Riyadh part 4

The day passes slowly and boring. I meet some more shabby looking colleagues from the west whose sole purpose is to earn and safe as much as possible and buy a house back home or do God knows what with it. Well, as a child of immigrants, I can tell you that after a decade in Saudi or abroad, you’ll get a huge culture shock when you’ll get back to your country. You will regret going back and will want to leave again. This happened to my parents and to many others who returned to their home countries after many, many years abroad. One of my colleagues has done the right thing. He converted to islam, married a Saudi woman and seems to be happier than the rest.

At 3.40pm I go downstairs to the hall. Our driver is sitting on a couch next to the entrance. We shake hands and he tells me that there’s a shopping trip planed for this afternoon. Where are we going? I ask. No idea, he says. You get to decide and I drive you there. Alright. The other colleagues arrive and we get on the bus. Now I sit in the very back of the van next to a Pakistani colleague. He’s is one of the well dressed and the best educated. It is a pleasure talking to him. His reason for being here? His wife. She wanted to come to the holy land, to the home of islam. She thought that here she could live a religious life and be a good muslim. Like it is for Christians either the Vatican or Mount Athos. She was shocked to see that things here are quite different from what she had imagined. But both like it here and don’t want to go back.

We arrive home and have half an hour to get ready for the shopping trip. The place chosen by one of the colleagues is called ‘Azizia’. It takes us less then twenty minutes to arrive there and when we do, I notice that it is a small shopping centre and to quote a colleague, a very modest one. There are few shops, mainly for women, a big supermarket and a few food places. We have two hours to do our shopping. So I walk around and discover a shop with mobile phones, tablets, etc. I ask for a data SIM, but the package I’m offered isn’t very good. Just outside this shop is an STC kiosk. STC is something like BT. I ask the man about a data SIM and after some initial comprehension problems we manage to understand each other. He asks me for an IQAMA. I don’t have one. No IQAMA, no SIM. Damn! Usually it works with the passport and the visa. Not here apparently. So I go search for the driver or one of the colleagues. I find the driver and when we get back to the kiosk, the Arab isn’t there. We wait five or so minutes and a man who passes by tells us that he saw the Arab walking around. Probably going to the wash room for the upcoming prayer time. The driver suggests that I go to the supermarket to do my shopping and come back after prayer time.

“What do you mean, do my shopping? Won’t it close during prayer time?” I ask.

“It will” he says, “but you can be inside and fill up your cart”.

“Really?” I ask. “In Ar’ar everyone had to leave the shops and wait outside.

Here in Riyadh some things are different. At least the big supermarkets allow you to do your shopping. What they do is, close the doors so no one can enter or leave the shop while it’s closed for prayer time. You are trapped inside and can fill up your cart. You are not served at the cheese counter. The same applies for fruit and veggies. Nobody there to weigh them. Also no service at the bakery. You do all those things either before or after prayer time. The tills remain closed too.

When you’re done shopping you walk to the tills and wait to see which one opens. The doors open too. A good thing is that you can leave your shopping cart at the reception. You can leave the whole cart, not only bags and continue your shopping in the mall. You get a number like you would do for bags.

After the supermarket, I find the driver and go back to the STC kiosk. The Arab is nowhere to be seen. We wait for ten minutes and then it’s time to go. Damn! No internet again. I’ll have to wait three more days until the next shopping trip.

This blog is available on Amazon:
Theo of Arabia ebook

Theo of Arabia paperback

                                                          My office. One desk, three chairs.

                                           Corridor with offices. The door to the right is mine with my name on it.

                                            The other side. It goes around like in a maze.

                                Our van to work and to the shops.

Riyadh part 3

I still hear the driver’s last words echoing: “No internet, Sir!” I’m still sitting on the massive couch in the living room and think: ‘What a shitty start this is!’ Here I am sitting all alone in a brand new furnished 100 or so sqm. big flat that seems empty despite its furniture. It echoes if you make a noise. I go through the rooms to see what’s there. A bedroom with a wider single bed, another bedroom with a double bed, a big kitchen, the living room, a dining room and two bathrooms. There’s a washing machine in one of them. Placed directly in front of the shower. Who’s idiotic idea was that? Every time I’ll need to take a shower, will the washing machine take a shower too? Won’t it get rusty? What about the power supply? I decide to meet my neighbours and see who they are. I ring the bell next door. After half a minute an Arab looking man opens the door. I introduce myself and we start chatting. He seems to be very nice and gives me a lot of information. He’s also very patient and answers all my questions. However, he keeps the door leaned in a way it is impossible to look inside. This is what they call here ‘protect the family’. You’ll never meet somebody’s wife. You’ll get to know the children only as long as they are small or if they have the same gender as you. Speaking of children, one of his two boys peeps through the door and comes outside and introduces himself. 

