(I was not supposed to be in Qatar.)
I am supposed to be in Khartoum, rendering my current location (Doha) not only an unforeseen city but also an unforeseen country. And continent.
It happens, I suppose.
At any rate, this is Qatar.
The Qatari flag is everywhere, particularly hung vertically as a banner with the silvery and white bit at the top.
I am suddenly conscious of my naked head, but not necessarily of my skin color, because Doha seems to be virtually owned by foreigners. Our taxi drivers are Indian; the restaurant waiters were South Pacific; the money exchanger was Pakistani. Truly a cosmopolitan blend, but one that does manage to come across as whole-heartedly 'mid-eastern'. Labrynthian 
souk markets offer dazzling arrays of scarves and tantalizing smells from the baskets of spices piled outside shops. Prayer mats are for sale alongside blades, keepsake-boxes, and amulets inscribed with arabic quotations from the Qur'an. Neither of us bought anything, but it was beautiful just to look at. A feast for the eyes. Walking afterwards along al-Corniche, a paved tree-lined walkway along the water, we happened to witness an unusual spectacle. A series of large white SUVs flew wildly down the broad avenue towards us, honking fit to beat the band, followed by others, and still others. Many cars had all the windows rolled down and men bedecked in white robes sitting or hanging out of their vehicle, despite the frenetic pace and consequent weaving through traffic. One sunroof-equipped vehicle barrelling noisily down the center lane memorably had a man calmly standing out the top of the car, arms outstretched for all the world like a messenger of god.
My first wild guess would have been that this was some sort of elaborate celebrity cortege, but travelling with a professor has many benefits, and I learned that this was apparently a post-ceremonial wedding processional.
The haphazard stream of flying, honking cars continued past us for at least a minute, interspersed with other mundane traffic - occasionally caught up in the joy of the moment and honking good-naturedly as well.
Even in my jet-lag haze, I couldn't help but grin at such a celebration. How I would have loved to be in one of those cars, hanging out the sunroof with my friends and family, honking our heads off into the night and flying down the highway.
