#13 The Sandstorm

A short blog for you – a little out of my ordinary in that I have only one thing to discuss, versus my disjointed thoughts anywhere and everywhere. I will attempt to stay on one subject only, that being sand, sand storms, and the corollary: dust.

In a word: its everywhere, and my eyes have been tearing, discharging, and have been clogged up constantly since my arrival here three months ago.

This morning as I usually do on the weekend I go off to McDonalds for my morning Jo. Today I woke up to a haze of dust, not unlike a grey fog we might experience back home. While it is devoid of moisture, it hangs insidiously, right in front of you. It limits visibility and everything gets covered in a fine layer of dust.

In my villa dust accumulates at the foot of the entry door, on the furniture, and places you don’t see (or choose to ignore). Even the top of the toilet tank as the fan (that is otherwise open to the ceiling above) gets covered in a fine layer of dust. If your not a big fan of dusting around home, don’t move here.

This morning was a case in point. I had to take a drive just to get a sense of its density. Whoa.

As I have done in the past, I use the financial center as a reference point. Disclaimer: I pass by it everyday on my way to and from work, and I like tall buildings and the crown jewel of the complex is a nearly completed building of some 88 stories.

The sand gets into everything. Not at all like the beach sand you may get in your swimsuit, with big grainy things you know are in there. This is like a fine silt that settles everywhere. The windshield of your car, despite the lack of rain, you need to clean daily. Squirting wiper fluid as you leave in the morning becomes the ritual of work. Despite no rain, slush, frost or snow you use almost the same amount of fluid as we would at home. Despite the city’s attempt to keep things clean, everything has a dull hue to it because of the sand that settles on everything. Window washers would have a field day in this town as it is a battle you could never win.

I have heard people say that the sand storms were not so bad prior to the gulf war. Hypothesizing that it was the tanks rolling through the desert that broke the thin crust that develops on desert landscapes to limit the blowing sand. I’m not so sure having not heard or read anything to confirm or deny that theory – so I will withhold judgement. However, Phoenix and Vegas have sand storms and I don’t remember tanks rolling around that part of world in the recent past.

A couple of blog posts ago I listed the things I like and don’t like about being here. This I should have added. I have bought eye drops at the pharmacy but they provide only temporary relief. I can almost taste it in the pool when I do my daily swim. Outside deck chairs you need to wipe off every time you sit outside – which is often in this warm environment.

Pictures here tell the story. Below are two shots from essentially the same vantage point: clear day, and not so clear.

Clear:

After:

A few other shots to ponder:

Believe it or not on a clear day the financial center is directly ahead and the place I use as a reference point when I am trying to get myself home. Days like this not so much:

At home the lines are so clear cut – its either sunny or the grey clouds that threaten rain. The lines are not so clear here: a little sand, a lot of sand, sandstorms, clear day or thunder clouds on the horizon.

Maybe I’m just being the paranoid bubble boy but I would be lying if I didn’t mention that I have thought about what this might be doing to my respiratory system. Is all that dust settling in my lungs turning to concrete? Will I be trim and fit that I need to be again, and find I have not lost any weight because I have these concrete dead weights weighing me down? Occupational hazard I guess.

So that’s it. Blog #13 over and out. Short and sweet as promised.

Now its time to pack my bags and come home!

I’ve been here and done that
Now in transition from there and where I’m at.

Blog #12 The End is Near

The countdown is on for my departure and the end of my three-month adventure in Riyahd, Saudi Arabia. Endings of whatever type, good or bad, always bring with it some reflection of the immediate past. For me it is questions such as; what I have done, what I have learned, and what I will take away that will affect my life going forward. Life is a series of events; they shape whom, and what we are. Despite a relatively small portion of my life spent here, there are things I have experienced that I shall never forget. Thankfully, most of these things are positive.

For example, one of the obvious observations/revelations that struck me as I walked across the street to the mall at lunch is that people, culture, habits, and behaviors are just different from what “we” consider normal, not strange, stupid, or unusual. We sometimes are so caught with up in our lives that we assume “normal” is what we do. There is nothing further from the truth. In fact, we are probably in the minority in terms of our habits/routines compared to elsewhere in the world. A lot of that has to do with being as lucky as we are to live where we do. For example I was chatting with a Filipino colleague of mine the other day and he was saying that he quit his job at home to come here as the money was about three times what he would get at home (tax free). While he misses home as we all do, he does not miss working in his native land. That is because corruption is rampant, and the high taxes he pays doesn’t really get him a lot of service, only lines the pockets of a select few (remember Imalda Marcos?). Suddenly I realized one of the reasons why there are so many Filipinos living abroad.

Anyway, I began this little rant as I walking to the mall the other day. As I walked to the mall, I saw a couple of migrant construction workers on their lunch break. Where we might have a sandwich, or something non-perishable that can keep when there is no refrigerator to put your lunch. Here these two men (Indian I think) were sitting in one of the small green spaces close to the mall with at plastic matt laid out and what looked like a pile of spiced rice in the middle. They were busy talking and each using their hands to grab a little bite here and there. Or around our compound where we have Saudi soldiers guarding the perimeter, were on break and in a little nook beside their trailer the carpet goes down and they all sit around drinking and snacking before resuming their post. Why the soldiers patrol our compound, I don’t really understand – given how safe I feel in this city, I wonder is it to protect Saudi’s from Expats or Expats from the Saudis? While there have been incidents such as some suspected terrorist being shot in some public standoff a few weeks back, these events extremely rare. If you consider some North American cities of the same size, just a few people being shot would be considered a ‘good’ night by law enforcement.

