Well, I am trying something new this month. I have hired a personal trainer. I know, I know - shocked right? Me too.
It's just that this heat is doing nothing for my physical activity level, and I am terrible at going to the gym (and being productive on my own once there). It's been nine months since Ella was born and honestly, I haven't worked out really hard once in those nine months. Shame on me.
So...
I have just completed session # 7 with May (my trainer). She is one tough cookie. I am constantly trying to decide if I love her or hate her, as she makes me do one painful exercise after another. I mostly hate her as I am working out, but when I get home and feel good, I love her again.
After my very first session (where I am quite sure there were tears rolling down my face but I cleverly concealed them with my own sweat), I honestly had trouble walking home. It was early in the morning, and I could hear the call to prayer playing in the distance... I looked around and wondered if I collapsed on the sidewalk under a palm, would anyone eventually find me? The compound is pretty much deserted for the summer. I figured I would give one of the Blue Men a heart attack if they eventually came upon my passed out self as they mowed grass or watered flowers, so I hobbled home slowly. My legs weren't the same for about four days. Ouch! Colin enjoyed teasing me about the whole thing.
May makes me do crazy exercises that I swear she must stay up at night and actually invent. I have caught other gym-goers staring at us (mostly me), but no matter. I am going to keep it up as long as I can. Wish me luck!
PS
I think I am starting to get a little loopy with no rain. Like, not even a cloud in the sky for weeks and weeks. Please, let it rain soon. PLEASE.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
My Epiphany
Doha doesn't have oodles of greenery and trees (obviously), but there are lots of palm trees around. Pretty much everywhere in the city. These palm trees look inconspicuous enough (although not like the ones in Texas, for sure) so I didn't really pay much attention to them... until recently.For the last month or so, I have noticed that many of these palm trees started having bunches and bunches of oval ball things hanging from them - like big bunches of grapes. I called them 'coconut ball bunches' for lack of a better phrase (they actually don't look like coconuts at all, but they are in about the same place).
These oval balls started catching my attention when I noticed that locals were placing mesh bags around many of the bunches up in the trees. Being the smarty pants that I am, I assume (to myself
) that the local conscientious gardeners must do this to prevent them from falling all over lawns and streets & making a mess. Makes sense right? Right.
) that the local conscientious gardeners must do this to prevent them from falling all over lawns and streets & making a mess. Makes sense right? Right. Then Cooper and Bentley start taking an unnatural interest in the coconut balls on the ground. They pull and tug at their leashes whenever they see them scattered on the ground (which is often as we have many in our front lawn). Then - they eat them. Devour them really. They gobble them up like they are the tastiest things they have ever experienced in their furry little lives. So, I am thinking my dogs are pretty strange. And, really, neither of them has a great track record of having superior taste preferences (Bentley's dish of choice would be bird poop and dried worms, while Cooper rathers fresh baby spit up), so I assume this is just a new weird little habit. But, then their craziness gets more and more intense as the days go by and the coconut balls start turning color from a yellowish green to a dried up purple. Hmmm.
My wheels start turning again, and I decide I have to look into this further. So I google it. OMG!
Of course! I should have known. How could I not have known?(For the record - Colin had no idea either.)
Of course! I should have known. How could I not have known?(For the record - Colin had no idea either.)
I am so stunned sometimes, I swear.
Dates! Date Palms! Actually, Phoenix Dectylifera. Of course. I live in the land of dates... they even sell them at kiosks in the malls. DATES. My lightbulb was burning brightly now as the pieces fell into place. My dogs love dates.
Mystery solved!
And, We're Back!
Our two weeks totally really flew by. We spent it zipping across Canada from Calgary to Halifax, Antigonish & Sydney and back again, with many stops (we have a baby now, after all) in between. No visit was long enough, but we had lots of laughs, ate and drank too much, and watched as our families fell even more in love with Ella, and beamed as some of our friends got to meet her for the first time. Smile.
We are back in Doha now - and I gotta say, even though I miss Canada, it is good to be back in our own space. Living out of a suitcase with an eight month old loses its' appeal quickly. We all suffered from jet lag upon our return, but Ella's urge to want to party all night and sleep all day is still going strong. Hoping to get her back on track very soon!
