Driving to work. There isn't much at all in the way of drainage in this city. A little rain goes a long way toward throwing off everyone's morning commute.
One of the many "Think" campaign signs on campus, looking a little more subdued yesterday.
Showing posts with label Photos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Photos. Show all posts
Monday, December 14, 2009
Raining in Doha
After almost four months of dusty and humid -- but mostly cloudless -- weather, we got three straight days of rain this past week, complete with awesome lighting and thunder. Photos reblogged from Jakob [1] [2].
Driving to work. There isn't much at all in the way of drainage in this city. A little rain goes a long way toward throwing off everyone's morning commute.
One of the many "Think" campaign signs on campus, looking a little more subdued yesterday.
Driving to work. There isn't much at all in the way of drainage in this city. A little rain goes a long way toward throwing off everyone's morning commute.
One of the many "Think" campaign signs on campus, looking a little more subdued yesterday.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Retro-blogging Oman Part 1: Marhaba Oman
From Thurs, November 26, 2009
View Oman, Day 1 in a larger map
Happy American Thanksgiving -- though, I'm spent and going to bed early tonight. I think I should have ordered that cappuccino at dinner. Preparations yesterday were sort of haphazard: I stuffed my backpack with the essentials and went straight to bed ASAP (but not soon enough), got up today at 3am to catch a 4am taxi, and flew -- see map -- from Doha to Bahrain to Muscat.
I caught up on sleep where possible. From Doha to Bahrain, it's usually less than half an hour in the air, but the flight was held at the gate and delayed for another hour. I fell asleep right after strapping into my seat on the plane, so this news was lost on me, and I woke up sometime later to see Jakob snapping pictures of a city skyline below us. Seeing the time, I asked "Oh hey, are we there now?" to which he answered "Nah that's our apartment down there...we just took off." So I started out the day quite disoriented.
We got to Bahrain with minutes to spare and rendezvoused at the gate with Adam, who'd arrived the night before. It may have just been the shortest length of time I've spent in any single country connecting to another flight.
Anyway, everything worked out and we're here: marhaba bikum fii Oman! Basics first. The exchange rate is 1 Omani Rial (RO) = 2.6 USD. Or, since I'm getting used to Qatari Riyal (QR) now, it's easier for me to think that 1 RO = 10 QR. Then you just shift the decimal point over on the prices -- like the metric system, for money. It feels like things get pricey here if we're not careful. We're staying at the Golden Oasis Hotel, one of the cheaper options in town, for 70 USD total tonight. A ride from the airport to the hotel was 8 RO. The equivalent in Doha, I think, would be half as much.
Leading Oman is Sultan Qaboos: his portrait adorns almost every major bridge, hangs inside every public building and is rendered on every paper bill denomination of the Omani Rial. As the history goes (I was on Wikipedia a lot before this trip), he came to power in 1970 and is largely responsible for the country's gradual but -- by all first impressions -- effective modernization in the decades since. We're still new to the country, but at the very least, the infrastructure is impressive. The view along the airport-to-hotel drive is pretty: there's been a lot of effort that's been put into greening 
the roadsides and the median, but surrounding the highway, further out, are low, rocky, desert mountains. It's definitely not the flatness we've been used to. Oman and Qatar are both in the same Gulf region, but you wouldn't know it from their landscapes.
We almost didn't find a rental car because of the rush of reservations for the Eid holiday, but the hotel staff pulled through for us late in the day. With Adam driving the new Nissan Tiida, we drove off to the local corniche and wandered around the Mutrah area and the souqs. The roads are illuminated tonight by a kaleidoscope of colored lights, ostensibly in anticipation of Eid, but I couldn't stop thinking we were on some Gulf MarioKart version of Rainbow Road. But they looked cool -- very festive. Festive but funny.
Last picture -- rows of the Omani khanjar (ceremonial dagger):
View Oman, Day 1 in a larger map
Happy American Thanksgiving -- though, I'm spent and going to bed early tonight. I think I should have ordered that cappuccino at dinner. Preparations yesterday were sort of haphazard: I stuffed my backpack with the essentials and went straight to bed ASAP (but not soon enough), got up today at 3am to catch a 4am taxi, and flew -- see map -- from Doha to Bahrain to Muscat.
