To all my friends, people of the Book -
Happy Easter and Passover to you all during this holy season in which we are called to remember God's covenant, his mercy and compassion and the many blessings we receive abundantly:
"I am the Lord your God,
who brought you from the land of Egypt.
Open wide your mouth and I will fill it...
Israel I would feed with finest wheat
and fill them with honey from the rock."
"He was despised and rejected by men;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief
as one from whom men hide their faces...
But he was wounded for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our inquities."
"And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God,
prepared as a bride adorned for her husband...
And He who was seated on the throne said, "Behold I am making all things new."
Peace go with you/Shalom/As-salam alaykum
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Dutch treat
As you have likely concluded the opportunities for expat social and recreational activities outside the compound are rare and usually involve one of the embassies in the DQ (Diplomatic Quarter, not the soft ice cream though there is actually one of those in Riyadh). A good friend Edith who arranged the desert trip for us during Janet's visit is a Dutch national. She invited me and my Irish buddy Rob - a writer, film-maker and student of early Irish history and culture - as her guests to the Dutch Embassy Spring Fling (or words to that effect...). Not knowing what to expect I decided to go, enjoy the company of my friends (as Rob is a world-class conversationalist, creative and more than a little outrageous) and leave as early as decorum allowed.
After passing through embassy security which was lax compared to the British and NZ Embassies, we entered an outdoor patio centered on a swimming pool area ringed by soft lights. To my mild surprise there was a bar with a narrow offering of beverages that one might enjoy at Walnut Grove, Peter's Pub or Church Brew Works. My friends opted for a malt beverage while I stayed loyal to white wine - not an especially good one but hey it was the real thing! Filipino guys in uniform circulated among the linen covered cafe tables lining the pool offering hors-d'oeuvres. I accepted a small strip of what looked like bacon - though that was unlikely to impossible - and found it to be chilled and salty, perhaps herring. To my distress I later learned that I had digested eel but survived the experience without adverse effects...
The guests were young middle-aged to older dressed in business casual. Except for the Dutch language I might have been at a Happy Hour reception at the Fox Chapel Field Club - well, actually I've never been to any event at the Field Club so this is just a wild guess! Although Edith assured us that most educated Dutch people speak English we generally conversed among ourselves, trying to determine whether the Dutch Ambassador might appear and if so how we would be able to identify him or her...After two small glasses of fermented grape and great conversation, I was ready for a meal which was served buffet style - an interesting hybrid of Dutch-Arabic including little sausages and fish with veal and chicken kabobs. We had just finished our meal when a few couples headed for a section clearly designated as the dance floor. I had no intention of humiliating myself in this regard but Edith and Rob were insistent so I gave it my best Saturday Night Fever imitation. After three vigorous pop-rock sets, I had exhausted my repertoire of dance floor moves and retreated to my table, finished my glass and then called for my driver...
It was an enjoyable evening with good friends in lovely setting, an experience that was distinctive because of its normality. Adult men and women together conversing freely, behaving well and enjoying one other's company, good food and beverage and real music in a relaxed, low stress environment. That such an experience is so rare in this environment is notable...
After passing through embassy security which was lax compared to the British and NZ Embassies, we entered an outdoor patio centered on a swimming pool area ringed by soft lights. To my mild surprise there was a bar with a narrow offering of beverages that one might enjoy at Walnut Grove, Peter's Pub or Church Brew Works. My friends opted for a malt beverage while I stayed loyal to white wine - not an especially good one but hey it was the real thing! Filipino guys in uniform circulated among the linen covered cafe tables lining the pool offering hors-d'oeuvres. I accepted a small strip of what looked like bacon - though that was unlikely to impossible - and found it to be chilled and salty, perhaps herring. To my distress I later learned that I had digested eel but survived the experience without adverse effects...
The guests were young middle-aged to older dressed in business casual. Except for the Dutch language I might have been at a Happy Hour reception at the Fox Chapel Field Club - well, actually I've never been to any event at the Field Club so this is just a wild guess! Although Edith assured us that most educated Dutch people speak English we generally conversed among ourselves, trying to determine whether the Dutch Ambassador might appear and if so how we would be able to identify him or her...After two small glasses of fermented grape and great conversation, I was ready for a meal which was served buffet style - an interesting hybrid of Dutch-Arabic including little sausages and fish with veal and chicken kabobs. We had just finished our meal when a few couples headed for a section clearly designated as the dance floor. I had no intention of humiliating myself in this regard but Edith and Rob were insistent so I gave it my best Saturday Night Fever imitation. After three vigorous pop-rock sets, I had exhausted my repertoire of dance floor moves and retreated to my table, finished my glass and then called for my driver...
It was an enjoyable evening with good friends in lovely setting, an experience that was distinctive because of its normality. Adult men and women together conversing freely, behaving well and enjoying one other's company, good food and beverage and real music in a relaxed, low stress environment. That such an experience is so rare in this environment is notable...
