Part 3

Part 3

After I don’t know how many hours, I slowly wake up to the singing preaching of the muezzin. I open my eyes and see almost nothing. The room lies in complete darkness. How many hours did I sleep? 24 maybe? Is it morning? I’m feeling too tired to get up and remain in bed. The voice of the muezzin has a soporific effect and takes me back to the realm of Morpheus.  

At some point the ringing of the telephone breaks my sleep. Welcome to the year 1435! That’s not a joke! A different calendar is being used in this part of the world, after Mohammed the Prophet. Anes, my Philippino is on the phone. He says that he can’t make it on time and is going to pick me up around 6.30pm instead of 4pm. No problem, even better. He says he calls again and hangs up. I go to the bathroom and suddenly I feel so small in that big room. The bathroom seems so empty. To the right is the sink with the mirror, in front of me on the left is the toilet seat, opposite the toilet is the shower. Later I realise that there is no toilet paper and I remember one column of the German comedian Harald Schmidt that was published in the German newsmagazine ‘Focus’ many years ago. In it he describes the adventures of a businessman who works for a large company and has to travel a lot and feels more at home in the lounges of the airport of this world than he does at home. When visiting an airport restroom, he tries everything possible not to get dirty and do many things at once, such as responding to emails. He squeezes his briefcase somehow between his legs so that it doesn’t get dirty from the dirty floor, etc. Eventually, after done business and when it is already too late, he realises that the carton of the toilet paper roll is smiling at him in a friendly manner. There’s not even a paper carton to be seen in my loo! Instead, there is a shower on the wall (photo below). Aha! This is how it works here! Other countries, other customs. Or, when in Rome, do as the Romans do!

I go back to sleep and wake up about an hour later. Anes is on the phone again saying that he needs more time. No problem, I think to myself, as I’m feeling knackered, he doesn’t need to come today, tomorrow is another day.

I go to the window and try to open the curtain. Not possible. Are the Arabs crazy? Then I see a few cords to the left and to the right. I pull on one and the thin curtain moves aside. I pull another one and the think curtain moves aside. But in between there is a plastic sheet that keeps the light outside. I pull on the third cord and the plastic thingy goes up. Finally light! However, I note that a) the window is small and b) the glass is milky.

The 40” TV is connected to a digital receiver and I need a few minutes to figure out how it works. I zap through more than 900 channels (unbelievable!) and have to say that all of them are from the Arabic world and from a part of Africa with a few Turkish TV channels. Even Euronews, CNN and BBC are in Arabic. I turn off the telly, take the lift and go downstairs. The receptionist is the same as in the morning and greets me warmly. Outside welcomes me the slowly setting sun and a cool breeze. It is actually cool. Hard to believe! You always think that there is always summer here. Nope, it’s cold!

In front of me lies an extra wide road with a traffic island in the middle in which there is space for three cars next to each other in each direction. Across the street is a vacant plot of land and behind it is a wide road with hotels like mine. To the left is an office building and a few of the larger hotels I saw in the morning. To the right the plot of land continues until the horizon and on my side of the street are more neon lights that probably belong to hotels. On the pavement on the other side of the street, I see a few joggers running towards the setting sun and many women in Ninja look are walking up and down. That the Arabs don’t exercise outdoors and don’t wear shorts hereby appears to be a tale. The fact that women would never leave their houses without a male escort, too. Some walk in groups and some alone. It occurs to me that in the morning on the way to the hotel, I saw a small supermarket nearby and start walking in that direction. I don’t carry any Riyals with me, but a few credit cards. I walk into the shop and see two Asian shop-assistants. I ask if they speak any English. They don’t. I wave with my credit cards, but they make me understand that they don’t like plastic money. ATM? They don’t understand. Bank? A hopeful glint in their eyes is making my heart beat. I grab a pen and a piece of paper from the counter and draw a cash machine. One of the two draws a big X on my drawing, telling me that there is none. Crap!

I walk back to the hotel with a growling and empty stomach. I get the wrong turning somewhere and get past a mosque. A few kids who are playing on the street look at me in surprise and walk towards me. One of them speaks a few words of English and asks for my name and origin. The boy doesn’t understand the word Greece, but as soon as I say Yunan, Arabic word for Greece, a smile up to the ears appears on his face. I take the hotel business card from my pocket and show it to the boys. They can’t explain me how to get there, but take me to the hotel instead. Barely inside the building, the receptionist looks at me and waves with the telephone. It’s Anes. He says, he’s coming around 8pm. He also says that I can eat and drink at the hotel what I want, all at the expense of the company. All right! A sandwich and a cup of tea please!