I caught up on sleep where possible. From Doha to Bahrain, it's usually less than half an hour in the air, but the flight was held at the gate and delayed for another hour. I fell asleep right after strapping into my seat on the plane, so this news was lost on me, and I woke up sometime later to see Jakob snapping pictures of a city skyline below us. Seeing the time, I asked "Oh hey, are we there now?" to which he answered "Nah that's our apartment down there...we just took off." So I started out the day quite disoriented.
We got to Bahrain with minutes to spare and rendezvoused at the gate with Adam, who'd arrived the night before. It may have just been the shortest length of time I've spent in any single country connecting to another flight.
Anyway, everything worked out and we're here: marhaba bikum fii Oman! Basics first. The exchange rate is 1 Omani Rial (RO) = 2.6 USD. Or, since I'm getting used to Qatari Riyal (QR) now, it's easier for me to think that 1 RO = 10 QR. Then you just shift the decimal point over on the prices -- like the metric system, for money. It feels like things get pricey here if we're not careful. We're staying at the Golden Oasis Hotel, one of the cheaper options in town, for 70 USD total tonight. A ride from the airport to the hotel was 8 RO. The equivalent in Doha, I think, would be half as much.
Leading Oman is Sultan Qaboos: his portrait adorns almost every major bridge, hangs inside every public building and is rendered on every paper bill denomination of the Omani Rial. As the history goes (I was on Wikipedia a lot before this trip), he came to power in 1970 and is largely responsible for the country's gradual but -- by all first impressions -- effective modernization in the decades since. We're still new to the country, but at the very least, the infrastructure is impressive. The view along the airport-to-hotel drive is pretty: there's been a lot of effort that's been put into greening 
the roadsides and the median, but surrounding the highway, further out, are low, rocky, desert mountains. It's definitely not the flatness we've been used to. Oman and Qatar are both in the same Gulf region, but you wouldn't know it from their landscapes.We almost didn't find a rental car because of the rush of reservations for the Eid holiday, but the hotel staff pulled through for us late in the day. With Adam driving the new Nissan Tiida, we drove off to the local corniche and wandered around the Mutrah area and the souqs. The roads are illuminated tonight by a kaleidoscope of colored lights, ostensibly in anticipation of Eid, but I couldn't stop thinking we were on some Gulf MarioKart version of Rainbow Road. But they looked cool -- very festive. Festive but funny.
Last picture -- rows of the Omani khanjar (ceremonial dagger):
Retro-blogging IstanBulgaria Part 8: Sofia and Rila
[I know; the remainder of these are so overdue. To view all of the Turkey/Bulgaria entries, click the "Turkey and Bulgaria Trip" label, either at the bottom of this post or over on the right-hand navigation bar. It'll pick out all of these entries and display them in reverse order.]
From Tues, September 22, 2009
View Rila day trip in a larger map
10:15 am -- The bus we're on now is far less comfortable than the one that took us into Sofia yesterday. Here in the back, the noise of the engine all but drowns out our conversation, the smell of diesel fumes is overpowering, and all the seats and walls are a dull shade of brown like the inside of my 5th grade school bus (the deja vu is satisfying but fleetingly so). I'm quite sure the vehicle couldn't have come off the factory line any later than the 80s. The driver's face occasionally glances our way in his rearview mirror, and we think he may be blind in one eye but have decided against asking, now that we're chugging along on the road.
We're on the way to the town of Rila. Onward from there to Rila Monastery, tucked away in the mountains but one of the main must-sees of Bulgaria.
Presently, we've just left Dupnitsa, a quiet tiny town at the foot of the mountains. We only stayed long enough to grab a meal before transferring to the bus we're on now. To get here, though, we woke up before the first light of morning and got on a bus leaving Sofia at the crack of dawn. It stopped near Dupnitsa by the side of the highway, from which we had to find our way on foot to the actual bus station. We were directed to follow the signs, and it took longer than it probably should have: one sign said in Bulgarian, "Aftogara," which, I only belatedly realized, resembled the word for "bus station" in French.
