Rachel Hajar's Blog: My Life in Doha, page 3
February 9, 2012
A bit of humor . . . on Christmas Day!
As I've aged, I’ve become kinder to myself, and less critical of
Myself. I've become my own friend. I have seen too many dear friends
leave this world too soon before they understood the great freedom
that comes with aging .
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until
4 AM or sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful
tunes of the 60 &70's , and if I , at the same time, wish to weep
over a lost love, I will.
I know I am sometimes forgetful; But there again, some of life is
just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important
things .
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not
break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even
when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are
what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never
broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being
imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray
and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves
on my face.So many have never laughed, and so many have died
before their hair could turn silver .
As you get older, it is easier to be positive . You care less about
what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even
earned the right to be wrong.
So , to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free.
I like the person I have becom. I am not going to live forever,
but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could
have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert
every single day (if I feel like it).
MAY OUR FRIENDSHIP NEVER COME APART ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART !
I replied:
Nice, but I don't really want to be older than I am now; Sometimes I worry about what will be, and I cannot eat dessert everyday! Also I get terribly annoyed with people who play on the computer until 4 am for this indicates idleness and idle people irritate me - a lot! But I don't bother them or criticize their habit. (Neither do I criticize myself!) I don't care so much what other people think, so I've reached THAT age but I haven't quite reached the age of apathy. A lot of things still bother me but I don't allow them to overwhelm me. So, I haven't quite attained complacency (self-satisfaction, a feeling of acute contentment). I still have pockets of discontent. However, despite everything, I kind of like myself but not to the point of complacency.
Back came his reply:
I am glad you like your self. Me too. i.e. I like YOUR self too!
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
http://www.amazon.com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com
WARRIOR POETS
Ah, the Warrior Poet . . . he is a romantic figure. Various cultures have their legendary warriors, usually those who demonstrated strength, agility, and courage – and poetic skill. In feudal Japan, a samurai was expected to master not only the martial arts but also calligraphy and poetry. In the Age of Chivalry in Europe, knights sought to develop prowess in war and skill on horseback and also admired the gift of eloquence and the art of poetry and this custom was inspired by Arab tradition, so they say.
The Arabs have many warrior poets – men of action and eloquence who extolled the tribal virtues of honor, courage, generosity, fidelity, and revenge. The poet satirized the tribe’s enemies, defended the honor of the tribe, and perpetuated their glorious deeds, and thus establishing their fame forever. The most important poems that the Arabs consider masterpieces are the Seven Odes, known as the Mu’allaqat and hung on the Ka’aba. The poems are pre-Islamic and they are embroidered on silk in gold and silver and hung for all to see on the Ka’aba. Before Islam, the cloth on which the poems were inscribed was hung for all to see at a great fair which was held annually at 'Ukaz, a fabled Arabian market town in Saudi Arabia. These poems are regarded up to the present as supreme models of poetic excellence and sophistication, and have been imitated by countless Arab poets.
The pre-Islamic poet, Imru al-Qais is the most famous of the Arab warrior poets. He lived in the 6th century AD. He is of the Banu Kinda tribe and a descendant from the kings of Yemen. When his father was put to death after a revolt in the tribe, Imru' al-Qais went to Constantinople seeking aid from the Byzantine emperor to avenge his father’s death. The Emperor Justinian agreed to help him. However, al-Qais had an affair with the emperor’s daughter and it is said that the emperor gave him a poisoned robe and hence, he died on his return journey.
Imru’ al-Qais’ poems vividly describes desert life and earthly love scenes. His poem is one of the Mu’allaqat poems. In his Mu’allaqat, he boasts:
“Many a fair lady's tent has opened its treasure
For me to enjoy slowly at my own leisure,
Slipping past men and guards who with speed
Would have slain me for my daring deed.”
He wrote in the opening stanzas of his Muallaqat poem:
“Stop, oh my friends, let us pause to weep over the remembrance of my beloved.
Here was her abode on the edge of the sandy desert between Dakhool and Howmal.
The traces of her encampment are not wholly obliterated even now.
For when the South wind blows the sand over them the North wind sweeps it away.
The courtyards and enclosures of the old home have become desolate;
The dung of the wild deer lies there thick as the seeds of pepper.
On the morning of our separation it was as if I stood in the gardens of our tribe,
Amid the acacia-shrubs where my eyes were blinded
With tears by the smart from the bursting pods of colocynth”.
Imru al-Qais’ verses had at times words of wisdom such as these: “If a man cannot value the words of his tongue, how can he treasure anything under the sun?”
Another distinguished and renowned poet was Antara ibn Shaddad, an Arab warrior poet of the 6th century AD. He is the hero in the Arab epic The Romance of Antar. His father was an Arab prince and his mother was an Abyssinian slave. His legendary exploits in battle as well as his love for his cousin Abla are celebrated throughout the Arab world. He is one of the poets in the Mu’allaqat. He is renowned for his honor and courage and his poetry is full of his exploits of valor and his love for Abla.
Antar said:
“Give me not the drink of life in servitude,
But in pride give me a drink of bitterness.
The water of life is hell in servitude,
and Hades in pride is a land of bliss.”
Choose for yourself a place of dignity,
Or die with honour on a dusty battlefield.
Though I am as a slave, my ambition
Is above the Pleiades and the starry field.”
Indeed, there is truth in the Arab saying, “The Beauty of Men Lies in the Eloquence of his Tongue.”
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
http://www.amazon.com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com
November 21, 2011
DID YOU KNOW . . .
I read an interesting article from Saudi Aramco World this morning and I would like to share it with everyone:
• Thomas Jefferson, 3rd president of the USA and principal author of the 1776 Declaration of Independence (USA) personally owned a copy of the English version of the Qur’an.
• During the Anglo-American War, invading British troops set fire to the Capitol Building, burning and pillaging the contents of the small library – the Library of Congress 3000-volume collection of books.
• Jefferson sold his 6,000 plus book collection to the Library as replacement for the losses.
• Among the books sold to the Library was a two-volume English translation of the Qur’an.
• Jefferson bought his copy of the Qur’an around 1765, when he was still a law student in Virginia, USA.
• Jefferson kept his Qur’an in the section on “Religion”, between the myths and gods of antiquity and a copy of the Old Testament. I found this trivia information extremely interesting because in my library, I also keep my copy of the Qur’an and the Bible among my books on gods and mythology and philosophy. In Jefferson’s library, “Religion” was under “Jurisprudence.” So, he read the Qur’an as a law book.
• The English version of the Qur’an that Jefferson had was translated from Arabic by the Englishman George Sale, a lawyer whose interest was oriental scholarship. The other Qur’an translations at that time were from French or Latin.
• George Sale’s preface called the Prophet Mohammed, “the lawgiver of Arabians”, stressing the Qur’an as an example of a distinct legal tradition.
• Scholars speculate that his reading of the Qur’an may have reinforced his commitment to religious freedom.
• George Sale’s Koran remained the best possible English version of the Qur’an for another 150 years.
• Today, the Library of Congress holds more than 140 million books and other printed items and of these, nearly one million printed items relate to Islam, including Jefferson’s original copy of the Qur’an.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
http://www.amazon.com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com
November 20, 2011
"Thank you, Grandma"
November 16, 2011
Last week during the Eid holiday, I took my grandsons, Aziz, 6 years, and Saoud, 3 years, to Toys R Us. I had been promising them that I'll take them to the shop. Toys bring a lot of joy to children.