There is a knock at the door at 8.30. The small Philippino is here. We get into his car and drive for about half an hour through the city. He races across the motorway as if the devil was after him. He overtakes once from the left, once from the right side, etc. and I feel again like being in the PlayStation game Burnout. Eventually we turn off the motorway somewhere, drive through a residential area and at some point we reach a street with shops. The restaurant is big and at first sight it looks like a fast-food restaurant, because it has the same sort of counters as the big M restaurant or any other burger place. But it is far from a fast-food restaurant. He orders something for both of us and after that we go to the bathroom to wash our hands. On the way to the bathroom I notice no chairs and no tables. Instead of tables and chairs, is along the wall an area like a podium, about half a metre above the floor and has a green carpet on it. On it, men are sitting in small groups and are having their dinner. After washing hands, I sit between two groups of men on the ground, on the green carpet, while Anes goes outside to make some calls. One of the men on my right, starts a conversation with me at some point. There comes a waiter and asks what I would like to drink. He doesn’t quite get DIET PEPSI and brings me a 7up. The English speaking Arab explains the waiter what I want and my DIET PEPSI comes within seconds. There comes Anes too, and shortly thereafter a waiter spreads a plastic table cover on the ground in front of us. Then comes the food. Rice with chicken in small pieces and vegetables. In addition to this, there is pita bread and a bottle of spicy sauce. You eat with your fingers, there is no cutlery. I’m about to take out my camera or one of my Blackberries to take photographs of the meal and the restaurant, but unfortunately I have to stop myself because I have the impression that everybody is looking at us and some prison scenes for ‘Midnight Express’ come into my mind. Crap!

We get into the car and drive for another half an hour. Anes says that there are hardly any old buildings in Riyadh. Riyadh was a small place a few decades ago and it has grown boom-like. This says also my Philippino. And it continues to grow. Building sites are everywhere and the face of the city changes every day. We drive to one of the skyscrapers of the city, where a hotel, a few companies, Cafés and restaurants are housed and walk around a bit in that complex. On the small street in front of the buildings, is nothing but luxury cars parked. Here I see for the first time in my life white Ferraris. What is wrong with you, are you crazy about white cars? I ask Anes. He replies: White is chic, keeps away the heat, you cannot see the desert sand that much on it. Quite practical I think.

We drive on to a street with cafés, restaurants and various shops. On a total of six lanes is at midnight a massive traffic jam. It is the corso of the city. People come here to show off and walk the horse-power. Strange, says Anes, there’s always traffic on this street, but Stop & Go at this late hour? Soon we find out the cause: Police block. Both, normal and religious police are standing in the middle of the street and inspect the cars on papers and law and order. I show them my passport including visa. Yunani? Asks the policeman and smiles up to the ears. Yes, Greek, I reply and smile at least as wide as he does. We are allowed to continue and park a little farther outside a café. Even though it’s after midnight, it’s still pleasant and the people are sitting outside. Again, something that is not true. I was told that there are no cafés in this country, like the ones we know from home and you never sit outside mainly because there are no tables to sit at. That’s a lie! We drove past Starbucks and a few other chains and Arabic cafés and many had tables and chairs on the pavement. We enter the café and order tea and cake. Around us are many Arabs, all in their thobes and headscarves, talking, laughing and enjoying themselves. Like in a café in the western world. No difference, only the sight is a bit strange to me. Around 45 minutes later, the owner switches off the lights and we have to leave. Anes drives me a bit through the city and then back to the hotel.

Once there, I find out that ‘Viber’ isn’t working. Censorship. ‘The Hand’ as it is called in the novel ‘Alif the Unseen’  

In bed, the images, impressions and feelings of the last 48 hours race frantically before my eyes. Somehow I feel very strange, it is a totally strange world to me. For the first time in my life I find myself in a country whose alphabet I cannot read. I’ve been all my life a foreigner, no matter where I am, I’m always a foreigner and I don’t have a problem with it. But here it is different. I noticed this in Egypt. At the airport, when I wanted to visit the loo, the door was opened for me, I was accompanied until the cubical, I was given soap, paper towels and perfume. Like at Harrods in London. All are extremely friendly are welcome me in their country.

The thoughts and images rush on and I drown in various feelings and fall asleep.

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That's from my flat, not from the hotel. On the right is the shower, but what's that on the left? :)