After a few minutes, I say goodbye and ring another bell. No one answers the door. I ring the last of the four flats on my floor and again after half a minute an Arab looking man in his thirties opens. In both cases they are not Saudis, but are from the region. This man is smiling and welcoming, but doesn’t seem to have time. Our introducing and small talk ends after a minute. Oh how I wish I were back in Ar’ar or somewhere in the UK where people invite you for tea and especially in Yorkshire they help you with whatever you need and don’t have any issues introducing their entire family to you.

Back in my flat I go once again through all the rooms and look into the wardrobes and cupboards. No iron, no board, no airer. Thank God there are pots and plates and a duvet and some pillows. I go to the windows to check out the view. No view at all. The opposite buildings are within reach. Their windows are directly opposite mine. I don’t get those people here. They make a fuzz about privacy, build walls around their houses so nobody can peek inside their courtyards and take a glimpse at women and kids, and then they come in a newly built area and build the houses very close to each other. 

I switch on the flat TV that’s hanging on the wall and browse through the 1500 channels. Not even a single one is in English. Even BBC, Euronews and CNN are in Arabic. I stop at one Pakistani channel that shows cartoons. Tom & Jerry. Then I decide to unpack. This is going to be a hard and difficult time.

There are big wardrobes to suit the couture of an entire Arab family, but no hangars. I notice that there is nothing to hang your towels in the bathroom either. I’ll have to improvise. As I’m unpacking and putting all my things in the wardrobe and the drawers, I smell food. Someone is cooking something delicious and the smell comes through the kitchen. I am hungry, but I haven’t got anything to eat. Plus, you need bottled water to cook and I’ve got only a 1.5 litre bottle from the hotel fridge. Tap water in this country, not sure about the entire region, is not suitable for cooking and drinking. It’s for washing only. There’s special water for cooking or you can buy bottled water and use it for drinking and cooking. What sounds like a lot of carrying of heavy bottles of water, it’s actually not. There are companies specialised in delivering bottled water. You ring them up, register with them, they come on a day on a specific time, in this house I was told it’s Saturday lunchtime, you pay them 30 pounds the first time and you receive a booklet with 20 vouchers and your first bottle of water. They pass by once a week always on the same day, at the same time. You don’t have to be there if you don’t want to. Just leave the empty bottle with a voucher in front of your door and they’ll replace it with a new bottle. Quite handy especially for families. 

I walk around my flat for a bit. It feels cold, characterless. Even though it’s very modern and brand new, it feels like a prison. Not comfortable, cosy and warm at all. Is it the colours? Is it the size? Is it the emptiness? Is it only me or do the others feel the same way? I sit on the couch and watch a few cartoons. After a while I decide to go to bed. Needles to say that I can’t sleep even though the bed is quite good and big. 

The voice of the muezzin wakes me up early in the morning. I get ready very slowly and go downstairs at 7.20am. The bus arrives a minute later. Bus? It’s rather a van. I introduce myself to the driver. His name’s Ruel and he’s from the Philippines. He’s been in this country for eight years now and can speak Arabic. Not that good as he confesses. There’s another van in front of the building next door. That’s for the women. The other teachers arrive. We introduce each other and everybody gets in. This is where it gets quiet. Nobody speaks. We are seven and five teachers listen to music. Only one who sits at the very back of the van is not listening to music. I’ll sit next to him on the way back. At least here we don’t have a shouting project manager as in Ar’ar. The ride doesn’t last long. Ten or so minutes later we arrive at the Al Yamamah  University. We pass the gate, the security guard stands up and greets the driver and we stop in front of the main building. One of the teachers opens the side door and everyone disappears immediately into the building and walks to the lifts. I follow them. We go up to the second floor and I find the door the HR person told me to look for. He is not here yet, so I wait. He comes and shows me my office. Office? I am shocked when I see what he calls an office. It’s a cubical with a small desk and three chairs in it. No window and when I spread my arms I can touch the walls. No shelves, no PC and bad lightning. The window on the door has my name on it. The HR person tells me that these offices are brand new. They built them during the summer to accommodate the new teachers due to arrive. There are more teachers this year, that’s why they had to build new offices. The HR person is proud and has a smile from ear to ear. I fake one, as I can’t see myself spending much time in here. 

