Rags to 'Raris

Phew! It's been over a year and been keeping incredibly busy in my latest adventure. Last time, we were looking at the Curator in the Go Campaign, which did not end up being so successful —mainly because I let it fail. Yes, you read that correctly: I let it follow its course by abandoning all promotional efforts to achieve to finance the most comprehensive car museum exploration ever undertaken. I let it die an ignoble death. But there's a good reason. Over 100 of them, actually.

My eternal gratitude to all of those who raised over 1,600€!

This is what happened: during the fundraiser, one of the campaign's sponsors, Tomini Classics, ended up approaching me with the intention of hiring me. The interview took several stages and two 3-hour road trips, but in the end, I was presented with the choice of going on the road trip of a lifetime with an uncertain future, or joining the pantheon of the Classic Car Gods and holding the keys to over 100 automotive deities that most mortals can only dream of. I took the latter, and felt that I had made a choice not typical of my persona —whether it is maturity, or simple tiredness with uncertain ventures, is still something that I ponder about every single day.

Early morning photoshoot with a 1976 930 Turbo. Photo by Sami Sasso.

Such is life. One ages and matures in hopes of having made the right choices. I am sure joining a dream job (by any standard) is the correct path, yet the inevitable sinking feeling that you have given up on something that was 100% yours to work for someone else still weighs heavily in the retrospective film that plays in my head. I am used to make up my own rules and push as far as I can. Learning the art of politics, diplomacy, and dialing back my passion is something new to me. Not having ownership of your work is a rather odd position that is only cushioned by the goodies that come with the job —a benevolent boss, flexible schedule, and every dream car I could ask for.

My first (glorious) experience with a Jaguar E-Type: a 1971 Series II.

The first months in the job were insufferable, and partly due to my inability to negotiate. The Middle East is a ruthless negotiation culture: any and all things are to be haggled —including some of the basic necessities that you would take for granted when giving a job to someone in an expensive city. I blindly went for the cars without considering the downfalls of the salary offered to me at the time. And I paid dearly for it. Got the cheapest reliable car I could afford, the cheapest apartment I could rent, and slept in an inflatable bed for good part of a year. My savings were gone, and my trust in the company was forever flawed —I could not continue. Within less than six months, I presented my resignation.

One of the most special cars I have ever driven —a 1968 Toyota 2000GT. Credit: Private Motor Club.

My secretary cried once she found out that day. However, while delegating my tasks before my departure, I was presented with a better offer to remain in the company. And so, I took it —I could now buy groceries that were not instant noodles and fix my car's many flaws. My health improved as well. Things have gotten better ever since, but still remain conflicted about the mentality in this part of the world —the fact that so much can be taken away from you if you don't actively (and aggressively) fight for it. I see it everyday with laborers from the Subcontinent and nannies from the Philippines, and hear an infinite number of stories of workers having their passports confiscated by their employers —very much what happened back in 2014 with my first job in Dubai.

Meeting at last, after nearly seven years apart: got a P1800 again!

Things have improved since my museum days in 2015, but still miss my former American life. That said, I am beginning to take roots in this city, circumnavigating (or sometimes plainly ignoring) blatant injustices and the arrogance of others; building a tight personal bubble to keep sane. I have developed friendships here that will last a lifetime, and I am back to Volvo P1800 ownership. Life is not all that bad if you are in good company and amongst good cars!

Stay tuned for two Korean posts: my funk-tastic Hyundai Equus (most likely the reason you have ended up reading this post, dear visitor) and a road trip around Korea with the girlfriend!

Introducing "Curator on the Go"

It is with great satisfaction that after months of plotting maps, selecting car museums and contacting automotive institutions, I am presenting you with my latest project, "Curator on the Go".

QUICK LINKS

Click [HERE] to go to the campaign's Kickstarter fundraiser page (starting on July 1st).

Click [HERE] for a list of stops and up-to-date tour schedule (last modified on 18/06/16).

Click [HERE] to view a 2-page PDF profile on Miguel Llorente, the Curator on the Go.

 

WHAT IS "CURATOR ON THE GO"?

Curator on the Go is a 6-month project that challenges the traditional stereotypes of museum professionals as being stationary. For close to half a year, Miguel Llorente —former curator at the Al Ain Classic Car Museum— will be touring over 80 automotive institutions across the USA, studying curatorial practices and all aspects of museum administration and design to answer the question on what makes the perfect car museum in 80 web articles.