The point of all that was to say that I feel privileged to be able to come and work here for a short time, but as with every other overseas assignment I have done, the appreciation of home and all that is has to offer reigns supreme. I don’t mean just the local Costco to shop at, which they don’t have here, but the geopolitical, cultural, and moral fabric that makes Canada what it is.

Onto more pragmatic matters that confront me prior to my departure. There are many things that I have, and will not see before I depart this fair land; however, I will leave satisfied that I have done much of what I wanted to see and experience in the limited time I did have here. My timing once again (the first being missing a bad winter at home) is good – given that there is a virulent bug called MERS going around – predominantly in this country, though other countries in the region are affected. It is like SARS in the past, not very contagious, and mostly limited to health care institutions. They suspect it may come from the camel population.

One nice diversion from the sedate lifestyle we live was an informal function at the Cdn Embassy a couple of Friday's past. I say informal as it was just a get together where they have a hockey game on the big screen, pool table and shuffle board which you can entertain yourself with (I didn’t) and what everyone comes for – an bar with real liquor!!! As I noted with my experience in Bahrain earlier in the month on my Visa reset – you don’t care what you have to pay when you have access to real booze. Ticket were not that expensive though – five tickets was 100SR or about 20SR each (approx. $6). It was a good night that just seemed to take off as end as quickly as it started. Shortly after getting there, I left my other three mates I came with to talk to a Toronto couple I met at the last event. We started to chat and catch up and as I was finishing my initial cocktail (scotch – albeit blended but still wonderful) my new friend says want some champagne? Of course I did. As I found out this is one item at the bar that you can’t buy by the glass but the bottle. So champagne was the next cocktail. Long story short they quickly left me to get food being served (a shawarma bar) so I sit at the nearby couch and start chatting with this Lebanese Canadian gent from Montreal, he however (is this a pattern I don’t want to admit too??) also left me soon after as better company came along (his wife) also looking for food. I turn to the other side of the couch and there I meet about six nurses from various parts of Canada and ages. Without having to get up for food (which I forgot about), they offered me one of the shawarma’s they picked up, and I had a completely new set of friends for the balance of the night. One girl, Crystal, was even a Winnipegger, unfortunately at only 29 I treated her paternalistically as I have some decorum as to who my potential ‘conquests’ might be! In any case, the seven of us spent the rest of the evening together, which was great. I had not only the company of fellow Canadians, but also women to boot! Interaction that is sadly very uncommon in these parts. One thing they made me realize was that the life we lead, compared to their life, are two different things. Compound living it seems is geared more to families and a quieter lifestyle, whereas these women, who share apartment space together not in compounds, are always on the go to one drinking event or another. One of the more popular activities it seems are get-togethers with American military who also have access to real booze as well. As told to me by one woman – it is a lifestyle of binge drinking. While not a good thing, it is a product of this society, that breeds this type of detrimental behaviour. It is a by-product for us heathens from far away, who do enjoy a drink on occasion. I did catch up with my mates later when they saw me, and perhaps assessed that I was having a better time, that they also showed up on the crowded couch and joined in the conversation. What seemed way too soon, I looked at my watch and realized that our cab would be waiting outside for us, and the end to great evening. As a matter of fact, I just got a text from one of the ladies inviting me to this Thursday’s ‘steak night’ whatever that may be. Another difference here is that events don’t just mean accepting an invitation, any invitation comes with the one other request – what is your passport number? Finding a new group of friends is great – though my timing is rotten! Why at the end of my term and not the beginning? This could have been a good thing or a bad thing. Good in the sense that I would enjoy seeing these ladies again and some of their activities, a bad thing because I couldn’t keep up the pace these guys keep up! They were going to an American Embassy event at 11am the next morning for another afternoon of sure debauchery. As I mentioned to these women – why didn’t I meet you two months ago! 

I joked to my friends on the way home it would be great (perhaps humiliating) to take a video at the start of the night and then the end of the night. At the start formal handshakes and small talk, to the end of the evening where everyone is your friend, your hugging everyone goodbye among other more ‘intimate’ gestures. While I would have loved to show you a picture of some of that night and my new friends, cell phones and other such electronic devices must be left at the gate prior to entry to the embassy grounds.

In complete contrast to that bit of excitement was my quest the previous day to get yet another thawb for myself (yes it is becoming an obsession for me). Not just any off the rack thawb, but a tailored thawb. Ahmed, my Saudi guide and friend was showing off his new thawb one day and mentioned he had it made for him. Well that was it; I had to have one too. Funny thing was it kind of fell off my radar until one day I went to pick up a pizza for comparison purposes – while not bad, however as a big fan of a topping you can’t get in this country (bacon) it was doomed to some degree. On a side note to the pizzas story, as I do at home when I get a pizza, I buy more than I can eat at one sitting in order to have the breakfast of champions the next day. However, some things you can do at home you learn quickly cannot be done here. I left the pizza and the half eaten remains in the box on the kitchen counter. Coming down the next morning excitedly awaiting my special breakfast only to find when I open the box that it is crawling with tiny ants. If you wanted to see a grown man cry. . . .

