Wednesday afternoon and two days before we're out of here. Since 'Ar'ar has a small airport with two daily flights to Riyadh and one to Jeddah and is served by small aircrafts, there was no possibility for us to fly out. We're eight or so tutors and our company should have booked far in advance. But as things were a bit uncertain as to when we would finish, when and from where we would want leave, etc. time passed and the planes got fully booked. It's also spring holidays, which makes it harder to find flights. My Egyptian colleague has for this reason booked a flight from Sakaka to Jeddah. Just how do you get to Sakaka? The city is 150 km away and the bus connections are not very good.
That's why he asked one of the security men if he could drive him.
We all stand at the door of our residence and say goodbye. Quite a few people are there. Me and one of the three Bengali colleagues are joining him on this ride. I wonder who our driver is. Suddenly a small, scrawny Arab jumps into the picture, dressed with a thobe but no headscarf and wriggles himself through the crowd. For God's sake! That going to be fun!
We get into the car, Egyptian to the front, me and the Bengali to the back and off we go. The driver starts with spinning tires and I wish I had stayed at home. The Bengali is thinking the same. We fasten our seatbelts and hold the door handles firmly. At the first left turn we feel the centrifugal forces of nature. The driver races over the motorway and takes the exit at the last moment and cuts a few other cars. From the far left he goes at once to the far right across three lanes to the exit. This is not what we learn in driving school.
The driver brakes at the checkpoint we have to pass. Since it is my first trip outside the city, it's explained to me that there are checkpoints at the entrances and exits of the towns, where if stopped, you must show your ID. We are waved through. Then we race fast over the highway. The driver is driving at 160 km / h, it's all the KIA can manage. The driver is talking to the Egyptian all the time, gesturing wildly and instead of looking at the street, he looks at the Egyptian.
The highway is, to my surprise in a very good condition. Two lanes in each direction with a strip of desert sand in between. Around us is desert. Since it is close to 7pm and the sun is slowly setting, it is a colourful spectacle. I look out the window and enjoy the view and can not get enough of it. It is strange, though there is nothing to see except sand and earth, I find the scenery fascinating. The Arabs always tell me: If you stand in the middle of the desert, you have the feeling to be the ruler of the world. This wide, infinite emptiness is really indescribable.
Then I turn around to ask the Bengal something. But he is praying at the moment and I must therefore wait.
"How do you know where Mecca is?" I ask him.
"My cell phone tells me" he says and shows me an app with compass. I have it too! I advise all westerners to download an application like this one, because this is the simplest way to have an overview of the praying times and not to stand in front of closed (supermarket) doors. You also have to know that there are time differences from place to place and people pray at different times.. Therefore, the app should be updated whenever you change the location.
As the Bengali colleague is done praying, we're thinking of whether we should ask the driver to drive a little slower or not. We ask. The Egyptian translates it, but the driver is still driving fast as hell and partially free-handed. Should we freak out and yell at him?
We drive through a few small villages and see an oversized laptop that serves as a billboard, various works of art that exist throughout the country and neon lights with the portraits of the King and a few other royal family members.
Eventually we arrive at the airport, say goodbye to the colleague and want to get back in the car. Both of us want to sit in the back. However, the driver has a different opinion. It is against his honour and asks one of us to take a seat up front. Actually he wants the Bengali in the passenger seat, because he can speak a little Arabic. Because he refuses, I have to take place in the front seat not to offend the driver.
The ride back is just as fast as the ride to the airport. As the Bengali colleague with his little knowledge of Arabic asks the driver to slow down, he just laughs and drives a little faster. A few miles away from the airport, there is a police check. We need to pull over and the driver has to speak to the officials. I see from the car that he's wriggling in front of the officials, gesturing wildly and God knows what he's saying to the officer. Eventually, he comes back with a paper in his hand. From the little Arabic we can understand, we understand that there was a speed camera somewhere and he was flashed with 152 instead of the permitted 120 km / h and must now pay a fine of 500 Riyals (about 100 pounds). In addition, the officer told him, he should drive us home and turn back. The reason why, we could not understand. Our language skills are not that good yet.
How to behave in such a case, if you have just been flashed and have to pay a hefty penalty? Wouldn't you drive slower and be quieter? Not so our driver. Since he is mad about this, he calls his boss while he's driving and explains the situation to him. It's not a good idea though, when you're doing 150 Km / h through the night and are holding a cigarette in the other hand. This situation seems to the Bengali and me ludicrous and start laughing. The driver doesn't seem to be amused and shouts at us probably the only words he knows in English: "Shut up! Shut up!" We're still giggling and can't stop it.
When we arrive in a city, he rushes through the traffic like in a video game, sometimes left, sometimes right, slows down abruptly, takes the curve with karacho, etc. When he sees a police patrol, he slows down, brakes and reverses. Traffic coming from behind does not seem to interest him. He gets out, goes to the patrol, speaks briefly with the officer comes back and says that he does not have to go back. The reason, we did not understand again. Somehow I have the feeling that we have gone lost. A short time later notices that even the driver, as we drive through a construction site and suddenly find ourselves in the middle of nowhere. Two minutes or so later, we see a car in the darkness coming from the other direction. The driver honks, brakes and moves backwards. The other car driver has realised the situation we're in and stops. The two drivers talk over the open windows and then we have to follow the other car out of there until we're shown which direction we have to go. Five minutes later we are on the right track.
Hardly on the highway, the driver is doing 160 km / h again and overtakes stupidly. He is still on the phone with one hand, holding a fag in the other hand and is steering with his legs. My colleague and I are thinking about as to whether we should freak out and yell at him or let him do what he wants. We choose the latter. I turn to the side and want to sleep in order not to see anything more of his driving. As soon as I'm dozed off, he asks for his iPad that is on the back seat. The colleague refuses to give it to him, but the driver gets mad. We understand that he does not want to play with it, but would like to turn on the Sat Nav. He turns it on and hands me the iPad. I turn towards the window and fall asleep again with the iPad on my knees. Occasionally I hear the voice of the Arab Sat Nav. My colleague has also fallen asleep and we both notice how the driver has slowed down. The trick worked!
As we arrive in 'Ar'ar, we must pass the checkpoint. We are stopped. The driver wants to pass quickly and tells the officer that we are professors and work at Ma'aden. The officer couldn't care less and asks for our passports. The driver shows him his ID and I give him my passport. The Bengali is waving from behind with his. I tell him to wait a bit, because we'll be surely waved through. The officer looks at the cover of my passport, realises that it is a European one and asks where I'm from. When I tell him, he repeats: Yunan? Then he smiles broadly. He hands me back the passport and we can drive through.
A few minutes later we arrive at the residence and when we are in the building, we can not stop laughing. The ride was so ludicrous and surreal.
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