Monday, June 14, 2010
Ready or Not
Here we come... well, almost. We leave Doha tonight at 3:50am , heading to Canada. So much to do between now and then. What to bring for Ella that will cover all possible scenarios on a plane. I have been making lists and gathering things for days. We are nowhere near ready... I should actually be doing that right this moment, but classic me... have to put it off for a bit yet. I do my best work under pressure.
A few quick updates:
A few quick updates:
- I am curren
tly trying to nurse a baby sparrow back to health. The little guy eats every half hour. Very time consuming. We have had "Nike" (fittingly named after the shoebox he currently calls his home) for five days now. Dogs 'found' him last weekend. He has come a long way, but still not sure if he will make it. Very touch and go. Delicate little guy. Fingers crossed. - Mercy is going to be living at our house while we are gone to take care of Coops and Ben. I have been pester
ing her with rules, notes and reminders for two solid weeks. She just smiles and says, "Don't worry Ma'am". I hate leaving my boys. Hate it. I told the security guards at our gate that if they find either dog wandering the compound alone, there is big money in it for a safe return. I think they assume I am crazy. I think it would have to be huge money for one of them to touch my dogs, as they go to great lengths to avoid them on our walks. I guess if one wanted to break into Qipco, you could just show up with a pack of poodles and charge the gate.
Ella now crawls AND stands up in her crib. Life has changed suddenly. Can't turn our heads for a second and she is up to something. I was secretly hoping she wouldn't crawl until AFTER our 22 hour plane ride. She had other plans!
- I am learning not to love anything on television too much. Movies, sitcoms (no new ones), news...whatever. Guaranteed as soon as I 'get into' a program on TV, the signal gets sketchy and I am left with a fuzzy mess to try and view my show on. Infuriating. We've taken to watching purchased DVDs lately. Lots of movie nights, which is actually a great way to spend an evening if the only thing you can find on TV in English is a staticky Britsh cooking show.
- Can it get any hotter? Yes. Yes, it can. Stupid, stupid question.
- Thank goodness I like orange. Since World Cup has started (so long Colin, I will miss you), our neighbours have taken to decorating. It appears from their 'decorations' that they are all Dutch. Holland flags, banners, and streamers adorn our little compound. Ik houd voetbal! (How was that, Marena?)
- Night time unicycler. Yep, we have one here. Every night when we walk the dogs, there is a man who is out about the same time as we are, and is practicing his unicycling on our service road. At first he was terrible, and we would hold our breath and watch him tumble forward, but now he is markedly better. He stays going for long stretches at a time. I think, by the accent, he is British. Colin & I are both very impressed how far he's come. I guess living in a place like this allows you the time to try things you always thought about doing. Unicycling. Hmm. Not just yet. Maybe I can find some time to pick up a paint brush first instead.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Hot Stones, Anyone?
The month of May has been a busy one so far, hence my lack of posts. Colin's sister, Ryanne, visited us from Korea, followed by Colin's mom, Kim. We had a great time, and Ella beamed with all of the love and attention showered upon her. If any of you are planning on moving around the world, I highly suggest having a baby first. It will ensure your family seeks you out to visit the baby no matter where you relocate.
It just so happened that Mother's Day fell smack dab in the middle of Kim's visit. Being that this was my very first Mother's Day (yay!), Kim and I were both treated with gift certificates to a local spa in a five star resort. Hooray for Mother's Day! Mama loves her spa trips!
Here we go...
I promptly book Kim and I in for two one hour massages. I find out that this is not a regular run of the mill spa, but a "Traditional Chinese Body Care Facility". OK, I am down with that. My body is indeed in need of some care these days. Bring it on.
The massages we reserve are of the hot stone variety. The gift certificate says "Full Body Hot Stone Massage". I have had hot stone treatments before and have been pleased. Sounds like a good deal.
I am actually laughing to myself as I write this. It is still very funny.
OK... so, we arrive. The massage therapists are Chinese. An important observation. More 'authentic'.
