Part 30

It's early in the morning and in a few hours I fly from Dammam to Athens via Doha. I insist taking a taxi, but my friend says it is too dangerous too take a cab due to the horrible driving style of the  cabbies. I should order a limousine instead. But the cost is considerably more and I do not want to pay a lot more of what I'd pay for a taxi ride. What is going to happen to me? Since I remain stubborn, my friend decides to drive me to the airport. The trip from Al Khubar takes three quarters of an hour and leads us through desert landscape.
When we arrive we say goodbye to each other and I drag my luggage for check-in. There it's as always weighed, my passport and my ticket checked and suddenly I'm looked at by officials. I am frightened and think what does he want from me now?
"Sir, you have excess weight. Take this ticket and go to the desk around the corner to pay the fine and then come back."
Crap! This is expensive. So I go around the corner as I was ordered and give the ticket to a man.
"That makes 480 Riyal" says the man after having looked at the ticket and typed something into his computer.
"Really, so much? How many kilos are we talking about?"
"Seven."
Heck, it's the shit textbooks!" Can I remove something from my suitcase to make it easier?"
"No, it's too late!"
"Your tossers!"
"Ha?"
"Nothing. Can I pay by card? "
"No. But over there is an ATM."
"Shit!"
So I stroll to the ATM and withdraw 500 Rial. I pay the fine, get a stamp on the piece of paper and return to the first desk. There I hand in the ticket and receive a boarding card. I look at the boarding card and realise that a) I have only one instead of two and b) Doha is standing on it. What about the connecting flight? I ask for a second boarding card and get the answer that I will get it in Doha. Hmm ... there's something wrong. I do not like this.
I go through a few checks and half an hour later I'm sitting in an almost empty plane. An uneasy feeling accompanies me all the time and tells me that today I will not arrive in Athens. At the same time bothers me that I had to pay for excess weight almost 100 Pounds. My feeling tells me that the tossers will pay for it.
The flight is comfortable and because we are very few passengers, the service is impeccable. We arrive in Doha with a 15 minutes delay. I speed to the gate to Athens. There awaits me an endlessly long queue. Crap! I go on over to the Steward and explain to him my situation with the one boarding card. He tells me to queue up and then go to the lady farther back. She will help me. When it's my turn I go to the said lady. She looks at my passport and my ticket, types something into her computer, shakes his head and says: "Unfortunately there is a problem. Take your passport and ticket and go over there to the helpdesk. "
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Go to the help desk, where you will be helped."
Superb! Not even a response you get.
When I arrive at the help desk I see that there are only three desks and all of them are pretty busy. I turn my head and see three more desks where almost nothing is going on. At the first one there are five people, at the other just two people are being served. I line up behind those two and wait. As they are still not done after five minutes, I go to the front, throw my passport and ticket on the desk's surface and say: "My plane to Athens is leaving in 45 minutes. Will I be on it or not? And if not, why?"
The lady looks at me, takes my documents, types something in her computer and tells me the plane is overbooked and I'll stay here today because there is no other flight until tomorrow morning.
Superb! I imagine as Tom Hanks stranded at the airport.
"Wait a little and I will help you further."
Ten or so minutes later she's done with the two people and devotes her full attention to me. She types something, looks at me and says: "We are sorry sir, but do not worry because the policy of Qatar Air foresees a compensation in such cases."
