A few weeks ago Rachael and I took our first vacation out of Qatar since we arrived in August. We chose Jordan for a variety of reasons: only a few hours away, stable and affordable, and it would give us a chance to visit a country that had a lot of real history behind it.

My initial impression of Jordan, both from the air and now on the ground, was of a desert country with more green and hills than I expected, though not enough to make it feel like home. Based on the little I’d seen so far, it looked a lot like Lebanon, with similar beige, concrete architecture and dusty, but still vaguely green vegetation.

We spent our first afternoon driving the short distance to Madaba, a town halfway between the airport and the Dead Sea. It didn’t take us long, and luckily the driving was uneventful, save for a few warning lights popping up on the Renault. I had only driven in a foreign country on one other trip (to Norway), but thankfully the signs and rules seemed straightforward and there were only a few cars driving the wrong way down the freeway, and they mostly stuck to the shoulders.

We checked into our hotel in Madaba and then wandered around the town taking pictures and looking for a decent place to eat. We happened upon a liquor store by accident (I swear) and were briefly followed by an overly friendly drunk guy who really wanted to be our friend. Needless to say, this never happens in Qatar.

One thing about our hotel that we didn’t think about until four the next morning was its proximity to the local mosque, or more specifically, the loud speakers at the mosque which play (actually blare is a better word) the call to prayer. I wouldn’t have changed our reservations just because a mosque was close, but by 4:45 a.m., when the speaker had been reminding us to pray for the better part of an hour, I started to reconsider our decision.

The next day we headed for the Dead Sea. Along the way, we stopped at a Christian religious monument called Mount Nebo, the point where Moses was said to have looked out at the Promised Land. There was a good view from there of Jericho and the Dead Sea, but the real attraction were the scores of Indians who were visiting the monument as part of a Christian tour group. They were easily identifiable by their matching hats and backpacks, and one of them handed Rachael a pamphlet all about how Jesus loves her (this is another thing that I don’t expect to ever happen in Qatar).

We wound our way down the mountain to the Dead Sea, our poor Renault shaking and rattling and warning us the whole way. In fact, that damn car was the most stressful part of our entire trip. It never broke down or caused us any real problems, but it seemed to be reminding us that it could go at any minute, not unlike the camel we saw being butchered by a group of Bedouins (I think) in a camp by the side of the highway.

A long time ago I saw a photograph of an old man floating in the Dead Sea and reading a newspaper. It seems impossible, actually, and if it doesn’t, hop in a pool and try to float so high that you can keep an entire newspaper from getting wet. But the Dead Sea is so salty, in fact, that it is possible, and you’re all but required to photograph yourself doing the same thing. According to our guidebook, it’s the second saltiest body of water with a 30 percent salt content by weight (ten times that of the ocean). It’s also the lowest point of land on Earth’s surface, a full 1,400 feet (427 meters) below sea level. I stuck my tongue in it, which I don’t recommend, not so much because it’s so salty, but because it feels like dipping your tongue in bleach.

That’s it for this post. I’ll cover our other two destinations, Petra and Wadi Rum, in a few days.

Last week I was helping out one of my fellow teachers in his music class. We were seated on the floor in a circle with about twenty students, and next to me was a girl in third grade who kept tugging on my sleeve.

"Mister, mister," she kept saying, but each time I'd direct her attention back to the music teacher and his lesson. She wanted to ask me a question, but I didn't want to feed the interruption. This went on for most of the class, and at the end, while we were leading the students back into the hall, she pulled me aside and prepared to ask her question.

"Mister, what is this thing?" She pointed to the tie clip I had clipped to my front.

"Oh, that's a tie clip. It holds my tie to my shirt."

She stopped, puzzled, and asked, "But why?"

Legitimate question, I guess. I tried to swing the tie around vigorously to make the tie clip seem really necessary, but she was dubious. I then tried to explain that sometimes the tie dips into my food when I eat, but that wasn't a very good explanation, either. So I settled for saying that I wore it because I liked it. That explanation may not have satisfied her, but it was good enough for me.

A few days later I wore another tie clip and a different girl came up to me in class, pointed to the clip, and asked, "Mr. Alex, what is this thing?"