In a quick moment of panic, I worry that the lady with whom I booked the massages with misunderstood me on the phone. It looks as though Kim and I are in the same room? No. This will not do. I love my mother-in-law, but no need to get that intimate with her. I need to be alone with my massage giver. I politely inquire if we are in separate rooms. The Chinese receptionist lady says "No problem". She shows us, rather proudly, the curtain that divides the 'room' into two. Right. Not ideal, but I can make do with the curtain. Kim and I agree this is fine. I walk to my "half" of the room and Kim to her "half".
This is where the weirdness starts. My massage therapist comes in and says "Take clothes off and put here", gesturing to a little table for my clothes. I nod. We stand there in awkward silence. She isn't leaving. She wants me to strip down to my drawers while she stands there with nothing else to do but watch. I can hear through the curtain wall that Kim's lady is doing the same thing to her. My lady gets the hint that I am not stripping while she gawks at me, so she turns her back and pretends to be busy shuffling the hot stones inside their little oven.
I get naked (well, as naked as I care to be with a complete stranger. I leave the underwear firmly in place). I quickly hop under the warm towel provided.
My lady tells me to put my face in the hole. I hate doing that. Anyone that has ever gotten a massage knows this is not a comfortable thing to do and leaves you feeling a bit claustrophobic. Whatever. I will do almost anything for a good back rub. Face goes in hole.
The massage begins (as does Kim's, as our ladies are now talking to one another quietly). Feels good. I am happy.
The whole thing is relatively uneventful until my lady starts on my legs. Before I know it, she has got me twisted like a pretzel. She is rotating my legs in all sorts of funny angles and I am not quite sure what to think. Relax, I tell myself. This is probably some kind of Chinese magic massage that will add five years to my life.
But wait, it gets even more exciting. I hear this strange thumping sound coming from behind the curtain-wall. What could it be? Someone puffing up pillows on a bed? Beating the dust out of a rug? Oh no. It is Kim. Her lady is whomp-whomp-whomping her. It must be quite forceful, as I can almost feel it myself. I suppress the urge to laugh out loud in my hole. Poor Kim. My lady may be a limb-bender but Kim's is clearly beating the tar out of her.
Then it begins. Gently at first. Whomp. Then whomp whomp. My lady starts karate chopping my back and behind like she means it. Oh my goodness. I don't quite know what to do, but to lie there and take it. So I do. I listen to the alternating whack-thump-pat of our massage therapists working their ways across our poor North American selves, knowing that if I hear so much as one peep from Kim's half of the room that I will not be able to control myself. I can feel laughter bubbling up inside me. Then I have a flashback. This beating has triggered a memory (or, it has more like 'beaten' a memory out of me)...
Travelling in China with my dear friend Joanne, we decide to treat ourselves to a day at the spa. We get massages. Oh my goodness, they beat us there too. Except I seem to remember them actually getting up on the table with us to try out some wrestling-type moves. Wow.
So, wait... it gets weirder. I some how zone out for a while, and am brought back to the moment when my lady whispers 'turn over'. OK. I turn over, careful to keep my towel in place across my torso. She resumes her bending/beating hot stone massage. Kind of feels good. Then... WHOOSH. No towel. She has removed my protective layer and is now massaging what appears to be my appendix. What the hell? Where is my towel? I stare wide eyed up at the ceiling thinking about my next move. Good thing it is dark in here. Should I run? Should I search for the towel somewhere on the floor? Do I dare say something to her? I seem to have gone speechless. I opt to remain frozen in my spot as this woman gives me a TRUE full body massage. She was much too close to my bits and pieces for my liking. Was Kim going through this crazy intimate rub down too?
After another thirty minutes, the full body work over ends. Just like that, the lights come on, my lady has gone, and I am left to gather my dignity alone in my half room. I can hear that Kim is also getting dressed. This is what follows:
Me: "Kim?"
Kim, after a muffled noise: "Yes?"
Me: "You decent?"
Kim: Pause. "Yes"
I cautiously pull the curtain aside and look at Kim. Her eyes are wild with squelched laughter. I feel tears burn my eyes just looking at her. I need to laugh. She says something like "Don't talk to me about it until we are outside", and I obey.
