Flying Qatar airlines, and adding another country to the country count

I have had a hankering to fly Qatar Airlines since overhearing a Qantas steward on a domestic flight extol the virtues of Qatar. I was travelling back from Canberra for work and it was one of those Doris delayed flights and the attendants were doing their best to calm the frustrated passengers, mostly by plying us with more grog, and this rather vivacious and very camp steward was regaling passengers with his humour and tales. I thought if a Qantas steward, a known tough-to-please character, is impressed by an airline then it must be good.  And I am pleased to report that our experience so far has been excellent. I am not going to bore you with stories of seat pitch, or EES (electronic entertainment systems) or other technical stuff - I am going to say; fly Qatar for the safety demonstration. 

No one watches the security demonstration on an airplane, that is, unless it is a Qatar airplane.

Qatar AIrlines are the major sponsor of Barcelona Football Club and they have capitalised on that association with their award winning safety video. On any other plane passengers blithely tune out when the safety demo starts, but on a Qatar flight the passengers are glued to the screen. As Molly would say, do yourself a favour, and check it out. It is well worth watching - as its over 11 million FaceBook Likes attest to. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WS2CQQfQzEM

I think my favourite part is the swooning female fans requiring oxygen. Then again the red card to the passenger smoking in the toilet is pretty too. 

The Qatar Airways emblem is the oryx antelope, the national animal of the country. The Arabian oryx became extinct in the wild in the 1970s but conservation by zoos and private breeders has seen the animal reintroduced to its natural habitat. It is thought that the myth of the unicorn is based on oryxes that have lost one horn 

I need to also acknowledge that Qatar found and returned my iPad which I stupidly left in the departure lounge on the first day of our travels. They have a fantastic lost and found property service which they cleverly call "Found Property" - how is that for optimism and service. 

To top all that off they even offer a complimentary three hour tour of capital city Doha for passengers with long transfer layovers. That is us - we have an eight hour layover between our arrival from Oman and our departure for Melbourne, so I am now the happy holder of a Qatari visa (gratis) and will soon enter Qatar territory. Meaning - I have added another country to this trip and my growing list of countries visited. 

A Qatari pigeon tower (don't ask me).

Home tomorrow - and looking forward to that first glass of wine after the five day alcohol fast in Oman. 

Gyms - what strange places they are

Tom's work is participating in one of those corporate health challenge things - fair enough, it is a health related industry - and even though he is on leave Tom feels the need to contribute to his team's daily performance, especially as they are being hammered by the far more sporty team in the organisation. So he has been duly recording his daily steps on his phone to contribute his bit to the corporate good. Now we are in Oman the oppressive heat has restricted his opportunity to build up his step count so he decided to head to the hotel gym. And I thought I would tag along.  Stop laughing ! I have been to a gym before - at least once ! In fact I remember joining the gym at work while still working at Veteran's Affairs so it must have been soon after Alistair was born and I guess I thought I would get into shape. I remember approaching the whole idea very seriously because I bought a lovely backpack for the occasion. It was a really nice backpack, but I think I only went to the gym about twice and I am not sure what happened to it.

Don't be fooled by this lush looking date palm garden oasis, it is really hot out there.

When travelling for work I have looked at the gyms at the hotels and thought a bit of exercise would be a beneficial, and then very quickly come to my senses. However, I thought a trip to the gym would be a nice supplement to my 5 day detox in Oman and going with Tom meant I had someone to explain how all the equipment worked. Have you been in a gym lately ? It is all screens and buttons, just like a NASA space station. Tom set me on a treadmill at a gentle walking pace and thanks to Alistair who downloaded a Muse CD for me sometime back I had some good anthemic rock to tread away to. I cranked it up a bit and got very excited expecting the weight would be just dropping off me. You can imagine my disappointment to find the machine telling me that after 30 minutes I had expended a mere 100 calories. What a waste of a half hour. I can burn the same amount of energy doing the vacuuming and the mopping, and have something to show for it at the end of that time. It just goes to prove that gyms are tosh and confirms what I have always said: if you feel the need to sweat then have a hot bath. 