"It's a tie clip," I said. "It holds my tie down to my shirt."

"Well, I don't like it."

I guess Qatar just isn't tie clip country. In fact, I might be the only person in the entire country who ever wears them.

One thing I took for granted about life in the United States until I came here was that if I wanted to do something, like set up a bank account, say, I could do it. I didn't have to ask permission from my employer, or from the government, or from my family. I could just walk into a bank with a little bit of money and an I.D. and I'd be set. It's the same deal, for the most part, with renting a home, getting a driver's license, traveling, and a million other things. There are other hoops to jump through, but I don't have to solicit letters of permission to go about the basic functions of life. In Qatar, things are different.

Here's a short list of things that require an employer's permission in Qatar:

• Getting a driver's license
• Renting a home
• Opening a bank account
• Buying alcohol
• Switching employers
• Leaving the country

When Rachael and I first considered working in Qatar, that last one was pretty scary. Would we be trapped here and unable to go home? Under normal circumstances, probably not. But if we racked up a ton of debt and then tried to flee the country? Then we'd almost certainly have a problem.

All of this stems from Qatar's kafala system, which basically means your employer sponsors your travel to Qatar and your residency in the country, and gets to say what you can and cannot do while you're here. There are parallels to other immigration policies around the world, but Qatar's is quite a bit more strict.

While it's customary to complain about this sort of bureaucracy, for Rachael and me it's really just a minor inconvenience. But for many of the country's laborers (and even some of its executives) the kafala system is much more serious business.

The point is that as an expat, you're here and happy by your employer's good graces. It's quite a departure from other employment systems I'm familiar with, where there are there are systems and authorities to protect you if you fall out of favor with your employer.

None of this is meant to frighten, but it's something that's different about Qatar and I thought it'd be interesting to write about.

I missed the first day of school. As you're probably learning, paperwork rules all in Qatar, and mine was held up. The chest x-ray I took at the Qatar Medical Commission that was supposed to prove that I've never had tuberculosis came back inconclusive, so I had to spend the first day of school back at the Medical Commission enduring the radiological onslaught of more x-rays. It took a few days for the results to come back, though, so I actually missed the second day, too. And the third. And the fourth.

On Wednesday night, though, I got word that I'd cleared my second round of x-rays and could return to school on Thursday, which in Qatar is the fifth and final day of the work week. Except now I had a cold and a severe sore throat, so it wasn't the sort of triumphant entrance I'd been hoping for. But you can't call in sick on your first day, especially since it was a first day that'd been delayed for nearly a week.

It's now three weeks later and I feel like I'm starting to get into a groove of school here. I haven't been doing much substituting, since since only one of the teachers I substitute for has called in sick, but I have been spending a lot of time in classrooms helping out teachers with their lessons.

I'm in charge of filling in for teachers in first and third grade, so that's where I've been focusing my time. On top of that, my personal inclination is toward math and the sciences, so I've been spending a lot of time in a first grade math and science class helping the students out with basic math. We'll get to the science lessons eventually, but for now, just the basics.

In my previous life working in journalism, one of my favorite questions to ask someone who had gone through a major experience or change in their life was 'What didn't you expect?' It's really efficient at cutting through the boring stuff and getting at whatever was interesting, exciting, or surprising. Having been in Qatar for almost three weeks now, I think it's a good time to ask the same question of myself.

In stock

Rachael's dad tried to convince me on several occasions that the stuff I was stocking up on in Portland would probably be available in Qatar, too. And for the the vast majority of supplies I bought, he was right. They can plenty of coconut oil here, and contact lens solution, and peanut butter, and none of it is very expensive. I've even found fresh blueberries and blackberries in good condition flown in from Oregon. The quality probably isn't as high I'd find back in the United States, but it'll do.

The only thing I've yet to find here are those special dish gloves that are designed to fold up at the cuff so the water doesn't drip down your elbow. Luckily I brought five pairs in my suitcase. And in case you were looking for I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Spray (I wasn't), you can find it here.

