Bahrain: A Dispatch (Or, What I Did On My Holidays)
To be a proper blog I suppose I should have completed a daily entry but, due to problems with internet access (i.e. there wasn’t any), you’re getting a sort of over-long thematic overview. As a further caveat, it’s possible that I’ve totally forgotten some of the things we did, or put them in the wrong order. I can’t imagine that anybody will be too bothered.
So, Thursday night: James and I arrive, triumphantly, laden with a litre of gin and vodka respectively. For it is Ramadan, and there is no alcohol to be had in the Kingdom of Bahrain. I should add at this point that, contrary to my initial fears, Gulf Air were nevertheless happy to serve us a constant stream of food and rather robust G&Ts. Aside from the ridiculously hot weather, it feels rather like being back in Hackney as we pour our first drinks and distribute our offerings from the Old Country. Heidi and Tim have, I think, already explained the concept of Inshallah, by which this charming Kingdom appears to be run. I like to think that we settled into this ethos rather comfortably, quickly abandoning any idea of rationing our limited supplies and enthusiastically ploughing through most of the gin (and a significant amount of the vodka), happy to leave the rest of the weekend in the hands of some higher power.
This had the sadly predictable effect of limiting our sightseeing abilities on Friday, and we were generally restricted to a spot of hungover lounging by the pool.
A renewed flurry of activity on Saturday commenced with the collection of our hire car, a plucky Citroen C3 which, despite its woeful acceleration and occasional reluctance to start, did provide us with freedom to explore and lovely, lovely airconditioning. Did I mention it was quite hot in Bahrain?
A brief digression: driving in Bahrain is a bit of an experience. They have many miles of beautifully maintained 3-lane highway, within which they have managed to cram numerous flyovers, roundabouts and traffic lights (English style). I would offer the following words of advice, however, to anyone thinking of getting behind the wheel:
Pick your lane and speed at random.
Overtake on either side or, if you are from Kuwait and drive a truck the size of a house, weave erratically from lane to lane through the gaps between other vehicles.
Indicators are for wimps. Want to pull out or change lanes? Just go and, inshallah, the person behind you will probably get out of the way. It’s not a safe stopping distance that they’ve carefully left between them and the car in front, it’s a perfectly sized gap for your Humvee.
First stop was the souk, where we saw lots of men in dishdasha and a quite incredible array of tat. I won’t go into further details about said tat as I’m sure you’d all prefer that your presents came with some element of surprise. I was very pleased to see that the locals do actually wear their traditional dress (i.e. long shirt-type robe, plus headdress topped with handy camel-whip). They appear to be more practical than you might at first thing, being equipped with an array of pockets from which the Bahrainis produce flashy mobile phones, worry beads and cold, hard, oil money. Our enjoyment of the souk was curtailed, however, by the fact that we could not consume food, water or cigarettes in public during daylight hours and, after a short while, we repaired slightly grumpily to the car where we took it in turns to swig from a bottle of bath-temperature water as the others watched out for passing Arabs. After a brief siesta, we were sufficiently recovered to enjoy a proper Bahraini night out at Seef Mall, which involved eye-wateringly sweet coffee and shopping until 1am.
Sunday brought the dubious pleasure of helping Heidi collect their possessions which had arrived on a big boat. Heidi will no doubt give you all the gory details but, as far as I could make out, this involved the giving up of various bribes, and most of Heidi’s dignity. As the nice man at Customs attempted to explain to me as I waited for several hours in the waiting room, “In Arab countries we don’t have rules, we have a mood. If he is in a good mood, it will be quick. If not… (shrugs shoulders).” Possessions safely recovered, we whiled away the rest of the day in Muharraq, looking at some lovely old buildings. Chinese for dinner: Chinese restaurants in Bahrain apparently operate under the own rules and serve alcohol (yes!) and pork (yes! yes!), even during Ramadan. Yum yum yum. Then off for some shisha, which was very nice but efficiently felled all of us. I think the trick is probably to take your time and appreciate that the pipe won’t go out if you leave it alone for a while, rather than smoke about a packet’s worth of tobacco in twenty minutes and give yourself an almighty apple-flavoured headrush.