And suddenly disappear all the storm clouds, the sun comes out, birds begin to sing and a big smile appears slowly on my face while I hear what the lady tells me.
"You are entitled to a free night stay with dinner and breakfast and free transfer. Additionally, you can choose whether you want to have a check over $250 or would you prefer to upgrade to Business Class. The check you can exchange anywhere in the world within a year. Until we have found you a hotel room, you can sit in the Business Lounge and we will come and pick you up when we're done."
I am totally perplexed about the splendid news and consider briefly: The dollar is currently very weak against the Pound and Euro. Who knows whether there are exchange fees and how much they are. If the plane was overbooked today, then the one tomorrow morning is likely to be full as well. Five hours cooped up in the economy class? No, I prefer Business class.
The lady gives me a ticket for the lounge and shows me the way. As I arrive at the lounge, I get an odd look, because I appear in jeans, grey GEOX sneaker and a burgundy-colored hooded sweatshirt from the University of Hull. When I show my ticket for the lounge, the gentlemen are at once extremely friendly. Clothes make the man, isn't it? That's right. Inside, it is like the land of plenty. There is food and drinks and everything is for free. I go through the buffet and eat a little bit of everything and then go over to the sofas and chairs with tables in front and make myself comfortable. I take out my laptop and immerse myself in my e-mails. There are ​​no annoying announcements, so you can easily lose track of time in this peculiar relaxing atmosphere and thus miss your plane. Eventually the lady from the help desk comes and asks me to follow her. I obey and follow her. When we arrive at the help desk, she hands me a ticket for the hotel, the boarding pass for tomorrow morning and tells me how everything will proceed. Since I need my luggage, she phones around a bit and organises it for me. Then she takes me into a hall where already a few other stranded wait and leaves. A few minutes later, a bus comes and picks us up and brings us all to the other side of the airport. There I walk through some check points and straight into an office to clarify that with my luggage. There, I am told that the luggage will be taken to the hotel in the afternoon. Then I go through another check point. In the hall behind it are representatives of many hotels. I go to my representative and show them my ticket. The man says I should wait until a) he organises a taxi and b) a few other passengers come. As I stand in the middle of the hall I notice that the women here are wearing an abaya and a headscarf but have no veil over their face. Fascinating and needs getting used to. Even their abayas come in many colours and are not black only as in Saudi.
Finally, the man comes back and brings a few people with him. Then we walk across the street to a taxi that drives us to the hotel. After five minutes we are there. We get out and go to the reception desk. The hotel is a modern glass palace in an office and hotel area. I feel slightly disappointed. At the reception, an employee is waved and leads me to my room. We go with the elevator to the 12th floor. The man unlocks the door for me and leaves. I step in, and my eyes widen in surprise. Why? Have a look at the photos below! To the right of the entrance there is a toilet. Before me stretches a long and wide space. It contains: A table with mirror. A bar with coffee maker and kettle. A flat screen TV. A living room set. A dining table. Where is the bed? In the other room. I walk into the other room and discover a very large bedroom with a large bathroom, sofa with stunning views. The wardrobes are located along a small corridor. Wow! Thank you Qatar Air!

