Shisha at the Souq
April 24, 2010 | Location: Qatar | 3 Comments
You’ll find Souq Waqif at the end of the Corniche in the Gulf city of Doha, Qatar. At the edge of the souq, the ultra-sleek skyscrapers of downtown Doha – none of them older than five years – disappear beyond a maze of shops, restaurants, cafés and stalls.
The souq quickly became our favorite hanging out spot during our five-day stay in the State of Qatar. As always, I follow the locals’ lead: I order a bittersweet and dynamite-strong Turkish coffee, and a grape-flavored shisha. The tobacco for the waterpipe soaks in fresh fruit juice, and a café employee sets glowing pieces of wood charcoal on top of the pipe to get the smoke going.
As I chase the sweet bite of the coffee with a whiff of grape smoke, I lean back and watch the Arab world go by.
White and Black
Souq Waqif offers a unique chance to watch Qatari men and women take a stroll and enjoy life. Although the souq attracts its fair share of tourists, it’s nevertheless a favorite hangout spot for the affluent Qatari, who make up a mere 20% of the local population.
Not that they’re hard to spot: all of them, regardless of gender, wear their traditional garbs with ferocious pride. Most of the men wear the thawb, a long white robe, and a white cotton headpiece called the ghuthra, which they keep in place with an igal, a circle of black rope. These traditional clothes are tailor-made, and kept impossibly white and clean; expensive cufflinks adorn the wearer’s wrists.
As for the women, they walk around in the scorching sun wearing the black, loose-fitting abaya dress, with their hair under a veil. Many Qatari women, young and old, choose to wear the niqab as well, a veil that covers all the face except the eyes. Even stranger are the rigid masks some older women elect to wear: with a metallic frame, they would look at home in some inspired funeral masquerade ball.
The Qatari, all in white and black, move through a sea of people from all over the Arab world and beyond, flocking to Qatar looking for work. Qatari teenage girls mingle with fashion-conscious Americans, Arab businessmen, and Nepali service workers.
Sometimes, you catch a glimpse of a Sudanese woman cutting through a group of black-clad Qatari, and the impossible colors of her hijab breaks through the dark like a flare of color in the night.
Beyond the Veil
It takes a few hours dragging on the grape accents of a shisha to begin to understand the deception that has been wrought on us in the West. I quickly learn to appreciate how complex the Gulf culture gets, and how ignorant I am of its intricacies.
The niqab, or face veil, provides the most startling example. It’s perceived status of religious oppression is so reviled in the West, that Belgium and France seek to ban the niqab from all public places. Back in my Canadian province of Quebec, the niqab has triggered deep-seated passions, fueled by media eager to fan any flame that might light a fire under their sales figures.
Yet the women here are anything but oppressed by their traditional dress. They walk around the souq, their abayas intricate and beautiful in their dark swirls, their eyes shaded by delicate make-up, a Louis Vutton handbag dangling from their arm. The abaya and niqab, more cultural than religious, empower them, affirm their Muslim identity, and mark them as true Qatari, set above the immigrants that toil to serve them. As the ladies trace a line through the shops of the souq, old men push their purchases in a wheelbarrow, ensuring that the women never raise a finger. The choice to wear the niqab belongs to a woman, and is decided between a girl and her mother alone.
Islam itself, so close to its land of birth, presents a quiet, respectful face, worlds away from the violence and misery that saturate Western media. From my vantage point in the souq, I observed a peaceful, multicultural world, where Saudis in black burka stroll alongside Lebanese women in tight jeans.
It’s not a perfect world, but through oil money, Qatar has opened up to the world on its own cultural terms.
The Call to Prayer
As the sun begins to set on Qatar, the heartbreaking beauty of the muezzin‘s call to prayer fills the warmth of the approaching evening. The songs echo throughout the city, from every minaret under the Qatari sky.
I came to Qatar with no preconceptions, and will leave with puzzles. It’s painfully obvious that the story of these pearl divers turned oil magnates has yet to be told without prejudice in my own homeland.
But I am a mere tourist, a bum hanging out in the souq. What do I know?
I have seen through the grape smoke of a shisha, and beyond the superficial lies told to antagonize a rich, complex and fascinating culture. And as the charcoal embers die down atop my shisha, what I really know is that I want to learn more.
Special Thanks
I wish to thank Tracy, our new friend in Doha, for making our stay in Qatar not only possible, but informative and enjoyable. Tracy’s observations on Gulf culture, based on her ten years of living in the region, has provided a much-needed insight, and helped open my eyes to this rich, fascinating culture.
See you in North Africa, Tracy!
The Rice People
April 9, 2010 | Location: India | Leave a Comment
A dosa and the spontaneous dance moves of a South Indian waiter led us here to Chennai.
We knew we wanted to visit India as far back as October 2009, when the Diwali lights, Indian sweets and the smiles of Singapore’s Little India unexpectedly charmed us. But it was in Melaka that we encountered the fermented rice pancake that would obsess us all the way from Malaysia to the Indian state of Tamil Nadu.