In any case, with the 20 minutes waiting for the pizza to be made I wondered up and down the strip of shops only to discover to my delight several shops had several bolts of white and cream coloured cloth on a large counter visible from the window. Hoping what it was what I think it was I wondered into one. Despite the lack of knowledge in each other’s respective languages, we managed to get along fine and have the job done. A father and son team (Aboo Azid was the sons’ name the fathers was too difficult to get) ran this shop. As I vacillated whether to go ahead or not, Aboo’s father was putting on the hard sell. Which was done by holding up the measuring tape and giving me the thumbs up accompanied with a big knowing smile. When I communicated somehow as to the price of this service he grabbed the calculator and punched in 220SR. Quickly this was down to 200, then 180. When I got hesitant and started making for the door, the knowing smile came back and with a pat on the back, Aboo’s father entered 150SR onto the calculator and the deal was consummated. Next are the measurements, as I stood in front of the mirror Mr. Aboo’s father went to work, first the length (shoulder to ankle), then neck, arms (in two places), waist and finally shoulder to shoulder. With each measurement, a grunt was our way to communicate whether good or not. After the measuring was complete, and written in their order book, it is to the counter to decide as to which type of cloth I wanted used. Who knew there was such a variety of choice in simple, thin white cloth! With hindsight I should have got a receipt for the item, or not paid for the whole thing in one shot (you can pay half then and the other half a pick up a week later) for reasons I will explain shortly. My fault was my own excitement, and hastily I gave them the complete funds and my business card (at which I impressed them by first writing my name in the book, they have a hard time writing our script as we do theirs, but then writing my mobile number in Arabic). After goodbyes and the knowledge that my garment would be ready within the week, I was off. Now this is where it gets interesting. As I mentioned there were about two or three of these shops very close to each other, and I didn’t take into memory the subtleties of the shop I was in (remember to me, with no Arabic language skills, business cards all look the same). You can guess where this is going. I come back a week later, walk into the shop all excited about my new purchase but then a little disappointed that I did not recognize the staff that day (hell people need a day off after all). Undeterred I started to mention that I was here to pick up my thawb. Again, no English from them, and no Arabic from me meant trouble. I look frantically through his order book hoping to verify the purchase, while the shopkeeper looked through the racks of completed thawbs all to no avail. With our terrible communications with each other, he starts measuring me up again for another thawb – me all the while saying don’t make another when the other should be here or at least in a couple of days! With luck, an older gentleman comes into the shop with his sons or grandsons, who does speak English. After telling him of my dilemma he finally says are you sure this is the same shop? I thought I was sure I explained. Thankfully his more common sense trumped my paranoid panic, he says let’s check another shop, I will take, mafi moshkeela, mafi moshkeela (no problem) so after he gives what I assume were explicit instructions to stay put to his two grandkids, we walked the 15 meters to the next shop. Much to my chagrin of being shown my gross oversight, we walked into the shop where Aboo recognized me with a smile and found my thawb. He had me try it on (perfect), handed me my new thawb with another warm smile. I ate crow and went back to the other shop to offer my sincere apologies. They all got a kick out of it and away and everything was complete. I was reminded yet again, at how warm and generous (and trustworthy) these people are. I was disappointed at not having brought my camera - I have to train myself to take it with me everywhere - as you never know when another unique experience in this land may confront you.

With that my journey is almost complete – two and a half days remaining, before I start my long journey home. Unfortunately, I almost had a few days in Istanbul lined up that didn’t work out. I have explained the need for us to exit the country every 30 days (based on when you went last). As we must do this on our time (weekends) my last out was April 11^th. 
Realizing that it seems pointless to fly to Bahrain or Dubai for the day only to come back for a couple of days and leave for good I enquired about extending the 30 day period for exceptions such as this. I was told that this is not done and you must leave by the May 11 (not doing so results in severe fines). As an alternative, I thought I could escape early by changing my flight for the leg from here to Istanbul, keep the remaining legs of my journey (to Toronto then Winnipeg) the same giving me two full days to enjoy Istanbul. Then continue with my original flights on the May 14 when I fly direct from Istanbul to Toronto. However the flight could not be changed (without a large change fee – that was essentially the price of purchasing another ticket). Unfortunately I did have to go out for the day again, another day trip to Bahrain. Although the flight is only one hour each way by the time I got home some 9 hours have passed. 

Good news is I do have an 7 hour layover in Istanbul and the lounge there is brilliant by all accounts. It is unfortunate that my timing is bad this time as Turkish Airlines has a great option for travellers of any class who are passing through Istanbul for more than six hours prior to their next flight. They offer a tour of the city free of charge including lunch. For me even with 7 hours I miss the tour times. The tour is from ten to three; sadly, I arrive at five am and depart at two pm. So with this my twelfth blog I will have one more blog left to write, assuming there is something to write about, of my journey home. 

Now time to get back to work. . . . . 

My three month journey to Saudi Arabia has almost come to an end
And I start the next journey of getting home following the earth’s bend

#11 A few more Tall Tales

As I approach the end of my brief career in the Middle East, there is still time to experience what this place has to offer.

When I was in Timor in 2009, I got involved in the “Hash” a worldwide organization that brings expats together wherever they happen to be on this vast globe. Saudi Arabia is no exception; having their own local chapter. The Hash meets weekly on days off (Friday in our case) and provides a little bit of exercise, and a large dose of socializing. In the case of this local chapter, there have been over 2,000 consecutive walks/runs – representing some 40 years. Usually held later in the afternoon, everyone meets at a different spot weekly. Offered are three different exercise options: run, long walk, and a short walk. Before hand is a brief ceremony where new members are welcomed, visitors are recognized, and some information as to who is the “Hare” that leads each of the different exercise options.

The Saudia chapter is unique in a couple of ways, due to its unique cultural morays. Specifically, it is held outside the city limits in some remote location. This is so women need not where the abaya, and any ‘refreshment’ that may show up is safe to consume. The other limit is there is no advertising of the event – you must first seek out a member to know where the next meeting will be held. In fact, at yesterday’s meeting, there was a little lecture as to what you can or cannot do. In this case, you should never post anything on social media. As the head master explained it, the Saudi’s know the Hash exists, but tolerates it as long as it is kept clandestine. If it is flaunted, the Saudi’s have little choice but to step in. This apparently had just happened when someone did post something on Facebook and some of the offending members had the pleasure of visiting the local police for most of the day. Hence, the edict was reiterated again at this meeting: if you ever post something on social media, you will be banned for life.

