Virgin Soap 2000, or Day 20 in Doha

Sometimes, I think part of the reason that I blog daily is so that everyday I have an excuse for my need to do more than just homework. Because over three-quarters of today was sitting at my laptop, reading the code and beginning to write a IRC server for my networking class.

The part that I want you to hear about, though, was the Doha Trade Expo. I saw this advertised a bit online and on signs around, and everywhere it was advertised, it went on until "Saturday, Jan. 24."

I have no idea of Saturday, Jan 23rd (today) was the last day or not, but the amount of people there was very cool. We got there at 8:30pm and parked in the dusty lot that stretched for hundreds of meters on all sides of this boxy building, which was covered in cars.

Culturally-sensitive me realized after I snapped my first picture that being surrounded by covered women and men does not make a photogenic place.

So Daedri and Brent and Abdalla and I wandered that stalls; we tried some dates, felt some "pashmina" scarves, got talked at by Asian guys on microphones marketing the "Japan Magic Mop" and the "Magic Bullet Blender," played with toy guns, touched sparkly earrings, and got pushed and shoved by many other, more eager shoppers than we were. My favorite stalls were those selling spices like thyme that, not only would make your food taste delicious, but "keep you going all night" and "enlarge" everything important. They also sold wonderful beauty treatments, such as the "Virgin Soap 2000." I was sorely tempted to buy.

We spent an hour or so wandering the floor for that special treasure, but only Daedri bought anything.

I know I was looking forward to our dinner... shwarma.

My new favorite food greeted me like an old friend... or that might have been the other car full of CMU people that we met up with there. Here, more than at main campus, friend groups transcend years and majors. Tessa and Rishav are my TAs for two classes, but I'm Tessa's TA for one. However, once you get out your shwarma and sit in the majlis, it doesn't much matter who is whose what anymore. All that matters is trying not to get the delicious garlic-yogurt sauce on your pants.