Under construction

I knew that there would be building going on in Qatar, but I had no idea of the scale of it. Basically, it's almost literally everywhere. If I walk outside and look around, I'm bound to see at least one (but probably significantly more) construction projects. They're building office buildings and apartment buildings and villas and roads and an airport. It feels like there was nothing here just a few weeks ago and then the emir said, "Alright, let's get started!"

One of the downsides of all this construction is the dust that it kicks up into the air. You can see it along the skyline as a sort of brown haze, and a thin film of dust covers just about everything that isn't cleaned regularly, since there isn't much rain or wind to wash it away.

The picture below shows a massive construction project near where we're living. I don't have a good sense of the scale, but I'd guess it's about 80 acres or so, and it's being marketed as the new downtown of Doha. I've never seen more cranes in one place.

Part of the family

Who you work for in Qatar seems to go a long way in determining what you're experience is like. Our employer is a massive non-profit run by the royal family. It reminds me a bit of being connected to Vito Corleone. Not in the criminal sense, mind you, but because we're very well taken care of.

Here's a case in point: A few days ago we had to go to the Medical Commission to get tested for HIV, hepatitis, and tuberculosis. It's standard procedure for anyone moving to Qatar, whether you're working in a school or on a construction site. That means there were hundreds of people in line when we arrived, but because of who we work for, we didn't have to wait behind them. Instead, a Qatari public official met us at our bus, walked us straight to the front of the line, and then guided us through the process of having our blood tested and our chest x-rayed. We were in and out in about an hour.

Do we really need a car?

When I first started looking into what life might be like for us in Qatar, owning a car played a large role. Our employer provides a transportation stipend, used cars are relatively inexpensive, and we figured we'd need one to get to work. But once we arrived we learned that we'd have a bus taking us to and from school, at least for the first year. We've also been using local taxis and limousines (basically just a fancier car without a meter) which will take you anywhere in town for five to ten bucks.

Needless to say, all of this has me wondering whether or not owning a car is worth it. If we relied on the school's bus and taxis and limousines we'd trade in a bit of freedom but probably save a lot of money in the process. We're not making a decision yet, but we're not rushing into buying a car, either.

The heat isn't that big of a deal

It is incredibly hot here, but we spend so much time inside that it almost doesn't matter. Everything is air conditioned, from apartment to bus to work to bus back home again. Even when I do go out, though, it's bearable. As long as I'm out of direct sunlight, sweating profusely has been enough to keep me comfortable. Completely drenched, but comfortable. Last night Rachael and I sat on a curb for half an hour or so and waited for a cab. It was about 95 degrees outside at 9 p.m., but with a slight breeze it was almost pleasant.

I'm sure there have been a few days here where we haven't spent more than three minutes total outside. Of course, that's a bit of a double-edged sword. Cabin fever has set in a few times, including this morning when I decided to go for a run outside instead of in the gym. I won't be doing that again until the temperature drops below 90 degrees.

An army of helpers

One good way to imagine Qatar is as a social experiment in which money is no object and there is no shortage of labor. I saw this most dramatically when the movers showed up at our temporary apartment to deliver the boxes we'd shipped from Portland back in early August. At first it was just two or three guys unloading a trunk, but once it came time to take them up the elevator and into our apartment, ten guys wearing beige coveralls who appeared to be from somewhere in South Asia showed up out of nowhere and began shuttling our boxes like cartoon firemen shuttling buckets of water. It didn't take longer than five minutes for them to move 800 pounds of stuff up an elevator shaft and into apartment. It was incredible.

There's a similar situation at the school where we work. Not only are there adequate teachers and assistants in each classroom, there are also a team of security guards manning the entrance gates and walking the school, plus at least a dozen "helpers." Their uniforms say something about a cleaning company, and they do clean, but they also help teachers with projects like decorating classrooms. It's an odd, but welcome, arrangement.