In any case, the event finally got under way with a challenging long walk (my chosen option) that descending into a small valley and up again for about 5 kilometers in the 40 degree heat of the late afternoon.

Half way through the walk a water cooler had been put with a cooler full of welcomed fruit (watermelon and orange wedges).

I was told that his event is held all through the year including during the extreme summer heat, albeit later in the day. Afterward people sit around visit and depart. We were back at our villa at approximately 7pm. Note the farmer tan on my legs. 

A good event, something I would have liked to attend more had I known.

The other interesting tidbit in this story is getting there. We descend into a valley where many traditional Arabic tents are set up, among other makeshift shelters with the ubiquitous camels milling about. I was told this represented the “other middleclass” of people that want a rural lifestyle away from the city. The closest analogy might be hobby farmer back at home. Again, this is in the harshest of environments. I am struck that being devoid of vegetation there is no shade to find, other than what you make yourself. Suddenly you see how if trapped in the desert you could not survive long: no vegetation to escape from the sun, nothing to eat, no water to drink. Sure, we have winter – but there is wildlife and vegetation that you might be able to etch out some survival.

Sadly, this event did not include any alcohol that sometimes does make its appearance. Rumor has it that embassy staff sometime show with a case or two of real beer. Hashes I attended in Timor where the mantra was “a running club with a drinking problem”, provided, following the run, beer and coolers in your admission price and consumed in great quantities (there were Australians there). Bottom line: this is a great place for expats to have a little respite from the harsh realities of Saudi culture. Yesterday’s meeting saw visitors from the Ukraine, South Africa, UK, Ethiopia, and Sweden.

Onto another subject completely different. Examples of Saudi lifestyle and the contrasts to our North American way of life are sometimes so far apart. Again, my friend Ahmed provides me with a wealth of insight into the Saudi way of life. We went for lunch across at the mall again and while waiting for our food at the Dairy Queen outlet we started sharing our wallet contents: the usually credit cards (albeit with different bank symbols), drivers licence, and the like. What he did have was a resident card for lack of a better term. I hesitate to use social insurance/security card as it had a wealth of information on it. First the usually name, birth date, etc. However, it had more transient information as well: address and wife and child/s names. What really caught my attention is the back of this card. There was an empty table and some Arabic writing. I asked Ahmed – what is this space for I asked? Again completely normal for him, he replies that is for any “extra” wives you might have. Utah has nothing on this place!

Another good example of the male dominated society here in Saudi Arabia. After a meeting finished with my two primary colleagues, Ahmed and Khaled we were chewing the fat with them giving me some quick Arabic words when we got on the subject of religion and specifically their beliefs and the Qur’an. To make a long story short the idea is to pray and believe in Allah, be good in your life and you go to heaven. Ordinary stuff right. However, heaven in this case is a Shangri-La for womanizers the world over. In this heaven, men are greeted by a bounty of beautiful women to satisfy your every desire. When I asked the obvious question of what about women - do they get the same gift except filled with beautiful men? I was met with blank stares – this was something that was not spelled out in the holy book. Sure the world in terms of women’s rights is not equal even in North America, here in the Middle East they are many years behind that. Ironically, though unlike women’s suffrage in the United States, women here do have the right to vote. Strange.

Strange yes, though there are some things I do love about this place. The dress code (men anyway) is stellar. I have gone on at length about the thawb, and all its many benefits. The other thing I love is I never wear socks or shoes - just sandals. In fact the Hash was the first time in a month or so since I had worn my shoes or socks. Brilliant! 

Notwithstanding the mess in my room here is a photo of my 'wardrobe': two thawbs back from the masala (laundry), and two on go that I have miraculously not soiled yet! Believe me thats a tough job with the beautiful pure white color. While I prefer white, Ahmed and I argue at length abou the virtues of the white (my preference) and the creme color (his presence). In that great accent of his - must have creme thawb - you be very handsome! 

An eight-hour difference, new experiences, and I’m still alive and breathing
The experience of a lifetime that terminates in only ten days with my leaving.

#10 The Souq

Another week has come and gone in this, my three-month professional assignment. Funny how you just acclimatize to your situation where ever you find yourself. As I noted in my Timor Blog in the past, I was always apprehensive, and fearful of moving, and respected anyone that could just pick up and move to a different city/country for whatever reason. However as I learnt from my time in Timor, and now my time here, you realize that people (I include myself now) just adapt. Whether by choice or other reasons you accept your decision or fate and learn to accept your situation as best you can. I am in no way comparing my situation to this, but you need only to look back through the history of man and see countless examples of people adapting, usually though as a result of of mans injustice to each other: slavery, that unfortunately still exist, the migration of Christians from Egypt 3,000 years ago, the serfs of medieval Europe, or soldiers far away from home living for long periods in terrible conditions and in a constant state of fear or terror.

I think back to when I arrived, and where I am now and it seems like so long ago. Initially timid to go into the unknown, not knowing or fearing what might happen, and being disoriented every time I get in the car despite the GPS. Now, after only a couple of months, there is no-where I will not venture in this huge city of some five or six million people. While it is still easy to be turned around driving with U-turns as part of the traffic landscape and the continuous construction everywhere, I now have a sense of where I am, and which way I need to go to get home. I play a game: I start going home on my own and if I cannot seem to get it right, bail out to the lazy man's map, the GPS, and hit the “go home” button. One thing that is disorienting about this city unlike most I have been to; that there is no obvious 'downtown' in which to orient you. Even in the vast urban sprawl of Los Angeles, there is a downtown which you can orient yourself with. In Riyahd, there is no downtown per se. I have mentioned the financial center before, which is half built, that we pass every day to work (some 34 buildings of various heights in this grand Utopian ideal of what a large commercial development should look like). If you’re interested google KAFD for King Abdulla Financial District). Everything is being built at the same time with hundreds of construction derricks crowning the top of each building. A few kilometers away you find the Riyahd Center (aka the can opener some 70 stories tall). There are tall buildings dotting the landscape of this city with no particular area of congregation.