Aziz and Saoud looked forward to the outing. I don't know how often they had been to that shop with their parents. Aziz saw the Toys R Us building before I did and excitedly pointed it out from the car. The first Toys R Us shop in Qatar was small and was one of several shops in an arcade along Sadd street. Now, it has its own building and parking space, looking just like any big Toys R Us shop in the United States. I used to go to the old Toys R Us shop with my children when they were small. Now I go with my grandchildren! It seems like yesterday. Time marches on . . .
In the shop, I took possession of an empty shopping cart abandoned in the first aisle and then before I knew it, Aziz, Saoud and their nanny had disappeared! I pushed the trolley quickly down the aisles looking for them. They were nowhere! So, I abandoned my trolley and peeked down each aisle. Still, I couldn't find them. Sighing, I dialed Almira's phone (nanny). She said they were with the Ben 10 toys. Hmm, so that's where they had gone to. Ben 10 is one of Aziz's favorite cartoon characters and is about a 10-year-old boy with the power to change into 10 different alien heroes and each alien hero has its own unique powers. The Ben 10 world is divided into "good" and "bad", so the good aliens fight the "bad" aliens. Aziz is fascinated with the Ben 10 world.
I had planned to look for educational toys with them, imagining that they would be following me docilely, perhaps even clinging to my skirt. Clearly my grandsons had a different agenda! Children are so different these days . . .
I walked towards the section with bizarre-looking characters on the boxes: reptile-headed monsters, spiny monsters, robots, man-robots, animal robots, mixed with human-looking little boys, running excitedly. Parked in that aisle was a trolley with Saoud sitting inside surrounded with boxes of toys. Saoud was busy emptying toys from the shelf into his trolley. When he saw me, he threw me one of his angelic smiles, saying, "Grandma, I want this" showing me a yellow-colored man-robot. I nodded weakly and that encouraged him to pluck another box, "Also this", passing it to me. I scrutinized it but I couldn't figure out what it was! It was a multicolored package and on it was the phrase "learning toy." What in the world could it be? "I don't know what this is" I said, putting it back on the shelf. "But I want it" bawled Saoud. Saoud is only three years and you can't really reason with him. I gave him back the package, intending to remove it later, when he is distracted with another toy. Never argue with a three-year-old, especially in public!
In the trolley Saoud was sitting in, I noticed there were also stuffed animals: a yellow giraffe and yellow tiger, both with dark brown stripes. "Oh, you have a giraffe and tiger. Do you like them?", I asked, picking them up. They were soft and cuddly. "Pooh's friends" he replied, "Mine", he added, taking them from me. His favorite cartoon is Winnie-the-Pooh, a gentle bear that lives in Hundred Acre Wood and whose friends were tiger, piglet, and rabbit. Saoud was collecting Pooh-bear's friends. Then, he stood up in the trolley and picked yellow-colored toy figurines from the shelves. In animated cartoons and book illustrations, Pooh-bear is colored yellow. Aziz also was busy plucking toys from shelves. I gotta get them out of here! I thought.
Addressing Aziz, "I saw DVD cartoons that you wanted over there", pointing to another aisle, and adding, "Maybe we could find Wii games there too." I was so glad they followed me without protest as I steered them towards the kid's DVD section. They were easier to manage in the DVD section. They actually chose which cartoon DVDs they wanted: Winnie the Pooh (again) and other Walt Disney animations. They wanted Little Eisnteins but we could not find any there. We also could not find Wii games for Aziz. So, I took them to Landmark, one of many malls in Doha.
In one of the entertainment shops in Landmark, Aziz found some Wii games. He came to me clutching a bunch, about four DVD games, and asking me if I could buy them for him. "Take only one or two, not all" I said scanning the shelves for home movies for myself too. "But I want all of them. Please grandma. Please, please, please?" I looked at the price of each. I had not enough cash left for all the DVDs! For the past several weeks I had promised Aziz that I will buy DVD games for him. I had not expected him to buy four at once. It was also my first toy shop outing with my grandsons and who knows when I will have time to go out with them again? Besides, six-year-old Aziz had been so excited that he found the games that he wanted and he had looked so anxious that he might not get all the DVDs. It was not the time to teach a six-year-old about money-management! I certainly did not want to disappoint him on his first trip out with his grandma! Fondly rumpling his hair, I nodded and told him to take them to the cashier. Thank heavens for credit cards! While processing the purchase, Aziz came up to me, kissed me and said, "Thank you, grandma."
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
“Thank you, Grandma”
November 16, 2011
Last week during the Eid holiday, I took my grandsons, Aziz, 6 years, and Saoud, 3 years, to Toys R Us. I had been promising them that I’ll take them to the shop. Toys bring a lot of joy to children.
Aziz and Saoud looked forward to the outing. I don’t know how often they had been to that shop with their parents. Aziz saw the Toys R Us building before I did and excitedly pointed it out from the car. The first Toys R Us shop in Qatar was small and was one of several shops in an arcade along Sadd street. Now, it has its own building and parking space, looking just like any big Toys R Us shop in the United States. I used to go to the old Toys R Us shop with my children when they were small. Now I go with my grandchildren! It seems like yesterday. Time marches on . . .
In the shop, I took possession of an empty shopping cart abandoned in the first aisle and then before I knew it, Aziz, Saoud and their nanny had disappeared! I pushed the trolley quickly down the aisles looking for them. They were nowhere! So, I abandoned my trolley and peeked down each aisle. Still, I couldn’t find them. Sighing, I dialed Almira’s phone (nanny). She said they were with the Ben 10 toys. Hmm, so that’s where they had gone to. Ben 10 is one of Aziz’s favorite cartoon characters and is about a 10-year-old boy with the power to change into 10 different alien heroes and each alien hero has its own unique powers. The Ben 10 world is divided into “good” and “bad”, so the good aliens fight the “bad” aliens. Aziz is fascinated with the Ben 10 world.
I had planned to look for educational toys with them, imagining that they would be following me docilely, perhaps even clinging to my skirt. Clearly my grandsons had a different agenda! Children are so different these days . . .
I walked towards the section with bizarre-looking characters on the boxes: reptile-headed monsters, spiny monsters, robots, man-robots, animal robots, mixed with human-looking little boys, running excitedly. Parked in that aisle was a trolley with Saoud sitting inside surrounded with boxes of toys. Saoud was busy emptying toys from the shelf into his trolley. When he saw me, he threw me one of his angelic smiles, saying, “Grandma, I want this” showing me a yellow-colored man-robot. I nodded weakly and that encouraged him to pluck another box, “Also this”, passing it to me. I scrutinized it but I couldn’t figure out what it was! It was a multicolored package and on it was the phrase “learning toy.” What in the world could it be? “I don’t know what this is” I said, putting it back on the shelf. “But I want it” bawled Saoud. Saoud is only three years and you can’t really reason with him. I gave him back the package, intending to remove it later, when he is distracted with another toy. Never argue with a three-year-old, especially in public!
In the trolley Saoud was sitting in, I noticed there were also stuffed animals: a yellow giraffe and yellow tiger, both with dark brown stripes. “Oh, you have a giraffe and tiger. Do you like them?”, I asked, picking them up. They were soft and cuddly. “Pooh’s friends” he replied, “Mine”, he added, taking them from me. His favorite cartoon is Winnie-the-Pooh, a gentle bear that lives in Hundred Acre Wood and whose friends were tiger, piglet, and rabbit. Saoud was collecting Pooh-bear’s friends. Then, he stood up in the trolley and picked yellow-colored toy figurines from the shelves. In animated cartoons and book illustrations, Pooh-bear is colored yellow. Aziz also was busy plucking toys from shelves. I gotta get them out of here! I thought.
