Forty-Seven-Thousand Girls wanted for Light Duties

I came across an interesting statistic recently, all the more interesting because the source, who will remain nameless, is usually fairly reliable in such matters. We were talking about FIFA 2022 and some of the changes that Qatar will have to make if they are to meet the expectations, not merely of the organisers, management and players, but also of the half-million-or-so fans who are expected to fall like a plague on the innocent city state.
Not to beat about the bush, one of us observed that the extremely male-skewed population wouldn't be much to their liking. But apparently this has already been taken into consideration. It seems the Authorities have made the necessary calculations and agreed that 47,000 highly available ladies would fit the bill. It's not clear whether they are to be phased in gradually over the next few years or delivered by a mass parachute drop just in time for the tournament. Time will tell. More interesting to the mathematician in me is, how do you derive the formula that yields 47,000 girls, rather than say 46 or 48? And how about catering for the 5% of gay fans? Maybe 2,350 specially imported boys? Just another meeting where it would have been great to be a fly on the wall...

The Disappearing Chinese Girls - where have all the flowers gone?

No, this isn't about China's one child policy and its scandalous but wholly predictable side-effect in respect of female babies. There's nothing new to say about that.
But nearer home, in Doha to be precise, rather older Chinese 'girls' have been disappearing for years, only to reappear briefly, prior to their final farewell. It's quite a tradition in fact, and equally unsurprising when the economics of the situation are understood. What happens is, they enter the country either on a visit visa or on an ostensibly legitimate but highly dubious business visa. Dubious because the job doesn't exist, and someone makes a great deal of money from the transaction. Then, when the time comes to leave or renew, the lady is off the radar - disappeared, in fact, to embark on a new career as an illegal immigrant. Of course, illegal in Qatar means unemployable; self employment is the only option, coupled with self-concealment, because discovery means arrest and deportment. The membership and ID scheme naturally denies them access to all bars and clubs, further increasing the difficulty of earning a living, unless they have already built a substantial client base or, the pinnacle of success, acquired the coveted status of girlfriend or fiancee with its attendant financial security.
For the less fortunate, inevitably there comes a time when they decide to go home. Of course there is no way to pass through the airport without a current visa and exit permit. Traditionally then, the girls would first send all their money home, by Western Union or similar, then turn themselves in at a police station, penniless, where they'd spend maybe a day and night in a cell, pending paperwork, before being repatriated with no right of return (unless with a different forged passport!)
But recently, the pattern has changed. The girls now seem to be detained in gaol for two or even three weeks before being sent home. There seems no point to this. They can't pay fines with no money in the country. They're not involved in any crime that could merit interrogation. So why detain them at the State's expense? Surely not as a punishment - that would be completely pointless. Also it would seem to be counterproductive. The old amnesty - turn yourself in and we'll send you home - makes it painless to leave. But faced with a few weeks in gaol, might it not be tempting to remain illegal until caught?
Another of life's mysteries.

Who moved my Cheese?

Now that all the great and good bloggers, journalists, reporters and general pundits have wrung every last drop of spin from Dubai's little local difficulty, the time is right for a considered and serious evaluation from the intellectual wasteland that is the Paranormal Hotel. Anyone who saw it coming must have realised they couldn't do anything about it except talk, so no change there. Anyone who didn't see it coming probably isn't mentally equipped to decide to do anything different anyway, so again, no change there. All of which boils down to business as usual - doing things that don't need to be done for people who don't know if a thing is well or badly done, with the possible exception of the steaks on their dinner plates.

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain
For promis'd joy.

But spare a thought for the Paranormal's girls, arguably the most innocent parties of all in the Great National Hiccup. The poor mice are left wandering around a half empty Jockey's Pub wondering, who moved my cheese? Oh well, there's always Sky Sports...

As you were

Avid watchers of the countdown monitor (on the right) will have noticed that it has magically jumped back from 99% to 80%. This has something to do with Paraglider's acceptance of one more one-year contract in Doha. Not without regret. The prospect of returning to Dubai was appealing. But the brief fact-finding mission was none too encouraging. Not too many green shoots in that particular desert. So, for the coming year, Dubai will remain a visa-hop destination, and the Paranormal an occasional pleasure. Perhaps that's how it is meant to be. But if I had been asked to put money on it, I'd have bet on the true Paranormal falling down before its sister hotel in Deira. It shows there is a God after all. A Chinese one.

