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? :)

Part 2

Anes noticed from afar that the petrol station would be closed, and in fact it was shut. A few cars were standing around waiting. We drove on one side in and on the other side out onto the motorway. Great, I thought to myself. This way, I get quicker to sleep. As we were driving with high speed through the night and listened to the calling of the muezzin, I closed my eyes for a brief moment and floated into the weightlessness of a 1001 nights dream. The torture of the almost 2-hour entry into the country was suddenly very distant.

I read somewhere that when you are given a questionnaire on the aeroplane and come to the question about religion, it is an absolute must to mention one, otherwise you might get into trouble and not be let into the country. I thought for a moment to allow myself to make a joke and put down “Pastafarianism”, but then came back the scenes from the dungeon in the film “Midnight Express”. That’s why I obeyed and wrote down Christian.  

Anes’ sentence, ‘Let’s go have breakfast!’ brought me quickly back from my far away fantasies into the cold dawn of Riyadh. Excuse me? Is he serious? I have been awake for over 30 hours, have flown over three continents and want to go as quickly as possible to bed. Besides, I had something to eat on the first flight, paid Burger King at Cairo Airport an extended visit and had the pleasure of eating again on my connecting flight sometime after midnight. My stomach is full and has no room for anything. Forget it! My Philippino was very determined and didn’t take no for an answer. 20 minutes later, after a wild drive over extra wide motorways, we arrived at the hotel. He gave me half an hour to unpack and freshen up.

I saw the first hotels when we exited the motorway and entered a newly built area. Tall buildings made of steel and glass, all the big names, one after another, with fountains, etc. My Philippino had no intention of stopping at one of the big names, but continued driving. Eventually we stopped in front of a building that besides the ground floor, had another two floors. On the facade was the name of the hotel written in big neon letters. Next to it, the telephone number and at the edges some green neon lights going upwards. Oh my God, this box looks like a cheap railway hotel!

The lobby however, offered a completely different picture. Fluffy and cosy. The receptionist jumped out of his sleep, greeted Anes, took the key, gave it to Anes and we got into the lift to the second floor. When he unlocked and opened the room door, my jaw dropped open. What surprised me was not the furnishing, no, although the room was spartanly, but beautifully furnished, it was rather the size that amazed me. What I noticed before on the motorway, I saw it here again. Everything seems to be bigger, larger, wider in this country. The room is huge! No comparison to the tiny rooms we have in Europe or elsewhere. 30sqm are no understatement. Anes went downstairs to the lobby and left me alone. The equipment of the room included: a double bed 2x2, two bedside tables, a flat screen TV, a wardrobe, two armchairs with table, a fridge and a table with a large mirror.

When I opened the door to the bathroom, I, literally speaking, looked into a room. 15sqm! The shower alone was 5sqm!

I briefly glanced into my hotel room before going out to the lift and noticed that there were no radiators. Only air conditioners. Models I had never seen before.  

Downstairs two colleagues of Anes, whom he was on a business trip with, were waiting for me. We had to drive them home before going for breakfast. The two from Bangladesh got into the back of the car and wanted to know everything about me. On the one hand the questioning wasn’t pleasant, mainly because I was tired and wanted to see as much as possible from the surroundings and the landscape and now I couldn’t – after all the sun was slowly rising, on the other hand however, it was good because Anes was driving like a madman and the two Bengalis distracted me. By the time the two got out of the car, it was already light. We drove past construction sites and before I could ask, Anes said, that the whole country is being under construction. The petrodollars are being invested. I was now thrilled of the streets and their superb condition. Well paved and very wide. Even in residential areas. Our streets are 20mph zones, narrow and with many chicanes, here they are 30 feet wide, but with humps, that force you to slow down and even stop. The nasty thing is their colour, which can’t be distinguished from the colour of the road tarmac. Whoever doesn’t see such a hump in time, hurts himself and his car.

As we were dashing through the still empty streets, Anes said that people here drive like maniacs. They race, they honk, they overtake, they squeeze into every little gap they may find, they turn without using the indicator, they drive side by side, they change lanes for no reason, etc. It reminded me on a PlayStation car racing game. Most cars have scratches and bumps.  