Then we start the paperwork and 9am I have to attend training. It’s four days of training. It’s about the teaching methods they use here and some cultural lessons too. At some point I meet my supervisor, an american who has been here for a few years and he shows me the cafeteria and some other places I need to know. I’m disappointed with the cafeteria. There’s a place called Dr Coffee and a Subway. No restaurant, no proper food. He leaves me there and goes back to his office. As I’m starving, I make do with Subway. I’ve tried to avoid this kind of american “food culture” for many, many years and now here I am at a university in Saudi ordering a footlong sandwich. 

After “lunch”, I try to go back to my supervisor’s office and get lost. Two of my colleagues see me and show me the right way. I find my supervisor and he introduces me to many other colleagues. I can’t memorise all their names and match them with their faces. It’s too much information at once. Information overload as a friend of mine who is a computer engineer says. 

Half the team seems to be from the US and the other half from other countries, mainly from Arab speaking countries and a few are from Pakistan. One is from India and two are from Greece. What they all have in common and what was a requirement to get a job here, is to have some sort of background in a English speaking country. To have studied and / or to have taught English as a foreign language in a English speaking country. Looking closer at my colleagues, I suddenly realise what my shouting and screaming project manager from Ar’ar was saying is correct. He used to say: Who comes not only to this region, but also goes to other countries like China, Japan, etc. to teach? It’s all the scumbags. It’s all the westerners who failed back in their countries and are after the money or don’t want to be unemployed back home or can’t find a job back home because they aren’t qualified enough. When I see those creatures around me, my supervisor included, I can say, yes, he’s absolutely right! Look at the way they’re dressed, look at the way they look. Shabby and losers like my former project manager was saying. Now I start to believe that the game, how to live on hundred bucks a month, is true and not an invention of his crazy mind. The most stylish ones are the Pakistanis and the Egyptians. Also they are the best educated ones. This is something I noticed in other countries and in Ar’ar too. No wonder people in certain countries don’t like people from certain countries. If you have a shabby looking native speaking English teacher who’s only aim is to earn as much as possible and doesn’t give a damn about the local habits and traditions and customs and doesn’t speak a word of the local language after being many years in the country, what picture do the students get? 

As I don’t have anything else to do, I go sit outside in the shadow for some fresh air. Can’t be all day indoors with the A/C on. While I’m sitting there, I think how am I going to learn Arabic? I don’t have a car, the person who is supposed to teach me lives far away and I’m sure he won’t be willing to spend hours driving up and down and I don’t have internet. And if I had, the speed in this country isn’t great. Connection breaks down, sound and video is of bad quality, etc. I’ll have to think of something else, someone else perhaps. 

This blog is available on Amazon:
Theo of Arabia ebook

Theo of Arabia paperback

                                          The entrance to my flat

                                Small bathroom to the left

                                Part II of the small bathroom to the left

                                Dining room to the right

                                Part II of the dining room to the right

                               Living room

                               Second corridor leading to the bedrooms, kitchen and second bathroom

                               Kitchen

                               "Small" bedroom

                               Wardrobe and A/C in "small" bedroom

                                Master bedroom

                               Master bathroom. See the washing machine in front of the shower?

The building from the outside. The white van on the left is what we are driven to work with.

Riyadh part 2

The driver takes my luggage out of the booth and carries it inside the hotel. I stay a bit at the stairs to the hotel entrance and look into the night. It is warm, dry and the air feels sandy. 

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere” said once a bartender to Slash when he ordered a glass of whisky at 11am while waiting for his flight at an airport somewhere in the US and A. Slash, former Guns’n’Roses guitar player made this the title of his first solo album. 

It is now 5 o’clock and I feel like having a glass of whisky. Oh Harry, where are you and your fine selection? “Dry county….” I hear Bon Jovi singing again. “I heard you John! Now piss off please, will you?” “Dry county, we’re swimming in the sand…” Indeed we do that here, John. Now go away! Off! Off! And before he and his band members disappear into the dusty and sandy night, John sings once again and this time more passionately the first line of the refrain: “Dry county, we’re swimming in the sand…”

What does one do if he can’t have something to drink? Light up a cigarette perhaps? Can’t do that. Quit many years ago.