A thought: I'd like to have a serious talk with my high school self about why foreign languages are important and why I should have kept learning after graduating. It would have been worth it.
As for yesterday, we spent all of it wandering around Sofia. It was different than any of the places I expect we'll see today, with more trappings of a major city -- the buildings actually rise up around you, and there are more historical monuments to explore and parks to relax in. Once again, we checked ourselves into a hostel, this one run by an initially intimidating middle-aged lady who spoke in a thick accent. I would call the accent Bulgarian, but my ear so far is only sharp enough to discern that it's vaguely Eastern European. Ultimately, she was quite helpful and generous to us. We got some good restaurant tips from her, and when we bought ourselves a bottle of wine in the evening, she let us borrow her glasses to polish it off.
There's not much to say about Sofia that can't be better shown through pictures, but if there's one thing worth noting, it's the giant shift in social climate as we've hopped westward over this break. Granted, Qatar is progressive relative to its immediate neighbors, but it's still a country where it's inappropriate at best to show shoulders and thighs, where alcohol is tightly regulated through buying permits, and where it's technically unlawful to be eating and drinking publicly during Ramadan daylight hours. Then we arrived in Turkey, a Muslim majority country with an officially secular government. Mosques feature prominently in the Istanbul cityscape, but at the same time, bars do a healthy business serving raki and still stiffer drinks. Bulgaria simply takes it one step further. Beer is painlessly inexpensive, at about 1 USD or less for the cheapest tap. Lingerie stores abound on every other block, and gentleman's establishments, while not uncomfortably common, are openly advertised on signposts at main intersections. For better or worse, this place is obviously a world away from Doha.
9:40 PM -- Back in Sofia. One hour left til we have to catch the overnight train to Burgas. I'm slouched around the tables of the now-too-familiar bus station, while we all catch up email and catch our breaths. Rila and all around was worth the trip. Once we got to the monastery, we wandered around it for some time with the tourist crowds, before striking out into the mountains ourselves. We went up into the hills until happening upon a tiny retreat in the mountains. Rested for a bit, then headed back. It was beautiful; see for yourself.
From Tues, September 22, 2009
View Rila day trip in a larger map
10:15 am -- The bus we're on now is far less comfortable than the one that took us into Sofia yesterday. Here in the back, the noise of the engine all but drowns out our conversation, the smell of diesel fumes is overpowering, and all the seats and walls are a dull shade of brown like the inside of my 5th grade school bus (the deja vu is satisfying but fleetingly so). I'm quite sure the vehicle couldn't have come off the factory line any later than the 80s. The driver's face occasionally glances our way in his rearview mirror, and we think he may be blind in one eye but have decided against asking, now that we're chugging along on the road.
We're on the way to the town of Rila. Onward from there to Rila Monastery, tucked away in the mountains but one of the main must-sees of Bulgaria.
Presently, we've just left Dupnitsa, a quiet tiny town at the foot of the mountains. We only stayed long enough to grab a meal before transferring to the bus we're on now. To get here, though, we woke up before the first light of morning and got on a bus leaving Sofia at the crack of dawn. It stopped near Dupnitsa by the side of the highway, from which we had to find our way on foot to the actual bus station. We were directed to follow the signs, and it took longer than it probably should have: one sign said in Bulgarian, "Aftogara," which, I only belatedly realized, resembled the word for "bus station" in French.
A thought: I'd like to have a serious talk with my high school self about why foreign languages are important and why I should have kept learning after graduating. It would have been worth it.
As for yesterday, we spent all of it wandering around Sofia. It was different than any of the places I expect we'll see today, with more trappings of a major city -- the buildings actually rise up around you, and there are more historical monuments to explore and parks to relax in. Once again, we checked ourselves into a hostel, this one run by an initially intimidating middle-aged lady who spoke in a thick accent. I would call the accent Bulgarian, but my ear so far is only sharp enough to discern that it's vaguely Eastern European. Ultimately, she was quite helpful and generous to us. We got some good restaurant tips from her, and when we bought ourselves a bottle of wine in the evening, she let us borrow her glasses to polish it off.