We quickly leave and break into a massive laughing attack in the elevator. We actually laughed all the way home, and then again when we shared with Colin.
What on earth just happened? After comparing notes, it seems we both got the ultimate full meal deal of massages, and yes, Kim also had hot stones in places she wasn't quite at peace with either.
What an experience. I will end with saying it was one Mother's Day massage not soon to be forgotten. Next time, I will look for the item on the menu that doesn't say 'full body'.
It just so happened that Mother's Day fell smack dab in the middle of Kim's visit. Being that this was my very first Mother's Day (yay!), Kim and I were both treated with gift certificates to a local spa in a five star resort. Hooray for Mother's Day! Mama loves her spa trips!
Here we go...
I promptly book Kim and I in for two one hour massages. I find out that this is not a regular run of the mill spa, but a "Traditional Chinese Body Care Facility". OK, I am down with that. My body is indeed in need of some care these days. Bring it on.
The massages we reserve are of the hot stone variety. The gift certificate says "Full Body Hot Stone Massage". I have had hot stone treatments before and have been pleased. Sounds like a good deal.
I am actually laughing to myself as I write this. It is still very funny.
OK... so, we arrive. The massage therapists are Chinese. An important observation. More 'authentic'.
In a quick moment of panic, I worry that the lady with whom I booked the massages with misunderstood me on the phone. It looks as though Kim and I are in the same room? No. This will not do. I love my mother-in-law, but no need to get that intimate with her. I need to be alone with my massage giver. I politely inquire if we are in separate rooms. The Chinese receptionist lady says "No problem". She shows us, rather proudly, the curtain that divides the 'room' into two. Right. Not ideal, but I can make do with the curtain. Kim and I agree this is fine. I walk to my "half" of the room and Kim to her "half".
This is where the weirdness starts. My massage therapist comes in and says "Take clothes off and put here", gesturing to a little table for my clothes. I nod. We stand there in awkward silence. She isn't leaving. She wants me to strip down to my drawers while she stands there with nothing else to do but watch. I can hear through the curtain wall that Kim's lady is doing the same thing to her. My lady gets the hint that I am not stripping while she gawks at me, so she turns her back and pretends to be busy shuffling the hot stones inside their little oven.
I get naked (well, as naked as I care to be with a complete stranger. I leave the underwear firmly in place). I quickly hop under the warm towel provided.
My lady tells me to put my face in the hole. I hate doing that. Anyone that has ever gotten a massage knows this is not a comfortable thing to do and leaves you feeling a bit claustrophobic. Whatever. I will do almost anything for a good back rub. Face goes in hole.
The massage begins (as does Kim's, as our ladies are now talking to one another quietly). Feels good. I am happy.
The whole thing is relatively uneventful until my lady starts on my legs. Before I know it, she has got me twisted like a pretzel. She is rotating my legs in all sorts of funny angles and I am not quite sure what to think. Relax, I tell myself. This is probably some kind of Chinese magic massage that will add five years to my life.
But wait, it gets even more exciting. I hear this strange thumping sound coming from behind the curtain-wall. What could it be? Someone puffing up pillows on a bed? Beating the dust out of a rug? Oh no. It is Kim. Her lady is whomp-whomp-whomping her. It must be quite forceful, as I can almost feel it myself. I suppress the urge to laugh out loud in my hole. Poor Kim. My lady may be a limb-bender but Kim's is clearly beating the tar out of her.
Then it begins. Gently at first. Whomp. Then whomp whomp. My lady starts karate chopping my back and behind like she means it. Oh my goodness. I don't quite know what to do, but to lie there and take it. So I do. I listen to the alternating whack-thump-pat of our massage therapists working their ways across our poor North American selves, knowing that if I hear so much as one peep from Kim's half of the room that I will not be able to control myself. I can feel laughter bubbling up inside me. Then I have a flashback. This beating has triggered a memory (or, it has more like 'beaten' a memory out of me)...
Travelling in China with my dear friend Joanne, we decide to treat ourselves to a day at the spa. We get massages. Oh my goodness, they beat us there too. Except I seem to remember them actually getting up on the table with us to try out some wrestling-type moves. Wow.