WHY "CURATOR ON THE GO"?

Automotive museums have a different curatorial and administrative approach than most art and history museums, given that automobiles are live machines that need to be driven and maintained in very specific spaces under very specific conditions. Currently, there is no single university imparting a Museum Studies course specializing on automotive museums; as a result, I decided to create a highly immersive experience by visiting 80 of the best museums in the country and talking to the professionals behind these institutions.

WHAT IS THE ULTIMATE GOAL OF "CURATOR ON THE GO"?

As someone who is fascinated by the diverse automotive culture in the United Arab Emirates, my ultimate goal would be to set up a world-class automotive museum in the country. While the UAE counts with top-notch collections like Rainbow Sheikh's ENAM and the Royal Auto Gallery, my focus would be a public museum with a focus on automotive culture, history and design in the style of the Petersen, the Schlumpf Collection, the Revs Institute or the Gilmore Car Museum; institutions that not only provide a retrospective on the history of the automobile, but also become active bastions of present and future automotive culture. Think of it as a Louvre of the Automobile.

HOW MUCH WILL THE PROJECT COST?

My latest estimations point out that "Curator on the Go" will cost around $25,000 for the full six months. I plan on fundraising between $9,000 and $15,000 via Kickstarter, and pay for the rest out of pocket. With almost 30% due in taxes and fees, the rest of the funds raised will be employed to consumable costs like museum tickets ($10 on average) economical lodging ($4,000-$4,500), food ($20 a day) and fuel ($600 to $1500, depending on vehicle choice). Out-of-pocket expenses include getting a reliable car ($3500-$6,000), vehicle maintenance ($200 to $2000), flights ($1000), travel insurance ($750), a computer ($1200),  or audio/photo equipment ($700-$1200).

WHAT IS THE ROUTE FOR "CURATOR ON THE GO"?

Each stop is detailed on this [Google Document]. Plotted on a map, it looks something like this:

The official start will be at Frank Lloyd Wright's Historic Park Inn in Mason City, Iowa; the end point of the route will be Miami, where I will be returning to Spain/UAE. There are a few extended stops to catch my breath, write extensively, meet people and maintain the vehicle. I estimate the trip to be around 10-15,000 miles, which is close to what the average American drives in an entire year.

WHAT VEHICLE WILL YOU CHOOSE?

Tough question! While in the past I have used diesel Mercedes wagons as my vehicles of choice, I am not married to any particular vehicle for this trip. However, I have the following guidelines:

1) It must be cool or funky in its own right. It's got to have personality. Appliances... need not apply.

2) Must be reliable. The trip has a tight schedule and little time for breakdowns.

3) Must do 25MPG or better. Being an grown adult means spending fuel money responsibly.

4) Parts must be available. Hunting for rare bits and specialty tools takes precious time.

5) Must be competent in the snow, given that I will be driving in the cold season. No land-yachts!

6) Resale value must be acceptable. Hopefully, something at the bottom of the depreciation curve.

7) Must be comfortable to cruise on the highway AND creep in congested traffic. No stick-shifts!

With the help of my friend Tyler, I have been considering a few options. The Buick Reatta seems like a solid, American-made candidate with an interesting story; the Subaru SVX is perhaps one of the best unsung Japanese cars, with a formidable grip in the snow; the Toyota Previa and Oldsmobile Silhouette are two vans from the future worth taking a look at; and if all else fails, I can always revert into a trusty Mercedes 300CD coupe. The right vehicle will come at its due time.

I might inquire about having Tesla lend me a car for this project, as it would be wildly interesting to do the entire route in a 100% electric vehicle.  Otherwise, I am open to borrowing a vehicle for six months and returning it in a good state of maintenance. What have you got?

**July 16th Update** The official car will be a 1991 Buick Reatta, equipped with GM's true and tested 3800 engine, and the optional orthopedic seats. No Mercedes this time!

ANY FURTHER QUESTIONS?

I check the blog regularly; post yours in the comment section below.

Journey to the Ottoman Crescent (II)

"—What is it, Major Lawrence, that attracts you personally to the desert?

—It's clean."

