Only a complete paranoid, such as myself, would choose to scrabble over a construction site rather than pass by the Iraqi embassy a second time.
I was pushing Sproglette in her all-terrain vehicle of stroller down the street, past the Iraqi embassy with its privacy walls extended higher than all the other privacy walls in the neighbourhood, when I realized, on turning the corner, that I had two choices: return the way I came or continue down an unpaved, rocky sidewalk next to a building site.
I chose the latter because, as my paranoid logic reasoned, there is nothing more suspicious than someone pushing a stroller past the Iraqi embassy two times in a row in a country where pedestrians, particularly pedestrians pushing strollers, do not exist. (Except for all the South Asian workers who risk their lives running across busy thoroughfares, but they don't push strollers either.)
In any case, I did not want to get shot at.
From our apartment on the 15th floor, I'll look out either the living room windows or Sproglette's bedroom window to plot the route I will walk with her on a given morning. In one direction is a walled compound of identical two-story villas--where I was challenged by the security guard the one day I sauntered over there.
It's that damn suspicious stroller.
In the other direction is an unwalled compound of houses (and flag-flying embassies) of varying designs, all enormous.
The roads weaving around these two residential spots seem relatively free of speeding traffic, and that's about all that I can hope for.
Because the rest of Doha is a pedestrian's nightmare.
Hubs chose the apartment we now live in rather than a villa further away because it was walking distance to the Corniche, a paved pathway along the waterfront and the City Centre, a large shopping mall with a Carrefour. And he knows how much I hate being in a car, so if I can live life on foot, I'll be happy.
He wasn't mistaken. The Corniche is indeed walking distance. I can see it from our bedroom. And although I can't see the City Centre from any of our windows, it is roughly a five minute walk too.
But then walking distance is relative if you can't cross the road. And we can't cross the road. Or rather, where we can cross the road is so far out of the way that both the Corniche and the City Centre are no longer, really, close by. Certainly not walking distance with a stroller what with all the construction and unfinished sidewalks and speeding cars and trucks. Trust me, I already tried with a visiting friend. We made it to the Corniche on foot, but I don't think I'll attempt that trip again.
I feel sorry for Hubs because he'd rather live in a villa with a small garden and a potential play area for the sprog. He really considered my needs--my need to walk places--when he chose this apartment instead. But Hubs is a driver and drivers don't always notice things like overpasses and pedestrian crosswalks, or the lack of them.
In fact, drivers probably think it's pretty great to be able to zoom down a city road unimpeded by pesky bipeds frantically pushing the walk signal button.
It wasn't until I skyped Hubs when I was still in Canada, crying, that I had google earthed our neighbourhood and couldn't see any evidence of traffic lights that he went in search of them and found the one intersection my friend and I used the other day.
One intersection.
One.
Today, I rode the stationary bike in the apartment's gym and then went for a swim in the apartment's pool. On the bike, I closed my eyes and imagined power-walking around Wascana Park, avoiding goose poo, and watching the wind ripple the water. I opened my eyes and looked down on Sproglette fast asleep in the stroller next to me. This is ok, I figure. I don't have to walk for now.
We'll lease a car for me when we come back after vacationing in France, sometime in mid-April. Then, I'll be able to walk along the Corniche first thing in the morning.
After driving there first.
