Proper Smashed
The sun woke me up this morning. This is normally a good thing, except when you realize you are on a sand dune in the desert with nothing recognizable in sight. Confusion turns to panic and back to confusion. The nausea that accompanied my awakening made me realize one fact, I brought myself out here, and its going to be one heck of an adventure getting myself back.
Before I get ahead of myself, let me describe this amazingly eventful weekend in Qatar. It started off like any weekend anywhere, a night out on the town on Thursday (our equivalent of Friday) with drinking, dancing, and a pretty good DJ. I even got invited to go on a yacht the following day, but I already had plans. That Friday, I was off to an overnight camping trip to the Inland Sea. The Inland Sea is a large inlet of water from the Persian Gulf that has snaked its way into the desert. It separate Saudi Arabia and Qatar’s border and provides wonderful contrasts of towering sand dunes and sparkling blue waters. It is a beautiful place.
Getting there is a much uglier ordeal. It is more like a safari than a road trip, and it best done in groups. Luckily all the logistics were planned out for me. I was to join my friend Cory and a bunch of Brits (plus a Finn and South African family) in their caravan. We woke up early, bought tents and food, and drove the hour south to rendezvous point. There we ditched Cory’s car (which got stuck in the sand immediately after leaving the road) and climbed into the much more robust SUV’s. Our four deep caravan managed to make it about ten minutes into the desert before our first problem struck. Danny’s (one of our drivers) car simply stopped moving. The wheels would not spin, the gears would not engage, he was a sitting duck. We were not yet in the dunes, and gratefully so, when we had this first lesson in hydraulic pressure. See a four wheel drive system has to build up pressure in the hydraulics in order to keep those four wheels spinning. If the pressure is not built you just sit there and wait until it does. Luckily our South African friend was pretty much an expert in all things off-roading. He identified the problem and had us moving in no time. From there we took the popular and relatively defined path to the inland see. Every time someone went rogue or we had to cut over a dune, the tow rope had to come out to rescue the stranded vehicle. When there are four cars, there is always someone to help you out.
The journey took a little longer than expected, and it was about two thirty in the afternoon by the time we picked a camping spot and put up our tents. By three the drinking and barbequing were well on their way. I had this silly idea that I was not going to do much drinking, so I mostly swam in the water (which had the strongest current I had ever encountered) and enjoyed my beautiful surroundings. The Finn, Eeva, even brought out a snowboard and let us all give a shot at sand boarding. Although fun, it turns out I am about as bad at sand boarding as I am at snow boarding.
It was a little after our boarding adventures that I gave up on soberness. Despite the Saudi patrol car on the other side of the water observing our debauchery, everyone was in quite the jovial mood by the time the sun was setting. We would have loved to catch the sunset from the top of a dune, but we ended up running into some stranded Frenchmen and their family on the way. So we spent the sunset pushing and pulling on a Range Rover that was completely unwilling to get unstuck. Eventually they were freed, and we exchanged numbers in the likely event that they got stuck again despite the unlikely chances of us ever finding them. Luckily they did not call.
As the sun set, we gathered round the hookah pipe and enjoyed those old campout feelings of our childhood. The South African family and a British couple both headed out after dinner, and they took restraint and moderation with them. Darkness settled in, the lamps were lit, and I learned why Brits (especially Scots) are so famous for drinking. Many bottles of liquor, packs of beers, and boxes of wine later I found myself having quite the wonderful time with my new comrades. Evidently there were Smores, sand burials, and shooting stars, but my memories were only fully brought back when the pictures surfaced.
What I do remember is being taken by the stars. I am going to confess that when I get really drunk, I tend to do very stupid things. This is probably why I don’t let it happen often. But of the times I can remember I have tried to climb a cathedral wall in a Spanish Square, gotten my leg caught on a fence I was trying to hop over (subsequently landing on my chin), and recently, I intended to walk into the desert and climb a tall dune to be one with the stars. Stupid idea, yes, but you did not see these stars. They were bright, alive, and innumerable, you almost just wanted to stay up all night and watch them. You forget what the sky is really like when you are constantly surrounded by the clutter of humanity.
So I walked, with my mp3 player as the soundtrack, deep into the desert. I remember the walk, I remember the dune, and I remember the stars, but mostly I remember waking up to the sun beating down on me.