So, wait... it gets weirder. I some how zone out for a while, and am brought back to the moment when my lady whispers 'turn over'. OK. I turn over, careful to keep my towel in place across my torso. She resumes her bending/beating hot stone massage. Kind of feels good. Then... WHOOSH. No towel. She has removed my protective layer and is now massaging what appears to be my appendix. What the hell? Where is my towel? I stare wide eyed up at the ceiling thinking about my next move. Good thing it is dark in here. Should I run? Should I search for the towel somewhere on the floor? Do I dare say something to her? I seem to have gone speechless. I opt to remain frozen in my spot as this woman gives me a TRUE full body massage. She was much too close to my bits and pieces for my liking. Was Kim going through this crazy intimate rub down too?
After another thirty minutes, the full body work over ends. Just like that, the lights come on, my lady has gone, and I am left to gather my dignity alone in my half room. I can hear that Kim is also getting dressed. This is what follows:
Me: "Kim?"
Kim, after a muffled noise: "Yes?"
Me: "You decent?"
Kim: Pause. "Yes"
I cautiously pull the curtain aside and look at Kim. Her eyes are wild with squelched laughter. I feel tears burn my eyes just looking at her. I need to laugh. She says something like "Don't talk to me about it until we are outside", and I obey.
We quickly leave and break into a massive laughing attack in the elevator. We actually laughed all the way home, and then again when we shared with Colin.
What on earth just happened? After comparing notes, it seems we both got the ultimate full meal deal of massages, and yes, Kim also had hot stones in places she wasn't quite at peace with either.
What an experience. I will end with saying it was one Mother's Day massage not soon to be forgotten. Next time, I will look for the item on the menu that doesn't say 'full body'.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Okay, here it is.
I promised, therefore I must deliver. DRIVING IN QATAR. Sigh. Big, big, big sigh. I am devoting this entry entirely to the "drivers" of Qatar. If any Qatari's happen to stumble upon my little blog, please forgive me if my words sound harsh, but while you are thinking about forgiving me, please get your Mont Blanc pens out and take some notes - I have a few gentle suggestions for you.
I have had sufficient time to examine these people and their racing striped, plastic covered seats (no matter the vehicle age), and faux- fur covered dash board automobiles. I am not exaggerating when I say that driving in this city has taken years off my life. It is the only huge stressor in my current existence. Yes, I know I can be a bit dramatic at times, but I am neither exaggerating or embellishing here. It does not matter where I sit in the car - driving, passenge-ing, even in the back seat - my stomach still lurches at big roundabouts, and I say my Hail Mary's silently when I glance out the window at a smushed-up abandoned SUV left on the side of the road like a tin can, after what could only be a major accident.
I am currently working on perfecting my mind reading skills. It is a tall order. One has to be more than a mind reader when driving here. I will glare into the eyes of a Qatari woman pulled up next to me at a roundabout or red light - often that is the only part of her I can see at all... sometimes I am forced to glare into the black space where I think her eyes might be, as her face is completely covered - and try to decide if she looks like she may tramp on the gas and cut into my lane, or if she plans on sticking it out in her own lane for a while longer. A fleeting thought enters my head- I wonder if she can even see me at all. What is a gal's peripheral vision like with a cloth over her eyes and Louis Vuitton sunglasses over that cloth? I can only guess. Shudder.
I have had sufficient time to examine these people and their racing striped, plastic covered seats (no matter the vehicle age), and faux- fur covered dash board automobiles. I am not exaggerating when I say that driving in this city has taken years off my life. It is the only huge stressor in my current existence. Yes, I know I can be a bit dramatic at times, but I am neither exaggerating or embellishing here. It does not matter where I sit in the car - driving, passenge-ing, even in the back seat - my stomach still lurches at big roundabouts, and I say my Hail Mary's silently when I glance out the window at a smushed-up abandoned SUV left on the side of the road like a tin can, after what could only be a major accident.
