.
We met at the appointed morning hour in a parking lot lined by freshly imported palm trees, blearily aware of the beckoning il bar, the desert that lay before us, under the screams of fighter planes. Our guides, three local men in the customary ghutrah head-dress and full-length white thobe, greeted us with solemn nods before entering earnest consultation among themselves. It was an appropriate signal to the start of our Arabian adventure.
There were 12 of us, armed with bottled water, sunscreen and an eager anticipation of the desert safari. This was not an excerpt from some Middle Eastern drama, nor were we a ragtag group of United Nations workers or diplomats in search of fabled weapons of mass destruction. And the only military units we'd encounter would be on holiday themselves, seeking rest and relaxation along the fingers of sandy beach reaching inland through the desert.
If our guides exuded an air of exotic intrigue in their crisp linen robes, they also wore Rolex watches and took drags from American cigarettes behind designer, duty-free sunglasses. On this safari, nary a flea-bitten camel awaited us but a cushy caravan of three newest-model, Japanese-made four-wheel drives, complete with a choice of Britney Spears or canned Middle-Eastern pop for our listening pleasure. This is Qatar, a peninsula kingdom adjoining Saudi Arabia; a knuckle of land jutting into the west of the Arabian Gulf, and among the richest per capita nations in the world.
We traversed from Doha, Qatar's seaside capital, mid-way up the east coast, to the Inland Sea just shy of the Saudi border. The sheer scale of sand mountains drew gasps that grew into squeals with the momentum of the free-wheeling roller-coaster ride, our vehicles travelling at extreme angles over shifting dunes. The tri-coloured sand of ochre, beige and ivory gave the mounds an optical illusion of movement, as if they were tumbling into the sapphire sea. We would have been lost in the romance of sea and desert were it not for the occasional herds of daredevil men racing cruisers and sand buggies in and out of mini-caravans like ours.
Before the drop-off at an isolated site two hours later, I glimpsed the smoky trails of a barbecue set up in a valley, next to a traditional tent fitted with oversized, tapestry-covered cushions, a makeshift recreation room surrounded by barrenness. Play things, too, were set aside for us: a snowboard and set of skis with which to ride the dunes. Lunch comprised lemon-steeped tabbouleh, creamy babaganoush and hummus, stacks of lamb kebabs and endless sheets of baked pita, topped by fruit and milky tea. The scent of salt-soaked sand hung heavily in the winter warmth (25 degrees Celsius in the afternoon sun). In January, the weather is still pleasant, returning to an inescapable sauna heat by the end of May.