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Bahrain is a long, deserted island; there is one "large" city at the tip of it and nothing much else, apart from oil fields and sand dunes.

Bahrain, Wednesday the 18th of August

Degrubenc
2005-12-09 17:18:32

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Bahrain is a long, deserted island; there is one "large" city at the tip of it and nothing much else, apart from oil fields and sand dunes.

It is here that I encounter the first Post Boxes of the trip. I do not mean the actual Postal Box but rather the dress adorned by the Arab women. It seems that the population of Bahrain can be divided into a number of basic categories: the poor Indians wearing old baggy clothes in a similar fashion to that found in India, the rich Arabs with the white dress and the white handkerchief on the head (there are, of course, smart clever names for all those but I can never remember them) the super-rich Arabs with the same white dress but a black blanket draped over it and the Post Box women dressed as if in mourning in their large all-encompassing dresses, leaving only a small slit at the eye level (hence the name post box). Those dresses leave nothing to femininity, individuality or female form; there is no telling if the wearer is old young, pretty, revolting, or even a women at all. I often think with amusement of the scenes which must, no doubt, happen: how does a husband or child, who has lost his wife or mother in a crowd, find her again? How do two women or even a man and a women (god forbid, on a date!) meet at a public place? " I will be wearing my black dress with just my eyes showing, you should have no problems recognizing me, for fun I might even wear sunglasses!". Anyway, as I amused myself with countless similar scenarios, I walked about town. The city was empty. This was of course a Wednesday, which is a week-end day in Bahrain, like the Thursdays; they do work on Saturdays and Sundays. I walked about the Indian town where there was worryingly little happening. Bahrain has no ancient architecture, it is either the functional and simplistic houses or flats of the Indian town or the great glass and steel towers of the Arab harbor and town. I ate at a small restaurant in the Indian section and put on my best summer clothes and took a taxi to the Movenpick resort to take advantage of their swimming pool and beaches. I told the kind attendant that I was in room 67, hoping that there was such a room. He kindly brought me towels, I had passed the test. It was the first time since I left for the trip that I saw the sea; it will become my new environment for the following month and a bit. After a brief swim, I realized with much distress that regardless of how rich Bahrain was, apart from swimming and watching horses go by (gambling is prohibited), there was absolutely nothing to do here. I thought of my father in this moment of distress and tried to figure out what he would do if he were here. I was told there was a pile of old stones somewhere south. I know my father has a special love for old stones of all kinds and so I ruined myself in a taxi to see literally little more than a pile of old stones, barely resembling the shape of a fort. Thoroughly disappointed, I returned to my hotel for dinner but quickly abandoned the idea upon seeing the poor excuse for a buffet full of burgers and bacon and made to a nearby Chinese restaurant (apparently the only thing open around here), was served by an Indian waiter who told me the cook was African... Unsurprisingly, the food had nothing in common with Chinese.

As I repaired to my room, trying to avoid the walking vulgarities haunting my corridor, the disco with the Russian bimbos started operating. It was just below my room (or at least felt like it). I would not recommend the hotel to anyone going to Bahrain, better to buy a camel and make friends in the desert.