I am currently working on perfecting my mind reading skills. It is a tall order. One has to be more than a mind reader when driving here. I will glare into the eyes of a Qatari woman pulled up next to me at a roundabout or red light - often that is the only part of her I can see at all... sometimes I am forced to glare into the black space where I think her eyes might be, as her face is completely covered - and try to decide if she looks like she may tramp on the gas and cut into my lane, or if she plans on sticking it out in her own lane for a while longer. A fleeting thought enters my head- I wonder if she can even see me at all. What is a gal's peripheral vision like with a cloth over her eyes and Louis Vuitton sunglasses over that cloth? I can only guess. Shudder.
The men are the worst by far - so very unpredictable. So much so in fact that when a Qatari man slows and gestures to me to go ahead and enter his lane (a nice thing to do for another driver), I begin to doubt his sincerity. Shame on me.
The Indian drivers are in a class of their own, and may take the prize for being the best Wolves-in-Sheep's-Clothing. If there is a speed camera within 10 miles, they are the picture of safety and precision. Hands at ten and two. Eyes straight ahead. But when no one is looking, they will sneak up on you and create their very own lanes (the shoulder of the road or straight up the middle of two lanes will do just fine), and can squeeze the largest SUV into the smallest of spaces. Impressive really, if it weren't so frightening. They love being snuggled right up to your bumper or side mirrors. No room to breath the hot desert air at all.
In our short three months here (yes, it has been that long) we have seen many fender benders and far too many close calls. I know the other drivers must look at my car and think to themselves, "Strange. That woman's car blinks". You can spot an expat a mile away (literally) when you see their vehicle switch on a signal light. No one else seems to know what a turn indicator is for. Certainly not to signal your intention to move your vehicle in the direction of the blinking light. Really though. Blinkers in Doha are for the weak. It is far more heart racing and adrenaline pumping to have to guess who is going to go in what direction at any given moment. My spidey senses are tingling constantly.
A note about Colin... My gentle, patient husband (who is never ever seen 'losing it'... unlike his wife!) has, on occasion, been transformed into a complete stranger before my very eyes when caught up in the craziness of the Doha roads. He sighs. He grunts. He shakes his head and makes clicking sounds with his tongue. He occasionally SWEARS. He blows his horn. He does not, however, make any hand gestures of any kind (we could get in some serious trouble for this one). The colourful phrases he has muttered while saving us from getting side-swiped or rear-ended would make a sailor blush. His stress (so rarely seen) amplifies my stress. Oh, it is bad. Real bad. I feel like I am on a ride at the fair that flings you every which direction and when you get off, your stomach is fluttering and your head is swirling. It makes me need to take a nap.
I should clarify here that it is not always like this. Sometimes the roads are just fine to travel on. Often, I get to and fro without any issues whatsoever. These trips are glorious. I feel accomplished and energized. Yes, we made it! Friday mornings are the best for driving, but a cruel irony... the stores are all shut. I must say that some Doha drivers are very conscientious , law abiding citizens. I should not paint everyone with the same brush, I know. Please forgive me, but I do speak of the majority. I am hopeful this will change.
We really just have to be careful anytime before or after lunch time, supper time, Thursday nights, Friday nights, Saturday nights, driving near a wedding tent, a mosque, the Corniche, the souqs... you get my point. Trying to park could give you a stroke if you aren't careful.
I realize that in the whole grand scheme of things that the Qatari's are actually doing wonderfully considering that Doha has risen up out of the sand as a vibrant and booming city virtually overnight. It wasn't that long ago that you would be hard pressed to find a car amongst the camels. They are doing very well, considering.
I have been given the hand gesture for 'patience' more times than I can count. Strange, it is always when I am yielding (at a yield sign) and a Qatari honks, flashes his lights, and then, as he pulls out and speeds ahead of me into the rush of oncoming traffic, he looks back and calmly gestures... "patience". I could choke on my tongue when this happens. Makes no sense! You, my dear sirs, YOU need the patience.
I was recently purchasing something in a store owned by a Qatari man. We were making small talk and he was asking how I am enjoying living in Doha. My reply was a positive one, but I mentioned the driving was mad. He laughs. He agrees. I ask him about the hand gesture I have been recieving. Indeed, it does means 'patience'. Why then, I ask, are they giving it to me, when I am clearly being 'patient'? He answers: "The Arabs... they are crazy." Then he chuckles. Enough said.