Forging out on my own last Saturday was a case in point. I set out to find this souq I stumbled upon about 25 or so kilometers from where we live. I had found this place by accident a few weeks previously, on one of my aimless drives. Speaking of aimless drives, not only do people travel at rapid velocities, park anywhere with the vehicle running to keep the AC going, driving around isn’t given much thought when petrol is less than 20 cents/litre. People routinely drive to other destinations in the Kingdom without thought to fuel burn. Who cares about public transport when it is so cheap to drive?

I didn’t lose my Friday; on the contrary, Friday was my second Visa reset. If you remember from last time, one of the requirements of my 180-day Visa is that I leave the country every 30 days, I guess to verify that I didn’t get lost in the desert somewhere? Last time I took the opportunity to stay in Dubai for two nights and see a bit of the city. However, that one experience made me realize what a lot of the other guys do: make it a day trip to preserve some of our precious weekend. Despite the short flight to DXB (about an hour and a half), with immigration on either side and being international the requirement to be early to the airport, I spent more time in airports or on a plane than actually seeing the city I went see. So this time based solely on flight times I booked a quick flight (one hour) on Gulf Air. I left the villa at about 10:45am and returned to the villa by 6pm. My destination was Bahrain (a tiny island nation close to Qatar, in the Persian Gulf) which hosted the Bahrain F1 Grand Prix the previous weekend. Never leaving the airport once in Bahrain, I had about 2 hours on the ground before boarding my flight home. Good news was, for some reason they bumped me up to business class. While a nice perk there is little point for such a short flight, no booze (we hardly leave Saudi air space), and only time for a quick wrap to eat. Once on the ground I had only one task: find a real beer. Like airports anywhere in the world though real beer does not come cheap – about $10/beer, damned if I cared after having only two real beers in three months (at a Cdn Embassy function). One place it was 7 Dinar for two (1Cdn = 3.1BD), the other place was 37SR or $12. Bahrain’s claim to fame in this region of the world is that it is truly open in terms of what is and isn’t restricted in the city. Unlike all of the other Muslim countries in the region, alcohol, and the seedier things of life (strip clubs, some gambling) is not restricted in any way. In Dubai for example, larger hotels have bars for alcohol consumption but no retail outlets in which to buy it (I’m sure there is some way for people to get alcohol I just don’t know how), no strip joints (underground probably) and no race tracks to gamble on ponies.

Speaking of short flights I saw a Qatar Airlines Boeing 777-300 (a beautiful bird) which are usually utilized on long haul flights, and can fly 12 – 14 hours continuously, was boarding for Doha (Qatar Capital) a flight of about 37 minutes. I don’t know for sure but I would think a plane like that uses more fuel taking off than worth the trouble. However, the great irony of global air travel is airlines are tied permanently to their home country due to airline regulation. They can only make two or three stops in another country before having to land at the home airport. If you want to fly almost anywhere on Emirates (Dubai’s Airline) you will go through Dubai to get there. That's why you always know the airline people use to get here from North America: Luftansa (via Frankfurt or Munich), Air France (Paris), British Air (Heathrow), you get the idea. Either way my Visa resets are now finished. Next time I see the airport will be for my journey home, oddly enough about the same time for another reset had my contract been longer. 

One last note on airports; I shared with you on a previous blog, a picture of two teen girls whose faces were pixeled out in a shopping mall. Well I noticed at the airport going to Bahrain the women’s washrooms signs are the same, though less so to ensure you can tell which washroom is which. Either way I find the washrooms signs in the Riyahd airport in general quite funny:

Now back to the souq. Thankfully, I did remember (adventuresome maybe, stupid not so much) to mark the location in my GPS with the intent to return later. This souq is a crazy place and covers a huge area where merchants of every stripe selling their wares. You can buy new and used clothing that are sometimes just stacked in heaps or neatly organized on hangers, shoes of all styles (including the sandals I bought to wear with my thawb for 30SR), air conditioners, appliances, tools, furniture and carpet dealers, to name a few. All in an environment choked with cars, scooters, and foot traffic. Horns are used liberally as people park their cars everywhere and anywhere without apparent worry as too hindering traffic flows. Loud, busy, chaotic is what I find fascinating and just wondering about is entertainment enough. I did have a specific task this trip: find a thawb for my 13-year-old nephew. I didn’t want to spend a lot on it as he would he grow out of it quickly, and being the age he is, might try it on once and that would be the end of it. I have already secured the appropriate Saudi wear for his parents, so we will all be decked out Saudi style on what my brother and I call Dexter nights. This is a long standing event we have been doing for about 10 years now, in which every second Friday I go over to their place and all of us watch some selected shows (it started with Dexter and hence the name) along with a few cocktails (less my nephew of course). In any case, I find this souq again (with the help of the GPS I admit) and start my task. In one area of this souq, there are ramshackle roofs set up (with tarps and such) over quite a large area where clothes of all types are available, including a lot of thawbs. As noted, with the exception of tailored thawbs (yes like suits or dress shirts), the sizing is the length from shoulder to ankle, and then small, medium, large, XL, etc. to fit the girth of the individual. I secured a 45” M for my nephew and a pair of shorts for myself (in addition to the full-length pajama type bottom I already had) all for 18SR or less than $6, and of course, the 3SR to first have them washed and pressed at the dry cleaners. I wanted to get the short version of the under-thawb accessory because it is a little cooler and that way I didn’t always have to ensure I had clean white underwear. As these garments are quite thin, any other colour underwear quickly shows through. Unlike at home where women will sometimes deliberately wear something shear that you can see through, here that is not the look you covet - no surprise. Ironically, women here don’t have that problem, as abaya’s are always black and thicker than the white thawbs worn by men. The other interesting location of this souq is that it is anchored on either side by a Mosque, so if your timing is correct you are shopping to the sound of the call to prayer chants from two different Mosques. The video included below gives you some idea of the souq and the chant (which is something you here anywhere in the city several times a day).