Monday: Eid Mubarak! And food and drink were once more available. We celebrated first of all by heading out into the desert with a load of Christian South Africans for a barbecue, our only guide an initially charming but increasingly irritating 12 year old boy. The desert was the most incredible moonscape: I got rather carried away and took about 30 photographs of the sunset over various rocks. Much meat was eaten and, having narrowly avoided death on the way back (James being so taken with the view of an ancient fort that he didn’t notice the 90 degree bend right in front of us) we went for a little hotel bar crawl around Juffair. After visiting the Sherlock Holmes (lovingly recreated English pub, complete with Bahaini SH lookalike wandering the dancefloor holding a pipe) and the bar at the Al Saf (where we avoided any drunken Saudis and nearly gatecrashed an Iraqi disco), we found ourselves at the Rock Bottom Café opposite H&T’s apartment. There we joined several underage US Navy Boys in listening to a Filipino rock covers band who were, actually, pretty damn good. I think. After some ludicrous dancing, the composition of a very respectful “Eid Mubarak” song and, inevitably, Heidi flashing her knockers out of a glass lift, the evening was complete.
Tuesday brought some seriously horrible hangovers. Tim stayed at home and did computer things while the remaining intrepid three went to visit the Tree of Life (a big tree in the desert – that’s it) and molest some camels. We then had a very cultured evening at an art gallery eating a truly delicious meal and listening to sufi singers and watching whirling dervishes. Any trace of culture was swiftly removed by subsequently watching an earbleedingly loud Russian/Irish (we think) traditional man-on-keyboard-plus-singing-woman-in-sparkly-dress duo at the Clipper Bar.
On Wednesday we visited the Grand Mosque which had an open day for non-Muslims where they tried to explain that Islam was quite friendly, actually, and women didn’t have to cover up – just dress modestly. Quite why Heidi and I had to nevertheless dress up in full abaya and hijab was never fully explained. The outfits were quite fun for about 5 minutes, then I got hot and grumpy and started tripping over my abaya. Nevertheless, we good-naturedly put up with their friendly attempts to convert us (using, at one point, a flashy Nokia mobile phone as religious metaphor) and ate their actually-rather-tasty buffet lunch. This plus a visit to the Bahrain National Museum meant that we had spent a very cultural day, and felt justly smug.
Then culture of a different kind – a night out at JJ’s Irish Bar with Heidi’s friend Nada (to whom we extended some traditional British hospitality, i.e. force-feeding her shots until she was violently ill), followed by Likwid, an attempt at a proper nightclub, with house music and everything. We were led there by Tim’s workmate Shane. We only realised as he sped around a roundabout with about 7 of us in the back of his car that he was several Tequila & Red Bulls down. I can’t say I recommend being driven around by a drunken South African. Tim had previously indicated that Shane “might be gay”. After several minutes in a car with Shane (in response to directions: “Straight? How about second exit - I can’t go straight!”; on dentists: “The lengths I will go to to get a tool in my mouth!”) it became clear that Tim’s gaydar is crap. As was Likwid, although some entertainment was provided by Tim telling a burly local “See you later, take care… of your mama!” and the resultant posturing and shouting.
Some respite was brought the following morning by a traditional Texan breakfast from Rik’s Kountry Kitchen (bacon, fried eggs, chips, biscuits [dumplings] in sausage gravy [a sort of béchamel sauce with porky bits]. Quite possibly the most calories I have ever seen on a plate but absolutely brilliant.
Saturday brought more tat-tastic shopping in Isa Town and a very lovely and sophisticated dinner out, where I sampled the local dish, Machbooz (a bit like a Biryani, but spicier).
And finally, Sunday. H&T sadly had to work, so James & I caught a speedboat (woo!) to the Hawar Islands, which are about 200 yards from Qatar but nevertheless have been claimed by Bahrain. There you will find an absolutely deserted hotel resort, where we sunbathed and pedalo-d to our hearts’ content. The holiday was perfectly rounded off by a traditional Hackney roast dinner (i.e., we were all sozzled by the time it was cooked).