I'm sure I'll be able to put together another one of these lists before too long, but I'll end this one here.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2K8IScES7s8]

The other day I posted a clip of what one might see out the window driving through Doha. Today on our way to school in Al Wakra I took another short video out the window. There's not much there besides open desert and a little bit of construction, but it'll give you a sense of the thirty-ish minute commute.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-EwcCbVC99c]

When we first started looking at jobs in Qatar, I found it really hard to picture, even with pictures. I knew that there were tall buildings and nice roads, that there was sand, etc. But what I didn't know was what it felt like to drive through the place. So a few days after we arrived, I made a video of what it looks like to do just that.

It's short, and I can't remember where I took it, but it should give you a sense of what it looks like to drive through town here. A few things you'll see that aren't uncommon: construction, nice cars and roads, and a cloudless sky.

As I mentioned in a previous post, one of the few downers we've encountered since our arrival is that we're living in temporary housing until our permanent place is set up. And on top of that, we don't know exactly how temporary our current living situation is. Will we be here for a couple weeks or a couple months? We just don't know.

For the most part, this really isn't that big of a deal. The apartment Rachael and I are living in right now is spacious, clean, comfortable, and safe. The air conditioning works, and although there isn't a view or much natural light, it's not a bad place to live. The downside, though, is that we don't really know how much to unpack and how much to get settled. It didn't take long after we arrived last week for me to start to feel like we were living in a hotel. There are all the trappings of a modern house (fridge, cookware, bedding, etc.), but all of it is sort of cheap, and none of it makes me feel at home.

So one night, out of a kind of unannounced desire to do some nesting, Rachael and decided to start rearranging furniture and decorating. It began by breaking out some magnets a friend gave us recently (thanks, Maura!) and photo prints we'd brought from home (many of these came from my sister, Kjerstine). We put a few of ourselves and our family on the fridge, and even that made a gigantic difference. I'm not sure why, exactly, but having a picture of someone you love stuck on a fridge says, 'You're home.' Then we broke out some other picture frames we'd packed and set them up in our entryway. Rachael had a wall hanging that we used to replace some ugly, generic, hotel room art, plus a painting from Ecuador that we propped up in the kitchen. We also put down some nice pieces of fabric on the coffee table and our breakfast table.

Then, it was on to the furniture (see above). We turned one of our couches a few degrees to make the living room more cozy, angled the dining room table to make it easier to move through the apartment, and found a cloth to cover up the television when we're not watching it (any modern Portland hippie worth her salt knows this trick).

All of this only took us about 15 or 20 minutes, but oh, what a world of difference it made. We may be in temporary housing in a dusty town in the Middle East, but I'll be damned if it doesn't feel a little bit like home.

After leaving Chicago on Monday evening, we flew up over Canada, just south of Greenland, through Eastern Europe, and down over Iraq and the Persian Gulf. When we first spotted Doha out the window, it looked like a big, beige nothing (see below). We flew south of the city and then came back around, passing over the school we'll be working at in a few days.

The flight was about 12 hours long, which passes quickly when you can choose from hundreds of movies, including classics like Back to the Future, The Godfather, and Big. I'd heard a lot about how nice Qatar Airways is, and it was, but it didn't blow my socks off (though they do give you a pair to wear around the plane, which is pretty cool). The main differences I noticed from other international carriers like Lufthansa was that the flight attendants were constantly coming through the aisles offering drinks and moist towelettes and there was perfume in the bathrooms.

Qatar is building a new airport for Doha, but it wasn't ready when we arrived, so we deplaned into the hot, sticky air that everyone remembers about their first arrival and then took an air-conditioned bus to the immigration building. To me, this was the moment of truth. Surely something went wrong with our paperwork, or our passports, or something else, and they'd turn us back at the gate. But they didn't. We talked to a young man with braces who wore a spotless white kandura and keffiyeh (who I assume was Qatari) who smiled at Rachael and me when we said thank you in Arabic (shoo-krawn).

We collected our luggage without incident and began to meet more and more people who will be working at our school. There was a woman from North Carolina, a couple from Vancouver, and other people from elsewhere in North America. The two administrators who'd hired us all in San Francisco were also there.

I wasn't expecting much in terms of organization (better to keep your standards low when doing something new), but I ended up being really impressed. The administrators had packets for each of us with a ton of ton of useful stuff, like phone cards and a few hundred dollars spending money, and information, like what we'll be doing for the next few weeks, where we'll be living, how to get a hold of important people. They made little laminated cards to carry with us that had important phone numbers. They even brought a cooler full of ice water. Nice.