Addressing Aziz, “I saw DVD cartoons that you wanted over there”, pointing to another aisle, and adding, “Maybe we could find Wii games there too.” I was so glad they followed me without protest as I steered them towards the kid’s DVD section. They were easier to manage in the DVD section. They actually chose which cartoon DVDs they wanted: Winnie the Pooh (again) and other Walt Disney animations. They wanted Little Eisnteins but we could not find any there. We also could not find Wii games for Aziz. So, I took them to Landmark, one of many malls in Doha.
In one of the entertainment shops in Landmark, Aziz found some Wii games. He came to me clutching a bunch, about four DVD games, and asking me if I could buy them for him. “Take only one or two, not all” I said scanning the shelves for home movies for myself too. “But I want all of them. Please grandma. Please, please, please?” I looked at the price of each. I had not enough cash left for all the DVDs! For the past several weeks I had promised Aziz that I will buy DVD games for him. I had not expected him to buy four at once. It was also my first toy shop outing with my grandsons and who knows when I will have time to go out with them again? Besides, six-year-old Aziz had been so excited that he found the games that he wanted and he had looked so anxious that he might not get all the DVDs. It was not the time to teach a six-year-old about money-management! I certainly did not want to disappoint him on his first trip out with his grandma! Fondly rumpling his hair, I nodded and told him to take them to the cashier. Thank heavens for credit cards! While processing the purchase, Aziz came up to me, kissed me and said, “Thank you, grandma.”
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
November 19, 2011
Museums in the sand
October 1, 2011
Qatar already has seven museums, including the showpiece Museum of Islamic Art, which opened in 2008. In December 2010, Mathaf, a museum dedicated to Arab modern art and the first of its kind, opened its doors to the public. That makes the number of museums in Qatar to eight in a country of 1.5 million, the majority of whom are foreigners. There are plans to build a dozen more museums to be ready by 2015 for the 2022 soccer World Cup. Indeed, an ambitious project for a tiny state but then again, if you have the financial resources, anything goes I guess and no one would question the wisdom or insanity of the undertaking. Another oil-rich GCC state, Abu Dhabi, is constructing a "cultural district" to include eight museums, among them branches of the Guggenheim and Louvre. If the density of museums per square meter is the criteria for the coveted title of "cultural capital" of the Arab world, then the race is on.
Qatar already has eight museums and wants a dozen new museums by 2015. Realistic? Not realistic? Never mind. Doha is the "city with the most museums in the sand".
Does Qatar need so many museums? And why the hurry to have so many by 2015? Qatar will host the 2022 soccer World Cup and is committed to investing billions in tourism infrastructure and development. So, I suppose the state considers museums part of tourism infrastructure. The expected influx of visitors must be amused and entertained when not watching soccer!
Were it not for the 2022 soccer World Cup, would there be pressure to build museums? What are museums anyhow? The International Council of Museums defines a museum as "a non profitmaking, permanent institution in the service of society and of its development, and open to the public, which acquires, conserves, researches, communicates and exhibits, for purposes of study, education and enjoyment, material evidence of people and their environment."
Museums, at least for me, are repositories of a people's or society's heritage; a people's memory and identity are contained in museums. They are a major expression of cultural identity in every society. There are many different types of museums, catering to different aspects of a culture. I have always found museums delightful places; they are spaces in which identities are understood, formed and shared. A visit to a museum is educational and culturally enriching. I never get tired of going to the British Museum whenever I can when I am in London or the Louvre when I am in Paris. In Doha, the Museum of Islamic Art has become a favorite place.
The role of museums in society is also evolving, especially in the last 10-15 years. Besides their traditional role of collecting, preserving, and sharing rich collections, museums now play an increasing role in supporting the development of communities. Museums are using their unique collections and services to address social issues. They are striving to be places where all sections of the community can have a voice and be reflected in a museum's collections and displays. Since culture attracts people to a place, a museum can also be a place to help shape community identity and bring different community groups together.
I find the evolving function of museums in society exciting, and hopefully the museums in Qatar – present and future – can fulfill these developing concepts and meanings and be places of inspiration.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
ON THE EVE OF EID AL-FITR 2011
August 29, 2011
Today may or may not be the last day of Ramadan 2011. Some say there is 90% chance that tomorrow will be Eid. The question, Will it or will it not be Eid tomorrow, occupies me today. There is always uncertainty surrounding the arrival of Eid.
The Islamic calendar, being lunar, has 12 lunar months in a year of 354 days and each month is either twenty-nine or thirty days. A new moon heralds the beginning of a new month in a lunar calendar. It is shorter than a solar year by eleven days, so that Eid shifts eleven days earlier each successive solar year. Traditionally, each month starts when the lunar crescent is first seen by a human observer's eye. Of course new moons can be calculated precisely, but in some Islamic countries such as Qatar, human sighting of the new moon in any Muslim country is required to officially announce the beginning of Eid. Religious authorities depend on human sighting of the new moon. Actual visibility depended on many factors, such as the weather, and this can be a problem on cloudy days. In a desert country like Qatar though, skies are clear in summer.
Eid celebrations used to be low-key and muted but in recent days, the newspapers have been trumpeting Eid celebrations with alluring Eid advertisements. The papers are awash with features about Eid celebrations in hotels and restaurants. I have mixed feelings about the commercialization of Eid. For me, Eid is an enlightening and a culturally and spiritually enriching experience.
The Islamic calendar has two religious festivals: Eid al-Fitr (Festival of Breaking Fast) marks the end of Ramadan; and Eid al-Adha (Festival of Sacrifice) commemorates the willingness of the Prophet Abraham to offer his son Ishmael as sacrifice to God. For me, Eid al-Fitr is an intimate and personal experience. In Eid al-Fitr, each Muslim celebrates his happiness at completing Ramadan, the Holy Month of Fasting. It is a time of thanksgiving to God for observing Ramadan and an occasion of hope for a new life and abundant blessings.
Like all festivals, Eid is celebrated according to tradition. On Eid day, as in other previous years, I will again see in the papers pictures of groups of men at dawn, praying shoulder to shoulder, in mosques and musallas (open spaces). After dawn prayers, the men, my husband among them, usually go and greet the Amir in the Amiri palace. This is customary. After visiting close family members, we come back to the house for my husband to receive guests and well-wishers. Tea scented with rosewater, cardamom-laced Arabic coffee, and traditional sweets are served. My family and other members of the clan used to eat lunch in the house of my father-in-law when he was still alive. People grow old and pass away; children grow up. Rituals do evolve, and are inevitably transformed with time. We usually nap after lunch and in the afternoon and evening continue receiving visitors and making visits on various members of the family and friends. Eid is a time of much joy and renewing of family bonds and friendship.
Highlighting the joyful nature of the Eid festivals, my husband wrote a verse long ago, remembering the Eids of his childhood:
When the happy Eid morning comes
We compete with the feet of the morning, running
We go out with the bright light of our clothes
Our bright smiles brighter than the morning light
We gather to the musalla on the sand . . .
