People Watching at the Doha Airport in Qatar

I slept most of the time on the plane, so now it’s about 6 pm and feels like morning. I guess it is morning in the United States. We had brunch a couple hours ago, so that certainly contributes to it. For most of the flight, I had headphones on and listened to Baroque chamber music—I think the same oboe concertos repeated themselves over and over until I switched to the Brandenburg Concertos.

My first sight of the Middle East as the windows came up and I looked out the window was…an airplane wing. Oh, yeah, and what looked like the sunrise but was more likely the sunset—a streak of orange just beyond the wing. Soon I saw more water than land as we got closer; that’s hardly surprising, since Qatar is a peninsula and Doha is a port city. Next I saw only water—gently rocking waves—and I hoped we wouldn’t end up in the water. But we didn’t.

The passengers had to turn and head toward the back of the plane to get off, and as I stepped out onto the metal staircase, the wind was overwhelming. I shifted my coat and grasped onto the railing, like the people in front of me (and many of the people on the plane are Indian, so they might also be on my next flight). The first thing that caught my eye was the pitch black sky and the round full moon with the hare looking out. I also saw airport lights and city lights, but no stars. The moon looked so dramatic that I was tempted to take a picture there, from the stairs. It would have required taking off my backpack, unzipping the pocket, and rummaging for my camera. I didn’t really have time for that.

Shuttles took us to the main building, which is so much prettier than the blaaah Washington Dulles (as in Dull) Airport. We passed an entrance with an arched door and columns and then we stopped in front of a section where the very tall walls were mostly made of glass, and over the glass double doors—at least two sets of them—were black signs marked “Arrivals.” Fortunately everything’s not only in Arabic but also in English.

I forgot to mention: Muhammad was our pilot. His accent sounded faintly British.

My boarding pass unfortunately doesn’t have a gate number, but I have nearly six hours till my 12:50 flight, and monitors display the gate numbers.

When I went through security, I forgot to empty my pockets and take off my passport bag and my velvet shirt (it has metal buttons) and I set off the metal detector. So I went back and did all of the above, but I set off the metal detector anyway, probably because we weren’t required to take off our footwear. Or maybe it had to do with that metal plate and five screws in my ankle, though that doesn’t normally set it off. The guy at the security monitor was a bit freaked about my backpack. I looked at the monitor as he said, “What is this, a hammer?” It was the distinct outline of my Tibetan prayer wheel. Oh, yeah, that. It’s weird that security wasn’t suspicious of it in Kansas City or Washington. In Kansas City, the guy at the security checkpoint was only concerned because I didn’t take out my one-quart plastic bag containing little bottles that were no more than three ounces. So what if I beat the pilot to death with a prayer wheel. Anyway, here I explained that it’s a Tibetan prayer wheel, and while I unwrapped it (it was in the only shawl I brought) I explained that I’m going to Tibet. As the turquoise, coral, and silver object appeared, with its silver Tibetan script, the monitor guy said, “Oh, that’s OK.” I opened the top and showed him the scroll, saying, “It has a roll of scriptures in it.” Interesting—you can’t see the monitors at KC and Washington, not without a lot of effort. It’s a good thing I wasn’t searched, because I could swear that everyone who works here is male.

Soon I was looking confusedly up at a monitor, and an employee asked me if I needed help. I said I didn’t know which gate to go to, and he looked at my boarding pass and pointed out that I have a long wait and indicated that I should go up to the loft-like area one flight up that has a glowing yellow-on-black sign for gates 7-16. I went up the stairs (not the escalator) and soon found a seat, those rows of vinyl seats just like at an American airport.

I just saw a woman with a cell phone and a black burqua. Kind of a weird combination—like stuck in the past but technologically advanced. But what do you expect?

So here I am at another airport. People watching. Many people wear Western dress, including a group of east Asian guys (like Japan or Korea?) but then there’s the occasional salwar-kamiz or the male equivalent. I saw a guy in a moss green kurta and pyjamas with a dark green vest and a white fez—a common sight in India, or I guess also Pakistan, although I’ve never been there.

There are a couple of cute boys, who definitely look either Korean or Japanese, one wearing a colorful square-patched top and the other wearing bloomers (Turkish trousers, baggy and gathered at the ankle) that match his companion’s top, and he also wears a purple shawl and has ringing bells strung around his ankles. They look like circus performers or something like that.
Quite a number of men wear long robes, usually white cotton and always with a cloth over the head; it can be red-checkered like the Ayatollah Khomeini or just plain white with a black headband. In at least two instances, I’ve seen a guy dressed like that walking next to a woman in a black robe and a black veil that hides her face except for her eyes. These robes and veils tend to have sparkly trim, so they’re not as severe as you would expect. One woman even had a wide orange and gold border on her sleeves and veil.