The driver comes out again, says ‘goodbye’, gets into his car and drives off. I turn around and walk towards the reception where my luggage is waiting for me. The receptionist tells me that in the package included are one breakfast and one lunch or dinner and I can choose when and what I want to have. Breakfast is from 8 to 11, lunch from 12.30 to 4 and dinner from 7 to 10. It’s a buffet and I can have as much as I want. He shows me the way to the restaurant and then calls a man to carry my luggage to my room. Fourth floor in a five star hotel. The room is pretty standard and quite small for Arab standards. It has the size of a european hotel room. It’s freezing in the room and I turn off the air con. It’s also quite noisy. The room faces the motorway. Thank God I carry always some earplugs with me. It’s a motorcyclist habit. Motorcyclists usually wear earplugs on longer journeys to reduce the noise on the motorway. 

I discover the fridge and open it. In there I find a small bottle of apple juice. It’s not whisky, but it has a similar colour. It’s light outside when I go to sleep about 6am, but thanks to the very thick curtains, it’s dark in the room. 

I wake up at 1pm, because I have a strange feeling that I am not alone. I might be dreaming, but when I open my eyes I face the cleaner at the end of my bed. Both of us are shocked. He apologises and says that he was told that the room would be empty and should be cleaned. He takes his stuff and leaves.

I slowly get up and slowly get ready. Have a very long shower and when I’m done I walk down to the restaurant for lunch. It is a long and wide restaurant with the buffet in the middle of the room dividing it into two sections, the single and male on the right, the family section on the left. I’m surprised to see that there are no walls between the two sections. The decoration is mediterranean with light blue and cream colours and birds, sea shells, etc. The buffet is extremely rich. There are six different main courses, various side dishes, various kinds of bread, starters, salads, desserts as many as you like and many beverages. A waiter comes and asks me what I would like to drink as he saw that I haven’t taken anything. I ask for a diet Pepsi and not even a minute later he’s back with a can in his hands. Not many people are here at this time. I look around and see Arab looking men on my side and a few couples on the other. Only one couple is white. 

After my extended lunch I walk around the hotel premisses. Before I started my journey to Saudi, the HR person emailed me saying that a room at the Madareem Crown is booked for me. As I found it a weird name, I thought that he got confused with the Mandarin Oriental. An internet search revealed that he wasn’t wrong. There’s no Mandarin Oriental in Saudi. What a pity! I found the website of the Madareem Crown and saw that it is a massive five star hotel. The pool looked promising in the photographs, but it reality it isn’t. It’s quite small. I discover a second pool that wasn’t mentioned anywhere. In the backyard of the hotel can be found a flower shop, a cafe, a fish restaurant, the pools, a kiosk with sweets, drinks, etc, and the villas for the rich who can spare the extra money and don’t want to have a standard room or suite. 

I spend some time walking around the premisses and then go back to my room and watch TV. There’s nothing nearby and you can’t walk anywhere. I call one of me former colleagues from Ar’ar who is here in Riyadh and I give him directions to come find me. As he hasn’t been here for long and as Google maps are not reliable, it takes him a while to find the hotel. We hug each other when he finally arrives. He comes with two new colleagues. They don’t want to have a drink at the hotel as they think is very expensive. So we decide to drive somewhere central to one of the big shopping malls. What do you do on a Friday night in Saudi? Certainly not boozing and dancing. You either go to a cafe, a restaurant or to a mall where you can have both. 

We walk out of the hotel towards the car park where many big and luxurious cars are parked. I ask “which one is yours brother?” and expect to see a KIA or Hyundai or something similar, but no, he points at a Mercedes 280 SE in light blue colour!!! Or how I miss my Mr Benz! I’ve got a 260 SE in dark blue. 

Because we get lost, it takes us a while to reach the Riyadh Gallery. It’s not an art gallery as the name might suggest, but a shopping centre. The car park is full, but we manage to find a spot after driving up and down a few times. When we get off the car, one says he has the feeling that it’s family day and we won’t be allowed in. Seriously? Yes. Damn! It is family day! When we reach the entrance the security men don’t let us in because we’re single men and have no women with us.