The machine not only kept me informed of my calorie burn but also my heart rate. When it was happy with the heart-beats-per-minute the machine lit up with an encouraging green heart. Needless to say my machine was not in green heart mode very often. I snuck a look at Tom's machine and was horrified to find his green heart gleaming away at him for most of his performance. What a bastard - he carries way more excess weight than me but has this ridiculously good aerobic fitness. My green heart symbol moved into amber as I laboured along, my heart rate increasing. The machine started to get quite concerned as the heart rate indicator moved from amber, through red and finally into brilliant vermillion, I think it was expecting me to have a heart attack. Hilariously, at one stage it went to vivid purple before flat lining altogether - yes, according to the treadmill I was officially dead. 

I decided to end my gym session in the Turkish steam room - now that is my sort of get-fit program, lay there and sweat without having to move a muscle. I could just feel all the toxins and free radicals being whisked away.

We got out to the old capital at Nizwa today and saw some great old Omani doors.

Ramadan

First day in Oman and we have embraced the principles of Ramadan: well, sort of. Fasting from dawn until dusk is the key observance of Ramadan and among the five pillars of Islam. Around 22% of the world's population, about 1.6 billion people, are said to be observing Ramadan. Here in Oman and the rest of the Middle East fasting hours are about 14 hours per day, but pity those observing Ramadan in Northern Europe: Muslims in the UK are observing their longest fast for over 30 years at between 16 - 19 hours depending on location, and in the Nordic countries they are looking at 21 hours. In Lapland the sun only sets for 55 minutes, but Fins are able to follow the less punishing timetable of Turkey, their nearest Islamic country. 

At night the brightly lit Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque make a great sight - doubly so because dusk fall means time to eat. 

Our attempt to observe fast did not get off to a great start when we woke late after a late evening flight the night before and arrived at breakfast at 10:00am, some 3-4 hours after sunrise. Lucky we are staying in a 5 star western hotel where we can get food all day. For the duration of Ramadan the hotel bars are closed but guests can access the restaurants. As a concession to the sensitivities of those who may be offended by watching others eat, the doors to the restaurants remain closed during daylight hours. Alcohol can be ordered via room service but only consumed in your room. So far I have resisted the urge to order any of the somewhat expensive grog, $18 for a glass of De Bortoli cab sav! I have also managed to forgo eating lunch, but what I cannot come to grips with is not remaining hydrated. It is 35 degrees outside and the heat and humidity are brutal, but even drinking water during daylight hours is haram (forbidden). We are able to drink in our hotel but not in any public areas. 

My watermelon, apple and cranberry juice was tasty enough despite the lack of tequila.

The supermarket spice section. 

Enforced detox

As I entered the restaurant we had chosen for dinner on our last night in Spain I overheard a young Australian voice ask her dining companion how much weight he thought he had put on and it deeply resonated with me. Tom and I like food, and with that food we also like wine, beer, cocktails, maybe a pre-dinner Fino sherry, maybe a post dinner Pedro Ximenex sherry. After five weeks of this gastronomic travel I am ready for a rest. And that rest is going to come in the form of 5 days in Oman, during Ramadan.

It all started with those English breakfasts - here Leonie and Tom cook up a Full English.

After this cafe breakfast I remembered to order my Full English without the beans.

In Ireland my downfall was seafood chowder for lunch, always served with one of those excellent Irish beers. 

Black forest pavlova in Portugal - sounds too much but strangely worked - the pastries and cakes on the Iberian peninsula were ridiculously good.