I am happy that I will soon complete Ramadan and am eagerly looking forward to its end, to Eid, but at the same time, I'm somewhat sad that Ramadan will soon be over. So, maybe today is the last day of fasting in Ramadan 2011. I am fatigued and somewhat spent, for the ordeal of fasting is hard, especially when the weather is hot. But although I look forward to its end, I also regret its passing. It has been a month full of rituals, and although difficult (fasting challenged my will power), it was also enjoyable. This has always been the paradox of Ramadan for me.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com/title/MyLifeInDoha.html
A Family Summer Holiday 2011 – Milan (Part 3 of 3 parts)
August 16, 2011
Milan is known as one of the world's glamorous fashion capitals, and indeed it is. It is quite fun to shop in Milan. Many shops and boutiques – and cafes and restaurants – speak English or at least make an effort.
I am sure that Milan has many other things to offer the visitor besides shopping. When I hear the word "Milan", what comes to my mind is the Duomo Cathedrale, which is the heart of Milan.
Just like our Paris trip, I was instructed to book a hotel in the midst of shops, quite a tall order when your trip is in less than a week's time. Thank heavens for online booking, where the location and distance of the hotel to places of interest are indicated. In addition, cost of accommodation plus rating and reviews of clients and pictures of rooms are also posted. Online booking provides a box where you can indicate special requests. I found this box very, very useful, especially when reserving rooms with connecting doors. To make sure my special requests are made available, I follow up with a phone call to the hotel a couple of days before our arrival.
Our train to Milan was not on a TGV train, so I thought that most likely I won't be able to request a taxi from the train, like I did on the train to Paris. I'd been to Milan with my family a few times before and I was aware that taxi drivers don't accept more than two or three people because their taxis are small. On this particular summer Milan trip (2011), I was travelling with three daughters: Alia, Haifa, and Asma. As we didn't want to split, there was no way we would be accommodated in one taxi. Therefore, I emailed the concierge to arrange a minivan for us and for the driver to be waiting for us on the train platform with a placard bearing my name. It could be done for a certain fee and this was confirmed. A taxi driver was waiting for us on the platform when we arrived. This delighted us very much. All we had to do was follow the driver down to his minivan and he also relieved me of my luggage.
We had arrived early afternoon, so there was plenty of time for my daughters to re-orient themselves. The landmark of course is the beautiful Duomo Cathedrale, known simply as the Duomo, and where tourists gravitate. Shops and outdoor cafes have mushroomed around the Cathedrale. One of my favorite pastimes in Milan is sitting in one of the outdoor cafes around the Duomo, sipping cappuccino or eating ice cream and gazing up at the beautiful Gothic architecture of the Duomo, watching tourists walk about and snap pictures and pigeons fly, swoop, and hop among the milling tourists.
The first time I took my daughters to Milan was in the summer of 2004 and we had stayed at a hotel just across from the Duomo. I had been intrigued by the circular shape of the windows in that hotel, which was rather quaint and charming and I could see the Duomo and its spires from my room window. We had dinner in the terrasse of the hotel (La Terrasse) where we had a fantastic view of the Church, admiring its gothic architecture. The maitre'D who was very attentive to us had been a very nice old man and he had pointed to us that at the top of the tallest spires were statues of past popes. Indeed, we could make out the statues. Statues of various saints adorned the spires at a lower level, which had intrigued me, because it was as though the popes occupied a higher position than the saints. Popes in the Middle Ages were very powerful of course but I had not expected them to be placed higher than saints in the church spiritual hierarchy. The old man also pointed out the statue of the Virgin Mary – Madoninna – representing Our Lady of the Assumption, at the top of the church, lighted, more than 4 meters tall, and embossed in gilt copper. There was a crescent moon and the marble shone. The place was very intimate and private, with the moon and starry sky and across us, very near, the magnificent Gothic Church with its forest of spires. It was lovely.
The following day, my daughters had gone up the balconies of the church where they strolled among a sea of spires (135 spires, I read later) and had a panoramic view of the city. They said it was lovely; I had missed that because it was hot and I had gone back to my room to rest.
The waiter had also told us that the church was made of marble – all of it, including the floor. "At sunset time, the marble walls are a beautiful roseatte pink color", he said. He spoke very, very good English. He was multilingual and he could also speak Japanese, for he had also worked as maitre'D in Japan for two years. The Duomo construction had begun in 1386 and had been finished sometime in the 16th century – 200 years. He said that construction had begun to build a spire for the statue of the present pope (Pope John Paul II at the time) because he was very ill; we saw that one side had been boarded up for construction. It had been lovely to eat dinner there, under the "shadow" of the beautiful and imposing gothic church with its forest of spires. It is the largest gothic church I have ever seen.
I should be familiar with Milan but I still tended to get lost because I hardly have any sense of direction. I thought that since there was not that much for me to do in Milan because I was chaperoning my daughters who wanted to shop, I might as well tag along with them and also spend my time looking around the shops and reading in my hotel room when it's hot, like from 12 noon to four or five pm.
Alia, my eldest daughter, has excellent sense of direction, which she inherited from my husband. When she was 5 years, she had directed our new driver the way to her kindergarten. She is now a physician, married, and has two sons whom she left in Montreux with my husband and her sister Salma. Alia said she will take us to dinner at the best Pizza place in Milan. She knows Milan because she sometimes accompanies her husband to Milan on his business trips.
The pizza place was 15 min walk from our hotel but when we got there, it was closed. We read that it closed on Mondays but near it was a restaurant that Alia said had the best seafood in Milan and she was planning to take us there the following day but since the pizza place was closed, we'll eat there instead. It truly had excellent food, and also away from tourists. The restaurant was very busy. Lining one wall was floor to ceiling wine shelves. Compliments of the house, the waiter poured wine for us but Haifa told the waiter we don't drink alcoholic beverages and so he took away the wine and slender wine glasses. First, we had an appetizer of risotto with mushrooms which was very, very, good and also zucchini flowerets stuffed with mozzarella. It was delicious but Alia said the best risotto with mushrooms was in another restaurant, which serves the risotto with mushrooms only in September because the mushrooms are only harvested in September. We all ordered what Alia ordered as main course but I don't know the name, some kind of mixed seafood frutti or something. It was very, very good!
Walking back to the hotel, there was a woman all dressed in red sitting and eating at a table with red chairs; the tablecloth was also red. She was a fortune teller. Asma wanted to get her palm read just for fun but Haifa discouraged her, so we passed her by.
The following day after breakfast, Alia and I went to Monte Napoleone, an upscale shopping street, just walking distance from our hotel and from the Duomo. We window shopped, then entered an Armani boutique, for me to see what kind of accessories they had. Armani accessories are decadent and not my taste – huge bulky stones and phantasmogoric creations. However, the boutique had some nice bags and I found a neat little bag that I could sling through my wrist, shaped like a flower, very, very elegant and simple, so I bought it. Alia said it was not her style but she found a very elegant scarf (very, very nice), which I bought for her. The salesgirl took a fancy to my hat (a cheap hat that I had bought in one of those moveable makeshift stores near the lake in Montreux; the hat had cost 25 euros!). The salesgirl found a long, narrow, thin scarf and she came and tied it around my hat. "Oh, Madame, it's beautiful" she enthused. Alia said it looked very nice. "Now, people will think your hat is Armani!" Alia giggled. The scarf was light black chiffon with Giorgio Armani scattered over it. Well, I had been looking for just such a scarf (but not the Armani signature) to tie around my hats, so I bought it. The salesgirl said to wear it already around my hat and she cut off the price tag and Armani label, so I went around Monte Napoleone street and around Milan with my cheap hat with the Armani scarf tied around it!