Opposite the Riyadh Gallery is the Marina Mall. We try our luck there, but are unfortunate there too. Seems to be family day in the entire city. Family day means, as the name suggest, only married couples, single women and families have access. No single men. We ask the security man if there’s a cafe on the outside and he guides us to the right direction. The cafe is very simple, nothing special but quite expensive. Four drinks (an espresso, a large coffee and two shakes) are roughly 15 pounds sterling. For that amount you can feed a family in a restaurant in Ar’ar. I’m not kidding. When we had dinner at a turkish restaurant, one of the more expensive in Ar’ar, I paid for the three of us 18 pounds including tip and we didn’t manage to eat it all.

The way back is quicker and I go straight to bed.

Saturday morning. I get up just before 11am and go for breakfast. As I don’t know when I’m going to have something to eat again, I eat as much as I can to get me through the day. As I’m still feeling tired, I go back to sleep. I’ve got time until 2pm when the driver will be back to pick me up and drive me to my flat. I set the alarm for 1pm. At 1pm however, the phone rings. It is the man from the reception telling me that the driver is already here. Jesus! Didn’t he say 2pm? I have a quick shower, pack my belongings as fast as I can and go downstairs to the reception. There I’m asked if I had something from the mini-bar. 

“Yes, why?”

“You’ll have to pay for that, Sir!”

“Seriously? Isn’t it for free? You didn’t say anything yesterday morning and there’s no price list.”

“I’m really sorry Sir, but it is not for free. What did you have?”

Well, good question, I’ve emptied it. I left a can of Pepsi and a small bottle of water. But I don’t tell him that.

“I had the big bottle of water, the two chocolate bars, a can of orangeade, and something else I can’t remember what it was.”

“We’ll send somebody to check and let you know.”

 “Where’s the driver?”

“Somewhere in the cafe.”

I receive a text from the HR person telling me that they are here. I walk to the cafe and see them sitting over coffee and dessert. “We’ve been waiting here for you for more than half an hour.”

“You, the driver and the receptionist said 2pm. It’s 1.40, so I’m 20 minutes early. I’m almost ready. Need to sign out and pay for the mini-bar.”

The bill says 69 Riyal. I give him 100 and get 33 back. How is that possible? I ask what else I’m charged and he mentions the apple juice. They didn’t find out about the Red Bull and the other cans. Thank God!

The HR person tells me that I’ll be driven to my flat and to a supermarket and I’ll be shown where the bus to work stops and tells me the times. The driver puts my luggage into a Ford Taurus, the HR person gets into his car and drives off. We first drive southwards and then the driver makes a U-Turn and drives northwards. What is this? 

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

“Yes, yes!”

Perhaps he tries to avoid the busy city centre and knows a way around it. After not even a quarter of an hour he drives off the motorway into an area that is still under construction. It looks dodgy, filthy and lunar. I ask where we are and he says ‘Yasmin quarter’. 

“Why Yasmin? Aren’t I supposed to be moving into a flat in the Diplomatic quarter?”

“Not ready yet!”

Damn!

We drive to a mini market. I’m told they are the only shops in the area. I look around and see: two mini markets, a bank, two laundries, a shop with satellite dishes, three things I don’t understand what they are and two eating places with Bengal and Pakistani cuisine. After a quick visit to one of the mini markets, we drive for a minute and stop in front of a brand new building. We go to the first floor and the driver opens the door. It’s a massive flat, 100 or so sq. and it smells new. It’s furbished, but it looks empty. 

No internet, he says before he leaves. He shuts the door and I sink onto the couch.

This blog is available on Amazon:
Theo of Arabia ebook

Theo of Arabia paperback

Riyadh

Part 1

Here I am again at the athenian airport on a Thursday afternoon. I walk through the hall towards the passport controls with my backpack on my shoulders. The very same one that has accompanied me on most of my travels over the past few years. I turn around and see my dear and my dears crying. I wave goodbye once again and feel that my eyes are about to get wet too. I walk a few steps and turn around once more before I go around the corner and disappear through the passport controls.