 

Lawrence of Arabia (film, 1962)

 

SURPRISE LAYOVER IN BEIRUT (LEBANON)

An impeccably dressed MEA representative handed me my passport and a stamped document, folded in a crisp triptych.  "Hand it to the driver over there; we are sorry for your flight delay" —he said. Thus, what was originally intended to be a one-hour layover in Beirut turned into an overnight stay in a country I knew little about, other than it being the home to one of my favorite cuisines and a long, bloody civil war between 1975 and 1990. I would have less than 18 hours to visit it.

My improvised shuttle, an obvious American auction import, blazed through dark highways and leaky underpasses to Al Hamra. My eyes, half open, glanced back and forth between the blurry instrument cluster of the car and the dewy dust in the windshield, the orange glow in the distance and the lifeless intersections. It was past 10pm. We passed banks and bakeries, appliance stores and garages; still, not a soul in sight. A sudden ninety-degree turn landed us right in front of the lobby of a hotel with a grandiloquent name, faint memento from the days of Lebanese Wall Street.

The place was old, perhaps built in the 1960's or 1970's, with little maintenance ever since. An uninspired receptionist handed me a key a heavy bronze anchor and a wrinkled note with the wireless password, then proceeded to lounge with his friends in a cloud of smoke across the reception desk. A doorless elevator, caked with grime, took me to my floor, where I found my room wide open to the darkest corners of the hallway. I rushed in, reaching for all the lights in hopes not to meet any unwanted presence, and locked the door with as many turns as it would allow. I sighed in relief, eating a few pieces of Turkish candied fruit and getting ready for a shower. Not much later I would collapse on my bed, exhausted by the trip from Istanbul and this Beirut layover. I would have to wake up early the next day to catch a flight to Amman, in Jordan.

I was left disappointed that I did not have time to visit the country in more detail —and in a more positive light—, but in time it will happen, and become one of the many articles on this website.

WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR: JORDAN

How to bypass a war zone 101.

Wedged between Syria, Israel, Iraq and Saudi Arabia, lies the Kingdom of Jordan. Traversed almost in its entirety by the Bible's most famous river, this pistol-shaped country is home to countless epics, stunning scenery, and tales of clashing cultures and film that stood the test of time. Those visiting Jordan come in search of their more adventurous selves, wide-eyed before the Petra Treasury like Harrison Ford did in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, or deeply contemplative amidst the cliffs of Wadi Rum like T.E. Lawrence did exactly one hundred years ago.

Jordan is virtually a tourist's paradise, offering leisure and relaxation from the coastal town of Aqaba to the Dead Sea, further north; motorized adventures in Wadi Rum, and historical attractions in abundance, ranging from the times the Nabateans to the early 1900's.

Throughout history, Jordan has been an inclusive nation, taking immigrants and refugees from its neighboring nations with open arms. This is most visible in Amman, its capital, where the irregular layout and rushed architecture are testimonies to mass exoduses of the past, and entire communities of people who had to build their lives from scratch into this tolerant nation.

Being a car guy, my first stop was, without hesitation, Amman's Royal Automobile Museum. The collection did not disappoint, with two of its best pieces being the intimidating Mercedes 770 (gift of Hitler to the king of Syria) and their Aston Martin DB2, lost for decades in Iraq. Right afterwards, I had lunch with the former Museum Director, now Head of the Royal Heritage Directorate, and made the supreme mistake of thinking that the 300SEL 6.3 had a three-speed transmission. D'oh!

King Abdullah II's rallying cars in a diorama-like setting.

Presidential limos across the ages, from Buick to Cadillac to Mercedes and more.

Two of my favorites: Mercedes 770 (Middle) and Packard Double Cowl Phaeton (burgundy, right)

Their magnificent Aston Martin DB2, restored to brand new condition by the Aston Martin Headquarters.

Behind the scenes, the rover featured in the film "The Martian", starring Matt Damon.

Following my short stay in Amman, I embarked southward on to Petra and Wadi Rum. While I visited Petra on my own (glad I did!), I contracted a guide for Wadi Rum, given that it is absolutely necessary to have a 4x4 and the required driving skills for such tricky terrain. In order to visit Petra, I recommend Jett Buses; the best strategy is to wake up early, take a taxi to their own mini-station and book your ticket on the spot (about 10 dinar, roughly $14). The ride is ~5 hours.

This is where Petra starts, once you have gone through the visitor center.

 

The first leg of the walk is a claustrophobic slot canyon. Be careful not to be run over by all the horse carts!

Out of nowhere, you will end up at Petra's Treasury, arguably one of the most iconic monuments of all time.

