Two days ago I flew into Doha. I'm here visiting my dad and step-mom. Although I live in a country that boarders Syria, Iraq and Iran and shares a history with the enter middle east, I have never been to this corner of the world. This was my first time flying over the Arabian Desert and the Arabian Gulf. This is my first time in a country where many national men wear a bisht, a white cloak or where there is no natural water source.
I had many unspoken expectations, most of which I realized were present as I looked around the gate at the airport in Istanbul. I felt the stress of the unknown bubbling up within me. It had actually started when the check-in agent asked I had a visa for Qatar. My dad had told me that I could get a visa at the Doha airport. I told the agent what my dad had told me and that he worked in Doha. Surely it would not be a problem. But still, the question left a lingering doubt in my mind. Then at the gate I sat in a room full of more men than women. Yes, this not an uncommon situation to be in, even in Turkey. But the doubts grew. At the front of the gate there was a podium that read "passport and visa check." The doubts continued to grow.
Flying over the Arabian desert, expiriencing the "you are not flying with an American carrier" service of Qatar Air, watching Ice Road Truckers while looking down upon Kuwait (can we say surreal?), all were overshadowed by a lingering doubt that once I stepped off the plane everything would be crazy or just sort of fall apart.
My dad had set up a service to help process me through passport control and customs in Doha. A seasoned traveler, part of me didn't really understand what the need for this service might be. A friend of many seasoned travelers, some of whom have horror stories about passport control and customs in countries for which the Lonely Planet is not found at your local Barnes and Noble, visions of...who knows what floated through my mind. If I need a service to help me, things must be much more difficult/complicated/unsure than most of the countries I have visited.
To prepare for my arrival in Doha I read and re-read the information from my dad's email about the arrival service. I pulled out my passport/color-coded boarding pass, special red notebook that contains information about everything important in my life and held it in my lap as soon as we were on approach into Doha.
We landed, I walked off the plane and saw at the bottom of the stairs my name. Catherine Watson. A lovely Thai lady was waiting for me. She put me on the bus, told me which stop I'd be getting off at, and rode along next to the driver. When we arrived at the arrival terminal she waited again while I disembarked and lead me away from the busy visa lines to a quiet office. She gave my passport and my credit card to the gal behind the desk, and instructed me on where to stand for my retinal scan. While I waited for my visa to be processed I had available to me as much coffee as I could drink and delight of delights, dates. Fortunately for the financial powers at Qatar Air my visa was processed within 5 minutes. Any longer and I'm afraid I would have drunk the airline out of house and home. I think I may have to start saving all my pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters and dollars to purchase a nespresso machine.
Five minutes to process my visa, two minutes to walk through customs with my bags, and a cozy little spot to wait for my dad to pick me up. This time around I resisted offers of coffee. As much as I love coffee, I love to be able to sleep at night even more.
Ten minutes later my dad showed up. We walked out to the car, Dad paid for parking and we headed out into traffic.
Pondering on this turn of events, it occurred to me that my recent experience was not unlike my walk with my Heavenly Father. He takes me places that are unlike where I've ever been before. I hear stories from those who have gone before me. Some are encouraging. Others frightening. So often I choose to listen to the voices in my head or to my surroundings. The worries that come from listening to the wrong voices mar the beauty of the new scenes and travels. He has set things up so that I will be cared for. There may not always be coffee, the wait may not always include five star treatment and a man to carry the bags. There will be times when visas are denied, when traffic has back-ups, when the plane doesn't land in the destination of choice. It is a different kind of care. But there is no moment when I am not in His care. There is no moment when I am justified in worrying.
So here I am, in the land of brown dirt and brown buildings. Where the local women wear black and the local me wear white. Where I do not stick out too much because 80% of the population is just like me. Let the adventure continue.