Saudi is calling. A new adventure is about to begin. Or has it already begun? This time it is not a trip into the unknown, but it is a trip into a new experience. New job, new city, new people, new students, new everything. Riyadh is calling. I tried to avoid going there, as I didn’t like it when I first saw it. I wanted to go either back to Ar’Ar or hoped for another small town. The reasons why I didn’t want to go to Riyadh are as follows: too big, too chaotic, too modern. The city has no character. It is a very modern city with tall buildings, many shopping centres, or malls as the americans say, wide streets, highways and freeways as the Americans would say and it’s a massive building site. The whole city seems to be under construction. Another reason is that it can be a trap for a foreigner. Like in the whole country, so in Riyadh, there is no public transportation system. You need to have a car. And here it’s where the fun begins. In order to be able to drive, rent or buy a car you either need the right visa (there’s a variety of visas and not all of them allow you to hire or buy a car), you need an international driving licence to drive one and an IQAMA (something like the national insurance number) to buy one. If your company provides you with a car and you have an international driving licence, you’re fine, if not, you’ll have a problem. You’ll have a problem driving around anyway. Ever been to Naples in Italy? Do you remember the local driving style? It’s much, much worse in Saudi. In addition to that, many signs are in Arabic. So if you don’t speak the language, you’ll get lost. Google maps don’t help either as they are out of date. There are some sat-navs one can purchase, but I’m not sure if they will be up to date every day. I haven’t driven in Saudi yet, but it’s quite scary to even sit on the passenger seat.

So, without a car, you can’t go anywhere. You’ll be imprisoned in your flat or will walk around the block or the very near area. You won’t be able to leave your area, you won’t be able to visit anybody, you won’t be able to do many things and will be limited to the blocks nearby. 

Getting a taxi is another option, but most drivers don’t speak English and they won’t understand where you want to go. They might not even know the street you want to go to. Plus, they will try to rip you off, simply because you are a foreigner. Whites pay even more. 

This is why life in a small town is a lot easier. At least there you can either walk or cycle and are not imprisoned in your four walls.

Gone through the controls, I walk through the duty free area and go to the gate. I wanted to upgrade my ticket from economy to business, but they couldn’t do it at the counter as they don’t have the right equipment to issue tickets. I should have phoned 24 hours earlier and do it over the phone. So, no business lounge this time. Just ordinary seats in the waiting area in front of the gate.

The flight with Gulf Air is quite pleasant. I’ve got a seat next to the emergency exit, which gives me extra legroom. It’s not fully booked, but it’s quite full. I have two young men sitting next to me. They talk a bit at the beginning and then switch on the screens in front of us and watch films. I read some magazines. The food is quite good. It’s a warm meal including a desert and not just a simple sandwich. I watch a film after dinner and before the film comes to an end, we land in Bahrain. 

The stopover lasts 3.5 hours. Pity though, it’s not long enough to go into the city. I’ve never been in Bahrain and would like to visit it one day.

As I stroll down the long corridor between all the duty-free shops, I discover a blue Porsche Carrera 4S. The elegance of the car draws my attention and I go closer. As I slowly surround the majestic beauty, a lady approaches me and says: if you would like to buy this car, you can leave a deposit, pay the rest later and we’ll deliver it to your country for free. WOW!!! There’s no price tag anywhere to be seen, and because it’s beyond my yearly salary, I smile at the lady and say: even though it’s a beautiful car and I’d be flattered to own it, I’m more into motorbikes and would love to own a BMW 1200 GS Adventure.

After going through all the shops, I find a WIFI corner near my gate and sit down. Take out my iPad, listen to music and write emails. At some point I see a shadow on the floor before me and hear a female voice through the music. I raise my head and see three security guards in front of me. I take out my earphones and ask ‘pardon?’, but they shrug their shoulders and leave. What was that all about?

I continue writing mails until it’s boarding time. At 2.35am we’re reading to board. It’s not many people who want to fly to Riyadh at this early hour. It’s mostly men from various Asian countries, a few Arabs and very few women. Some travel alone. This time I don’t have a window seat like on the plane before, but an aisle seat. Next to me sit two Pakistanis and opposite me two Indians. Before we take off one of the Indians waves with a piece of paper, his passport and a pen. The piece of paper looks familiar to me. I don’t understand what he’s saying, but I understand what he wants. He wants me to fill in the paper for him. It’s the form one has to fill in on the first entry. I take the passport and copy the details, ask him one or two things that are not mentioned in the passport and when I come to the question about the religion I hesitate a bit and ponder what to write. Atheist, Jewish, Pastafarian, or something the Saudis might not laugh about? I decide to ask him and write down his religion. When I’m done with him, the other Indian wants me to fill in his form and then the two Pakistanis next to me. 

I somehow feel back in time and remember a story my primary school teacher once told me. At the beginning of his career he was sent to a remote village to teach for a year. There most of the people couldn’t write or read and went to him every time they wanted him to write or read a letter. Some decades later, I am in the same situation.