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                                My suite

Part 29

It's Sunday late morning when I wake up and I'm still dreaming of the midnight picnic in the desert. My British colleague is already awake and packing. I need something to eat. After showering, I go search for the others. Some have already gone for breakfast, a few are still here packing. We go to the nearest shop and buy something for breakfast. Then we go to the suite of Bengalis and have a leisurely breakfast. Sadness is surrounding us. Then we say goodbye. My colleagues go later in the evening to Mecca for a few days. And the Brit is flying to Cambodia.
I'm going to Al Khubar to the east coast near Dammam to visit an old friend whom I have found after many years on LinkedIn. Originally, I wanted to travel by train. There is one train line in Saudi linking Riyadh with Dammam. Also, the trains are very luxurious and fast. They have a system like the airplanes. You have to check in your luggage, you may take only certain kilos, there are different classes to choose from and at the end of the journey you collect your luggage like in an airport. Hand luggage is allowed. In addition, it is very convenient to travel by train. Unfortunately for me, it is holiday time and it's all booked up. Since I do not want to fly, I decide to take the bus. There are VIP buses that pick you up at the hotel or wherever you are and deliver you at your final destination at the front door. In the bus, there are more or less half of the seats of a normal bus and a comfort is offered like in a First- or Business class of an airplane. Indeed, it is expensive, but I want to treat myself. Unfortunately, no one answers the phone. I try it ten times and give up. So the normal bus remains.
I go to the bus station by taxi. I flag down a taxi outside the hotel and ask how much it costs. The taxi driver looks at me and calls an overpriced price. I negotiate like crazy, but he does not go down. Then comes along another cab and I flag it down. Again the same game. I urge to go by the meter and the driver agrees. At the end of the half-hour ride it costs me about 8 Pounds Sterling. At the bus station, some Asians are waiting with luggage trolleys. For two riyals, about 40p my luggage is transported for me. The Asian man takes me to the ticket counter and because I'm in a hurry and don't want to miss the bus that leaves in a few minutes, he goes to the counter and tells the ticket seller something I do not understand. Then he turns around and asks for the money. I pay and get my ticket. Then we run through the hall to the bus. At the bus I'm one of the last ones to get on it. Here I give the Asian a good tip for his service and get on through the back door. Barely in, I see that it is full. That'll be a hell of a ride! On the ticket is no seat number. I look around for a free seat, but already I hear the driver call: "Doctor! Doctor!" He makes a gesture to indicate that I should move forward. He sends an Arab to the back and places me behind the driver's seat. Next to me is a Pakistani and directly opposite his wife and daughter.
The journey begins. We drive through the desert. Approximately 300 miles nothing but desert. It is gorgeous and stunning. I am as happy as a little kid and I'm probably the only one who feels like this on the whole bus.
I am talking for a while with the Pakistani and he provides me with cool drinks from the cooler of the bus that is the front of the seats of his wife and daughter. Eventually we both fall asleep. After three hours the driver drives off the motorway for a break. There is a service station in the middle of nowhere. There is a mosque, a tea shop, a small supermarket and a restaurant with a snack bar. I want to eat something, but there is only Kabsa. So I refrain from it. The passengers go to different directions. Some go to pray, others for tea and others to eat. I go for a little walk and enjoy the views. Then an African comes along and starts a conversation. He is from Eritrea, he says, studying in Riyadh and is now on the way to Dammam to visit some friends. He wants to know about me and asks if I know where Eritrea is. Yes, I know. When I tell him that I have a sponsor child in Ethiopia, he looks at me with big eyes. Readers of my novel "At Night ... .." (in English available towards the end of the year - so far available in German under the title 'Nachts.....'), know the story. The driver is calling us to gather and continue the journey.
Again three hours later we arrive in Dammam. There I go out of the station in search of my friend coming to pick me up. In front of the entrance are taxi drivers who call all sorts of names of cities: Riyadh! Mecca! Medina! Everything in the middle of nowhere. Are there really people who want to be driven 1000+ Miles in a taxi? Then I discover my friend. We go first to eat something at the heart of Dammam. We go to a steak house. All noble in there, a whole other world. A Western world, nothing like Ar'ar. Also, the prices are more western oriented. With about 10 - 13 Pounds per person, it is still cheaper than in Europe, but much more expensive than in Ar'ar. Then we drive to the compound where he lives. It's my first time in a compound. I have read and heard a lot about it, but now I must say I am disappointed. Nice to have a pool outside the front door, possibly a fitness centre, a snooker room, etc, but that looks too sterile. In addition, here live only Westerners. There is no contact with Arabs and the Arab world. Not like we were in Ar'ar, where we lived with the Arabs.
The next two days pass quietly. Since my friend has to work, I'm until the early afternoon alone. I go for a little walk in the area, but discover nothing interesting.
In the afternoon we go out to eat in a restaurant. Western chain. I do not want to reveal its name. Here I see a tremendous difference to Ar'ar. As it is prayer time, we are not asked to leave the premises. The door is locked, the curtains are drawn, and inside is business as usual. Oh! The same I experience again a day later. Apparently this is normal here.
Then we meet a friend of my friend. We pick him up at the Sheraton Hotel. While we wait in the parking lot we marvel at all the Ferraris, Maseratis, Porsches, Lamborghinis, all in white. When the friend is finally here we drive around a bit, go for coffee or tea and go to the Corniche and drive through a luxurious residential area. Gee what palaces are standing here! Since there is most of the oil in the eastern province, many rich and the super rich live here in this area. I feel a little strange. Until yesterday I was in an Arab town in the middle of the desert and now I'm surrounded by luxury. Crazy! And fascinating. I'm in awe and amazement and can't get out of it.