Thursday, March 1, 2012
A Perfect (Sand)Storm
Last Sunday began as usual in Riyadh with a warm, sunny morning but predictions for high winds later in the afternoon. By noon the sky had become overcast and off to the northeast, there appeared to be a distant blanket of mist or sheets of rain either of which would be rare if not extraordinary. By mid-afternoon one of our administrative secretaries told me she had just received a weather alert that a major sandstorm was heading for Riyadh from the north, i.e., Kuwait, and that employees were encouraged to leave early. Had this been a prediction oif a major snow storm heading from Cleveland to the 'Burgh, I would likely have continued business as usual, taking note of the traffic flows on 5th Avenue. But in this situation I really didn't know what to expect and the secretary had a note of genuine concern in her voice. Since I'm at the mercy of the shuttle bus to get to and from my compound, I decided to abandon ship for the next (4:15 pm) shuttle.
When I left our building for the 5 minute walk across a dusty construction site (the footprint for an on-campus overhead tram being built) the wind had become gusty and gritty and the sky menacing. By the time I reached the bus stop trash was flying about and women clutching their head scarves, lab coats and abayas. The Yamama III bus arrived on time and several of us boarded quickly relieved to be sheltered from the wind and dust. Just as the bus was about to leave the station, a curtain of total (but reddish) darkness fell as if some one had thrown the "lights off" switch. Although the driver had his high beams on it was not clear that he had more than a few feet of vision. As we slowly wound our way through the campus service roads to the main highway, many limos and personal vehicles pulled over to the side. Our driver forged ahead and merged into a light stream of traffic on the highway in what was essentially pitch dark conditions. Having become somewhat acclimated to the terrors of normal driving in Riyadh, I realized yet again that I had no contol over this situation and so peered out the window looking for signs of break in the storm or perhaps apocalyptic visions suggesting this we might indeed be approaching Judgment Day.
Well, by the time we reached the compound the light had been restored to early evening level, the sky was a chalky gray, a muddy rain hit the windshield and apparently the Endtimes had at least been postponed. So now I have passed yet another expat test: weathering the Saudi version of a blizzard. In fact, I have subsequently learned that the intensity and suddeness of this storm was a once in a decade occurence - and that most sandstorms hitting Riyadh are milder but dirtier and more long lasting. In this case my porch was covered with mounds and rivulets of muddy red and the floor mat strewn with seed pods. The good news is that this means job security for the Filipno guys who contract with the residents to clean the villa facades, porches and windows - a silver lining in every sandstorm cloud!
When I left our building for the 5 minute walk across a dusty construction site (the footprint for an on-campus overhead tram being built) the wind had become gusty and gritty and the sky menacing. By the time I reached the bus stop trash was flying about and women clutching their head scarves, lab coats and abayas. The Yamama III bus arrived on time and several of us boarded quickly relieved to be sheltered from the wind and dust. Just as the bus was about to leave the station, a curtain of total (but reddish) darkness fell as if some one had thrown the "lights off" switch. Although the driver had his high beams on it was not clear that he had more than a few feet of vision. As we slowly wound our way through the campus service roads to the main highway, many limos and personal vehicles pulled over to the side. Our driver forged ahead and merged into a light stream of traffic on the highway in what was essentially pitch dark conditions. Having become somewhat acclimated to the terrors of normal driving in Riyadh, I realized yet again that I had no contol over this situation and so peered out the window looking for signs of break in the storm or perhaps apocalyptic visions suggesting this we might indeed be approaching Judgment Day.
Well, by the time we reached the compound the light had been restored to early evening level, the sky was a chalky gray, a muddy rain hit the windshield and apparently the Endtimes had at least been postponed. So now I have passed yet another expat test: weathering the Saudi version of a blizzard. In fact, I have subsequently learned that the intensity and suddeness of this storm was a once in a decade occurence - and that most sandstorms hitting Riyadh are milder but dirtier and more long lasting. In this case my porch was covered with mounds and rivulets of muddy red and the floor mat strewn with seed pods. The good news is that this means job security for the Filipno guys who contract with the residents to clean the villa facades, porches and windows - a silver lining in every sandstorm cloud!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Back in Action II: The Jeddah Experience
In preparing for Janet's visit, I was faced with the choice of loose scheduling to focus on taking advantage of the limited social and cultural opportunities in Riyadh - primarily restaurants, malls, the old souk (market), a historical museum and more malls - or leaving Riyadh for a side trip to one of the more relaxed cities on the east or west coasts. Fortunately, I scheduled a two-night stay in Jeddah, the 2nd largest city in SA, located on the Red Sea and a popular transition point for Saudis and other Muslims completing the Hajj or umrah to Mecca or Medinah. After extensive on-line review I selected the Jeddah Hilton because of its central location along the Corniche Road facing the Red Sea, its amenities and a special two-night package. After a flat tire/blowout on the way to the airport - our driver and I changed the tire in record time - we had a smooth and uneventful flight to Jeddah. After deplanning at the Jeddah Airport and hailing a cab, we took a 30-minute ride into the city. After confirming that we were Ameriki, the limo driver turned up his radio several decibel levels to listen to an imam preach vociferously. Since I have just begun serious Arabic lessons - I have learned the alphabet and numbers 0 (sifr) to 10 (a'shorah), labelling my vocabularly as meager is giving me far too much credit. However, we did pick up some references to Amerikia - which I suspect were not laudatory.