I just saw a group of Philippian- or Indonesian-looking women with scarves over their heads, just passing through.

Oh, yes, there was a young Arab guy wearing a mustard-colored full-length robe and a lighter yellow veil-like cloth on his head, and he’s talking on the kind of cell phone that has an earphone. A couple of the male Arabs wear a white headdress with black band, but they’re wearing drab dark grey robes.

If I understood the statistic correctly, there is only one woman for every eighty-eight men in Qatar, because of the male immigrant labor. Oil is the big business in this country. So before coming to this country I was afraid the airport would be like going to a gay nightclub that caters to the Mr. Butch crowd: bad vibes from a testosterone overdose. My gay night club theory has proved wrong, however, despite the staff, perhaps because it’s an airport and people come from different parts of the world and in many cases are on their way elsewhere; I’m seeing a plethora of women, not nearly all men here.

But I have to mention, amid all the Arabs and Asians, I saw an American-looking dude who has a sort of Mohawk and a soul patch and black denim cut-offs, a white t-shirt, and a black vest. And I saw four white guys who looked like they may have been members of the American military. I did read that there are many male East Asian immigrant workers in Qatar, which accounts for there being so many more males than females in this country.

I’m not sure what’s the point of tying a scarf over your head if you’re wearing tight jeans and a fitted, laced-up wench’s bodice. Not that I work for the fashion police. She looked Philippian or Indonesian.

I just saw a woman who got me thinking: “Middle Eastern Amish.” She wore a light brown robe with a black headscarf, and the man walking next to her wore dark, sober clothes but not a long robe.

I just saw a woman wearing chartreuse pants with a psychedelic-print pink, purple, white, and chartreuse tunic, and a slightly paler green scarf over her head. A somewhat older woman, perhaps her mother, wore light-brown trousers with a lovely, large print kamiz in red and brown, a floral print. A bit ago, I saw a woman in a hot pink sparkly salwar-kamiz. Oh, yeah…there was a group of Indian women a few minutes ago, including one wearing a white cotton tiered skirt embroidered with blue and red paisley (and she wasn’t young, though it was such a youthful outfit); right behind her was a woman in a sparkly embroidered yellow sari. Walking just a few steps behind their group were a couple of women in black robes and burquas.
Now a huge group of Indonesian-looking women in headscarves are headed down the escalator. I thought all the immigrant workers were male.

Oh, yes, a minute ago I saw a couple of women who reminded me of a Renaissance fair. One wore a full-length brown velveteen robe trimmed boldly and elaborately with peach and gold appliqué and maybe embroidery. And of course she wore a scarf tied over her head. Her companion wore a blue-grey bodice with long sleeves that flared out toward the wrist, and the bodice was cinched in at the waist; this was with a scarf and dark blue trousers.

And then there’s the woman straight ahead of me wearing bright orange chaudori—I think that’s the word—that are not only tapered and scrunched up at the ankle but also embroidered in bright turquoise that matches her kamiz. In simpler words, she’s wearing traditional Indian tunic and slacks in a psychedelic color scheme.

People-watching at the Doha airport is as interesting as people watching at a Renaissance fair.
A few yards away from me are a couple of Hindu-looking guys in cotton kurtas, vests, and turbans, but since I spent three weeks in India last year, they look kind of normal.

I just saw orange-and-turquoise again, and she’s wearing a long turquoise scarf, that’s draped over her head. And she’s wearing a pea-green fuzzy-trimmed jacket, but I don’t think that’s really meant to go with the rest of her outfit. And her kamiz is either embroidered or appliquéd, along the bottom, with spiky flowers in yellow, pink, and orange; the tunic has very narrow pink stripes a couple inches apart.

Even people who look like white Americans walk by speaking a language that is definitely not English. I saw a group of four tall blonde people who I think were German.

I also saw a male dwarf in dark jeans and a dark blue shirt walking alongside and talking with a guy in white robes and a dark brown Western suit jacket.

It’s really time I set this down and get back to reading.

I just have to mention a young guy Maude would be tripping over her feet for—he vaguely reminded me of the Egyptian guy in The Mummy film, and had luscious black locks. He was mostly wearing shades of brown, more or less Western clothing.

One guy in the long white robe and white headdress or head shawl has the usual black band around his head, but there are two long black ropes hanging from it and ending in black tassels. It looks strangely kind of festive. He joined up with a group of white-robed men, two with red and white checkered turbans.