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Part 28

It is afternoon, we are all in our suites and some of us are pretty hungry. We are pondering whether we should go eat something or not. It is planned that we go later to the desert for a picnic. Just when this takes place, we do not know exactly. Our Big Boss from Canada and the Filipino have brought us to our accommodation and left soon after for God knows where. We do not know where they are. One of us takes his phone and tries to reach the Filipino. Unfortunately, he does not respond. Then he tries the Big Boss. After a while he answers and gives us a vague answer, without mentioning any time. We translate his words as follows: It will be long before we are back. So we decide to walk to the nearest store and buy something to eat.
In fact, it takes a very long time until the Big Boss and the Filipino return to our accommodation. First comes the Big Boss and some time later arrives the Filipino. We finally climb into the cars, (I'm wearing my Arab thobe, which pleases the staff and the other guests, many photos are taken of me and with me) and I'm happy that we finally go to the desert. But what happens two minutes later? We drive onto the parking lot of the next Carrefour and park there. The Filipino disappears in the store and comes back after half an hour. Then we finally continue.
We drive about half an hour and turn off somewhere. There, another car is waiting for us. The drivers get out, greet each other and get into the cars after two minutes. Then we drive a little in the sand and come to a halt. We're here. We get out, make us acquainted with the driver of the other car, he is a friend of our Big Boss and the Filipino, we unload everything and walk a few yards. Only then we realise where we are and stop all at once. The view is phenomenal! We are not just in the desert, we are on a hill from where you have a magnificent view over Riyadh. The view is breath taking. We go to the end of the hill and lay out and down everything. Fire is made, blankets spread, plates, cups, glasses, food, etc. unpacked. The meat is thrown on the grill, salad and rice are ready and available. We take our shoes off and sit on the blankets. A fresh wind blows around, good that I've also brought a jacket with me.
Then we finally eat. It's midnight and my stomach is growling like crazy. Since there is no cutlery as always, we have a canister of water to wash our hands. Then we eat like hungry wolves. The atmosphere is magical, I'm totally blown away by the vista, the lights in the distance, the sound of the desert wind, the fire, the smell of the food. A bit melancholy is also there, because we will be scattered to the four winds tomorrow. Too bad that our Egyptian colleague is not there. I would have liked to have him here.
After dinner Arabic coffee is being served. The pot is taken out and placed on the fire. Now someone comes up with the idea to sing something. Wow, great! Says a childlike voice inside me. Damn! says another. I'll probably also have to sing and I'm not famous for my huge eight-octave voice.
Colleagues consult what they want to sing while I look into the distance. Then it gets suddenly very quiet and they begin to sing. It is, as with most Muslims a religious song. A beautiful song. Then another colleague sings a love song. They have nice, warm voices which take me into another world. I look alternately into the fire, into the distance and the colleagues. Then I close my eyes and hover in the star-full desert sky. Eventually, as the song comes to an end and all applaud, someone touches my arm and says, come on, now it's your turn!
But I don't want to. I'm trying to get me out of that by saying that I have a terrible voice, etc. However, the colleagues do not give up and suddenly one says that I should be the last one to sing. Then it goes around and the atmosphere is even more magical. It crackles, it's electrifying.
The singing has made me feel tired and powerless. Unfortunately, it's now my turn to sing. What shall I sing? The Bavarian national anthem? Hmm ... Or the European? I take my iPhone out of my pocket and find me on Youtube a karaoke version.

O friends, not these tones!
But let us raise our voices in more pleasing
and fuller of joy.

The colleagues look at me perplexed. I just oil my vocal chords and sing powerfully and undeterred.

Joy, beautiful spark of the gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
We enter fire-drunk,
Heavenly one, your shrine!
Your magics bind again
what custom has strictly parted,
all men become brothers,
Where your tender wing lingers ...

Oh, this is magic, I love this hymn! I don't care if I do not have the right voice for it, I nevertheless continue to sing until the end. Thank goodness my colleagues are excited and I'm glad it's over.
Shortly thereafter, as we are all full, tired and weary, and the desert wind blows with more power into our faces, we decide to pack up and go. Then we need another half hour to get home. The streets are empty and my eyes wander over the past frenzied city lights.
Home at last, I fall into bed dead tired.

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                                Midnight picnic in the desert

