathers, unlike many of their battery brothers. Of course, Chicken Street doesn't only sell chickens:

It's also the place for small local butchers. This is the immaculately clean Kashmiri Butchery where your meat is cut straight from the hung carcasses, in the traditional manner. When such places go, they never return and the city is the poorer for their disappearance.

Le Mont St Michel rebuilt in the Heart of Doha

The Heart of Doha project is now well underway. An area of a few square miles centered on the Royal Palace is being razed to the ground in a veritable orgy of demolition. But is it Art? This magnificent recreation of Normandy's le Mont St Michel is at least as close to the original as our much vaunted mock Venice in Villagio Mall. But visit soon. As a piece of sculpture it promises to be as permanent as Crazy Lemming's unmade bed.
Tonight, England plays Brazil at foopball (official Nigel Molesworth spelling) in Khalifa Stadium. I'll not be going.

Built for demolition

There are a few important blogs out there. This is not one. Important blogs are rare jewels, far outnumbered by self-important bloggers. The Paranormal Hotel is a lightweight, some would say trivial blog, and intentionally so, whose raison d'être is merely to entertain while indulging in the occasional circumflex, en passant. And lest there be any doubt, Paraglider is extremely grateful to the Slaka authorities for the steady stream of quirkiness that feeds his appetite for, well, quirkiness. Such as this new apartment block, viewed from the roof of Stufital. Finished about three years ago. Furnished and fitted. Never occupied. De-furnished. De-fitted. Earmarked for demolition. (It overlooks the Palace). Town planning, Slaka style.