There's not much to say about Sofia that can't be better shown through pictures, but if there's one thing worth noting, it's the giant shift in social climate as we've hopped westward over this break. Granted, Qatar is progressive relative to its immediate neighbors, but it's still a country where it's inappropriate at best to show shoulders and thighs, where alcohol is tightly regulated through buying permits, and where it's technically unlawful to be eating and drinking publicly during Ramadan daylight hours. Then we arrived in Turkey, a Muslim majority country with an officially secular government. Mosques feature prominently in the Istanbul cityscape, but at the same time, bars do a healthy business serving raki and still stiffer drinks. Bulgaria simply takes it one step further. Beer is painlessly inexpensive, at about 1 USD or less for the cheapest tap. Lingerie stores abound on every other block, and gentleman's establishments, while not uncomfortably common, are openly advertised on signposts at main intersections. For better or worse, this place is obviously a world away from Doha.
9:40 PM -- Back in Sofia. One hour left til we have to catch the overnight train to Burgas. I'm slouched around the tables of the now-too-familiar bus station, while we all catch up email and catch our breaths. Rila and all around was worth the trip. Once we got to the monastery, we wandered around it for some time with the tourist crowds, before striking out into the mountains ourselves. We went up into the hills until happening upon a tiny retreat in the mountains. Rested for a bit, then headed back. It was beautiful; see for yourself.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
I don't have a coffee problem -- why, who told you that?
Turkish coffee is my new addiction relaxing beverage of choice. It's nothing super special or exotic -- just normal coffee beans ground extra fine and prepared a certain way -- but I'd never tried it until coming here. Ever since getting a Turkish coffee pot over the first Eid break, I've been making a cup or four to wake myself up every weekend, getting better and better at it with each pass (not that it's hard, but I just had no idea what I was doing when I started).
My trusty and somewhat overpriced coffee pot, courtesy of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul.
The pot is filled with enough cold water for the desired amount of coffee. This one can make about 6 cups: a cup of Turkish coffee is conventionally about the size (and strength) of an espresso shot.
The coffee grounds get thrown in on top of the water, about a heaping teaspoonful for each cup to be made. Coffee beans for Turkish coffee are all but ground down to a powder. The idea is to boil them directly in the water, instead of letting them sit in a filter. I don't stir them in, I just let them dissolve into the water on their own. The coffee I use also has some cardamom in it.
Then I heat the water, but as slowly as possible. On this setting, it takes about 20-30 minutes to bring the pot to a boil.
I add a couple teaspoons of sugar, again without stirring.
Eventually the coffee comes to a boil. The pot comes off the stove right when it boils and then sits for a bit while the dregs settle. Then -- pour, drink, and leave the leftover grounds at the bottom of the coffee cup. On days when there's enough time, this stuff beats out machine-brewed coffee by far.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Retro-blogging IstanBulgaria Part 7: Lost and Found in Translation
From Monday, Sept 21, 2009
It would be masochistically interesting to see how we'd get by without Aleks, who's been expertly handling our interactions with almost anyone here. Very few of the people we've met speak English. Since Aleks speaks Russian -- the closest any of us can get to Bulgarian -- he's basically taken over all of our communication with ticket offices, taxi drivers, random passersby, and the like. It helps that most of the older generation who grew up during the Soviet era are familiar with Russian (English and Western European languages are becoming common only among the younger generation, we're told).