On a side street, we came across MikiHouse, which sold very nice stuff for kids and we bought T-shirts and pants for Alia's sons, Aziz and Saoud, and my other grandson, 6 months, and whom we affectionately call Hujairan (which means little Hajar because he is named after my husband. In the Arab world it is usual to name a first-born son after the paternal grandfather). I love how Alia gets identical shirts and pants for her sons in their sizes! (sizes 8 & 5 although they are 6 years and 3 years). I always love to see them dressed identical! And I love shopping for my grandsons. It brings back memories of how I used to buy clothes, shoes, and toys for my children when they were small. Images of me buying different small sizes for my children when they were small kept flashing in my mind. It was like history – a very personal history – repeating itself!
Alia casually mentioned that Hessa, her friend and wife of her brother-in-law, and their children were driving from Munich or Vienna to Geneva. Alia had mentioned to Hessa that shops in Milan were having sales and Hessa had wanted to stop for a day in Milan. Hessa had asked Alia to ask our hotel for rooms. So, when we went back to the hotel around noon, we went to the concierge but there was only one room left. The group was nine people and the concierge said they will need 5 rooms. I mentioned to Alia that her brother Tami had told me to go to booking.com on the internet when I was trying to book accommodation for us for the Paris and Milan trip. I had found the site very, very useful. Alia really wanted to help Hessa, so we went back up to our room to go to the internet. We found hotel recommendations with phone numbers and Alia texted the info to Hessa. It took us one hour to search. But I was very surprised that minutes after Alia had texted the info to Hessa they had booked a hotel based on Alia's info! That was really quick! One of the marvels of the internet age!
Tagging along with my daughters on their shopping, I was also seduced by the discount prizes of 40 – 60% in the majority of shops. At Rinoscente, a huge mall, I also bought some gift items for loved ones who were not with us. It was not easy choosing colors and figuring out the appropriate sizes. You have to do conversion from European size to American or vice-versa. Some clothes had the conversion on the tags but many times you have to ask someone. I was getting tired and pretty soon my feet were aching! I found Asma smelling perfumes at ground level where all the brand names were and I went and stood near her, curious what perfume she would buy. I told everyone who came near me asking if I needed assistance that I was waiting for my daughter, nodding towards Asma and they would exclaim in accented English, "She's beautiful! Congratulations Madame" or break out in Italian, "E'bellisima! Complimenti signora." Shopping with one's daughter/s can be quite fun!
When we got tired, we had refreshment at a café near the Duomo Cathedrale. I always like sitting in that café, people- and pigeon-watching. The Duomo Square was also crowded but I found it much, much more pleasant than the Champs Elysee, perhaps because of the beautiful Gothic church. I wondered how long before the place became like the Champs Elysee. Milan is pleasant: good ambiance, maybe because the Italians in general have warm personalities; wide boulevards and piazzas; quaint narrow alleys, and good shops. The place where we had Pizza and seafood were located in a narrow alley with charming cafes and restaurants and bistros.
Milan is nice – for shopping, but probably not for living. There is always life in the streets. Sometimes I could not keep up with the energy of my daughters and when that happened, I would stay-in and read my books. Many times I was mystified what it was they were looking for in the shops. One evening I opted out of dinner because I was not hungry at all since I had had a heavy breakfast with Alia and in late afternoon I had ice cream while they had sandwiches in a café by the Duomo.
I was quietly reading in bed when my daughters came back and the room again came alive with their chatter. Asma presented me with a long-stemmed red rose and kissed me. She apologized for snapping at me that afternoon, when we were out shopping. Then Haifa came also and presented me with another long-stemmed red rose, kissed me, told me she loved me and also apologized for snapping at me yesterday before we went to dinner, for hurrying her. I had forgotten the incidents. I lay the flowers on my pillow while I looked for an empty bottle of mineral water. Alia took a picture of the flowers on my pillow and gave me her empty bottle of mineral water to put them in. Haifa and Asma also gave Alia a white long-stemmed rose, perhaps for taking us to good restaurants away from the crowds. Needless to say I was misty-eyed. My philosophy is if you give love you get love in return. Love begets love.
On our last day, we checked out at 2 pm. Checkout time was 12 noon but reception was nice to extend my checkout time. I had requested that we stay in one room until 4 PM and they were willing but when they looked in their computer, a family with children had been booked to occupy our rooms at 2 pm, so we checked out at that time and kept our luggage in the porter storeroom.
Our train was due to depart 19:25 pm and rather than wait around in the lobby until time to go to the train station, we went and window-shopped again in Monte Napoleone. However, my daughters bought some more things! I wondered aloud how they were going to carry all those bags plus their luggage. "Mommy, we know what we are doing" I was told. I had kept quiet because I was also carrying an extra paper bag besides my luggage. The roses my daughters gave me and Alia were still lovely and fresh and I hated to leave them behind. So, I emptied most of the water in the bottle leaving only a small amount at the bottom, packed them with my hats in a paper bag and hand carried them back to Montreux! My daughters were very surprised to see me lugging around in a paper bag the flowers they had given me! In the train, I had taken a picture of the roses in the paper bag next to my luggage and the photo is now the background screen of my iPhone, reminding me always of my daughters' lovely gesture.
When the porters loaded our luggage in the minivan, I asked the porters to tell the driver in Italian to help us find a porter at the station. I'm always told there are no porters in train stations but I always ask because sometimes I see some. The porters spoke to the driver in Italian, and there were arm gesticulations and worried expressions. One of the porters told us that the driver will help us at the station and I thanked him. The driver spoke a little English and along the way, I asked what seemed to be the problem. "Madame, there is a train strike", he informed me, scratching his head with one hand. "What?" I exclaimed. "But maybe Madame it is over now. We see." "When did it start?" I asked. "Yesterday." I sighed. Nothing we could do except go to the station and see how things were. Alia had left yesterday for Montreux and she had made it, not mentioning to us anything about a train strike. Perhaps, I consoled myself, the train strike was only local, not involving the international trains. "Do not worry Madame. I will help you", the driver assured me and I thanked him.
I remembered that in 2007, when I took my daughters to Milan again, we had arrived to a city paralyzed by a taxi strike. When I called the hotel to send someone to pick us up, the hotel had said yes, they will but we may have to wait an hour or so. It had been a very hot day. There had been a small car circling the taxi stand and I had flagged it. I had thought it was a taxi but it was not. The driver had stopped and we managed to communicate, he speaking Italian and me summoning remnants of Spanish from memory. He was not a taxi driver but he would help us. We had been five with luggage and he had taken us to our hotel in two trips. While I checked-in the hotel, he had gone for the second trip to fetch my other daughters and I had had a sudden attack of anxiety. What if he was a member of the mafia? After all I was in Italy! Voicing my concerns to reception, the staff laughed and told me not to worry. In a few minutes, my other daughters arrived and I had been so relieved. Of course, they told their daddy, "Mommy left us stranded!"
Well, finally, we arrived in Milano Centrale train station (Stazione Centrale di Milano), one of the most beautiful train stations in Europe. The station is airy and spacious with marble flooring, sculptures and ceramic panels.