Helga sighted, seated in state

Paraglider's whim last night found him in Waggleworms, where the ridiculously named but very talented SoundSations still hold court every night. Alan A has changed his black trilby for a white golf cap (not, I'm pleased to report, a baseball cap) and is as flamboyant as ever. The back line seemed unchanged, but the three girl singers are newer than my last visit. All fine, but Jee set a standard that's hard to follow. While taking all this in, and waiting for a waiter to bring that vital first drink, there came a touch on the left elbow and a familiar voice - hello Para. And there, as if magically transported from Jockey's 2006 to Waggleworms 2009 sat Helga, all cleavage, teeth and sequins, directing operations from her bar stool, as of old. It seems the Chinese girls are not allowed in here, so the mix is traditional FSE. Helga's immediate brood appears to have shrunk to a single chicken. Maybe she's retiring gradually?

About my mother...

Choong's mother is visiting him, from Beijing. His presence in Stufital bar is proof enough that the ban on Chinese doesn't apply to men. But can he bring the old lady (she's 73) in for a quiet drink? Of course your mother is welcome sir! But this raises new questions. The ban can't be simply racist, since Choong is unbanned. And it can't be simply sexist, or there would be no Filipinas allowed. We'd thought it was a simple Boolean AND function: banned if [Chinese AND female]. But Choong's old mama has blown that apart. Maybe the secret algorithm is [Chinese AND female AND NOT old]. Or possibly [Chinese AND female AND fanciable]. Or maybe it's just another example of unthinking reflex reaction. But to what? Such occasional trouble as has occurred in Stufital has never involved the Chinese women. In fact, the most troublesome group is...?

50:50

The days of Ramadan tick by, quietly, and we watch the night sky. In a couple of nights, the full moon will mark the halfway point. The No Locals sign on Chalky's door has fallen once or twice, is showing dog-ears, but will probably last the fortnight. It scarcely matters; it's there only to placate the outrageable and be ignored by the regulars. Ringlets, on her corner stool, manages a wan smile, but still pines for Mahmoud. Back in two weeks, he'd said. On a brighter note, this full moon is also the Chinese mid-autumn festival of zhong qiu jie. Fasting is not a requirement. It's another excuse to eat moon cakes and be very happy. Nothing wrong with that.

Square Pegging

Regular readers will know that Paraglider is allergic to 5-star hotels, so it was with some reluctance that he agreed to accompany a friend to Scowlit's night club in the Elephant Towers. The place was busy. So busy you could almost believe some people go there intentionally. Noisy too, with MTV masquerading as entertainment. What seems to unite the Scowlit crowd is the belief that they are good-looking and extremely fashionable. Paraglider is not qualified to comment on the second of these and too polite to dwell on the first. Certainly it's the only place in town where Russian ladies distribute business cards. Helga would be affronted.

The Glove

Lana wore Paraglider down till he grudgingly agreed (again) to take her from Paranormal to the Vice President for a game of pool. We know the routine well. Place a dirham on the table and wait your turn. It's winner stays on there. The young Syrian guy seems unbeatable and certainly believes himself so. After half an hour, the time comes. Lana walks up to the table. Syria is gracious - if you want to play your girlfriend, I'll step down for one game. Thanks, but she's playing you, my friend. Meanwhile, Lana is fetching her single glove (!) from her handbag and selecting a cue. Five minutes later, Syria is dispatched to the sidelines in a flurry of coloured balls, to nurse his injured pride, soon to be followed by Lebanon, Egypt, Jordan and the rest. Paraglider waits and watches. It's OK. There are worse places to drink and Lana is nothing if not decorative. Go girl!

The Golden Pig

On behalf of all their regular, irregular, occasional and future customers, Paraglider takes this opportunity to wish all of Paranormal's Chinese ladies a happy and prosperous New Year of the Golden Pig. This is supposed to be a most auspicious year. Who knows - maybe the Paranormal is destined to model, in miniature, greater movements in the wider world. China in the ascendancy; FSE (Former Soviet Empire) in decline. Over to you Helga! Let's see if your finest Stans can rise to the challenge.

True Devotion

The Chinese girls are back. On the Full Moon festival they gather in each other's apartments and celebrate with moon cakes and endless games of mahjong. They play for money, winning or losing hundreds of dirhams in a night, but as there is no bank, only friends together, things even out over time. As Lily says, "Tonight no go Palanoma. Tonight pray. All night pray. Pray mahjong".