So, I am a bit late with news of the last couple weeks, but as you'll see below, things have stayed quite interesting recently.
First thing: we had to get Nicole a new car. The one she had (pictured below) was luxurious inside (for a non-
Cadillac) but now that gas is $0.73 per gallon here in Doha, we had to get her a more reasonable ride.
(That is a 2009 Rolls-Royce Convertible. Click on the photo, and you can see another 2009 Rolls close on the left and on the right in the far back. Note the one on the right is a four door.)
All joking aside, the weekend before last (not 5 days ago, but rather 12 days ago) we attended a car show, where we saw some really amazing things. Perhaps the most amazing: the car show took place at at "The Pearl," a gigantic fake island built off the coast of Qatar, apparently as living space for the discerning multimillionaire. (If you look it up in Google Maps satellite view, you get an idea of what it is, but the satellite image is ~1 year old, so it is unfinished in those photos.) There were a lot of stupendous cars there and a few not so stupendous, as GM1 had a booth next to Lamborghini, but two things really caught my eye.
The first was a Spyker, pictured above. It is a super expensive (multi $100K) car, basically your high performance dream machine. Now note the gear shift visible through the driver's side window. The whole assembly appears to be aluminum rods with a handle. This one part (and only this) looks like it was designed by a high school metal shop.
Side note: If you want to irritate a high-performance car salesman, ask where the cup holders are.
This is the other thing that caught my eye, the newest Triumph. Look at the size of the radiator across the front. I thought that was a really neat design. Of course, H. Stockton disagreed.
He only likes American steel, specifically the newer Harleys. When I first set him on it, he took a minute to like it, but I think the second picture shows he digs it. So, STOW2 what are the plans for Chillicothe 2023?
The photo above is a set of stone steps at the Pearl, right near the car show. The steps are slightly different heights, so I tripped on them. Hard. While holding Henry.
More specifically, I was holding Henry in both arms, kind of perpendicular to me with his head and feet pointing at my shoulders when I tripped and landed on my knees on the concrete steps.
That hurt.
Then I realized that the upper part of my body was falling forward and I couldn't stop myself, so Henry's head was going to be between my shoulder and the steps if I didn't do something. As for what to do, my friend Artur, a former gymnast and current Judo master, asked why I didn't simply roll, which is kind of like asking why I didn't use my heat vision to dissolve the steps; it requires physical abilities I simply don't have. So I did the next best thing: I stopped our fall by sticking out my elbows so that all our weight landed on them.
That really hurt. I couldn't feel my pinkies and ring fingers for 15-20 minutes, but Henry was OK, so it was all good.
The next day (Saturday) we went to the park. As you can see in the two pictures below, Henry had an amazing time.
When we walked back to the car, Nicole noticed an issue with the vehicle, namely that it was gone. We assumed that it had been towed, as the punishments for theft and the like over here are a little harsher than the current American system of "Hey, if we give him enough hugs, maybe he'll stop being a child molester," thus there is effectively no crime. So we walked around the park, and found a cop who didn't speak English, who directed us to a cop that did speak English but who was not responsible for that part of the park and thus sent us to a third cop, who told us to go speak to the "Internal Security Force" guys at a round-about. So, I run across three lanes of traffic, and one of the Internal Security guys speaks English. Basically, where we had parked was sub-optimal for rejoining traffic, and thus the traffic was being slowed by people trying to leave our parking area, thus the Security force simply towed our car to the other side of the park. No note, no ticket, no fee, just "Your car was in the way. We moved it. Just walk around the park til you find it. You're welcome!"
So we got the car back, and it was safe and sound....for 6 hours til I was in a car wreck. A rig pulled up on my left and wrecked into me, caving in the driver's side of the car. This was at 10 PM, and I was driving back with Henry from my office when we got hit. I immediately called Nicole to come get Henry, as these things can take hours and hours, but it turned out I had both sets of keys, so we were stuck together waiting for the cops. Through all of this, Henry was fine; he thought we had just stopped off to chat with some nice Arab gentlemen. Once the cop showed up (maybe 15 minutes), I knew I was hosed, as they both spoke Arabic and I didn't, and we've been told repeatedly that if you have better insurance than the guy you hit, you're at fault. Now, I am not trying to make a joke, but cop was scary in appearance, as he looked like a shaved gorilla in a blue beret, and given everything else, I was concerned. So, all four of us go over the accident and what happened, and I was told I had to be at the police station at 8AM the next day. The cop then told us we were free to go, and then kissed Henry goodbye. Of course, can you blame him?
The next day at 8 AM I go to the police station, which is basically nothing like those in the US. There is a tall wall, and inside the wall there are a bunch of tiny sheds, each of which contains a chain-smoking Arab from the local insurance companies. Basically, you go into the station, get an accident report, and come out and give it to the fellow in the shed. I have a rental, so I didn't have to do this. I went into the building, found a long room with a huge counter behind which were many women in full cover. There I spoke to a lady, and she sold me a new insurance card for my rental car for 100QAR ($27). What does this have to do with me getting the accident report? Absolutely nothing. It was just a miscommunication, as no one in the police station spoke English.
I walked around the station for a while and finally found where I could get an accident report. (Side note: I actually entered one door that put me on the wrong side of the counter with the covered ladies, so I got out of there as quick as I could.) A man in the accident department gave me a form (all in Arabic) with an ink stamp on the form and told me to take it to the kitchen. I thought I misunderstood, and from his directions I ended up in the room full of ladies again. One wrote in pen on my form, and then told me again to go to the kitchen. Turns out, next to the long-counter room there is a snack kitchen which people constantly stream in and out of with small tea glasses. In that room there is a man who sells you four Qatari stamps, valued at 5 QAR per, for 27 QAR ($5). (How that figure is arrived at is beyond western comprehension.) I was only able to figure this out because there was an older gentleman in western dress who was getting a chuckle out of the confused American, and told me what to do to get my stamps. The stamps make the report official, and I gave the report to my car rental place. Turns out, because I was basically waiting to get into the round-about and the other guy hit me, he was assigned the blame.
All things considered, it was better than any time I've dealt with constabulary in the US.
The next Thursday was Thanksgiving. Here is the whole family at the meal at our villa. Nicole had just a couple people in, and as always, the meal was great. Motherhood certainly agrees with Nicole.
On Friday, we went to the University for a big Thanksgiving with the whole University community. Once again, the whole family.
Finally, just a bit of cuteness: This is Henry trying to open his first Christmas present.
I'll talk to you next Friday!
1) Excluding Cadillac, when was the last time you heard something good about a GM car?
2) STOW: Stormtroopers of the Winnebago, a group of friends of mine that travel to biker rallies in a, well, Winnebago.