Milano Centrale train station was only 5-10 minutes drive from our hotel by car. As expected, there was no porter around. The driver parked his minivan and helped us get to the train platform, pulling the two heavy suitcases of my daughters. There did not seem to be any train strike. The driver talked to some people in Italian. It seemed the strike affected only certain trains. We looked for our gate on the boards but our train was not listed. "It is still early Madame", said the driver. I mentioned that the Milan – Montreux train had been Gate 1 the last couple of times we were in Milan. He took us to Gate 1 and advised us to park ourselves there, and to watch the boards for the correct gate.
There were more than 10 gates I think, but they were all on the same platform, the trains parked parallel to each other.
The hour was 19:10 but still the Milan – Montreux train was not listed on the boards! It should have appeared by then and I started to fret. "Don't freak out Mommy. It will appear soon", said my daughters. "Wait here. I'll go ask information" I told my daughters and looked for the information box. There were two, with long waiting lines, with little forward movement and my heart sank. Well, what kind of efficiency did I expect? I went and queued in one, not knowing if my query would be answered by the sphinx in the box. Seconds were ticking and I told the man in front of me that I was looking for the gate to the Milan-Montreux train and that the info was not appearing on the boards. Luckily he spoke a little English and he was kind enough to look at my ticket, informing me that that particular queue was only for questions about certain trains, and our train was not one of them unfortunately. He said the gate will be announced on the board anytime soon. I thanked him.
I glanced at the time. 19:15! And our train still was not listed on any of the boards! I was frantic, literally flying around Milano Centrale, looking for our train listing on the boards. 19:20! I certainly didn't want to spend the night in train stations looking for connecting trains to Montreux! Then I received a message on my iPhone from my daughters: Gate 8. Apparently it had just appeared on the board. Gosh only 5 minutes before the train departs and we had so many luggage! 3 heavy suitcases and several paper bags, my flower bag among them! I flew to gate 1 and grabbed my luggage and my paper bag. WE RAN TO GATE 8!
The train was there waiting serenely, and it flashed through my stressed brain that that train had been parked there the last half hour! Why wasn't the gate announced earlier? Italian efficiency! Anyway, we scrambled in. And luckily it was the right car! Because we had so many things, I told my daughters to wait with our luggage in the front of the car while I go and search for our seats. I had written it down somewhere on a piece of paper but from memory: 42, 43, 44. The train had 4 seat rows, facing each other; one row on the left, and three rows on the right.
To my chagrin, seats 41, 42 facing each other were occupied by an elderly couple. Across the aisle from them were Seats 43, 44, 45, 46, two chairs occupied by a lady with a hat reading a book and feet stretched across the chairs. "Uum, 42, 43, 44", I intoned. "You're sure you're in the right seats?" I blurted in English. The lady in the hat smiled at me and the elderly man across the aisle replied, "I think so" in American English. I found my little paper, glanced at the seat numbers again. "43, 44, 45", I read aloud. "Sorry, I made a mistake", I said to the elderly man. "Uh-huh" he replied. I went to my daughters and told them to come as I had found our seats. The lady with the hat had transferred to the row behind us, still reading her book, and with legs stretched across the chairs. The elderly American was reading aloud from his book, Touring Italy. His wife, who sat across him, looked out the window impassively. They were a strange couple because the wife never once talked to her husband who sat intermittently reading aloud from his tour guide and smiling vacuously at no one in particular!
We stored our luggage in the side compartments located at intervals and some of the paper bags overhead and we settled in our seats. "I miss work" I said. At work I don't frantically fly around the place looking for information. At work I know what I do. "Mommy, you always freak out. We told you to relax and just wait for the gate announcement on the boards but you had to go looking for information." "Well, you see, I thought our train was canceled because of the so-called train strike." I also thought there was something deficient in the Italian board announcements. Why announce the gate only 5 minutes before departure when the train was already parked in the assigned gate, for half an hour? It was a mystery!
I was surprised that the train was not moving yet. I couldn't believe that we were able to make it to our train but we did, with a few minutes even to spare! Funny how much you could accomplish in minutes! We had run to our gate, clambered on the train with our heavy luggage, and stored them properly, all in three minutes for it was two minutes before the train started to move. Time is relative!
We had a wonderful time in Milan. Until next year. In Italian, Fino al prossimo anno (courtesy of Google translate!).
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
A Family Summer Holiday 2011 – Paris (Part 2 of 3 parts)
August 11, 2011
By train, it takes four hours to Paris from Montreux; to Milan from Montreux is three hours. When travelling by train, being at the station 15 min before departure is enough, unlike in an airplane where you are required to be at the airport at least two hours before departure, Also, the security check in airports is something to put up with stoically. In trains, police may or may not come to check passports
I find train travel comfortable. Train travel has a certain allure, an old-worldly charm that is quite appealing. You can relax and enjoy the view, talk to your companions, read a book, or doze off. You can stroll from car to car or have a meal in the dining car. Or you can buy a light snack from the mobile snack bar as it passes by your seat.
It was a cloudy and moist morning the day of our Paris trip. We had to take the train to Lausanne first, and change trains in Lausanne to go to Paris. Our train departure to Lausanne was 8:25 AM but we didn't arrive at the station until 8:20, so there was a mad rush to the platform gate! The Montreux train station is only 10 minutes drive by car from our flat and it was ten minutes after eight when we left our flat. In the car my my daughters kept re-assuring me: "Don't freak out Mommy. We have plenty of time!" I'm convinced my daughters are not at all obsessive-compulsives! They always like to rush; to catch a train or flight at the last minute. When I wanted to go early, they asked me, "Why should we go early and wait for the train thirty minutes? We'll just be sitting, doing nothing! Dah!" They never think we need time to find our gate from the boards.
As the car screeched to a stop in front of the train station, my husband said, "You made it!" And we scrambled out, each one picking her carry-on luggage with wheels, waved good-bye to my husband, "Take care!" It occurred to me as I struggled up the elevator with my luggage that were it not for the wheel, I would always miss my train and silently thanked whoever invented the wheel! The people of Ancient Iraq were using it since 3500 BC. What would life be without the wheel?
My daughters, well, they were used to train travel and knew Montreux Train Station like the back of their hand, seeming to know where to go, so I just followed them. They frequently use the train to go to Lausanne or Geneva. Montreux Train Station is small and has only three gates. Me, well, I don't use trains as much since my husband and I use the car to Lausanne or Geneva. "Ooops! Wrong gate! We have to go to Gate 3", they said as they checked the boards. We had gone to Gate 1, as written on the ticket. And we rushed to Gate 3, going down the elevator again and then up another. I didn't ask anymore questions. I just followed whatever my daughters decided we should go.
Lausanne Train Station is bigger than Montreux, but my daughters found the right Gate to Paris easily. In the TGV to Paris, after crossing the border, two men walked down the aisle asking if anyone wanted a taxi on arrival to the station. Yes, of course, we wanted a taxi! I asked how would I know the driver? The men explained that the taxi driver will come to the station platform with a placard bearing my name and they took down my name. They said the service costs 10 Euros, in addition to the fare and which I will pay to the taxi driver. They told me it was a service in all the TGV trains. Sounded good but I wondered if the driver really would come to the platform with my name. Well, he did come to the platform and was embarrassed that he had written "Monsieur Hajar" on his placard. He took my luggage from me and pulled it, as we followed him to his taxi. He spoke only French and fortunately, I had the address of the hotel all typed in little papers. I always do that when travelling, distributing the address to my family to put in their wallet. One never knows when they might need it.
