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I cannot comment on Doha as a city -- or Qatar as a nation -- from 9 hours and 45 minutes spent in their international hub airport. But I've spent a bit of time in quite a number of international airports and I can thusly draw some comparisons.
The bling is strong with this one. This may be the blingiest airport I've transited through yet. It's not trying to wow us with indoor rain forests or grand displays of architectural excess; no waterfalls or butterfly gardens here, as far as I can tell. Instead, the place attempts to lull you into parting with your hard earned Qatari Real by seducing you with sheer unfettered opulence. This airport speaks not to the gaudy ostentatious wealth of a recent lottery winner or tech-startup millionaire. Instead, this place has the air of the understated, cultured and cultivated sensibilities of old money. And not some Middle Eastern gilded fru-fru interpreration of old money -- it pulls out all the semiotics that telegraph "old-school, died in the wool, western old money".
It would not be an understatement to say that the YSL, Prada and Chanel outlets -- whilst beautifully appointed -- are the white trash of the luxury brands on offer here. Burbury definitely is, although that is a given. Every signifier brand of serious wealth is tastefully on offer in the halls and concourses of this gargantuan Mecca of cultural and financial exchange. The architecture here is grand and the interior beautifully appointed, but it is constrained, refined and sources its beauty from being perfectly executed and exactly fit for purpose.
There is another thing here that stands out, and it is not a comfortable thing. This place feels like a surreal parallel-universe fetish instance of Westworld. Not the 1970s movie, but the contemporary(ish) TV confection. This place seems to be staffed almost exclusively with model-perfect, beautiful, statuesque (black) African people. The security scanner people? African. The cleaning staff? African. The sales associates in the duty free shops? African. The Info desk staff? African. Purfume purveyors? African. Cooks in the food courts? African. I am surrounded by a forest of imported ebony. Please excuse me while I board my flight to Johannesburg to go somewhere that feels slightly more removed from the spectre of colonialism and the slave trade. (Of course that can't be what's happening here; they have videos on repeat on the many, many, many screens here, proclaiming that they are vigilantly and diligently working to detect and stomp on any instance of human trafficing). All staff here are clearly living their best lives...
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Updated 20241125 Doha, Qatar
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