In the picture below note the two black figures (it is actually three - you just can't tell as the blacks blend together) at the rear of the frame - that is three women in full Saudi regalia who I assume have responsibility for this mess of used clothing. A fitting metaphor in this country as the women hide in the shadows. This was a risky picture, as photographing women is, as my friend Ahmed will remind me, is "red line", don't do it. In fact when he was showing me a picture of his 9 month old son on his phone I said do you have a picture of your wife? A shake of the head and a reminder that this is not done in Saudia. Absurd by our standards certainly, but an accepted practice here.  

Rugs anyone?

Note the park of the white car which now denies two way traffic.

The previous night (Thursday – or like a Friday to westerners) was also entertaining. Our Managing Director Mark was in town for a short visit on his way to Japan for other work. After work, as is usual we went to Vern’s for ‘choir practice’ which was well attended that particular night with most of the team showing up all cramped up in a what became a small courtyard area in the back of his villa. Whether it was Mark himself or the free pizza he ordered for everyone that brought out most of the team I won’t comment on. Either way it was another good kickoff to the weekend. A little later, when some of the team left to go home, a handful or so of us left to another guy’s villa, and conveniently next door to a British expat and fellow beer brewer. Fellow brewer as the guys villa we went to afterwards also makes beer. Mark (the British guy) has his back courtyard set up like a little bar, complete with bar, patio lanterns, and a hand painted plaque his buddy painted for him declaring that you are now at the “Thirsty Camel”. There we had some palatable beer, and Mark (our Mark this time, not the proprietor of the Thirsty Camel), being a fan ordered up four shisha pipes for our smoking pleasure. 

If you have read my last blog, I mentioned a new restaurant had opened in our compound, and while commendable for their effort, I was dubious of its survival given the relatively small population upon which to draw business. Unfortunately, their start was not good. First off was that some other people I had yet to meet also showed up at the Thirsty Camel, who, wanting to support the new restaurant went for dinner. While there was no complaint about the food, the service was terrible, a long wait, and when food was ready, it was not ready at the same time. Hence, some of the party was half or more finished their meal when another meal was served. Our new restaurant, we were pleased to find out, also provides shisha pipes and flavored tobacco, which would be delivered to our villa when ready. This is significant as for some reason shisha use is prohibited within city limits. Apparently, outside the city limits these establishments abound. Well the wait was horrendous with some people making reconnaissance missions to see what the problem was. The highly anticipated pipes did finally make an appearance some 2.5 hours after being ordered. Again not the way you want to start off a new venture. Not an auspicious beginning – and I fear a quick end in sight! Thankfully my alcohol consumption was in control that night versus the previous weekend’s abuse of bad wine, and after smoking too much, wandered home sometime a little before midnight.

Notwithstanding the long wait, I did get a tip from a South Dakotan schoolteacher I met (also with a shaved head) that I must visit one of the Turkish barbers that have set up shop in Riyahd. It just so happened very conveniently located to one of the groceries stores we frequent. So prior to going to the souq, I found one of these Turkish barbers to have myself cleaned up. As Nick had promised me, a nice shave of my head and face was done with a straight razor. Unlike an Italian barber I visited in Winnipeg, some time ago, whom I found deliberately as he was one of the few barbers that still used a straight razor. Emeri, my Turkish barber did not use hot towels and the like. First, it was some spray on solvent followed with a gel not unlike hair goop that he applied first to my head then face (maybe it was but it worked). Emeri was a nice young guy probably in his early thirties who had been in Riyahd for a half dozen years or so (his English wasn’t the best). His technique fascinated me – a quick, careful swipe of the razor quickly followed by a quick swoop of his finger along the same path to test that it was free of the offending whiskers. I’m sure his finger was sore after doing both my head and face. While not required on the head, after my face was scraped clean he padded on some fine, soothing powder (almost like baby powder). With that left on, he picked up an electric razor with flexible mesh head on it and proceeded to run that all over my head and face to pick up any residual traces of stubble the razor couldn’t. What was neat was how he pulled and otherwise prodded my skin is various ways to ensure a solid contact was made by the electric razor. That done, it was then a quick trim of my eyebrows, ears and nose hairs (why do these hairs only appear in great quantity, as you get old?) I was complete and feeling fresh. The cost of this wonderful service that took the better part of any hours was 50SR (with 10SR tip), or about $15. A bargain for sure, next time I will try another barber (for a valid statistical sample) as there was a few within walking distance from the one I went into.

On a final note as I conclude this tenth blog as the weather is rapidly getting warmer, and staying warm. My desire to see 40 C seems just about here, as yesterday it got to 39 C. When I left for work the other day (at 6:10am), it was still 26 C. It must have been windy over night as the illuminated freeway signs flashed: SLOW DOWN – SAND STORM. It was hazy for sure, though not sure if it was any worse than other times. Sandstorms, another reminder that I’m not in Kansas anymore.

Palm trees, dates, and camels oh my!

Just where in the the hell am I?