In Paris, we stayed in a hotel just a stone's throw from the famed Champs Elysee. It was very "Frenchy." It had 28 air-conditioned rooms and a charming little patio. We were tired the first night and we had filled up and hung our breakfast orders on the door. We had chosen 9:30 – 9:45 am but the time came and went and no breakfast! Calling reception, the voice was apologetic and rushed and said it will be up in 10 minutes, and it did arrive 10 minutes later, brought by a nervous maid from Africa and a white waiter. They did not understand a word of English! I thanked them and the African maid explained she did not see our orders last night. No problem but I thought she did not see it because she didn't come to check. She was probably home sleeping by the time we hung it out on the door; it didn't occur to her to check early morning either! I also realized that probably most guests would not order room service for breakfast in such a hotel, preferring to eat in the hotel's little patio or little cafes found everywhere. But my daughters, well, they thought it would be nice to eat breakfast in the room while getting ready and discussing where to go. Haifa said the breakfast was good. Later, when the maid saw us near the elevator, she asked if we wanted the same breakfast the following day, and to make things simple, I said yes. The breakfast did come on time, brought by the same maid, who giggled excitedly when I tipped her! I wondered why tipping her should make her giggle.
Our first day in Paris, we strolled along the famous Champs Elysee avenue. It was sooo crowded, and it is not elegant as it once was. It was still recognizable though. The open-air cafes were covered, I guess so people could sit out year round. I have to take my hat off to the residents of the capitals of Europe for putting up with yearly tourist invasion, especially in summer. Tourism is a good source of revenue though.
My plan of a boat tour on the Seine River to re-acquaint myself with the city didn't materialize. Neither was a re-visit to the Louvre. My daughters had different agendas. Salma went to EuroDisney with friends who were also in Paris. Haifa wanted to shop, so we went mainly to Ave. Fabourg Saint Honore, where the shops we like were located and where walking is still enjoyable. Around the Louvre is still nice.
Saint Honore avenue is a long strip with shops and cafes on both sides. Haifa went to the shops she liked while I entered the shops that I thought might have what I wanted. I bought a bag at Ferragamo and accessories in Chanel. Ferragamo had accessories like pearl ear rings and necklaces but they were too showy and I didn't like the look of the "pearls." "Your pearls look like plastic" I told the guy and he said they were "cultured" but not from Japan. Another lady came and explained to me the process of how the pearls are made. I smiled but didn't really listen. In Channel the salesgirl whispered to me how they make their pearls. Channel makes their own pearls in a bathtub! They just seed the oysters and immerse them in the bathtub and they grow! That was really fascinating! Can you imagine the millions and billions Channel saves by producing their own pearls!
Haifa said she heard that there was a big mall in Paris. Do I know the name? Can we go there? Yes. LAFAYETTE and we need a taxi. It was so difficult to find a taxi. Fortunately, the salesman in Ferragamo where I bought my bag saw us looking for a taxi and was nice enough to hail a taxi for us and told the driver where we wanted to go. He even gave me his card in case I need any help about anything. That was very nice of him.
Lafayette is a big mall – 8 floors – and extremely busy! It was full of tourists and all the brand name shops were there also. Haifa and I got separated and Haifa's cell phone ran out of battery. We had no way of communicating! I waited for her at Christian Dior where we last saw each other until the mall closed. But Haifa did not come! I called my husband in Montreux, asking him what I should do. He advised me to go outside and look for Haifa outside exits and if I don't find her, then go back to the hotel. I had given Haifa the address of the hotel and also she knows the way back to the hotel from the Champs Elysee.
When the mall closed, I went out looking for Haifa but I could not find Haifa! Worried and anxious, I got into a taxi and asked the driver if he spoke English. Clear communication was important but the driver didn't speak English; Not a word! I managed to make him understand in my marginal French that I was looking for my daughter and could he please drive around the Lafayette Mall? Miraculously, he understood me and drove around the building slowing where people waited to cross or at exits and entrances. No Haifa! I pleaded that he drives around another time; still no Haifa. "Please, drive around again", I implored him and he drove around a third time, all the time assuring me that my daughter probably went back to the hotel. Then miraculously, I saw Haifa waiting among many people at the main entrance! She was not there the two times I passed there in the taxi! I called her through the taxi window and she came. I was overjoyed! But Haifa lashed out and raged at me that I was just going to leave her and go back to the hotel, otherwise why was I in a taxi? I replied that I was going around the building in the taxi looking for her but she was not listening! I just kept quiet, letting her rage at me. I was just SO RELIEVED I found her! I didn't want to argue with her and I knew she also had the scare of her life. Later, she told me that it was no big problem because she would have taken a taxi to the Champs Elysee and would have known how to get to the hotel from there. I was just happy that I found Haifa and I'm convinced that God takes care of me and my loved ones.
We left Paris on Bastille Day, La Fete Nationale. We were woken up with the sound of helicopters and jets. We went to Champs Elysee to watch the parade and have lunch in one of the outdoor cafes. We found a nice table where we thought we could watch the parade but when we asked the waiter about the parade, he said it was over! It had been held at 10 AM, when we heard the sound of jets overhead.
Our train was due to depart around 5:15 PM, so we had a leisurely lunch and went back to our hotel around 3:30 PM, waiting for our taxi to pick us up around 4 PM. We all longed to be back in scenic Montreux before going to Milan.
We had to change trains in Lausanne and we arrived there around 9:20 PM. Our connecting train to Montreux was around 9:40 PM, I thought, written on the ticket. But my daughters found that an earlier train was leaving for Montreux, 9:25 PM. They whicspered and consulted each other and then said to me, "Let's catch the 9:25. We can make it. Hurry Mommy!" And they ran, pulling their luggage behind them!" "No. No!" I protested as I ran behind them, out of breath. I was sooo glad to see the train start to move as we reached the platform. I could not imagine myself, weighed down with luggage, scrambling on a train with just 10 seconds to spare! For sure I'll fall under the train! "Missed it!" Exclaimed my daughters.
It was one train I was glad to miss!
To be continued.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
A Family Summer Holiday 2011: Montreux, Switzerland (Part 1 of 3)
August 7, 2011
"All happy families are alike but an unhappy family is unhappy after its own fashion", so began Leo Tolstoy in Anna Kerenin. I may say that all happy holidays are alike but an unhappy holiday is unhappy after its own fashion.
In a desert country like Qatar, summers are very hot, and when summer comes, residents desire to pass the scorching days in cooler countries. Oil-driven economy in the Arab Gulf States has made many Gulf Arabs – as well as non-Gulf Arabs – wealthy. These people travel in summer to cooler climes, usually to Europe and the USA. These groups of travelers are not so much interested in taking in historical and cultural sites like other tourists as enjoying good weather – and good shopping for the ladies.
The desire to flee blazing desert summers of 40 – 50 degree C temperatures is understandable. Such intense heat does weigh down the spirit, even though you are cocooned in air-conditioned comfort. My husband and I started summer travel with our children when they were still small and we have continued this tradition until now. They have grown up and some of them are married with children but still we try to summer together, usually in Montreux, Switzerland. I suppose "summer together" is not quite accurate because we go off in pairs or groups to other places and Montreux is our "base." For my husband though, Montreux is his permanent summer base, for he stays put there! Switzerland's proximity to other capitals of Western Europe as well as social orderliness makes it a good choice as second home. Before our trip this summer we all agreed to pass the summer only in Montreux.
