#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!