Following the Treasury, you will get to a large open space surrounded by constructions on the hills.

Inside of one of the constructions. A geologist's dream!

Walking towards the Gate, on my way to the Monastery.

The Gate; it is in this section that you will find camels, donkeys and horses to get up to the Monastery.

Camels, awaiting customers too tired to continue on foot.

My heart almost stopped —for real, had to lie down— on the climb up. The Monastery is far larger than the Treasury.

Similar building to the Treasury and the Monastery; not a whole lot of information was provided on its function.

I have walked down the streets of New York and Chicago, and sailed my imagination at the crowns of its towers. I have climbed monuments the Mayan built to defeat the millennia, and gazed at the stars next to splashing crocodiles and solemn temples in Egypt. I have stood at the feet of Burj Khalifa and the boulevards of Paris, toured the galleries of Milano, and sailed through the canals of Venice. I have witnessed the industrial might of China, the chant of the mosques of Istanbul and the colorful markets in Oaxaca; shivering and hungry, I have seen the sun rise from Panama's highest peak. I have lived enough to see the human beehive valleys of Medellín on my way home. But never before, however, have I been in such awe as in Petra.

Perhaps it is the scale of it all —or the overwhelming idea of what it was, and what it is now— that leaves its mark on the imagination. Petra is a delight to the senses, yet one that required input to be enjoyed: effort, curiosity, stamina. Large part of it still lies unexploited, a long trek into the valley of treacherous rocks and thorny bushes; still, in the distance, one can see the towering, monumental tease for real adventure, for going off the beaten path into ancient cities that were visited by little more than local shepherds. The wide margin of discovery, of potential, that Petra leaves to speculation defines my amazement about this monumental complex. Petra promises of two Indiana Jones, one for the trekkers of the beaten path and one for those willing to take the leap of faith into the horizon, to find themselves alone in halls forlorn by the centuries.

The furthest off-the-route hall I could reach on my own —before my knee failed. I limped all the way back.

After a long and tortuous backtracking walk —mostly in pain—, I found my designated guide at the entrance of the visitor center and we drove out of the mountains into the main highway, on to the world-famous valley of Wadi Rum, a place so geologically fascinating as it is historically significant.

My home for the night. It took a long time to adjust to the utter silence in Wadi Rum.

The next day, I woke up at 6am, still in the dark, to walk to the nearest mountain and see the sunrise.

One of the Bedouins we stayed had lost sight of his herd. We retrieved them from grazing a couple miles into the mountains.

How photogenic is Wadi Rum? Ridiculously so. This photo was taken with a telephone!

Signs of Wadi Rum being covered in water —notice the waterfall patterns on the rocks.

Barren landscapes carved by centuries of water licking the soft stone.

Placeholders by past visitors who dared climb high into the rocks.

Much like the Grand Canyon, Wadi Rum is a place of obligated visit in one's lifetime. Never before you will see as many shades of red, vermilion, deep oranges, pastel tangerine, magenta, brown and ocher in one place. Wadi Rum is a true feast of the senses, and while the silence reigning among the boulders deprives the visitor from sound, it well compensates for it in a visual feast of shapes, shades and colors unrivaled by any place on Earth. Much like Petra, its sheer scale adds to its already imposing array of natural monuments, shaped by sand, water and time.

Wearing a traditional Jordanian ghutra (headscarf) with the agal (headband). Mornings are cold!

Few countries have stimulated the mind as much as they have moved the heart. Jordan truly holds something for everyone, surpassing any expectation you may have from this noble land. Do not let instability in Iraq or Syria worry you; at no point I felt unsafe here. In fact, I felt genuinely welcome; my curiosity about Jordan and its people was kindly rewarded with a myriad of stories on the fascinating history of this land, from the Arab Revolt to the recent migratory events to the North of the country. If anything, come visit and see for yourself —I highly recommend it.


Next up: Curator on the Go. The plan, the route, the museums. And hopefully, the funding to do it.

The Curator who Couldn't

It has been a long time since I last wrote on This European Life. Our Facebook Page has surpassed 1,400 fans, yet it has lost great part of the blog's more personal appeal and turned into an exquisitely curated page about classic cars. I am currently working on a project that might actually bring it —as well as this blog— back to life, a project called "Curator on the Go": one road trip, 60 car museums, 6 months, go figure!