Part 27.2

The noise of the road and the voices of the young Arabs make me sleepy and I doze off. Then the bus stops somewhere in a place probably halfway to Rafha. Almost all passengers get out and go in one of the shops around to buy something to eat. Then we stand outside for a while and talk. I start a conversation with the drivers. Both come from Sudan and have been living in Saudi for several years. A few minutes later a few cars stop next to us and a few people get out and drag their luggage to the bus. A few minutes later the drivers call all passengers and the journey continues. Behind me on the last row of seats and opposite me sit some young Arabs. Since they stare at me I try to start a conversation with them. Only one of them knows a few words of English, and this proofs to be more difficult than imagined. They tell me that they are students and are now on the way to Riyadh. They ask me where I'm from, what I do, where I live, etc. After a few minutes however, they have reached their limit, don't know what more to say and ask and have difficulties understanding me, that's why the conversation comes to an end. Then they converse in Arabic and let me listen to my music. A few minutes later one of them shouts: Teacher! Look! And points out the window. A herd of camels. A few minutes later the same: Teacher! Look! A flock of sheep. The whole is repeated a few times and every time there is something to see. Then the others tell him something and he leaves me alone.
I look out the window again, and float away, deep into my thoughts. Their conversation in Arabic makes me sleepy and I travel to the realms of Morpheus.
A few hours later we arrive in Rafha. Next to where the bus stops stand a few taxis waiting for customers. We negotiate with two taxi drivers, load on all luggage and off we go! Although you can see the airport from the bus stop, there is no direct way to it. You have to somehow go around. We arrive after a few minutes, take the luggage from the cargo area and go to the check-in. Unfortunately, the baggage regulations are something bad and create ​​us various problems. You may only carry certain kilos and more than one piece of luggage is not allowed. I have two. One is checked-in, for the other I have to pay about 20 Pounds. Thank God it is not weighed. The Bengalis and the Pakistanis put together all their stuff, so that all suitcases and travel bags weigh about the same and are still within the permissible limit. Everything else is packed in their hand luggage.

Suddenly one of the security guards calls something in Arabic, looks in our direction, pointing to a large suitcase on the x-ray machine. He probably wants to know who it belongs to because he has discovered something suspicious. One of the Pakistani colleagues recognises the suitcase and calls the Brit who is smoking outside. The Brit comes in slowly and slightly annoyed because he had to throw away his cigarette, and waddles slowly towards the security official. The security man points at the suitcase visibly annoyed and upset and demands from the Brit to open the suitcase. The Brit obeys. Then the security man goes through the things of the Brit and finds a few mosquito sprays and deodorants. The are not allowed and must remain there. However, the Brit has something against it, but the officer insists. Then the security man fishes a large wooden cross from the suitcase, looks at it and starts waving around with it and says something in Arabic. The Brit looks at him and says calmly in English: What do you want? This is a cross and not a sword or any other weapon.
Everyone says something in his own language and eventually the official places the cross back into the suitcase. The Brit closes it and is finally allowed to check it in. 
Meanwhile, we are all a couple of feet away looking at the spectacle. When I then start to comment on the whole thing and say something like: Kneel down you wretch! Kneel thou shalt when you stand before the Lord and you little wretch must also repent for your actions! Etc. I cannot help laughing and get pushed forward by one of the Bengalis, so we're out of sight and earshot. We roll with laughter in the waiting room and then I get to hear by my colleagues: "Are you stupid? You could have got us into trouble!" and we laugh more.
We all turn serious as the Brit comes into the waiting area. But he notices that something is going on. After a few minutes we walk across the tarmac to the plane and get on it. I sit next to the Brit and he asks me what happened and why we were laughing. When I tell him the story he has to laugh too.
The flight is without any problems and an hour later we arrive in Riyadh. There we go through checks and endless corridors and put us on a couple of chairs and wait for the Filipino to pick us up. After three quarters of an hour he comes with our Boss from Canada, both in two large, white SUVs and we drive to the hotel where we all spent our first nights in KSA. I share a suite with the Brit. Everyone has a very large room with double bed. We also have a living room, a large bathroom and a kitchen.

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                                Desert

                                Teacher! Look!

Art along the way

                                Colleagues having something to eat somewhere halfway to Rafha.

                                Rafha

                                Our plane to Riyadh.

Part 27.1

It's Saturday very early in the morning. It is the beginning of an extremely long journey. There is a lot of movement in the residence. Apart from the project manager and two teachers who stay behind, all are leaving today.

The day before yesterday, on Thursday, the management arranged a small farewell celebration for us. The manager wanted to thank us for the good cooperation. Our project manager learnt about this somehow and didn't want to let us go. We once again didn't listen to him and went to the celebration. The room was festively decorated and was quite nice. There was plenty of coffee, tea, cake, pie, figs, etc. There were speeches held, photos taken and applause. We also received gifts. A beautiful and touching ceremony.