Having arrived at the hotel in the early afternoon heat - low 90s in Jeddah with considerably more humidity than Riyadh - we were pleased to be greeted by a door man and A/C in the hotel lobby. Well, not only was this the highest quality hotel in which I have had accommodations, it was the most upscale I've ever entered... Booking.com came through, folks! I share this commercial endorsement only to suggest that the hotel itself was a treat in addition to our limited exposure to greater Jeddah. The only disapppointrment with the hotel was that we had expected that the Corniche would be lined with souks and coffee bars but this was not the case. Instead we were within walking distance of the "beach" which in this area was a walkway and narrow band of rocks at the water's edge. The primary challenge here though was olfactory - the beach stank of decomposing fish and stagnant water. Nonetheless, this inconvenience was balanced by the sea breeze, opportunities for people watching and the presence of an ice cream truck - like the one that chimes its arrival at the city parks in the 'Burgh. Enjoying soft ice cream at the Red Sea on a brilliant sunny day - who would have ever guessed. One of two fisherman approached me, confirmed that I was Ameriki and suggested hopefully that I had sufficient US dollars to buy some fish for our dinner. As I had no USD with me and no prospects of our preparing a fish dinner in our room at the hotel, I had to disappoint him.
The real attraction for both Janet and I were the series of large, some huge, open air sculptures along the Corniche. After the drab functionality and red dust of Riyadh these eye-catching and playful sculptures that extend for miles were an unexpected delight. The subject matter ranged from nautical themes - wave-like forms, boats, etc. to giant carpenter's tools (go figure!), to free form abstractions but no human representations, at least that we saw. If you have further interest in viewing these, I recommend that you Google the blog site "susieofarabia" for an extensive photo display and for insights into an expat woman's experiences living a married life in the Kingdom, check out her blog.
Our primary excursion into Jeddah was a long limo (taxi) ride along the corniche to the Old Souk. Both Janet and I envisioned an open air market with vendors hawking their wares under tents. To our mild suprise, the souk was a series of store front shops facing the street with an entrance into a semi-air conditioned urban mall. For those of you who have been following this meandering path, vision Al Shorah NOT Kingdom Tower! The layout followed the typical pattern: clusters of stores selling the same products side by side: jewelry, perfumes, women's and men's clothing, etc. Since we were on a mission to buy gifts for family and friends, this was an ideal arrangement for efficient shopping while we manuevered our way past store owners beseeching us to part with our riyals in their shops - no claims of higher quality or even best value just a plea based on our proximity...
Imagine my delight at discovering an out-door donut shop being a man who never met a donut he didn't want to consume. The icing on the cake (or donut in this case) was a cafe where I ordered a capucchino and drank it leisurely - Ah, the simple pleasures are the often the best! - while Janet searched for perfume. She approached a nearby vendor and began to sample the fragrances when a tiny Saudi woman in full abaya and veil caught her arm and sotto voce and in perfect English advised her to get a price but NOT to make a purchase with him. Instead this lady offered to guide Janet to the vendor she had done business with for years who had the best prices and current inventory that hadn't lost its aroma by exceeding its shelf life. I was really impressed by yet another example of Saudi courtesy to strangers - and it turns out that this woman was quite cosmopolitan, having a daughter who worked for the Saudi embassy in DC.
While Janet and her new friend were shopping, I finished my coffee and did some people watching. However, after 20 minutes, I became uneasy and in 30 started to have heart palpitations. Perhaps this lovely lady was actually the front for a kidnapping ring and (!) ... and other frightening images loomed as I had no way to communicate with Janet by cell phone. I was about to search for a security officer who might speak English when mercifully Janet appeared out of the crowd. The adrenalin subsided when Janet recounted her delightful shopping trip with this lovely lady and how she temporarily lost her way among the corridors in this Alice in Wonderland maze of shops. Obviously this incident encompassed both the low the high points of my excursion. Janet's low point by far was her misjudgment in entering the women's "rest room" facility. Enough said as some things are better to be left to the imagination.
All things considered a very enjoyable visit to an intriguing city, offering a quite different perspective on the Saudi cultural mosaic.
Having arrived at the hotel in the early afternoon heat - low 90s in Jeddah with considerably more humidity than Riyadh - we were pleased to be greeted by a door man and A/C in the hotel lobby. Well, not only was this the highest quality hotel in which I have had accommodations, it was the most upscale I've ever entered... Booking.com came through, folks! I share this commercial endorsement only to suggest that the hotel itself was a treat in addition to our limited exposure to greater Jeddah. The only disapppointrment with the hotel was that we had expected that the Corniche would be lined with souks and coffee bars but this was not the case. Instead we were within walking distance of the "beach" which in this area was a walkway and narrow band of rocks at the water's edge. The primary challenge here though was olfactory - the beach stank of decomposing fish and stagnant water. Nonetheless, this inconvenience was balanced by the sea breeze, opportunities for people watching and the presence of an ice cream truck - like the one that chimes its arrival at the city parks in the 'Burgh. Enjoying soft ice cream at the Red Sea on a brilliant sunny day - who would have ever guessed. One of two fisherman approached me, confirmed that I was Ameriki and suggested hopefully that I had sufficient US dollars to buy some fish for our dinner. As I had no USD with me and no prospects of our preparing a fish dinner in our room at the hotel, I had to disappoint him.