I am hoping that 5 days semi-fasting in Oman can undo the 5 weeks of damage I have done to my liver, kidneys and waistline. We booked our flights to Europe with Qatar Airlines months ago and were chuffed when Qatar offered a one dollar deal of a flight to Muscat. What an excellent stop-over on the way home we thought - for a dollar. Obviously we jumped at the chance, little realising that the deal landed us in one of the hottest places in the world at the height of the hot season and during Ramadan. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound - my plan is to jump right in and use this as a chance to detox. Let's see how that goes and anyway, that yummy watermelon juice they serve in the Middle East looks almost like a daiquari!

No more Dats Amore - please .......

To paraphrase George Orwell: As I write, civilised men are outside my window trying to drive me crazy.  If I hear another bar of 'The Theme from the Godfather' it may well tip me over the edge.  I have heard it played on the sax, the trumpet, the piano accordion and in just about every city we have visited in Europe.  That and 'My Way', are the standard folder of just about every busker we have seen.  

There are some notable exceptions.  The guy in the square in Lagos where we stopped for a beer, who played guitar (and looked) like Carlos (hence acquiring this as his nickname) was very good and although he had a limited repertoire it was not the usual dross, including a few Clapton and Hendrix numbers.  And in Dublin, two young men, guitar and bass, churned out a series of 70s Classic Rock that was most enjoyable, and enjoyed by the passing crowd.  And a bohemian trad jazz band we saw in Lisbon.

Trad Jazz in Lisbon

But generally, European buskers are somewhat lacking imagination, especially here in Spain where we are fed a steady diet of My Way, Song of Joy, That's Amore and of course the Theme... Everywhere we go. And generally they are not good.

This has been an unusually Musial holiday though.  In Kilkenny, in Ireland, we found a great little pub and after we sat down realised that we were right next to the band which commenced played a steady stream of Irish folk, that also included in their repertoire classic Austrlaian numbers including a great rendition of 'And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda' 

In Lisbon we experienced the Portuguese answer to Flamenco, Fado, which is beautifully plaintive songs accompanied by guitar and a mandolin like instrument. And the next day when the No 28 tram broke down halfway up the hill, we were reduced to shanks pony.  So when we came across a small plaza with a great view of the city, an outdoor cafe with a trad jazz band busking, we had to stop and take in the ambience.  It is these unplanned, chance, experiences that make travel so enjoyable.

So in Madrid we have sought some out.  There are plenty of Flamenco venues, but instead we found a small cafe in the square up the road from our hotel which is a jazz music venue and lit send to a modern jazz quartet whilst feasting on jambon and croquettes. The small venue was quiet when the gig started at 9:00 but by the time we left at 11:00 or so, it was packed.

Tom

The Toni Sola Quarteto in full flight at Cafe Central

Finally this sculptor in Guarda thought he was Hendrix.

Footnote:  We were passing through Guarda on our way to Salamanca and stopped to give the driver Dave a break.  In the town square there was the sound of cutting disc but it wasn't the phone company cutting through concrete, rather a bunch of sculptures working on the stone with modern tools.  If only Michelaangelo had a grinder with a cutting wheel!

Rubens and early wardrobe malfunction

Back from the Prado which, apart from masses of Spanish art, has the largest collection of Rubens in the world (no, not the NSW alternative rock band). Flemish Rubens was favoured by Phillip IV and was commissioned by him to paint the family and many religious and classic works. Rubens is best known for his curvaceous nudes and even his fully clothed female subjects are usually buxom and voluptuous.

His depiction of the classic stories of mythology rightly call for nudes or delicately draped semi-nudes models. A naked Venus embracing Adonis seems quite natural, but what is going on below ? The Rubens ouvre is full of nipple shots where you really have to ask WTF? Am I being a prude when I baulk at the amount of exposed nipple on his otherwise clad subjects ? Promoting one of his paintings to a potential buyer Rubens described the major aspects of the work, following up enticingly with and it contains lots of pretty girls. Basically this was 17th century porn.

Is this the inspiration for Janet Jackson ? 

Even the Madonna gets the exposed boob treatment.