The journey lasts only a bit over an hour and is very pleasant. When we arrive in Riyadh and get off the plane and down the very same corridor I walked through the first time I landed in the Kingdom, all the memories came to my mind. This time though it is different. For a start, there are people guiding you to the right queue. Last time I had to find the right queue. This time are only a few travellers there and I don’t get to hear “system down!!!” 

I walk to the front of the re-entry and arrive just before a desk. When a officer sees me, he asks me to go to a counter where nobody is in line. There for some reason the officer can’t serve me, so the first officer takes me to another counter and sends the people waiting to the one I’ve just been. There my passport and visa are checked and my fingerprints scanned. Not even a minute later I’m through the controls and go to the belts to get my suitcases. Last time it took me two hours to get through the controls because of “system down!!!”. 

Unlike other countries where you get your luggage and are free to go, in Saudi you have to have it scanned again. I put it through the x-ray machine, get it on the other side and walk through the doors. All the time I was thinking how am I going to recognise the person picking me up? How is he going to recognise me? Will he be standing there with a paper in his hands with my name on it? Or will he just stand there like the Filipino last time? Seconds before I walk through the doors, I look back and realise that I’m the only white person here, so even if he has no paper, he’ll recognise me.

Well, he has a paper me my name printed on it. But it’s the driver and not the HR person I was expecting to see. The driver takes my luggage with his one hand and takes his mobile phone in the other. I have a glimpse at it and see that it is a very basic device. I thought that in the times of smartphones those really basic with the single colour screen and proper button have vanished from the markets. Apparently not. When we arrive some escalators, a tall man appears and greets me. It’s the HR person I was waiting to see. We go down the stairs to the car park and the driver disappears with my luggage. 

“He’s going to fetch the car” says the HR person. A few seconds later the driver appears, opens the door for me, I say goodbye to the HR person, get into the car, we drive through the gate and disappear into the night. 

The ride ends a few minutes later at the hotel. The journey to the hotel looked familiar as it is the very same way I was driven the first time to the other hotel. 

It’s 5am, I’m tired, feel like having a glass of whisky, but seem to be hearing Bon Jovi singing “dry county’ from somewhere. Yes John, it is a dry country and I’m not gonna have an alcoholic beverage for a long time.

Suddenly I miss my summer in Hull.