It had to have been about five or six in the morning, and it was warm but not yet hot. I felt bad, in the stomach not the head, but was more concerned about my whereabouts than anything else. I scanned the horizon, and had to fight a bout of panic when I could not see any water. Then I realized my mp3 player was gone. I searched the sand in vain, but realized my energy and my time would probably be better spent finding my way home. So I picked myself up and started walking. Walking away from the dune was the easy part, but soon I had to choose a direction. I knew I was not far enough away from the water to never be found, so picking the right choice was just a matter of avoiding the miserable task of being lost for hours. Surprisingly, my instincts told me where to go and I merely listened. It was not the exact path I took to get there, but it was pretty darn close. In half an hour, I could see the tents and my salvation again. It was not until I passed out I reached my tent that I realized that I was still very drunk and that I was exhausted. Everyone was still sleep, so I drank some water and passed out.
When I woke up people acknowledged that I looked like death but had no idea that I had gone anywhere the night before. Evidently I stayed up later than everyone and was in my tent when they awoke. After more rest and food, I was well enough to join the group again. I requested a drive back to the dune so that I could look for my mp3 player, and Chris and Cory volunteered to take me. Once again I found the dune without much difficulty and proceeded to scan the bottom of the dune for any noticeable impurity. I was about to give up when Cory pointed to the top of the dune and said “I think that’s it”. Having bad eyes and not believing I had climbed that high, I disagreed. But Chris confirmed that there was a box and headphones close to the top of the dune. Climbing that dune drunk must have been bad, but climbing it hung-over in the 150 degree sand was just unbearable. I recovered it, but I still wonder if it was worth the pain of the climb and that searing sand.
We drove back (about two kilometers if I had to guess) and started to pack things up. The ride back was just hell. I think it took us three hours, and there were one or two times in which we thought we were going to be stuck out there all night or until a patrol could help. We dug, towed and pushed our way out of some very serious sand pits. Vomiting at some point during that day would have been merciful. Eventually we made it back to the original rendezvous point, but I was so tired that I barely noticed the goodbyes.
All in all it was a great trip, but it has caused me to give up drinking for at least a few days.
P.S. There are some serious critters in the desert. I woke up with literally hundreds of bug bites (54 on just my left arm) all over my body; I itch uncontrollably as I type this.
Before I get ahead of myself, let me describe this amazingly eventful weekend in Qatar. It started off like any weekend anywhere, a night out on the town on Thursday (our equivalent of Friday) with drinking, dancing, and a pretty good DJ. I even got invited to go on a yacht the following day, but I already had plans. That Friday, I was off to an overnight camping trip to the Inland Sea. The Inland Sea is a large inlet of water from the Persian Gulf that has snaked its way into the desert. It separate Saudi Arabia and Qatar’s border and provides wonderful contrasts of towering sand dunes and sparkling blue waters. It is a beautiful place.
Getting there is a much uglier ordeal. It is more like a safari than a road trip, and it best done in groups. Luckily all the logistics were planned out for me. I was to join my friend Cory and a bunch of Brits (plus a Finn and South African family) in their caravan. We woke up early, bought tents and food, and drove the hour south to rendezvous point. There we ditched Cory’s car (which got stuck in the sand immediately after leaving the road) and climbed into the much more robust SUV’s. Our four deep caravan managed to make it about ten minutes into the desert before our first problem struck. Danny’s (one of our drivers) car simply stopped moving. The wheels would not spin, the gears would not engage, he was a sitting duck. We were not yet in the dunes, and gratefully so, when we had this first lesson in hydraulic pressure. See a four wheel drive system has to build up pressure in the hydraulics in order to keep those four wheels spinning. If the pressure is not built you just sit there and wait until it does. Luckily our South African friend was pretty much an expert in all things off-roading. He identified the problem and had us moving in no time. From there we took the popular and relatively defined path to the inland see. Every time someone went rogue or we had to cut over a dune, the tow rope had to come out to rescue the stranded vehicle. When there are four cars, there is always someone to help you out.
The journey took a little longer than expected, and it was about two thirty in the afternoon by the time we picked a camping spot and put up our tents. By three the drinking and barbequing were well on their way. I had this silly idea that I was not going to do much drinking, so I mostly swam in the water (which had the strongest current I had ever encountered) and enjoyed my beautiful surroundings. The Finn, Eeva, even brought out a snowboard and let us all give a shot at sand boarding. Although fun, it turns out I am about as bad at sand boarding as I am at snow boarding.