We will be okay, Inshallah. (http://www.grapeshisha.com/culture/inshallah.html) Hopefully, we will navigate through all the craziness and stay happy and healthy during our time here. Blog readers, say a prayer or two to your guardian angels for us. We need them all.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
We're Booked
We are officially booked for our first trip home. What a completely complicated ordeal! It actually took two days of phone calls to get it all straightened out. Whew! Glad it's done.
We couldn't seem to get all the flights we needed directly from any one airline carrier (our trip has multi-city destinations), so we finally decided to try a travel site. We've had family members have trouble using these sites, but the flight selection was decent and so was the price. I won't directly mention the site, in case some of you are fans...let's just call it Nexpedia.com. Such a nightmare. Long story short, we booked and paid for our tickets only to find out the booking omitted Ella in the end. Outside of North America, an infant has to be booked as a separate passenger (not attached to a parents ticket). Nexpedia.com wouldn't acknowledge her as a travelling passenger. The folks at Nexpedia.com turned out to be completely useless (offering to cancel and rebook our flights again - they had Ella on another flight - but oops... the flights went up $5000+ in price overnight!). We had to make a trip to the airport to physically visit Qatar Airways... still no luck correcting the problem. Three long and pleading phone calls to Air Canada later, we finally have it sorted... we think.
So - drum roll, please - we are coming home! We leave Qatar June 16 to fly to Calgary for Dave and Kirsten's wedding on June 19. We leave Calgary on June 20 for ten days in Nova Scotia, returning to Doha on the 30th.
Although I had hoped for a stop in Texas, we couldn't do it this time around. I am still hoping to get there later this year though.
Tips on travelling on long haul flights with an almost-eight-month-old very welcome!
PS - Construction on our brick patio extension has suddenly halted. The LBM have been called away on a very important 'tiling' project in villa #12, preparing it for new people. Damn them. When I asked when they could get back there and finish, I am met with blank stares and then a "yes ma'am". I think we have negotiated that work will resume in 'two days' (I know this from the fingers the head LBM kept holding up?). Gone are the days of efficiency and deadlines... welcome to Doha! I'll keep you posted if and when it's ever finished...
We couldn't seem to get all the flights we needed directly from any one airline carrier (our trip has multi-city destinations), so we finally decided to try a travel site. We've had family members have trouble using these sites, but the flight selection was decent and so was the price. I won't directly mention the site, in case some of you are fans...let's just call it Nexpedia.com. Such a nightmare. Long story short, we booked and paid for our tickets only to find out the booking omitted Ella in the end. Outside of North America, an infant has to be booked as a separate passenger (not attached to a parents ticket). Nexpedia.com wouldn't acknowledge her as a travelling passenger. The folks at Nexpedia.com turned out to be completely useless (offering to cancel and rebook our flights again - they had Ella on another flight - but oops... the flights went up $5000+ in price overnight!). We had to make a trip to the airport to physically visit Qatar Airways... still no luck correcting the problem. Three long and pleading phone calls to Air Canada later, we finally have it sorted... we think.
So - drum roll, please - we are coming home! We leave Qatar June 16 to fly to Calgary for Dave and Kirsten's wedding on June 19. We leave Calgary on June 20 for ten days in Nova Scotia, returning to Doha on the 30th.
Although I had hoped for a stop in Texas, we couldn't do it this time around. I am still hoping to get there later this year though.
Tips on travelling on long haul flights with an almost-eight-month-old very welcome!
PS - Construction on our brick patio extension has suddenly halted. The LBM have been called away on a very important 'tiling' project in villa #12, preparing it for new people. Damn them. When I asked when they could get back there and finish, I am met with blank stares and then a "yes ma'am". I think we have negotiated that work will resume in 'two days' (I know this from the fingers the head LBM kept holding up?). Gone are the days of efficiency and deadlines... welcome to Doha! I'll keep you posted if and when it's ever finished...
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