This blog is available on Amazon:
Theo of Arabia ebook

Theo of Arabia paperback

Part 31 - The final episode

I spend some time in the estimated 80sqm hotel suite and go back and forth and can't get out of amazement. I've often been in luxury hotels, but this is a greater, bigger and more exclusive. Another reason why I love the Arab world. Everything is bigger, more luxurious and more exclusive than back home in our world. Here you get value for your money. I wait for a while until my luggage is here. I feel tired and want to sleep but can't because the liquids for my contact lenses are in the suitcase at the airport. That's why I write a few e-mails. 2-3 hours later I go down to the reception to ask if my luggage is already there and it hasn't been brought to me, and if not, could they call the airport and investigate.
The lady at reception does't know anything about my luggage. She calls the airport, but nobody picks up. Crap! Then I ask whether we are centrally located and if there are any points of interest around here. The lady said I should just get out of the hotel, turn right, at the end of the road turn left and then right again. In front of me I'll see a mosque with a spiral tower. I should walk towards it. No sooner said than done -. I just go out of the hotel and follow her instructions. When I see the spiral tower, I walk in its direction. I pass shops with shoes and bags and clothes, some restaurants and mobile shops. Eventually, I turn left and see before me a Souq. I walk down the street and get past many clothing stores, barbers, electronics shops, etc.. Then I turn somewhere and a smell rises to my nostrils. A spicy smell that the wind is blowing directly into my nose. The picture changes. The scenery is beautiful, colourful, traditional. I remain standing on a square in the middle and let my gaze wander. People of all colours come and go, smells and sounds coming from all sides. I want to take a picture, put my hands in my pockets and realise only now that a) I don't even have my mobile phone, b) no camera and c) the address and the name of the hotel here with me. Also no money and no papers. Only a credit card, a few tissues and the magnetic card for the hotelroom door. Superb! But I don't get into panic and move on. Now I see the tower again protrude above the roof of a building and move in its direction. I reach the mosque and go in the yard. A few people scurry past me and disappear behind different doors. Since I don't know which is the right door, I wait a little until someone comes out or goes in. When after a minute, no one appears, I look out for shoes. Most shoes are in front of two doors. I discover mens shoes in front of one of the doors. So I take off my shoes there and go inside. There are few men there, spread out in the large room. I look around and kneel down somewhere. It is pleasantly cool and quiet in here. No noise coming from outside.
After my prayer I go back outside, put on my shoes and continue my journey of discovery. I find myself in another Souq in which it smells wonderfully. Here, spices are traded. I take a deep breath. Ah, that's a treat! The spices are available for sale in huge bags and you can put with a small shovel so much in a bag as you want and need. I go further and come to a point in which there are several cafes and restaurants. Slowly it gets dark and I have to return. Back? How? Where? What is the name of the hotel again? Crap! Where to? I look around and try to remember the direction I came from. Hmm ... somehow everything looks the same. Shit! What do I do now? Where was again this spiral tower? I go through some streets and try to remember where I came from, looking simultaneously for the tower. Slowly some things start seeming quite familiar to me. At every corner, I focus and turn correctly most of the times. If my feeling tells me that I am wrong, I return and try another way. Soon, I also see the tower and go up towards it. From there, everything becomes more difficult. Then I go down a path that proves to be completely wrong. I notice it not right away, but a good 20 minutes later. Part of the way is quite right, but then I lose myself in the streets. I also don't see the tower anymore. So I go back up to a part I recognise. Then I turn to a different direction. This decision is the right one. Now I'm on my path. Several minutes later tells me my gut feeling that I am very close to the hotel. Just where is the hotel? I look at the tall buildings and suddenly comes back to me the hotel name. I go into a shop to ask, but the people there don't understand English and the name of the hotel doesn't ring a bell. But they send me to another hotel. There I ask for directions. Two times left I'm told. Indeed! I turn twice left and stand in front of my hotel. Superb! Barely in, the lady at the reception desk tells me that my luggage has arrived and is in my room waiting for me. I go to my room and there it is. Then I go for dinner. Even the dinner is free. And I must say it is delicious. Then I go back to my room and fall dead into bed..
The alarm goes off very early in the morning and it is still dark outside. Since the restaurant is not yet open, I will have breakfast at the airport. The cab comes soon and brings me and a few others to the airport.
At the airport I go to the check-in counter and am being served by a Greek lady. We chat for a while in Greek before I have to go. The crisis and unemployment have brought her to Doha. I go through the checks and directly into the lounge for breakfast. The atmosphere in here is calm, relaxed and cosy. I have breakfast in peace and sit down on a leather sofa and play around on my iPad. When I eventually lift my head to the screen, I see: Final Call for Athens. Crap! I spurt out to the gate. We are driven by bus to the airplane. Since there are more than one buses, they stop all in front of the different entrances. My bus stops at the rear. So I get to go in through the back of the plane. I show my boarding pass and the stewardess says, I have a long way ahead of me and makes a hand gesture to that direction. In the middle of the aircraft, I am asked for my card again and I hear keep going. Then I get to the curtain separating the business from the economy class. There I am stopped and looked at from head to toe and asked for my boarding card again. When the flight attendant sees my card, she gets friendlier and shows me my seat. Hardly in my seat, jumps a second stewardess out of nowhere and asks for my pass. As soon as she is gone, a steward appears and asks for my boarding card. I look around and see that a) all Business class passengers are much older than me and b) are businesslike dressed. I wear jeans again and my burgundy-coloured hooded sweatshirt from my university, University of Hull. Then it gets finally quiet. Since no one sits next to me, I spread myself out. I play a little around on the seat and sit back comfortably and look down from the window to the desert. Qatar and Saudi, two countries that are next to each other, but differ in many things. Images of yesterday afternoon shoot through my head. The women wore no veil over their faces and were sitting with their men in the restaurants, cafes and taverns and drank and ate. That does not exist in Saudi. Working women everywhere and they are even allowed to drive a car. But they wear abayas and headscarves.
The steward who is suddenly next to me and asks what I would like to eat, brings me out of my thoughts back to reality. There is a selection like in a luxury restaurant to choose from.
The five hours to Athens pass pleasantly and quickly. I get plenty to eat and drink and take photos of the desert, from the Suez Canal and some of the Greek islands.
As I stand at the baggage conveyor belt later on, I ask myself: was it all just a dream or reality?
Outside, I fall into the arms of my dear.

This blog is available on Amazon:
Theo of Arabia ebook

Theo of Arabia paperback

                                Fields in the desert

                                Suez

Greek islands