Five months and three countries later, we finally sat in a South Indian restaurant and ordered a masala dosa. This time, I was the one who felt like dancing.
Due South
The cultural diversity of India boggles the mind. Although they all proudly claim their Indian heritage, the Indians at both ends of the country are separated by language, ethnicity and tradition. As we rode the train slowly from Kolkata in West Bengal to Tamil Nadu’s capital of Chennai, through the cities of Puri, Bhubaneswar, Visakhapatnam and Vijayawada, we traveled in four states, each with its own heritage, cuisine and language. As we made our way south along the coast, the languages became undecypherable, the alphabets alien, the people darker-skinned, supple, graceful. The familiar spices of Bengal gave way to a completely new and exciting blend, with frequent accents of chili, aniseed, asa fetida, cinnamon and fenugreek.
Whereas the northern Indians tend to claim Aryan origins, the southern Tamils are fiercely proud of their Dravidian roots. Hindi, the national language of India, is spoken less here than English, and the state boasts its own movie industry, Tollywood, with its own megastars and blockbusters, distinct from Mumbai’s Bollywood.
Hinduism remains the dominant religion in the south, but Christianity has proven a popular alternative to the rigid caste system. Legend holds that Saint Thomas the Apostle himself made his way here after Christ’s death, and was martyred within the limits of what would later become Chennai. Given the extensive history of the Tamil culture, San Tome, as he is known here, must have encountered people, food and traditions that have persisted from long before the birth of Christ to this day.
The Rice People
Given the starkness of the contrast between South India and elsewhere, it’s no wonder their food truly distinguishes itself as well. Whereas Punjabi cuisine in the north favors bread as well as meats in thick sauce, the south shines with its vegetarian cuisine that revolves around rice. The inventiveness of the South’s rice dishes is truly staggering: rice here is eaten in many forms, some barely recognizable, and all delicious, light, healthy and predominantly vegetarian.
The aforementionned dosa is a thin pancake made of fermented rice and lentil, served with sambal, a spicy soup-like sauce, and a thick coconut chutney, with occasional variations including chili or coriander. Dosa come with a variety of stuffings, including onions, coriander, or masala dosa, stuffed with curried potatoes and spices. The dosa in Melaka was good enough to send us dreaming of South India; the ones in Tamil Nadu confirmed the journey had been worthwhile.
Uttapam, a thicker pancake than the dosa, is pan-fried with vegetables and spices. It resembles a small pizza, and its fluffy, crispy thickness highlights the pleasant sourness of the dough.
Idli, a breakfast favorite, consists of small, oval rice flour patties or dumplings, which you dunk in sambal or coconut chutney. It provides a quick, light and tasty meal. The idli itself proves versatile: it can be deep-fried, or chopped and pan-fried in sauces and spices.
A Meal for the Senses
But the most straightforward yet grandiose expression of the South’s love of rice is, without a doubt, the meal.
A South Indian thali, called “meal” in the south, consists of a mountain of white rice, served heaping on a large, green banana leaf. The rice comes with several tasty vegetarian side dishes, ranging from sweet desserts and buttermilk, to fiery mango pickle, sambal, and thick vegetable curries.
As with all South Indian dishes, it is eaten with the right hand, which should be washed both before and after the meal at the sink provided for this purpose. You use this hand to mix the side dishes in your rice, and to scoop the resulting mixture to your lips.
The banana leaf reputedly imbues the rice and side dishes with its own flavor. Combined with the use of one’s right hand, it provides a surprisingly sensual lunch experience, as you get to feel the temperature and texture of your dishes with your fingertips. After a South Indian meal, utensils seem cold, sad instruments meant to segregate you from the true experience of food.
South Indian meals are found everywhere in Tamil Nadu, and at the unbelievable price of approximately 60 cents for an unlimited serving, they’re a popular lunch option for workers over the whole state.
Songs of the South
We spent two weeks in Chennai, our days punctuated by rice. Through our daily visits to Hotel New Suriyas, we befriended the staff who, in an echo of the waiter who first charmed us in Melaka, broke frequently into song, grinned happily at us, or mock-fought between themselves. As we walked around the Muslim area of Triplicane, we chased the choking heat with fresh fruit juices or lassis, retreating to our room until the evening call to prayer announced milder temperatures.
If we are what we eat, then for a time, we too were of the rice people.
And that’s something worth dancing about.
Where to go
“Hotels” (restaurants) serving South Indian meals are ubiquitous throughout the south, in particular in Chennai; but the one meal that drew us back day after day was at Hotel New Suriyas, near the Comfort Hotel in Triplicane. Their idli, dosa and meals are all above-par in my opinion. The restaurant features an adjoining juice bar, where you can enjoy a fabulous mango lassi or butter fruit juice, when in season.