Yesterday I slept through half the day until noon and I crawled out of bed when the prayer time was over. Then I packed and went shopping with one of the Bengali colleagues, We wanted to buy something for our families. For me it was tea and biscuits. In the evening I was invited to dinner at the Bengalis. Our last supper together had something sad. Soon we will all be travelling in different directions and God knows if we ever meet again.

Now we drag suitcases and travel bags down the hall and down the stairs. I look again wistfully into my apartment before I close the door and go downstairs. Outside it is like every day. The sun is shining and it is pleasantly cool. Slowly all come outside with their baggage, and we gather in front of the residence. The security guards are here keeping us company and saying goodbye to us. Today we do not wait for the bus driver, but for the manager of the Polytechnic. He and someone else will drive us to the bus station. We can't be driven by our driver in the bus we used to go to work with, because our contracts expired and we have no more the right to it. Why no taxis have been ordered, I haven't got a clue. In any event, the Manager has agreed to drive us. Our project manager has, as he heard about it, got a tantrum and screamed for a long time. He wanted to prevent it and forbid us to be driven by the manager. He wanted our colleague who stays behind and has an international driving license, to drive us with the car we have at our disposal. Since we are eight people with a lot of luggage, the colleague would have to drive there and back a couple of times.

Well, we have again not listened to the Project Manager and are now waiting for the manager to come, who is just turning around the corner. He comes with a white pick-up with a large load area. We load our luggage and four of us take place in the car. The rest of our colleagues go with the colleague who stays behind.

At the bus station we unload the pick-up and the manager gets us the tickets to Rafha, from where we will board the flight to Riyadh. The bus ride across the Arabian desert is to last 3.5 hours. Then we say goodbye warmly and wait for the bus. The bus arrives late, who knows where it's coming from. As we get on the bus, we see that only a handful of people are on. We spread throughout the bus and make ourselves comfortable. Then comes one of the two bus drivers and asks for our tickets. The British colleague does not understand what he is asked and does not show him his ticket. The bus driver wants to sell him a ticket and that leads to a misunderstanding and the driver / controller gets angry and raises his voice. Not a good start! Since it is still very early in the morning, all float away into the realms of Morpheus. There are two TVs, on which a BBC animal documentary is shown. English original with Arabic subtitles. I look for some time out of the window and feel magically attracted by the desert. As far as the eye can see there is nothing but desert. From time to time we pass by sheep and herds of camels and sometime appears an oil pipeline along the highway. I take some pictures and immerse in deep thoughts.

It has been a beautiful and intense time and experience. Not always beautiful, sometimes difficult and not nice at all, but on the whole a very interesting experience. It has opened up a window into a completely different and new world. An oriental world that differs in so many ways from our world.

I am accustomed to being a foreigner or to being among foreigners, but here I belong to a minority. Sometimes I feel like Nina Hoss in "The White Masai". She is the only white person among the Africans. Here I am one of the very few whites among the Arabs, Africans and Asians. Being among and working with Africans, Arabs and Asians is nothing foreign to me. As a student in Hull, I had colleagues and supervisors of all stripes. I had somehow missed this experience. You can learn so much about other people, countries, traditions, religions, etc. and you learn a lot about yourself.

Beautiful pictures run through my head, and a few sad and less beautiful. All the trouble, arguments and bad moods with our project manager seem to be at once far away. Blown away by the desert wind, blown away right in the heart of the Empty Quarter. This is where it belongs. The anger, the project manager. Desert wind blow all away, away from us, never to return!

Beautiful pictures are those with my colleagues as we were driving through the city, went shopping, strolled around or went for a picnick, cooked and ate together, and had long conversations. My bicycle tours through the city, my solitary walks, the colours at sunrise and sunset, the clear air and the permeability of the Arabs. Without exception, all were friendly and helpful. I was chauffeured by local people in the car through the city, had to pay less or nothing in cafes and restaurants, people who wanted to have a photo with me or a photo of me, people who gave me a warm welcome and the absolute highlight was the wedding reception. An event that will stay with me forever in memory.

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                                                 My flat

                                Farewell ceremony

                               Waiting for the bus at the station in Ar'ar

                                Bus ride to Rafha

                                            Bengali colleague sleeping

Me in the back seat of a car, driven home by some Saudis. Suddenly one of them turned around and made this photo.