The real attraction for both Janet and I were the series of large, some huge, open air sculptures along the Corniche. After the drab functionality and red dust of Riyadh these eye-catching and playful sculptures that extend for miles were an unexpected delight. The subject matter ranged from nautical themes - wave-like forms, boats, etc. to giant carpenter's tools (go figure!), to free form abstractions but no human representations, at least that we saw. If you have further interest in viewing these, I recommend that you Google the blog site "susieofarabia" for an extensive photo display and for insights into an expat woman's experiences living a married life in the Kingdom, check out her blog.
Our primary excursion into Jeddah was a long limo (taxi) ride along the corniche to the Old Souk. Both Janet and I envisioned an open air market with vendors hawking their wares under tents. To our mild suprise, the souk was a series of store front shops facing the street with an entrance into a semi-air conditioned urban mall. For those of you who have been following this meandering path, vision Al Shorah NOT Kingdom Tower! The layout followed the typical pattern: clusters of stores selling the same products side by side: jewelry, perfumes, women's and men's clothing, etc. Since we were on a mission to buy gifts for family and friends, this was an ideal arrangement for efficient shopping while we manuevered our way past store owners beseeching us to part with our riyals in their shops - no claims of higher quality or even best value just a plea based on our proximity...
Imagine my delight at discovering an out-door donut shop being a man who never met a donut he didn't want to consume. The icing on the cake (or donut in this case) was a cafe where I ordered a capucchino and drank it leisurely - Ah, the simple pleasures are the often the best! - while Janet searched for perfume. She approached a nearby vendor and began to sample the fragrances when a tiny Saudi woman in full abaya and veil caught her arm and sotto voce and in perfect English advised her to get a price but NOT to make a purchase with him. Instead this lady offered to guide Janet to the vendor she had done business with for years who had the best prices and current inventory that hadn't lost its aroma by exceeding its shelf life. I was really impressed by yet another example of Saudi courtesy to strangers - and it turns out that this woman was quite cosmopolitan, having a daughter who worked for the Saudi embassy in DC.
While Janet and her new friend were shopping, I finished my coffee and did some people watching. However, after 20 minutes, I became uneasy and in 30 started to have heart palpitations. Perhaps this lovely lady was actually the front for a kidnapping ring and (!) ... and other frightening images loomed as I had no way to communicate with Janet by cell phone. I was about to search for a security officer who might speak English when mercifully Janet appeared out of the crowd. The adrenalin subsided when Janet recounted her delightful shopping trip with this lovely lady and how she temporarily lost her way among the corridors in this Alice in Wonderland maze of shops. Obviously this incident encompassed both the low the high points of my excursion. Janet's low point by far was her misjudgment in entering the women's "rest room" facility. Enough said as some things are better to be left to the imagination.
All things considered a very enjoyable visit to an intriguing city, offering a quite different perspective on the Saudi cultural mosaic.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Back in Action - Part I: Edge of the World
For various reasons the Blog has been AWOL for several weeks so I will highlight the events of the past month. The key and most important event of my experience her in Riyadh was the all too brief visit of Janet in mid-February. We had a wonderful time together both in Riyadh and in a side trip to Jeddah in the far west of Saudi Arabia. Our peak experience in Riyadh was a trip into the desert to view and hike around the area appropriately named the Edge of the World, which is located about an 1-1/2 hour drive outside Riyadh. Janet and I and three other expats made the bone-shaking trip in a four wheel-drive Jeep through the scrub desert over a trail that at best provided a clearly marked gravel road bed and at worst deteriorated into soft sand or step hills and craters with axle-testing rocks. Our driver was a Norwegian who (praise God!) was an expert trekker and knew the route well with some GPS support. Another couple was driven by our favorite Pakistani limo driver, S. in his 8-cylinder Ford sedan. If you are envisioning a Lawrence of Arabia scenario with vistas of sand dunes - well that's the movie and another part of the Saudi eco-system. The desert leading up to the rim of a high plateau, ie., the Edge of the World, was flat, crossed by dry river beds, with occasional clumps of brush and low-lying trees that must have been fed by underground aquifers since this area had not experienced rain for 6-12 months. Solitary and small clusters (too few for a herd) of camels were seen off-road usually around the small oases of trees and brush. At one point we stopped to let a goat herder who led but didn't ride a small pony, and his flock pass in front of us.
About half way into the trip through the desert we saw a sign in Arabic and English that announced that we were approaching a dam! To our amazement as we crested a rise to our left was a totally bone dry reservoir: again it had not seen liquid in a very long time. Why was it here in the very midst of Nowhere and did it ever hold any H2O? Soon after the track seemed to end at a set of pillars and link-chain fence. Our driver, let's call him Nels, was quite surprised as during his most recent trip he had maneuvered around this obstacle. Finally he discovered the gate which was locked by a heavy chain. Nearby was a small building resembling a class room portable and several of us walked up to it hoping to find a guard. Fortunately a very affable Yemeni guy opened the gate for us promising he would be on duty later in the evening to let us exit - but I had serious doubts about that! Why exactly was this fence in place and what was the purpose of the security in this remotest of locations?Another Saudi mystery that only God can understand!
Finally we saw an uplift and break in the terrain ahead, several parked cars and a makeshift fireplace. After stretching our weary limbs, we went to the edge of the precipice - which I did very cautiously as the surface was easily fractured sandstone and the drop into the valley below between 500-700 KM. The view was breathtaking even from this vantage point as you could see for miles the plain below criss-crossed with what had once been riverbeds and no signs of human habitation. Except for streaks and patches of vegetation, it would have been a lunar landscape. Those who were able climbed up a rocky trail to the top of this ridge for an even broader view. Across the near horizon were two flat-topped twin peaks (chimneys, actuallly) about a 1/4 mile walk ahead. Nels and two of the ladies walked to the very top for a photo op but I decided not to test my vertigo for yet another peak experience!