Another personage not uninclined to a colourful life was Spanish Queen Isabella II. I had not had the pleasure of being aware of this Isabella until introduced to her story by a local tour guide, Manuel. Isabella was born in 1830 and ascended to the throne at the tender age of three after the untimely death of her father. It seems little Issy was a terror, refused to do any schoolling and could not read until she was 10. Our informant described her as the Miley Cyrus of her time, though not as easy on the eye. Isabella was married off to a French cousin, but probably someone should have sussed him out first to see if he was a viable option because it seems she was a nymphomanic and he was gay - not a good match. Isabella had 11 children, not one of them with her husband. Isabella was a good time girl who enjoyed a party. You will not surprised to learn that she was not a popular or successful monarch and was required to abdicate in favour of her teenage son (father unknown) while she went into exile with her then lover, an actor. This was pretty much the beginning of the end for that chapter of the Spanish monarchy with the next chaps in line having to deal with the anarchic unrest that lead to the 20th century civil war. 

Isabella II - looks like she enjoyed a bite to eat.

Madrid - a cathedral free zone

True, Madrid does have many cathedrals, so when I write cathedral-free-zone what I am saying is that we do not plan to visit any of them. Don't get me wrong, I like a good cathedral as much as the next aethist who walks around oblivious to the religious meaning but marvelling at the Gothic vaulting, it is just that Tom and I have done enough so far this trip and Madrid has so much more to offer.

And what Madrid has to offer is art! Lots and lots of art. Madrid has more art galleries than Melbourne has sporting arenas. And you all know just how much I love art!! Or maybe you don't. Let's just say Tom and I have an agreement, we start out together and then he finds me hours later happily ensconced in the coffee shop reading the (sport) news after he has painstakingly checked out every work.

I hope the Prado has a good coffee shop because I think Tom is working up to a very big day at what is one of the most impressive art collections in the world. To make sure I get the most of the Prado I have been brushing up on Velasquez - you know him, painted the gorgeous little girl in the wide dress and the dwarfs. The more cultured of you will know that painting as Las Meninas, the painting of the young Infanta of Spain in full court dress attended by her ladies-in-waiting and other court figures, with her parents cleverly reflected in a mirror as they watch the activity, and the painter himself is imposed in the scene, framed by a doorway in the background.

I first saw the painting as a young girl and I fell in love with the petite Infanta. Years later the clever comedic writers of Blackadder made their own impression with their Spanish Infanta, but I am not going there. Velasquez's Infanta was Margaret Theresa, the then six year old daughter of King Phillip of Spain. Little Margaret was a Hapsburg, so at an early age she was betrothed to the older Leopold, Holy Roman Emperor, who was her uncle and her cousin. Yes, that is how inbred those Hapsburgs were, the line was so close down each parent she was doubly related to her future husband. Velasquez painted the Infanta several times as a child and the paintings were sent to her adult future husband to keep him apprised of her progress (don't go there ...). The Infanta was sent off to Vienna to marry Leopold at the age of 15 and seemingly their match was a happy one. However, sadly Margaret died at age 21 after two pregnancies and several miscarriages. Such was the lot of a Hapsburg princess.

Even as a three-year-old they dressed the tiny Margaret Theresa in court dress. Actually for a Hapsburg she was not a bad looker. If you have some spare time check out her half-brother Charles. Poor Charles was very disfigured, with the worst example of the protruding Hapsburg chin. His deformity was such that the Spanish Hapsburg line died with him as his infertility left the line with no issue.

Today's Spanish Infanta Leonor is allowed to dress like a normal little girl.

We arrived in Madrid yesterday and last night went out to eat at the fashionably late 9:00 which is standard dinner time here. 

Who could resist a Mojito for dinner ? It was supposed to be an alcohol free simple meal, but then you can never taste the liquor in Mojito anyway so it turns out to be the same thing. 

The Calamari Brothers in Melbourne need to lift their game to match Madrid's fast food fried calamari and white bait.