Some photos will be added to the group site shortly http://www.flickr.com/groups/bahrainandlondon/
M x
So, Thursday night: James and I arrive, triumphantly, laden with a litre of gin and vodka respectively. For it is Ramadan, and there is no alcohol to be had in the Kingdom of Bahrain. I should add at this point that, contrary to my initial fears, Gulf Air were nevertheless happy to serve us a constant stream of food and rather robust G&Ts. Aside from the ridiculously hot weather, it feels rather like being back in Hackney as we pour our first drinks and distribute our offerings from the Old Country. Heidi and Tim have, I think, already explained the concept of Inshallah, by which this charming Kingdom appears to be run. I like to think that we settled into this ethos rather comfortably, quickly abandoning any idea of rationing our limited supplies and enthusiastically ploughing through most of the gin (and a significant amount of the vodka), happy to leave the rest of the weekend in the hands of some higher power.
This had the sadly predictable effect of limiting our sightseeing abilities on Friday, and we were generally restricted to a spot of hungover lounging by the pool.
A renewed flurry of activity on Saturday commenced with the collection of our hire car, a plucky Citroen C3 which, despite its woeful acceleration and occasional reluctance to start, did provide us with freedom to explore and lovely, lovely airconditioning. Did I mention it was quite hot in Bahrain?
A brief digression: driving in Bahrain is a bit of an experience. They have many miles of beautifully maintained 3-lane highway, within which they have managed to cram numerous flyovers, roundabouts and traffic lights (English style). I would offer the following words of advice, however, to anyone thinking of getting behind the wheel:
Pick your lane and speed at random.
Overtake on either side or, if you are from Kuwait and drive a truck the size of a house, weave erratically from lane to lane through the gaps between other vehicles.
Indicators are for wimps. Want to pull out or change lanes? Just go and, inshallah, the person behind you will probably get out of the way. It’s not a safe stopping distance that they’ve carefully left between them and the car in front, it’s a perfectly sized gap for your Humvee.
First stop was the souk, where we saw lots of men in dishdasha and a quite incredible array of tat. I won’t go into further details about said tat as I’m sure you’d all prefer that your presents came with some element of surprise. I was very pleased to see that the locals do actually wear their traditional dress (i.e. long shirt-type robe, plus headdress topped with handy camel-whip). They appear to be more practical than you might at first thing, being equipped with an array of pockets from which the Bahrainis produce flashy mobile phones, worry beads and cold, hard, oil money. Our enjoyment of the souk was curtailed, however, by the fact that we could not consume food, water or cigarettes in public during daylight hours and, after a short while, we repaired slightly grumpily to the car where we took it in turns to swig from a bottle of bath-temperature water as the others watched out for passing Arabs. After a brief siesta, we were sufficiently recovered to enjoy a proper Bahraini night out at Seef Mall, which involved eye-wateringly sweet coffee and shopping until 1am.
Sunday brought the dubious pleasure of helping Heidi collect their possessions which had arrived on a big boat. Heidi will no doubt give you all the gory details but, as far as I could make out, this involved the giving up of various bribes, and most of Heidi’s dignity. As the nice man at Customs attempted to explain to me as I waited for several hours in the waiting room, “In Arab countries we don’t have rules, we have a mood. If he is in a good mood, it will be quick. If not… (shrugs shoulders).” Possessions safely recovered, we whiled away the rest of the day in Muharraq, looking at some lovely old buildings. Chinese for dinner: Chinese restaurants in Bahrain apparently operate under the own rules and serve alcohol (yes!) and pork (yes! yes!), even during Ramadan. Yum yum yum. Then off for some shisha, which was very nice but efficiently felled all of us. I think the trick is probably to take your time and appreciate that the pipe won’t go out if you leave it alone for a while, rather than smoke about a packet’s worth of tobacco in twenty minutes and give yourself an almighty apple-flavoured headrush.