While some of us scrambled up the heights, Janet took photos from the plateau's edge and while doing so heard a strange low sound from the valley below which at first she couldn't identify. After peering down into the abyss she was able to spot a line of brown objects moving in formation - and realized that she was hearing the braying of camels. Once I had returned to the lower rim, Janet remarked how she had been increasingly experiencing a sense of the age and mystery of the place, a scene that minus the cars and backpacks would not have been unfamiliar to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. A glimpse perhaps of the Ancient of Days in Saudi Arabia 2012!
The plan's organizer, Edith, an expat nursing supervisor from the Netherlands had coordinated the whole trip including a picnic supper which we were to enjoy along with the Saudi sunset. Having left the rim we found a comfortable spot along a former river bed for our picnic table and portable chairs. Again Janet expressed her wonder at the scene resonant with deeper significance. This small group, five men and three woman representing five nations, Pakistan, Norway, Netherlands, Ireland and the US were in a biblical setting literally breaking Pita bread together, sipping non-alcoholic, homemade "red wine", sharing quiche, humus and cheeses and sharing our stories as the red-hued sun slipped below the horizon - an experience I will never forget.
The trip back to civilization was memorable in a different way as the darkness set in quickly in the desert. I will never understand how Nels was able to find and keep oriented to a navigable track. At one point in pitch dark, he encountered soft sand which he could maneuver but feared that the Ford limo following us could not. We sprent 10 anxious minutes during hairpin turns trying to find a more solid track. Finally - and in my view, miraculously, came to the fence and locked gate. Coincidentally, a car ahead of us filled with a group of young Syrian guys were also trying to exit but there mobile phones weren't picking up a signal. Consequently, we began to trudge up the hill to the gatekeeper's shack when he appeared smiling with his keys. I could have hugged him as I wasn't eager to spend the night in the desert, especially as it was a relatively cool evening and I also couldn't dismiss images of scorpions and snakes looking for a warm place...
Although again, the last leg of the trip from the desert to the highway, was bone-jarring, it was otherwise uneventful. Once we turned onto the asphalt, I breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving both for the incredible experience and our departing it safe and sound but sore. However, we had only gone five minutes on a two-lane highway and up ahead was a car coming in our lane toward us full speed. By now I had full trust in Nel's driving skills but wondered what maneuvers he would execute to avoid collision. Fortunately, the car ahead quickly went onto the shoulder having decided we weren't going to yield. Having just caught our collective breath on this near miss, Nels resumed speed as it was getting late and Riydah traffic, especially on weekend evenings until about 1:00, is brutal. We saw some blinking lights ahead which sometimes indicate a security check point that are placed on the fringes of the city. Suddenly Nels hit the breaks to cushion the impact of a speed bump in the middle of this high speed highway. Janet's head hit the ceiling but otherwise no one was injured, wa-alhamdulilah... but it again begged the question: Why here?
All things considered, though, it was a WONDERFUL and unforgettable experience!
About half way into the trip through the desert we saw a sign in Arabic and English that announced that we were approaching a dam! To our amazement as we crested a rise to our left was a totally bone dry reservoir: again it had not seen liquid in a very long time. Why was it here in the very midst of Nowhere and did it ever hold any H2O? Soon after the track seemed to end at a set of pillars and link-chain fence. Our driver, let's call him Nels, was quite surprised as during his most recent trip he had maneuvered around this obstacle. Finally he discovered the gate which was locked by a heavy chain. Nearby was a small building resembling a class room portable and several of us walked up to it hoping to find a guard. Fortunately a very affable Yemeni guy opened the gate for us promising he would be on duty later in the evening to let us exit - but I had serious doubts about that! Why exactly was this fence in place and what was the purpose of the security in this remotest of locations?Another Saudi mystery that only God can understand!
Finally we saw an uplift and break in the terrain ahead, several parked cars and a makeshift fireplace. After stretching our weary limbs, we went to the edge of the precipice - which I did very cautiously as the surface was easily fractured sandstone and the drop into the valley below between 500-700 KM. The view was breathtaking even from this vantage point as you could see for miles the plain below criss-crossed with what had once been riverbeds and no signs of human habitation. Except for streaks and patches of vegetation, it would have been a lunar landscape. Those who were able climbed up a rocky trail to the top of this ridge for an even broader view. Across the near horizon were two flat-topped twin peaks (chimneys, actuallly) about a 1/4 mile walk ahead. Nels and two of the ladies walked to the very top for a photo op but I decided not to test my vertigo for yet another peak experience!
While some of us scrambled up the heights, Janet took photos from the plateau's edge and while doing so heard a strange low sound from the valley below which at first she couldn't identify. After peering down into the abyss she was able to spot a line of brown objects moving in formation - and realized that she was hearing the braying of camels. Once I had returned to the lower rim, Janet remarked how she had been increasingly experiencing a sense of the age and mystery of the place, a scene that minus the cars and backpacks would not have been unfamiliar to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. A glimpse perhaps of the Ancient of Days in Saudi Arabia 2012!
