#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.