Last summer was hot in Europe but this summer was cool, which was pleasant. When we arrived in Geneva airport, the temperature was 19 degree C. It was not always that cool; there were warm and sunny days, which were good for going about; there were rainy and cloudy days, which were good for staying in. I liked the fluctuation in weather; so unlike the eternal sunshine and cloudless blue skies in Qatar.
My eldest daughter, Alia, her husband, and their two sons, Aziz, 5 years, and Saoud 3 years, had arrived in Montreux from Germany before us. We were happy to see them and hugged and kissed the grandkids. Alia had also done the grocery shopping; she also prepared several dishes to welcome us. They went back to Germany after a couple of days with us.
So, the first outing my husband and I made was to the nursery to buy some plants and flowers for our terrasse. Because we would be staying only 6 weeks, my husband bought only a few flowers; the majority were vegetables and some herbs: lettuce (3 varieties), green onions, parsley, dill, mint, and basil. We enjoyed eating salad from our garden and pinching fresh mint leaves for our tea. When it was time to go back to Doha, my husband hated leaving the beautiful flowers (I don't know their names) because they were blooming and so he brought them to Doha. Unfortunately, two of the three flowers died in Doha. The climate was too hot for them. He transferred the surviving flower to my air-conditioned terrasse where it continues to bloom, screaming RED! "Shall I also put the green onions in your terrasse?" He asked but I vetoed the idea. He told me he had also packed the green onion plant from Montreux! "It's thriving very well. Onion is a sturdy plant", he added. On our last day, he had also gone to the nursery, bought different varieties of lettuce seedlings, and shipped them to Doha with our luggage. The box containing these seedlings arrived safely to Doha but one of my baggages did not arrive! Why my luggage? Why not the plant box? Talk about luck! He installed the seedlings in my cool terrasse to wait out the hot season! Six planters of these seedlings sit on the terrasse window sill in front of me as I type this. I look forward to eating them! Fortunately, my lost baggage arrived after three days, so all's well that ends well.
In Montreux, I did not really have time to myself, the first week. I played with my grandsons; sometimes I cooked. Sometimes my daughters cooked, searching the internet for recipes. One of my daughters, Asma, is very good at making crepe au chocolat. Everyone in my family loves to cook during family holidays abroad but no one likes to wash the dishes! So, we take turns doing them, but I usually take the lion's share because I think I do it faster than my daughters! Thank heavens for dishwashers! Sometimes we ate out but we preferred our cooking. There are quite some good eating places in Montreux, like the restaurant at the L'Ermitage au Lac, a 9-room hotel situated by the lake and with beautiful views of the lake and the Swiss Alps. In summer, tables are placed by the lake for dining. The food is excellent but the way the food is presented is superb and artistic.
That first week, my husband went and bought a lot of salmon. He and my daughters wanted me to learn the recipe of our neighbor, Mrs. Sara Danielle, who lives on the first floor and who is kind and gracious enough to look after our flat when we are away. She speaks French but learned a few words of English from us. It was decided that she should come and teach me how she makes her salmon with spinach recipe. She had invited us for dinner in her apartment a couple of years ago when her husband was still alive and she had served us salmon with spinach, which my whole family adored. Sara is like a mother to us and we invited her and her three grandchildren to dinner, and Sara and I cooked salmon with spinach, Sara showing me how she prepares it. We ended up making two kinds of recipe: salmon and mushrooms with sauce and salmon and spinach. Dill is an important ingredient in the recipe and we cut dill from our terrasse. Then it was time to make the sauce and she wanted a measuring cup. Well, we had not completely settled yet and I didn't know where our measuring cup was, so I told her to just estimate the milk. She wanted butter. I gave her Becel, telling her Becel is good for the heart. She said, "Good for the heart but not for cooking." It was fun cooking with her and we enjoyed eating what we cooked with her son who had come to visit her from Lausanne and her charming grandchildren whose parents were away at that time. We had salad from the lettuce from our terrasse. Our dinner was more enjoyable than dinner at the L'Ermitage!
My husband had printed a large photo of Sara's husband, which he had taken a couple of years ago and we had gone to Hornbach to get it framed. We had gone down to her apartment and presented her with the picture. Sara had exclaimed, "Mon amour!" My husband re-arranged the pictures on the wall of her flat and hanged Dr. Danielle's picture between two photos, looking down on the dining table. The picture looks very nice. My husband also gave a smaller framed photo of the good doctor to Charlotte and Francois, daughter and son.
In the evenings, everyone loved to promenade by the lake. The lakeside is usually crowded so I don't go there at all, especially with the Montreux Jazz Festival going on (held annually the frist two weeks of July). During this time, it may take an hour just to find a parking place. Montreux is by Lac Leman, like Lausanne and Geneva. I prefer to sit in our terrasse, quietly contemplating the topaz-colored lake and blue Alps (Mont Blanc Mountain) beyond. Sometimes sailboats dot the lake. I see and appreciate the scenic view better from the terrasse of our flat than down by the lake. I could also see the romantic Castle of Chillon form our terrasse. I loved those moments of quietness, away from the bustle of the lakeside promenade. This summer I didn't take photos.
One of my jobs when we holiday in Montreux is to translate for my husband. Montreux is one of the French speaking towns/cities in Switzerland. My husband frequently drags me to his favorite shopping place: the hardware store, Le Briccolage, called Hornbach, a DIY store, offering home improvement and do-it-yourself goods. He loves walking around in that place; it is his paradise. I would walk the aisles with him, lost and bewildered: lights, hammers, nails, wooden planks, toilets, cabinets, etc. Most, if not all the staff, speaks only French. I should have been happy to have the opportunity to practice my marginal knowledge of the language but honestly, I was not.
My husband's translation requirements are complex. I remember that once while we were in that heavenly store, he had a brainstorm. He wanted to put paddings on the legs of our dining room chairs to prevent scratching the wooden floor in our flat! He had disappeared quickly and came back with a salesman. "Tell him what I want", he instructed me. Yes sir! I looked at Monsieur Vendeur, took a deep breath, and smiled. Ok. Chair leg = pied de chaise. But how do you say padding, keep from sliding, and scratching in French? Uttering the French words I knew, pointing to my foot, going through the motions of sliding and stopping, I managed to convey to Monsieur Vendeur my husband's desire. I was so mortified but he came back with the material my husband wanted!
Translating for my husband this past holiday was sheer torture. He had had a winch constructed to hoist our luggage to our 5th floor apartment. Before his venture, I was ignorant of the English word "winch." There is an elevator but not from the garage and not in all floors. We have to carry our luggage down from the garage, put them in the ground floor elevator, which stops at +2, which is the 4th floor. The views are fantastic but the building construction and design was weird!
The winch was ok but my husband thought it could be better. He thought the motor was noisy and could Le Monsieur (the guy responsible for designing and constructing the winch and who spoke only French) make it run silently? Also, the cable, it seems less than perfect. It is not rolling the way it should be. When he had the contraption designed and constructed, I had no idea what he was talking about and I didn't know that there was an English word for it: winch. After its construction, my husband wanted me to explain to Le Monsieur in French the technical problems! I called the contraption "elevator", (l'ascenseur in French). What else could I have called it? Did Le Monsieur understand my translation? Maybe. He said the so-called technical problems were normal for winches. "Mais Madame, vous regardez; c'est normal."
Soon, my daughters and I were bored in Montreux, so we went to Paris for three days, and four days in Milan, leaving my husband to savor the eccentricities of an orderly society.
To be continued.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available at:
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com