The plan's organizer, Edith, an expat nursing supervisor from the Netherlands had coordinated the whole trip including a picnic supper which we were to enjoy along with the Saudi sunset. Having left the rim we found a comfortable spot along a former river bed for our picnic table and portable chairs. Again Janet expressed her wonder at the scene resonant with deeper significance. This small group, five men and three woman representing five nations, Pakistan, Norway, Netherlands, Ireland and the US were in a biblical setting literally breaking Pita bread together, sipping non-alcoholic, homemade "red wine", sharing quiche, humus and cheeses and sharing our stories as the red-hued sun slipped below the horizon - an experience I will never forget.
The trip back to civilization was memorable in a different way as the darkness set in quickly in the desert. I will never understand how Nels was able to find and keep oriented to a navigable track. At one point in pitch dark, he encountered soft sand which he could maneuver but feared that the Ford limo following us could not. We sprent 10 anxious minutes during hairpin turns trying to find a more solid track. Finally - and in my view, miraculously, came to the fence and locked gate. Coincidentally, a car ahead of us filled with a group of young Syrian guys were also trying to exit but there mobile phones weren't picking up a signal. Consequently, we began to trudge up the hill to the gatekeeper's shack when he appeared smiling with his keys. I could have hugged him as I wasn't eager to spend the night in the desert, especially as it was a relatively cool evening and I also couldn't dismiss images of scorpions and snakes looking for a warm place...
Although again, the last leg of the trip from the desert to the highway, was bone-jarring, it was otherwise uneventful. Once we turned onto the asphalt, I breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving both for the incredible experience and our departing it safe and sound but sore. However, we had only gone five minutes on a two-lane highway and up ahead was a car coming in our lane toward us full speed. By now I had full trust in Nel's driving skills but wondered what maneuvers he would execute to avoid collision. Fortunately, the car ahead quickly went onto the shoulder having decided we weren't going to yield. Having just caught our collective breath on this near miss, Nels resumed speed as it was getting late and Riydah traffic, especially on weekend evenings until about 1:00, is brutal. We saw some blinking lights ahead which sometimes indicate a security check point that are placed on the fringes of the city. Suddenly Nels hit the breaks to cushion the impact of a speed bump in the middle of this high speed highway. Janet's head hit the ceiling but otherwise no one was injured, wa-alhamdulilah... but it again begged the question: Why here?
All things considered, though, it was a WONDERFUL and unforgettable experience!
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Camping Out II: The Farm at Night
After the wedding reception ended at about 10:30, we headed back to the family farm. Feeling that I had enough cultural immersion for the day, I politely declined another round of tea and headed for bed - or rather the floor since no cots were in sight. I was directed to one of the three attached rooms outside of which was a row of modern sinks where the boys had put their toiletries. I envisioned four or five of us sprawled on the floor or squeezed on to the carpeted benches at the perimeter, neither option looking very attractive. A greater concern loomed as I started to notice the decline in temperature since the earlier evening. The room had become quite chilly, no obvious heating unit, no blankets in sight and my jogging suit serving as PJs. I was deciding how great offense it might be to inquire about a blanket when my colleague Shakir entered with a full sized blow-up mattress from KMart and a soft blanket. I thanked Shakir profusely and gave a silent prayer of thanks for my delivery from the floor. Also, though the boys trooped in to brush their teeth and change into sleepwear, I had the quarters to myself. All should have been good except that - at least by Saudi standards - it became quite cold, the first time I could apply that term in SA. The combination of unfamiliar surroundings, the temperature and a not quite adequate blanket made for a twisting, turning frigid half-sleep, interrupted periodically by chickens seranading outside the tent. Finally at about the first light I was able to doze off planning to sleep in for at least several hours.
However, soon thereafter I was being shaken awake by K. who was clearly inviting me for breakfast in Arabic and hand signs. Under the circumstances I had little choice but to make ready for the morning, thinking that eggs and toast with tea might be a welcome remedy for a sleepless night and the morning chill. We sat on the floor in the third room which was heated and the morning sun made it quite pleasant. The entrees were in large covered tureens set on the floor on plastic mats along with plates of jam, yoghurt, Arabic breads, black olives and canned tuna. When K removed the serving dish covers, my hopes for eggs (in any form) were deflated. One dish contain a thin broth or porrage with a potent aroma that I managed to avoid - yes, I'm a wimp, gastronomically speaking, especialy early in the day. The other offering was a camel stew which I did try and would have enjoyed later in the day. So I focused on mint tea, bread, jam and yoghurt which were all quite good, actually. Shakir had offered me both silverware and a chair but wanting to be one of the guys, declined both. As you likely know the traditional dining is done using bread as the spoon/fork and dipping into the common bowl, always sitting on the floor cross-legged.
The conversation was exclusively in Arabic and became quite animated after a guest arrived, a bearded middle-aged guy who I was informed was the local Imam. While understanding not a word of the heated conversation, it occured to me that they might be debating the appropriateness of breakfasting with an infidel in their midst - but given that courtesy to their guests is embedded in the Saudi DNA, I knew this wasn't likely. On the return trip home later that day, I learned the scoop: local politics. The imam had witten a letter to the local paper criticizing the chief of police for lax enforcement of some ordinance and the chief went to the local authority, the mayor or equivalent, to complain about this challenge to his reputation. The imam was expected to present a balanced view of the dispute in the mosque...Sounds much like Lawrenceville ward politics to me...
