Doha is a sand castle

Eleven and a half hours to the ancient past with a veneer of flash. The first thing you notice is the color and placement of those towers. They're in a circle, all look the same and border a man-made. Those towers are the same color as the sand And look just as parched. On the ground, their are no reference points. The light blue sky with a pink glow is all you see unless you turn to look at a plane which seems to be an artifact from another time. Instantly, you recognize the desert is going to win. Actually, the desert doesn't care what happens to you or anthing else. And the airport is 80 feet away from where the shuttle drops you off at 530 am. Already hotter and more humid than how citified people are able to function. Doha is rich. One of the highest nations in per capita wealth. The airport tells you that, too with $2000 dollar silk shells from Hermes. Berkas and made-up eyes. Grizzled oil guys. They look down on their luck even with duty-free bags of gifts. Sultans and emirs in flowing white robes. The American woman with a sleeve of tattoos and short shorts. And lots of Asians. Where did they come from?...the ones speaking Arabic I mean. Spiced tea, sweet cheese with pomegranate seeds and a hibiscus refresher. Pedicure -- they don't soak your feet, they apply orchid gel which softens your feet. Full body massage and facial at the spa. Four hours later Sri Lanka. So far, Colombo looks like savannah Georgia with unrecognizable cars and trucks and vans and those tuk-tuks. Tiny taxis that run on 2 cilanders or something. My taxi Grover has more apps on his phone than I do. He wants to move to Canada because there are no jobs here. Oil and transportation is what I see. And the hari Krishnas at the airports here have a plane to catch. Train to Kandy tomorrow.