MIDDLE EAST NEWS

Part 1

We rounded off our trip with a few beers in the exclusive bar on the top floor of our hotel. Now that the ordeal was over, the mood had lightened. In fact, I started to feel a little sentimental.

Like I said before, I am primarily a desk-bound feature journalist. I don’t get out much. I have no rivals, and know few of my peers. Even at events, I rarely find myself socialising with other hacks, preferring the company of bankers and lawyers – I don’t know why this is. As proud as I am of my press card, I’ve never had a sense of being part of the international brotherhood of journalists.

But in the emptiness of the Qatari desert, adversity and futility had bonded this disparate group of hacks together. For a couple of days, I was more than a member of the press. For the first time in my career, I was part of a press corps.

Part 2

The final thing I want to write about is what it’s like generally being in an Arab country.

The first thing that’s weird is visas. On my arrival I was escorted to a small, plush waiting room while headscarved women checked my papers and brought me tumblers of chilled water. This put me in mind of a 1970s international espionage thriller, or an episode from the original Mission:Impossible.

The second thing that’s weird is seeing burkas everywhere. I live in London so it’s not like I’m not used to seeing them. But the cumulative effect of seeing them on around half of women, and hijabs on most of the rest, made the place feel other-worldly. Specifically, it reminded me of the Star Wars prequels.

I did get a chance to wander down the seafront and around the old town for about two hours. Along the seafront were dozens of joggers and power walkers, many wearing burkas, which I found charming. The traditional souq in the old town looked nice, but was empty. Traders sat around stoically, completely failing to surround and hassle me to buy their spices/rugs/plastic footballs. Joe Qatari, it seems, has moved on to the designer shopping mall next door.

As the sun began to set, I found myself in a throng of builders trooping off to the nearby mosque. Somehow I had failed to hear the call to prayer – I did not hear it the whole time I was there.

Part 3

There was a young, impeccably dressed, impossibly thin, severely good-looking girl among the Arab press. All us British boys were fascinated, but were too intimidated by her beauty and culture to approach her. Luckily I managed to find myself in a lift with her and introduced myself. She works for Radio Monte Carlo.

Do I even have to say it? I fell immediately in love.