After breakfast I was encouraged to take a tour of the farm. Apparently, K ran the farm as a sideline to his own business interests. They raised lettuce and other vegetables primarily for home consumption, kept chickens and a herd of goats. The goats were a prized commodity being a breed with a long coat and a flat, narrow face, almost comical in appearance. In response to my question, Shakir told me that they weren't raised for their milk which is a popular commodity in the Kingdom but more for the pleasures of animal husbandry, including tending to the sick among the flock. I then complete a walk through the grounds accompanied by one of the younngsters who knew few words of English but we made the effort. The rows of plants and vegetables were lined with irrigation hoses and palm trees with an occasional pine tree with long soft needles. I could identify gourds and trees with a greenish-yellow fruit that reminded me of quince but otherwise the crop had already been picked. Although the acreage was extensive it had the appearance of a very large and sprawling garden, reminiscent of my grandfather's mini-farm, Wesley Sr, in Johnstown PA decades ago, a music teacher who was also a gentleman farmer.
Well, the little tour raised my spirits and warmed my bones - and by mid-morning we left the farm for the camel festival...
To be continued.
However, soon thereafter I was being shaken awake by K. who was clearly inviting me for breakfast in Arabic and hand signs. Under the circumstances I had little choice but to make ready for the morning, thinking that eggs and toast with tea might be a welcome remedy for a sleepless night and the morning chill. We sat on the floor in the third room which was heated and the morning sun made it quite pleasant. The entrees were in large covered tureens set on the floor on plastic mats along with plates of jam, yoghurt, Arabic breads, black olives and canned tuna. When K removed the serving dish covers, my hopes for eggs (in any form) were deflated. One dish contain a thin broth or porrage with a potent aroma that I managed to avoid - yes, I'm a wimp, gastronomically speaking, especialy early in the day. The other offering was a camel stew which I did try and would have enjoyed later in the day. So I focused on mint tea, bread, jam and yoghurt which were all quite good, actually. Shakir had offered me both silverware and a chair but wanting to be one of the guys, declined both. As you likely know the traditional dining is done using bread as the spoon/fork and dipping into the common bowl, always sitting on the floor cross-legged.
The conversation was exclusively in Arabic and became quite animated after a guest arrived, a bearded middle-aged guy who I was informed was the local Imam. While understanding not a word of the heated conversation, it occured to me that they might be debating the appropriateness of breakfasting with an infidel in their midst - but given that courtesy to their guests is embedded in the Saudi DNA, I knew this wasn't likely. On the return trip home later that day, I learned the scoop: local politics. The imam had witten a letter to the local paper criticizing the chief of police for lax enforcement of some ordinance and the chief went to the local authority, the mayor or equivalent, to complain about this challenge to his reputation. The imam was expected to present a balanced view of the dispute in the mosque...Sounds much like Lawrenceville ward politics to me...
After breakfast I was encouraged to take a tour of the farm. Apparently, K ran the farm as a sideline to his own business interests. They raised lettuce and other vegetables primarily for home consumption, kept chickens and a herd of goats. The goats were a prized commodity being a breed with a long coat and a flat, narrow face, almost comical in appearance. In response to my question, Shakir told me that they weren't raised for their milk which is a popular commodity in the Kingdom but more for the pleasures of animal husbandry, including tending to the sick among the flock. I then complete a walk through the grounds accompanied by one of the younngsters who knew few words of English but we made the effort. The rows of plants and vegetables were lined with irrigation hoses and palm trees with an occasional pine tree with long soft needles. I could identify gourds and trees with a greenish-yellow fruit that reminded me of quince but otherwise the crop had already been picked. Although the acreage was extensive it had the appearance of a very large and sprawling garden, reminiscent of my grandfather's mini-farm, Wesley Sr, in Johnstown PA decades ago, a music teacher who was also a gentleman farmer.
Well, the little tour raised my spirits and warmed my bones - and by mid-morning we left the farm for the camel festival...
To be continued.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Camping Out Part I: The Wedding
This weekend I had the rare but challenging opportunity to experience episodes in Saudi culture that relatively few expats have the opportunity to witness. I had been invited to spend an overnight at the ancestral farm of a Saudi colleague, AS, outside a small town, Al-Majma'ah, 200 KM north of Riyadh. The occasion for the trip was for AS, his son, his four brothers and several nephews and cousins to attend the wedding reception of a relative. This took place on a Wednesday evening and the plan was for me to spend the night with the guys and attend a Camel Festival the next day in a small community on the fringres of the desert, Um Rogabiyah. I met and had a brief chat with AS's wife (full veil) before we left but no women were on the guest list.
I characterized this venture as challenging for several reasons. As most of my family and close friends are aware, I am not comfortable in large social settings, especially absent the social buffer Janet provides so expertly. Furthermore this was a stretch for me well outside my new (Riyadhi) comfort zone. As a creature of habit I have developed a comfortable and sustaining routine (campus to compound to market to compound) which would be shattered by this trip into the heart of Saudi culture. Nonetheless it was an offer that I could not refuse without compelling reason as that would have been a major affront.