Photograph of my town's central square in the 1920's. This is where our story begins.

Where were we? Oh, yes... at the Mercedes-Benz Museum, on an interview about the Cuban Gullwing. The night before I had gotten a text from an acquaintance in the UAE (we'll call him RMA), who invited me to work at his car museum in Al Ain, a small town in the Emirate of Abu Dhabi. We agreed to meet that September, and so, my fate would soon lead me to the Emirates once again, this time as the curator for a classic car museum, no less.

August issue of Autobild Klassik, with a 4-page feature on the Cuban Gullwing and the island's racing history.

Shortly after getting a stack of Autobild Klassik issues in the mail (thank you, Thomas W!), I booked my flight for the UAE, with the ghost of negative experiences still fresh in the back of my mind. This time, however, the recruitment process would be done through a proper agency that would facilitate visas, so I was not worried that someone would keep my passport again.

Imagine the glee! Living in an automotive museum!

The first two months were sensational: re-adapting to Arabic culture and food, driving vintage Mercedes (one 500E, one 450SEL 6.9), meeting new people, and touring around the town of Al Ain —my favorite so far in the country, without the hassle and the excessive glitz of Dubai.

Taking this 90's beast to the top of Jebel Hafeet mountain... one of the most enjoyable drives I've had since the PanAm.

Al Ain is the birthplace of Sheikh Zayed, the founding father of the UAE, and is still a favorite place to go among the old-school sheikhs —those who had lived enough to see tribal quarrels and live in adobe forts, but had witnessed the rapid rise of the country as a land of loud supercars and towering skyscrapers. I have heard countless stories on Sheikh Zayed's generosity and sense of humor, ranging from 50% subsidies to all supermarkets ("the people living in my land", he said, referring to locals and foreigners, "are my children and my guests, and they shall not be hungry"), lavish dinners with random strangers, and endless tales of joking remarks. Zayed's was the generation who built the country, raised between the old ways of the desert and the overwhelming responsibility of newly-acquired wealth. To them, money felt more like a fortunate gift than a God-given right, springing from the ground in the form of petroleum. I have had the chance to meet with two of the old sheikhs, and was no less than honored to be in the company of such acculturate, smart men. I can only hope the next generation follows suit!

Towards the end of October, I started noticing a few small things —my boss suggesting, with a tint of jealousy, to change my position from "President" of the Mercedes Club of Arabia to something less important-sounding; broken things not getting their replacements, a general refusal to repair the heavy neglect in most of our museum cars, or how my suggestions to correct signage or vehicle pricing were readily ignored. While these things worried me, we were busy planning the heavy logistics of the Dubai Motor Show; it wasn't until the next year that I gave them some serious thought. After the Dubai show, we fought to secure a government contract, and won.

An early sign of neglect on our museum's cars. Two months later, this 450SEL 6.9 would run very rough.

Infamous Dubai ruler Sheikh Mohammed, whom I escorted through the classic car pavillion at the Dubai Show.

Motoring Middle East panel on future classics. I got grilled for defending the Volvo P1800 as a future classic.

After a series of meetings presenting budget options to the Ministry of Culture, we secured a 10-year contract and a bid for our highest offering. We were thrilled, and set to work in a remote part of Abu Dhabi called Madinat Zayed, three hours into the barren desert, where the Dhafra Heritage Festival was being set up. Our team did not disappoint, yet it took a toll on our health.

Two full tractor trailers and then some —all unloaded in a matter of hours.

Setting up the lighting in an old Nissan diesel truck. The precinct is brand new, less than a year old.

Old car problems; luckily, this Peugeot 405 was relatively easy to push.

The commute to work, with shepherds using Toyota RAV4's to escort their camels.

A group of 20 Saudis took over our show grounds and improvised some Bedouin dances. So much fun!

Everybody, from the show managers to the thousands of visitors, were impressed by our display quality.

WASTA NOT, WANT NOT

It was during this show that some of the country's darkest aspects of wasta (power leveraged from influence/connections in the Arab world) came to light. For one, our show often got flooded by rebellious Arab children wanting to get inside the cars; after some successful reprimands by escorting them to the entrance (sometimes by grabbing them by the arm, and even their ears), we were told by RMA not to interact with these rude youngsters. Their arrogant attitude, so early in their life, was something I was disappointed to imagine they would take into their adult years. It was becoming apparent that the dynamics of their leverage relied heavily on their nationality, not in qualifications, character or talent —these children knew it, and knew it well. I had heard stories about teachers being fired for failing poor-performing students with wasta. Right now, this first realization felt awfully real, and set a somber tone in my thoughts for the rest of the show.