We parked in front of a row of local shops and went into a restaurant. Its decoration was very, very simple. White walls with tiles up to a height of almost two metres, metal tables and wooden chairs, paper table cloths, carafes of water and boxes with paper tissues. We went to wash our hands and Anes ordered something that came after less than two minutes. A metal pan filled with lentil soup, pita bread, two teas and two Laban – a sour milk beverage. No use of cutlery, you eat with your fingers. You take small pieces of pita bread and dip it into the lentil soup. The bread becomes practically the spoon. The sour milk is a bit strange and you need to get used to it, I know it from Greece and from my Turkish friends. The tea tasted delicious. It was probably the best tea I’ve ever had. That’s why I ordered a second cup. All around us were only men sitting who looked furtively at me. I could not help myself and took photographs of the breakfast.

Since photography is a critical issue in this country (at least this is what I read in books and blogs), I left my big and heavy Canon DSLR at home and carry my two Blackberries and a small Casio Exilim. It’s less eye-catching.

On the way to the hotel the traffic was a little livelier. Many buses were driving around. I noticed two types: American school buses and old mini buses for about 20 – 25 people, that would never make it through the MOT back home. Anes said that school starts in summer as early as 6am due to the heat, but in these buses people are driven to work. I’ll write about it another time.

When I arrived in my hotel room, I fell dead in bed. As soon as sleep fell upon me, the muezzin began his preaching and carried me away into another world, far away from all that I could see and learn so far in my life.

This blog is available on Amazon:
Theo of Arabia ebook
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    Breakfast

    Pita bread

   Air con

Part 1

Part 1

Forget Lawrence, Theo is here J

Suitcase checked-in, gone through the passport control, the emotions are on a rollercoaster ride and I’m still wondering if I’m doing the right thing. Torn inside me, on the one hand I really want to make this experience, but one the other hand all what I read and heard makes me feel scared.

I have long prepared myself for this journey. One year ago, I once again started thinking about my future and which way to go. At a tipping point reached, in many ways, it was Christmas 2012 when I was searching for a solution, for a plan for my future life, future career.  

A world map was spread and my thoughts ran wild. Some countries were left out and not in question (too far away, not interesting enough, no career perspectives, too insecure, too hot, too cold, etc). After much pondering, I laid out some criteria: not too far away, good, climate, good income, exotic, etc. And this is how Saudi Arabia made it. KSA, as its actual name is, sounds like orient, adventure, mysticism, caginess, tasty food and scents. But also strict lifestyle and hot summers.

Never mind. The fact that it is a closed country with no tourism, makes it even more interesting and exciting and makes you want to explore, experience and to get to know it even more. Unfortunately, you don’t find much information about it. There are lots of blogs in which one can read many different things, but much of it is contradictory and at the end you don’t know what to believe. There are hardly and guide books and images are even harder to be found.  

I have bought many books and read several blogs, and after a year I’m finally here and I have to say that it is different from what I thought and read. Much is simply not true and the country is more liberal than you think.

I had a queasy feeling and thought, Oh my God, what am I getting myself into? And wouldn’t it be better to call it all off and stay home in Europe? Although I have been travelling across Europe since my childhood, this is my first time ever outside the continent. The tension grew with each passing day and defeated the fear in me, a fear I kept to myself and shared with no one.  

After a several hours lasting flight with a stopover in Cairo, I arrived in Riyadh at 3am. Although the flight to Europe was not quite like one within Europe, however, it wasn’t that extraordinary. Among the passengers there were Africans, Arabs, Europeans, men, children and women who were not veiled. The picture changed however in the waiting hall at the Cairo Airport. Many fully veiled women were sitting next to me and let their children play. When I raised my eyes from the iPad and let them wander, I realised that a) I was the only white person, b) the women were not accompanied by men and c) not all were fully veiled. Thus, the myth of the fully veiled woman in a black abaya who never leaves the house without a male escort, seemed to be a fantasy. When the children, who were romping around realised, that I was no longer looking at my iPad, came to me. A few stared at me, and it gave me the feeling that from now on this would be normal and I will be stared at, and some other said something in Arabic. Since I didn’t understand a word, I replied in English in the hope that one of the mums would understand something. They, in turn, smiled at me and said nothing. I reached into my backpack and produced a big bag of gummy bears, Haribo Gold Bears. At first the kids looked at the bag and its content hesitantly and with suspicion and distrustfulness, because they probably didn’t know what Gold Bears are, but after some initial hesitation, one of the kids took the bag and ran away. The others followed him. However, the content of the bag was shared equitably and the mothers thanked me.

