Simone in Qatar: Police Incident 6: Mass Chris Time

Out of Qatar - Far from (not so) Beautiful Memory. The bag containing Amy's farewell present. Sometimes it's not the thought OR the present. It's the packaging!

I realised at my birthday party a couple of months ago that I really needed to start numbering my interactions with Qatar's police force.

Light dawned as I listened to my guests' conversation around the table. Fervent participation (pleasing), lots of derisory laughter (less pleasing), and total conflation of 3 separate events (what???).

C'mon guys. Do you really think that I could be chased by both traffic cops and the Emir's personal security guards, having just been hit by a semi-trailer only seconds before???

Thanks. Love and respect you too.

So now to Incident #6.
 
Having turned down a Head of Department job with the same organisation - Dean a complete dickhead who informed me that his staff retention issues were caused by his campus' lack of beach. Well isn't that the major criterion when you chose a job? - I accepted a normal teaching job in Salalah, Oman – which does have a beach and is, in fact, a tropical paradise.

All good. Packed up, shipped out, went to live with Chris until my start date.

But there was no start date. No I couldn't come early. No they couldn't commit to allowing me 3 whole days in which to find and rent an apartment. No they couldn't commit to giving me one week's notice of my start date so I could exit Qatar legally.

Now, yes, I get Arab red tape. I get Arab lackadaisical attitude to work. I get Arab lack of English literacy. But I so do not fucking get Arabs being rude to me when I talk to them on the phone.

Unbelievable!

I was so mega-ly pissed off that I started searching the Internet and applying for work left, right and centre.

Centre being Saudi where it's very hard to get teachers. Let alone female teachers.

And two weeks later, the day after my Omani visa comes through, two hours after they finally agree that I am coming and they will book my airticket, I get offered a managerial job in the world's largest language centre at Kind Saud University in Riyadh. 6000 students. 400 teachers.

Woo hoo hoo hoo! Adventure! Excitement!

Suddenly I feel like Simone again.

Of course there was much consternation. Even my most tactful friend said [plummeting intonation] "Simone, Saudi is a really special place..."

True. But here is my reasoning:

1. It's not work. It's a life experience.
2. It looks a hell of a lot better on my CV than Oman.
3. No one is going to blame me if I fall in a heap and leave after a year.
4. I am so bloody bored with my life. Stable sucks!

So the experiment begins...

...and you get to say I told you so when it ends.

So I whoop enthusiastically into the London recruiter's ear and immediately crash my car.

Bugger.

It's minor but this time - for the first time - it IS my fault. And I'm leaving, and as of the decision to move to Saudi 30 seconds before, I now have to sell my car rather than export it.

So, yes, I call...

I'm you can finish this sentence. And here is a photo of the legend himself:

Ashraf (standing) with brother, the legendary Mohammed Abbas. No, he doesn't always look like an Egyptian mafioso member. And yes, he needs a holiday.

And while we cruise around from police station to insurance company to...

Guy types - yes TYPES- application for new car plates. Cost $3.

...I get onto the logistics of un-moving to Oman.

Is it your experience that there are times in your life when everyone around you seems to have the same name?

I had the Month of Michaels, and the truly excruciating Time of Alans: Apart from, One L or two? Would that be an A or an E? Melbournites famously cannot pronounce the letter 'a' at word-beginning.

Simone on phone in desperation: No! Not Ellen! Allen! AAAAllen

Then there was the time when all the men in my life (in a variety of capacities) were called Tony Plus-Short-Family-Name, to the point where my mother, reading in a letter that I'd picked up some guy in Barcelona who turned out to be called, wait, Antonio Bianco, actually wet herself laughing.

It is now the time of the Chrises. Not quite so many as to be an embarrassment of riches, but definitely what one might call a pleasing abundance.

And they are goodies.

First there is the gorgeous Chris from Oz who has allowed myself and Ant to stay in her villa for the last month. Ant in fact is still there. Well adapted to Villa Living. Discovered that staircases and banisters are the very thing for small furry animals in need of entertainment. And dealing very well with her increased supervisory duties of two humans.

Then there is a second Chris from Oz who will collect me from the airport when I arrive in Bahrain and escort me back to Vasily's where the two of us will stay while I await my Saudi visa. Yes!!! This IS the Vasily of the Veuve Clicquot orange walls. While there can be numerous Chrises, Alans or Michaels, I think there can really only ever be one Vasily.

Finally there is a third South African Chris that Vasily has coopted to help retrieve my shipping container where it is being held, at great expense outside Dubai's Jebel Ali port. This poor bugger, who had not even heard my name 3 days ago has joined Team Simone and what a bloody fine member he is.

So, apart from the fact that my poor little car cannot be sold while it still has export number plates on it, the un-moving process is well under way.

Thanks to friends - Chrises, those of many other names here, and all of you who have been so so so supportive. Thank you. It's been far and away the most stressful week of my life. But you have made it possible.

Simone the Befriended.

PS: More news on Saudi soon - I know almost nothing myself!