It was a little after our boarding adventures that I gave up on soberness. Despite the Saudi patrol car on the other side of the water observing our debauchery, everyone was in quite the jovial mood by the time the sun was setting. We would have loved to catch the sunset from the top of a dune, but we ended up running into some stranded Frenchmen and their family on the way. So we spent the sunset pushing and pulling on a Range Rover that was completely unwilling to get unstuck. Eventually they were freed, and we exchanged numbers in the likely event that they got stuck again despite the unlikely chances of us ever finding them. Luckily they did not call.
As the sun set, we gathered round the hookah pipe and enjoyed those old campout feelings of our childhood. The South African family and a British couple both headed out after dinner, and they took restraint and moderation with them. Darkness settled in, the lamps were lit, and I learned why Brits (especially Scots) are so famous for drinking. Many bottles of liquor, packs of beers, and boxes of wine later I found myself having quite the wonderful time with my new comrades. Evidently there were Smores, sand burials, and shooting stars, but my memories were only fully brought back when the pictures surfaced.
What I do remember is being taken by the stars. I am going to confess that when I get really drunk, I tend to do very stupid things. This is probably why I don’t let it happen often. But of the times I can remember I have tried to climb a cathedral wall in a Spanish Square, gotten my leg caught on a fence I was trying to hop over (subsequently landing on my chin), and recently, I intended to walk into the desert and climb a tall dune to be one with the stars. Stupid idea, yes, but you did not see these stars. They were bright, alive, and innumerable, you almost just wanted to stay up all night and watch them. You forget what the sky is really like when you are constantly surrounded by the clutter of humanity.
So I walked, with my mp3 player as the soundtrack, deep into the desert. I remember the walk, I remember the dune, and I remember the stars, but mostly I remember waking up to the sun beating down on me.
It had to have been about five or six in the morning, and it was warm but not yet hot. I felt bad, in the stomach not the head, but was more concerned about my whereabouts than anything else. I scanned the horizon, and had to fight a bout of panic when I could not see any water. Then I realized my mp3 player was gone. I searched the sand in vain, but realized my energy and my time would probably be better spent finding my way home. So I picked myself up and started walking. Walking away from the dune was the easy part, but soon I had to choose a direction. I knew I was not far enough away from the water to never be found, so picking the right choice was just a matter of avoiding the miserable task of being lost for hours. Surprisingly, my instincts told me where to go and I merely listened. It was not the exact path I took to get there, but it was pretty darn close. In half an hour, I could see the tents and my salvation again. It was not until I passed out I reached my tent that I realized that I was still very drunk and that I was exhausted. Everyone was still sleep, so I drank some water and passed out.
When I woke up people acknowledged that I looked like death but had no idea that I had gone anywhere the night before. Evidently I stayed up later than everyone and was in my tent when they awoke. After more rest and food, I was well enough to join the group again. I requested a drive back to the dune so that I could look for my mp3 player, and Chris and Cory volunteered to take me. Once again I found the dune without much difficulty and proceeded to scan the bottom of the dune for any noticeable impurity. I was about to give up when Cory pointed to the top of the dune and said “I think that’s it”. Having bad eyes and not believing I had climbed that high, I disagreed. But Chris confirmed that there was a box and headphones close to the top of the dune. Climbing that dune drunk must have been bad, but climbing it hung-over in the 150 degree sand was just unbearable. I recovered it, but I still wonder if it was worth the pain of the climb and that searing sand.
We drove back (about two kilometers if I had to guess) and started to pack things up. The ride back was just hell. I think it took us three hours, and there were one or two times in which we thought we were going to be stuck out there all night or until a patrol could help. We dug, towed and pushed our way out of some very serious sand pits. Vomiting at some point during that day would have been merciful. Eventually we made it back to the original rendezvous point, but I was so tired that I barely noticed the goodbyes.
All in all it was a great trip, but it has caused me to give up drinking for at least a few days.
P.S. There are some serious critters in the desert. I woke up with literally hundreds of bug bites (54 on just my left arm) all over my body; I itch uncontrollably as I type this.
posted by Anthony Jackson at 7:34 AM
1 Comments:
You forgot to tell everyone you drank 2 bottles of hard liquor, probably 6 beers and half the 3L box of wine and were absofuckinglutly pissed out of your mind!
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