Here's the thing I wasn't prepared for: the language barrier isn't just verbal. Head nodding and shaking, for "yes" and "no," are entirely reversed here. As we've found out, nodding means "no," while shaking your head side-to-side means "yes." Bulgaria is apparently one of the only places in the world that does this. We initially saw this firsthand at the bus station (pictured), when the ticket lady was answering a question about buses to Rila or Dupnitsa for the following day. She answered "da, da, da," but at the same time shook her head vigorously. The disconnect was really jarring, the first time I saw it. Later, I asked a woman at an electronics store if she sold CompactFlash memory cards (for my camera), and she nodded her head as if to say yes, but closed her eyes and solemnly repeated "ne, no, no." The younger the person, the more conscious they tend to be of this around foreigners. I asked the man at another electronics store -- probably in his mid-20s -- the same question. He said "no" and started to nod, but then saw my confused face, stopped midway on the downswing, and quickly began shaking his head to the side.
No worries, though. Occasionally, the language thing gets pretty funny, too (to us, at least). Several of the bus companies like to announce new bus routes on the signs above their ticket booths, and "new" in Bulgarian translates to "novo." In the Cyrillic alphabet, though, the Latin "N" looks like "H," while the Latin "V" looks like "B." So to us English-speakers, the signs look like they're advertising "HOBO!!!"
It would be masochistically interesting to see how we'd get by without Aleks, who's been expertly handling our interactions with almost anyone here. Very few of the people we've met speak English. Since Aleks speaks Russian -- the closest any of us can get to Bulgarian -- he's basically taken over all of our communication with ticket offices, taxi drivers, random passersby, and the like. It helps that most of the older generation who grew up during the Soviet era are familiar with Russian (English and Western European languages are becoming common only among the younger generation, we're told).
Here's the thing I wasn't prepared for: the language barrier isn't just verbal. Head nodding and shaking, for "yes" and "no," are entirely reversed here. As we've found out, nodding means "no," while shaking your head side-to-side means "yes." Bulgaria is apparently one of the only places in the world that does this. We initially saw this firsthand at the bus station (pictured), when the ticket lady was answering a question about buses to Rila or Dupnitsa for the following day. She answered "da, da, da," but at the same time shook her head vigorously. The disconnect was really jarring, the first time I saw it. Later, I asked a woman at an electronics store if she sold CompactFlash memory cards (for my camera), and she nodded her head as if to say yes, but closed her eyes and solemnly repeated "ne, no, no." The younger the person, the more conscious they tend to be of this around foreigners. I asked the man at another electronics store -- probably in his mid-20s -- the same question. He said "no" and started to nod, but then saw my confused face, stopped midway on the downswing, and quickly began shaking his head to the side.
No worries, though. Occasionally, the language thing gets pretty funny, too (to us, at least). Several of the bus companies like to announce new bus routes on the signs above their ticket booths, and "new" in Bulgarian translates to "novo." In the Cyrillic alphabet, though, the Latin "N" looks like "H," while the Latin "V" looks like "B." So to us English-speakers, the signs look like they're advertising "HOBO!!!"
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Retro-blogging IstanBulgaria Part 6: Bulgaria or Bust
From Monday, Sept 21, 2009
View Istanbul to Sofia in a larger map
I am super groggy and bleary-eyed. This bus has been rolling along for some 9 hours, maybe, and for the first time during the ride, there's real sunlight streaming in through the windows. We're on the road from Istanbul, Turkey to Sofia, Bulgaria. It's not quite 8 AM, and it's about 12 degrees C outside. The seven of us have become just four: on the bus are Adam, Aleks, Jakob, and me. We're now officially in Bulgaria, after a brief customs stop at the border and night of oft-broken sleep.
I share Jakob's amazement from last night: we're actually in Bulgaria. It wasn't a certainty that we'd arrive here, since we weren't able to book our way here in advance. The bus will be arriving on schedule in a few hours, but the day before, we were seriously unsure about whether we'd even be able to make it out of Turkey in the first place. We had originally planned to take an overnight Istanbul-Sofia train in a sleeper car, so yesterday, we all -- still as 7 -- made our way to the Istanbul train station (the reddish building pictured) for tickets. When we got there, a makeshift sign on the ticket booth informed us that all international trains were cancelled until October, on account of the recent flooding in Turkey. This was followed by brief frustration and resignation to staying in Istanbul the whole trip -- Istanbul's great, so it wasn't a terrible prospect, admittedly -- until the ticket man informed us that buses to Bulgaria were still running. Since it was the guys who had planned on going while the girls never intended to go, we split up by gender and went separate ways for the time being. Us guys trammed our way to the bus station (Otogar), and bought ourselves each a 50-lira ticket.