#9 Saudi Life

It’s April suddenly and realize that time really does fly – more so when you having fun, but this is a work assignment so that limits some of the “fun”. I am continually amazed though how chunks of time slip by without even realizing it has. On the flip side immediate bits of time (like waiting for a plane for example) move painfully slow. Ironic isn’t it, that as you get older the faster the time goes by. When I signed up for this journey, everyone said the same thing – three months is nothing. Even if you hate it (which I don’t) three months will be done before you know it. Being the accountant, I like quantifying it: if I was 30 months old, 3 months is 10% of my existence (no accident I chose those times to make the math easy). By contrast, at my rapidly advancing age, it represents less than 1% of my time on this vast planet. No matter how the experience was soon it will be time to set my sights forward and start packing and saying goodbye to this little excursion of my professional life.

While back home people are hoping desperately that spring will finally arrive, and get rid of the large amount of snow that has accumulated in this winter from hell, in Riyahd we have found spring. Unlike the climate I left, spring here is not a rebirth of life after 6 months of dormancy, rather a transition season as the temperatures start to warm continually on its relentless march to the extreme 50c temperatures routinely reached in July and August. Someone who has been here for the summer described it: point a hair dryer at your face, turn it on high, and turn it on. Surfaces that are in the sun are painful to the touch, so using the ladder to get out of the pool is not advisable. In fact, the pool here is both heated and cooled, as a result. Spring here means the weather is more variable or in transition – with stronger winds and variable temperatures. Wind, not enjoyable any time is worse here as it stirs the sand into dust that hangs in air. What I speculated earlier about being smog (though undoubtedly an issue) maybe is not the whole problem. I went for a walk the other day at lunch and realized that as the wind blows, it stirs the sand and drifts as the snow does at home; road curbs at the correct angle all have sand accumulated along its length. Visibility is also affected, sometimes drastically so. I use the financial center as a reference point which we pass everyday to work, which we can see from the 11 floor cafeteria window in our complex. On some days though, it is gone, covered by a gray fog where visibility is limited to a couple of hundred meters. Even walking (with sunglasses) can be disturbing in that little grains of sand find their way into your eyes.

Notwithstanding the summer extremes, which I will not experience, I have enjoyed the weather. Usually warm in the day and most times a warm, dry evening. It seems we have turned the corner on the transition season as the weather is warming every day (a forecast of 37c later in the week) and the winds have calmed down. I'm sure I will see 40+ before I have to exit this country. Case in point - I have been dutifully swimming every day after work, and never has the weather stopped me (only my own procrastination). That said I had to miss three days due to a heavy rainstorm. It rained heavily for a few hours complete with thunder, and all the sand that I mentioned which hangs in the air comes out of the air with the rain. As a result, everything gets dirty; cars, windows, and in my case, the pool turns to the color of a bad, unappetizing soup. After ensuring that the pool had not been shocked, or whatever you do to pools, I couldn’t stand it and succumbed to the need to exercise. Good news is that my skin did not spontaneously peel from my bones; bad news is it is still very cloudy (making the front crawl difficult when you can’t see bottom). The tennis court did not escape this scourge either, as it was blanketed with a fine dusting of sand, which necessitated a power wash to clean up. The other reason why I enjoy the weather is that the winter at home has (apparently confirmed) been the coldest in some 100 years.

Whether because of the heat or the wind the thawb again displays why it is the go to garb in the Middle East. With the exception of it bunching up between your legs as you walk into the wind it provides great circulation. A buddy at work wondered what the thread count might be on a thawb (knowing that I am into quality linens) and while I don’t know for sure I’m sure, with these garments less thread count is better, as this allows the air to better penetrate the garment and keep its wearer cool.

I have noticed that as you move east the thawb evolves into a two-piece garment. In India and Pakistan, for example the men wear a kurta (a short thawb type garment down to the thighs) with either a pajamas type bottom or a lungi or dhoti. Lungi being just something that wraps around the waist (I have a few of these wonderful garments from my time in India) while the dhoti is like the lungi only it is wrapped around your hips, then looped between the legs. While you see lots of kurta’s here, (one way to distinguish the Saudi men from other nationalities) very few lungi’s and dhotis’. Like the picture below of a man with both kurta and dhoti. As you move into the tropics shirts, become optional.

That is one of the neat things about living in a different culture – is the forms of dress can vary widely. While many people do wear western style clothing, a majority of people are wearing the thawb (Saudi’s), or the kurta and of course, the women covered in their abaya’s.

In addition to the different dress codes, common things we take as normal at home are not here. Slang I have come to realize is regional. Common phrases we use don’t translate to people here, be it due to language or region. For example – don’t rock the boat, catch 22, are met with blank stares, just today I was talking to one of my Phillipino counterparts and said deer in the headlights look which he returned with that expression back at me. There are no deer or similar creatures it seems to hit in the Philippines. 

Other terms of speech at which you must be more cautious of are things that may have religious connotations; for example, there is no Christmas or Easter observed. The curse Jesus Christ! does not mean much here, as are any names of saints – a Christian concept. Thankfully, I have my own personal guide in assisting me to negotiate between the Christian and Muslim worlds. One of my main contacts here is Ahmed (the gentlemen that took me out to get the thawb and the great traditional Saudi lunch), and my guide of good and bad in terms of my actions. We get along well and thankfully tolerates my ignorance of such matters, and does not get upset with me as a result. He has a saying harem (not as we think of as bunch of belly dancers in a tent) more as HARR-m – or as he translates to me: la la la (no, no, no) red line as he waves his hands in that gesture of no good (again the saying crossed the line does not translate in Arabic). For example the other of my main contacts (Ahmeds boss) was just promoted to Department Manager (unlike Mother Hydro, a Division Manager is lower than a Department Manager) and I got the red line sign from Ahmed when I did the big bow and chanted We are not worthy, we are not worthy. Khaled to whom I was doing this for was amused thankfully.