The only bad news that we received on our arrival was that we would have to stay in temporary housing because our permanent accommodation, an apartment in a housing development called The Pearl, isn't ready yet. We don't know exactly when it will be, so for now, Rachael will have to make our current apartment our home.

The school's bus and driver took Rachael, me, and the other new employees to our temporary accommodation, which is a nondescript beige (we're establishing a theme here) apartment building in Doha. We got a chance to see downtown Doha from a distance, which was lit up (see above) in bright colors. Our school's principal told me that many of the skyscrapers are empty, built in anticipation of high demand in the future.

We've been here for a few days now, and there's a lot to write about, but in the interest of sparing everyone from a 4,000 word blog post I'll stop here.

One of the unexpected benefits of major life changes, like moving overseas, for example, is the opportunity to take stock of what's around you. There are all the numbers, like how much stuff we shipped (840 pounds), how long it takes to fly from Portland to Doha (about 18 hours), the time change (10 hours ahead), or how long we've been preparing for this move (six months, depending on how you define preparing).

Then there's your stuff, and what is most important to you, which you get a sense for when you decide what you'll take and what you'll leave behind. Yesterday morning I found myself walking to Fred Meyer, less than 24 hours before our departure, to buy dish gloves. Gordy, Rachael's dad, tells me that they'll have dish gloves in Qatar, and I'm confident that he's right, but I have a special kind that I like, so I bought five pairs. Plus a year's supply of contact solution and sunscreen, all the toothbrushes we'll need, a couple boxes of macaroni and cheese (for our first supper, I suppose), and a jar of peanut butter. I'm sure all of that stuff will be readily available there, but buying it here offers a little bit of security plus the realization that I'm a pretty particular person. Packing dish gloves? Really?

Even more important than figuring out what sort of stuff is important, though, is the place, my place. You can find substitutes for things, but there's only one place in the world that gives me the feeling that I'm home, and it's here in Oregon. Hopefully Doha feels like a kind of home eventually, but for a million reasons it'll never really be.

Thankfully Rachael and I have had a lot of time this summer to go to the places that we'll miss. We've hiked a lot in Oregon and Southwest Washington. We've done a lot of trail running. We've traveled to the central Willamette Valley where I grew up and where half of my family still lives. Rachael and I have eaten out a lot, too, in preparation for ten months of Applebee's and Hardee's. (Suellen, Rachael's mom, says that the key to eating in Doha will be to not think about Portland.)

But place isn't just about cities and forests and restaurants. Yesterday I spent the better part of an hour running my fingers through bright green grass and looking up at a perfectly blue sky. They say it's often brown in Doha.

And finally, there are the people, like my brother and sister, pictured below. One thing I've heard a lot of in the weeks leading up to our departure is how sad it'll be that we won't be able to see family and friends until next summer when we take our first trip back. I can't help but agree, because it's sad. But I also have to remind myself that seeing friends and family every day because we live just down the street, or even in the same house, isn't part of the culture we live in. We get together every few weeks and I'm OK with that.

The beautiful thing, though, is that leaving for an extended period of time has brought a bit of clarity to my relationships. Rachael and I threw a going away party a couple days ago and I saw a handful of people I hadn't seen in a really long time. Would we have gotten back in touch otherwise? I doubt it. And going away breaks us out of the daily monotony that we fall into when we know that there's always next week to say how we really feel. My dad called me yesterday to wish me a good trip and to tell me that he loved me. Don't mean to get too personal here, but we don't say that a lot.

Rachael's folks Gordy and Suellen accompanied us to the airport, and my mom and sister Kjerstine came along with Kjerstine's kids, Claudia and Frank. I hadn't prepared myself for the goodbye, but when I hugged my crying mom (pictured above, pre-tears) and started to leak a few tears of my own, the gravity of what we're doing became a little bit more real.

So there it is. The things, the places, the people. And a goodbye, for now.

Photo at the top by Aaron Hockley.