Then, after we got our tickets and had ourselves a cheap doner lunch, we were missing the girls a bit, so we met up again to hang out for a few more hours, be it near the Grand Bazaar, in Sultanahmet, or down along the river. Dinner was at Hamdi's, a reasonably cheap restaurant with a gorgeous view of the Bosphorous and delicious food. Post-nightfall, we walked into the entrance another historical mosque to wander beneath its towering dome and minarets. We explored for a bit, then parted ways with the girls there in midst of the courtyard. Tres cinematique. We'll see them again in a few days.
For now, goodbye Turkey. Sofia, here we come.
View Istanbul to Sofia in a larger map
I am super groggy and bleary-eyed. This bus has been rolling along for some 9 hours, maybe, and for the first time during the ride, there's real sunlight streaming in through the windows. We're on the road from Istanbul, Turkey to Sofia, Bulgaria. It's not quite 8 AM, and it's about 12 degrees C outside. The seven of us have become just four: on the bus are Adam, Aleks, Jakob, and me. We're now officially in Bulgaria, after a brief customs stop at the border and night of oft-broken sleep.
I share Jakob's amazement from last night: we're actually in Bulgaria. It wasn't a certainty that we'd arrive here, since we weren't able to book our way here in advance. The bus will be arriving on schedule in a few hours, but the day before, we were seriously unsure about whether we'd even be able to make it out of Turkey in the first place. We had originally planned to take an overnight Istanbul-Sofia train in a sleeper car, so yesterday, we all -- still as 7 -- made our way to the Istanbul train station (the reddish building pictured) for tickets. When we got there, a makeshift sign on the ticket booth informed us that all international trains were cancelled until October, on account of the recent flooding in Turkey. This was followed by brief frustration and resignation to staying in Istanbul the whole trip -- Istanbul's great, so it wasn't a terrible prospect, admittedly -- until the ticket man informed us that buses to Bulgaria were still running. Since it was the guys who had planned on going while the girls never intended to go, we split up by gender and went separate ways for the time being. Us guys trammed our way to the bus station (Otogar), and bought ourselves each a 50-lira ticket.Then, after we got our tickets and had ourselves a cheap doner lunch, we were missing the girls a bit, so we met up again to hang out for a few more hours, be it near the Grand Bazaar, in Sultanahmet, or down along the river. Dinner was at Hamdi's, a reasonably cheap restaurant with a gorgeous view of the Bosphorous and delicious food. Post-nightfall, we walked into the entrance another historical mosque to wander beneath its towering dome and minarets. We explored for a bit, then parted ways with the girls there in midst of the courtyard. Tres cinematique. We'll see them again in a few days.
For now, goodbye Turkey. Sofia, here we come.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Retro-blogging IstanBulgaria Part 5: Istanbul Miscellany
From Sunday, Sept 20, 2009
Istanbul is one of those places that has cats everywhere! Kittens wander the streets wherever you go.- I didn't realize how much I've grown used to Qatar weather until now. For one thing, the air is no longer hot enough to incinerate all insect life, so there are mosquitos here. Apparently I'm quite the feast, because they're eating me alive. For another thing, there's rain -- sweet, wet rain -- and the clouds have already sprung a few short but unexpected shower bursts on us. Finally, the nights and mornings are cool enough that I sometimes have to wear a jacket (with long sleeves!). Good thing I packed one.
- Turkey's signature liquor is raki, which I finally had the chance to try last night. It's a clear drink but turns milky white when mixed with water, which is how it was served to us. It smells like black licorice. It's also kind of disgusting. I probably wouldn't get it again.
Everyone plays backgammon -- most cafes have at least some tables with backgammon boards laid out for customers to play. Right now my game is pretty weak -- I know I learned to play way way back in the day but can't remember the last time I did so.
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