Monday: Eid Mubarak! And food and drink were once more available. We celebrated first of all by heading out into the desert with a load of Christian South Africans for a barbecue, our only guide an initially charming but increasingly irritating 12 year old boy. The desert was the most incredible moonscape: I got rather carried away and took about 30 photographs of the sunset over various rocks. Much meat was eaten and, having narrowly avoided death on the way back (James being so taken with the view of an ancient fort that he didn’t notice the 90 degree bend right in front of us) we went for a little hotel bar crawl around Juffair. After visiting the Sherlock Holmes (lovingly recreated English pub, complete with Bahaini SH lookalike wandering the dancefloor holding a pipe) and the bar at the Al Saf (where we avoided any drunken Saudis and nearly gatecrashed an Iraqi disco), we found ourselves at the Rock Bottom Café opposite H&T’s apartment. There we joined several underage US Navy Boys in listening to a Filipino rock covers band who were, actually, pretty damn good. I think. After some ludicrous dancing, the composition of a very respectful “Eid Mubarak” song and, inevitably, Heidi flashing her knockers out of a glass lift, the evening was complete.
Tuesday brought some seriously horrible hangovers. Tim stayed at home and did computer things while the remaining intrepid three went to visit the Tree of Life (a big tree in the desert – that’s it) and molest some camels. We then had a very cultured evening at an art gallery eating a truly delicious meal and listening to sufi singers and watching whirling dervishes. Any trace of culture was swiftly removed by subsequently watching an earbleedingly loud Russian/Irish (we think) traditional man-on-keyboard-plus-singing-woman-in-sparkly-dress duo at the Clipper Bar.
On Wednesday we visited the Grand Mosque which had an open day for non-Muslims where they tried to explain that Islam was quite friendly, actually, and women didn’t have to cover up – just dress modestly. Quite why Heidi and I had to nevertheless dress up in full abaya and hijab was never fully explained. The outfits were quite fun for about 5 minutes, then I got hot and grumpy and started tripping over my abaya. Nevertheless, we good-naturedly put up with their friendly attempts to convert us (using, at one point, a flashy Nokia mobile phone as religious metaphor) and ate their actually-rather-tasty buffet lunch. This plus a visit to the Bahrain National Museum meant that we had spent a very cultural day, and felt justly smug.
Then culture of a different kind – a night out at JJ’s Irish Bar with Heidi’s friend Nada (to whom we extended some traditional British hospitality, i.e. force-feeding her shots until she was violently ill), followed by Likwid, an attempt at a proper nightclub, with house music and everything. We were led there by Tim’s workmate Shane. We only realised as he sped around a roundabout with about 7 of us in the back of his car that he was several Tequila & Red Bulls down. I can’t say I recommend being driven around by a drunken South African. Tim had previously indicated that Shane “might be gay”. After several minutes in a car with Shane (in response to directions: “Straight? How about second exit - I can’t go straight!”; on dentists: “The lengths I will go to to get a tool in my mouth!”) it became clear that Tim’s gaydar is crap. As was Likwid, although some entertainment was provided by Tim telling a burly local “See you later, take care… of your mama!” and the resultant posturing and shouting.
Some respite was brought the following morning by a traditional Texan breakfast from Rik’s Kountry Kitchen (bacon, fried eggs, chips, biscuits [dumplings] in sausage gravy [a sort of béchamel sauce with porky bits]. Quite possibly the most calories I have ever seen on a plate but absolutely brilliant.
Saturday brought more tat-tastic shopping in Isa Town and a very lovely and sophisticated dinner out, where I sampled the local dish, Machbooz (a bit like a Biryani, but spicier).
And finally, Sunday. H&T sadly had to work, so James & I caught a speedboat (woo!) to the Hawar Islands, which are about 200 yards from Qatar but nevertheless have been claimed by Bahrain. There you will find an absolutely deserted hotel resort, where we sunbathed and pedalo-d to our hearts’ content. The holiday was perfectly rounded off by a traditional Hackney roast dinner (i.e., we were all sozzled by the time it was cooked).
Some photos will be added to the group site shortly http://www.flickr.com/groups/bahrainandlondon/
M x
posted by MaryMoo at 1:15 pm
1 Comments:
Mary - you are a star, I was late in to work this morning - which is annowing because i was actually awake on time but decided to go back to sleep anyway - and i have just giggled my way through your post. they now actually think that i'm a bit nuts.
XxX
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