When designing the National Museum of Qatar, architect Jean Nouvel took inspiration from a desert rose crystal. Thirteen hours. Somewhere in the sky between Miami and Doha, Qatar, I had to reconcile the promotional visions of Middle Eastern idyll—museums shaped like white desert flowers, futuristic skylines—flashing on my Qsuite screen with the reality I would face as a Latino cisgender gay man when I landed.
The Middle East has always been on my travel list: Its ancient culture and strong ties to Roman history evoked a sense of wonder and made me want to be an adventurer. Traveling to these countries meant respecting their customs and culture, but how would I balance that with my queer moral compass? At least 67 countries worldwide prohibit same-sex relations between consenting adults, according to Human Rights Watch , and at least nine countries have laws criminalizing forms of gender expression.
Qatar punishes travelers who engage in same-sex activity with jail time—up to seven years. In a little over a year, I would visit three Muslim-majority countries, Qatar being my first by coincidence. As I did my usual pretrip prep, I wondered: Would I have to hide my identity?
Would I feel safe? Could I truly experience a new culture with this fear in the back of my mind? Once the long flight was over, I checked into my hotel room at the St. Regis Doha. Settling in, I found the space comparable to Western hotels.
Toilets still flushed, even in the same direction. The light switches went up and down, just like everywhere else. All kidding aside, this level of sameness and normalcy immediately made me feel safer, reassured. Courage up, I went out to explore, first to the Msheireb Downtown area, which felt like any other modern outdoor mall in the United States.