As has become a bit of a custom for me on the weekends, I like to go for an exploratory drive (at 17 cents/litre why not!). Last weekend was no exception; as the coffee machine in my villa sprung a leak, I either walk to or drive to the nearest McDonald's for my coffee. This time I drove and ended up going for quite a drive south and west of the city out into the countryside. While not intended, I ended up in the valley below the cliffs where we were a few weekends ago – the so called: edge of the world. 

Some things I noted in my drive; similar to driving to Lake of the Woods back home, is you appreciate the engineering effort needed to carve through a harsh landscape to build a highway. Carving roadways provides a unique challenge in this environment, as it does going through the Canadian Shield. As I noted previously it is not fine sand here, rather a gravel/rock earth that is very dense, and what you need to do is either chip away at it with a pneumatic spike on the front of a track hoe, or blast it. Either way it makes for some spectacular vista's as roads carve through man made cliffs through the desert.

Highways are very good here, another benefit of oil wealth, and they make sure you can get to anywhere you need to be in the Kingdom by car or truck. The particular highway I was on also was a busy truck route. In the city, the trucks are limited to how fast they can go (annoyingly so) however I was shocked when, as I was cruising down the highway at 120kph a bright new black Mercedes tractor-trailer comes behind blasting his very load bullhorn to move aside. He must have been going 130 kph or more (I tried to shadow behind him but he was too fast and stirred up way to much dust). He was indeed blast happy as I heard him use that horn frequently as he barreled on ahead of me. As the picture above intends to show is how the highway descends beautifully into the valley below. As a precaution before this descent, there was a kilometer long queue of trucks waiting their turn at a checkpoint prior to the decent. I panicked wondering what my fate was (thankfully there was a car line so I didn’t have to wait for the trucks) but realized that has happened before, when they see you are a white guy they quickly wave you through.

The pictures are at this checkpoint, that has this great statue depicted something important I'm sure. As the info signs are all in Arabic I couldn't figure anything out. Once in the valley below, and realizing where I was, I tried to scan the roadside for entry to get closer to the base of those cliffs, which only a few weeks’ pasts I stood at the top of.

You may think it not so difficult with the vast areas of nothing but it seems like many areas have fences restricting any access. Finally, though, I did find an access point and started to drive along a desert trail going towards my destination. Perhaps the fences are to keep the camels at bay, like our cattle fences at home. I did came across camels and even had to stop because they stood their looking at me in the middle of the road (camel in the headlights??), horns not deterring their position. Camels behind me, I unfortunately came to a point where I could no longer risk the journey without a 4-wheel drive and had the sense to stop (the lost in the desert scenario was vivid in my mind). This was the end of the road for me. I ended up at where I assume the camel guy stays as there was a traditional desert tent set up where my journey ended. I even had a visit by some guy going to that spot who I assume had some connection to this location. We tried to converse but given my extreme lack of Arabic, to no avail. I did get the sense he wasn't all to thrilled, or why I was where I was. Unfortunately, continuation of that journey will have to wait for another time in a more appropriate vehicle.

On my way out on that desert pass, I did come across what was at one time a traditional homestead. Very interesting, I only wish it was better preserved to see more detail (a time when guides are invaluable). What struck me was how tiny the rooms and doorways were in this traditional clay & straw brick house.

After that drive and a few wrong turns on the return journey, I did make it home.

Back at home, while I still could not swim still, I went down to the pool area to enjoy the sun and look for company. Paul, one of my Irish buddies was there, so my company for the afternoon was found. Turns out I got way more than bargained for. As happens in many expat conversations, booze was a big topic – what is nicer than a cold beer poolside? Paul tells me that the guy that runs the little store in our compound also sells wine under the table. We had to wait a bit of time as Friday is the big religious day here – with virtually no services available until about 1:30 or 2pm – we knew it was time when we saw someone coming back from the store with their dry cleaning. It reminded me of a skit from SNL or something; first rule, be discreet, so wait till no one else is in the store then ask Moondi (I think – always difficult to decipher the exact name) quietly mention that you have some wine? After he acknowledges you with a sly smile he goes around to the vegetable cooler where he sells a limited selection of vegetables, pulls out the carrots and ginger root boxes, reaches back and pulls a two liter former Pepsi bottle out of red wine – 100SR later (expensive – but 2 litres!) Paul and I are in business. He gets some juice and diet 7-up to take off the edge and then the drinking begins. No sooner had we finished the first, that another one of our group joins in and our little party continued with two more bottles making a quick appearance and disappearance. Big mistake: one, because getting drunk on wine is never a good idea, and two I had the worst hangover of all time and kept a low profile inside my villa all day with the exception of going out to get something greasy to eat. Another one of those I will never drink again scenario's that go through your head countless times when you wake up. I sure the hangover was exacerbated by the fact that I have not been drinking (with a few exceptions) for almost three months. That said, it turned out to be a great day though I paid the price, a price I deserved to pay the next day. Here are a few pictures where the incident occurred and before it got ugly, except for one picture - I will let you guess as to which one that is!

This is a picture of the pool area in our compound ready for the party. 

The occasion for the balloons and such was because since I arrived there was an area that once had a restaurant, but closed sometime ago. Someone else has decided to give it a go so they decorated the area for the restaurant (named Lulu), hired a music man and otherwise made a little party of the grand opening. 

The shot below are some of the locals that head up this venture. While their intentions are good, I just don't think our compound is big enough to support it. By comparison we are about 100 villa's, whereas some other compounds can be up to 1,000 or more villas.

So silly and stupid we get with the drink,
If you only stopped first to think!