Eventually we got on the airport bus in which we were taken to the plane. On board I immediately noticed the separation of the sexes. Men in front, women at the back and on my way to the loo I noticed that every woman was fully veiled. The stewardesses however were dressed in a western manner and were not even wearing a headscarf. But they were unfriendly. Perhaps it was due to the late hour, around midnight.

We arrived in Riyadh at 3am. Armed with my passport and a newly acquired visa, I got off the plane, into the bus and to the airport building. There I followed all the others who seemed to know which way to go. After walking down a long corridor, we turned into a hall in which many people were already standing and waiting. Above their heads, hanging from the ceiling were three signs: Re-entry, First-time-entry and something in between that I can’t remember. I went to the first-time-entry queue and joined in. With all the horror stories I was reading for months, I didn’t dare to look around. Something inside me was telling me that if I now make a wrong movement or look at someone or my eyes meet a woman’s eyes or I glance at a woman, an official would jump on me, throw me down to earth, shout something in Arabic and I’d find myself in a dungeon. Scenes from films like ‘Midnight Express’ came into my mind. I had the impression of being in a gulag or a country ruled by the Taliban. At some point I dared to look around and realised how beautiful the airport is. No gray concrete like our airports. Marble in different shades of yellow everywhere and a friendly architecture. Nothing dreary and dull that causes depression.  

Suddenly there was quick movement on the other side of the hall, mainly where Saudis were standing. We had to wait. Again, separation of the sexes. Before me an Italian, behind me a few Spaniards. Thank God I was not alone! I started a conversation with the Italian in Italian, to be sure that no one understood us. We spoke quietly and watched the hustle and bustle for a while. Around us were mainly Asians (Indians, Bengalis, Pakistani, Philippinos) and a few Africans. A few queues ahead stood young Asian girls who are likely to work as housemaids. It all went ahead very sluggishly and the border officials were drinking tea and were going back and forth. At some point we understood that the system wasn’t working, was down and that was the reason for the immense delay. An expert was called, did something and it worked for a few minutes. After that the system was down again.  

If you enter the kingdom for the first time, you have to show your passport plus visa. In addition, a photo is taken and fingers scanned. The fact that the iris is also scanned, is a tale. Over an hour in the queue and barely forward, I noticed that all the women were already through the control and all around me were only men. Another 45 minutes later, waved a border official me and the Italian guy to the front. We were allowed to jump the queue! I gave my passport to an official, my details were entered, my fingers scanned and a photo taken. Then the system broke down again and I had to wait. When I asked if I was ready, I received an unintelligible answer. Perhaps it was due to my fatigue that I did not understand. I asked “pardon?“ and got a harsh „system down!“ smashed at my face. Oha! Welcome to the stone age! Said my subconscious, and I wished I could take the next flight home.  

A few minutes later, I got my passport back and was allowed through the control and into the country. I found my travel bag on the floor next to the luggage conveyor belt. Great. Then my luggage had to be scanned once more before I was allowed to exit.  

Anes was waiting on the other side. A born in KSA Philippine, who was sent from my company to pick me up and take care of me. As we entered the car park, I saw that 90% of the parked cars were white. We got into a white Hyundai and exited the car park. Anes drove to the first petrol station, which was closed. It was shortly after 5 in the morning, prayer time, the first out of five. Welcome to Saudi Arabia, an Islamic Kingdom!  


This blog is available on Amazon:
Theo of Arabia ebook
Theo of Arabia paperback