A second, more painful realization, came to me after two days of judging each of the 44 vehicles on display. According to our numbers, the winner had been a 1966 Imperial Crown Coupe from Qatar. However, in the meeting where we presented the final results, our boss RMA changed the judging grades to favor Emirati submissions. My protests were blatantly ignored. The show had been rigged before my very eyes in the name of politics and there was nothing I could do.

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

Disappointed as I was, I tried to look for a hobby outside of my usual museum duties. I took on archery and got myself a project W123 wagon to wrench during my free time. The poor thing has all sorts of issues, but was a worthy past-time to keep my own sanity.

Rebuilding the old seat with salvaged material from a W116 in the junkyard.

The car museum dream came crashing as those little issues of the past were becoming more and more evident. Our lack of equipment stretched 20-minute jobs for several days. Our workers were getting cuts disassembling rusty vehicles beyond saving. Our receptionist was publicly humiliated for using common sense protecting our food in plastic boxes. The gift store, as well as the workshop, had become a hoard of useless junk that RMA refused to discard. The entire museum reeked of fear of a reprimand, and money was becoming scarce. Then, the floods happened.

Soaked at the door of our museum, during a break after the rain.

For two days straight, our little town of Al Ain got an entire year's worth of rain. Thanks to an accurate weather report read well in advance, I could drive to the nearest convenience store and got some supplies, including a couple of large squeegees to push any water out the door. A couple hours later, the museum's roof leaked hundreds of gallons into our showroom. Three of the workers and I heroically toiled for two full days, with no power or running water, until the storm had gone away. On the third day, we worked hard to clean up the mess and get back to normal.

Nobody thanked us. Not a warm meal to celebrate the museum was safe, or an attempt at any sort of gratitude. Not even after my suggestion to gather the team and say "thanks". If anything, we were asked for monthly productivity reports, reprimanded for moving the electronics to the nearest dry room (common sense?), and told that from now on we should pay for our own food.

I exploded on a swearing rampage. And then, a more detailed reprimand followed.

It was now clear that leaving this place was a matter of time. The frustration about this kind of irrationality and condescension, plus the immense pressure to sell vehicles priced anywhere between 30% and 100% over market value and draw visitors with no signage or budget, got my last straw. The meager salary of $800 a month —$490 for our receptionist— did not help, either.

The days before my resignation were tough ones. I stayed in my room thinking whether I had gone insane or it was this entire reality working against me; whether they could be right, or I was. And then, I remembered the car show incident and the conditions our workers and I were living in: little more than storage room with no windows, and frequent cuts in water and electricity. All these little problems had worked themselves into a new sense of normalcy, one that I was not willing to accept any longer. I was a human being, one with dignity; and a highly qualified at that, one that had reached for the Holy Grail of the classic car world and gotten it. I deserved better.

My resignation was accepted in an uncomfortable silence. But we soon lightened up and had an abundant dinner with little to say to each other.

Despite an small threat not to release my passport unless I wrote a release report for a vehicle, all my dues were paid on time. With utter professionalism, the recruiting firm handed me my documents and the cancelled visa in little under two weeks after my resignation. That was it: no tricks, no gimmicks, everything on paper. However, our highly resentful secretary had arranged for some "decorations" to give me one last goodbye:

Had to laugh... YOU ARE NOT WELCOME TO USE THIS TEA KETTLE ANYMORE.

My nightmarish experience in Dubai, along with this particular episode, might lead many to make negative, generalizing comments on the UAE, but please refrain to do so; no country deserves to be judged on the actions by a handful of questionable characters. As someone who has met good and bad individuals from all four corners of the world, this country and its people are no different than any other. While some aspects of life might be more frustrating than others —especially the dinamics of wasta versus qualifications—, I still see potential in this land. Great characters live and work here, locals and foreigners, and the car scene here is unique in its own right. In fact, I am hoping to write about more positive experiences very soon, on my trip to Jordan, Turkey and Kuwait; some auction finds, and my future on this part of the world and the auto industry.

Hopefully, it won't take a whole year to do so. 

And hopefully, I can move closer to a larger goal: to run my own car museum.