The 2-1/2 hour trip to the farm provided late afternoon and twilight views of what I can best decribe as scrub desert - flat, sandy plains with occasional small trees with horizontal canopies similar to those seen in National Geographic views of the African savanna, and close to the road an unfortunate zone of consumer detritus, trash bags, plastic bottles, retired truck tires. This was not Lawrence of Arabia vistas but it was a taste of things to come later. Once we left the lights of Riyadh and other thana small University campus near Al-Majma'ah, the Region was relatively unpopulated but for occasional groups of tents used by urban campers.
As a manifestation of my nervousness about the trip I was alert to the placement of gas stations, which fortunately were relatively frequent on this main highway which led eventually north to Kuwait. My colleague apologized for the inadequacies of the gas stations which he found unacceptably far below Western standards (as he had lived in the States for several years earning his advanced degrees). Having been forewarned, I avoided the "restrooms" with religious conviction...
Having arrived at the farm, which was primarily the responsibility of and weekend retreat for K, the eldest brother of the family, after dark it was difficult to sense the layout and extent of the property. I was invited to enter one large room (actually a permanent tent with hard walls) and was greeted by K who was watching a camel competition on a US tavern-sized TV screen. The room, at least 18' x 25' was carpeted in a dark red with beige geometric patterns. The seating was provided by low carpeted benches along the long sides of the room with moveable rectangular hard pillows used primarily as arm rests. Dark green and gold curtains covered the windows along the perimeter. Except for the TV the ambiance was, if not exactly Arabian nights, at least a more rustic equivalent... Even before the other brothers had arrived we sat on the floor enjoying dates and ginger tea. In truth, I don't enjoy the fresh dates - though being able to spit the seeds onto the table cloth provided is rather liberating - but the ginger tea, now that's another matter. The warm ginger is accented by an unknown (to the expat novice) spice with a hint of lemon leaving a peppery aftertaste. To say that I enjoyed it and willingly took three small cups is a small miracle, given my disdain toward tea being a bold coffee addict and advocate.
Slowly the family assembled having changed into thobes appropriate for the celebration. I was wearing the conservative sports jacket and slacks as my on-campus uniform, realizing I would blend in like a lump of coal thrown onto a snow bank... tension was mounting in spite of the ginger tea!
The wedding reception was held in a wedding hall, not unlike the suburban Pittsburgh equivalent except for the absence of a bar, wedding gifts, band and females. Men and boys were seated in red and gold upholstered chairs and love seats the length of the marble floored hall. Four elderly gents were seated in the row of chairs facing the entrance but appeared to have been offered choice seats and otherwise had no discernible role in the ceremony. Well, actually what was most notable - other than the expected (but for me, unforgiveable) exclusion of women - was the absence of ceremony in a formal sense. The basic ritual was an endless walk-around of guests expressing greetings to family, friends and acquaitances with handshakes and kisses on the cheek for close friends. While waiting to greet or be greeted and for the groom to enter, we sat sipping Arabic coffee and munching on the ubiquitous dates offered by tea boys dressed in robes, an image that for me evoked Kipling more than 1001 nights... Finally the groom and his entourage arrived, evident primarily by the timely appearance of the official photographer who had also been taking shots of small clusters of guests. [I would love to be a fly on the wall when the groom shares the photos with his bride showing a graying Western expat in coat and tie who crashed the party.]
After a final round of tea and mamouls (date-filled cookies, the local Oreos) and heralded by the teaboys goiung through the crowd with large censors of an acrid incense, we were urged to sit for dinner in an adjoining room. The groom, his father and other members of the groom's party sat at a banquet style head table but there were no speeches, toasts (considered haram along with alcohol), smooches between bride and groom since no bride present. The food was good and filling - and the excess of food was the primary link to the Western style wedding reception. The major entrees were camel and rice, beef and chicken strips, Arabic flat bread, a humous and vegie salad plate and an overflowing desert station where I opted for a tiramasu-like custard.
As the only expat in the place - perhaps the only one ever to be in this small town wedding hall - I consider it to have been a privileged experience, reflecting the unfailing courtesy of my colleague and his family. Nevertheless I left feeling both relieved - having apparently escaped without committing any obvious cross-cultural blunders - but also disappointed. From my outsider perspective, the celebration was oddly joyless, the atmosphere more of a subdued political rally for a novice candidate running in his first election but without the press or speeches. I'm confident that the men found it rewarding or at least satisfying, i.e., that they had participated according to custom and expectations and maintained the good name of their family... But I cannot describe what I observed as a celebration of the central focus, the joining together of the couple - impossible since SHE was absent and unspoken.
To be continued...
I characterized this venture as challenging for several reasons. As most of my family and close friends are aware, I am not comfortable in large social settings, especially absent the social buffer Janet provides so expertly. Furthermore this was a stretch for me well outside my new (Riyadhi) comfort zone. As a creature of habit I have developed a comfortable and sustaining routine (campus to compound to market to compound) which would be shattered by this trip into the heart of Saudi culture. Nonetheless it was an offer that I could not refuse without compelling reason as that would have been a major affront.
The 2-1/2 hour trip to the farm provided late afternoon and twilight views of what I can best decribe as scrub desert - flat, sandy plains with occasional small trees with horizontal canopies similar to those seen in National Geographic views of the African savanna, and close to the road an unfortunate zone of consumer detritus, trash bags, plastic bottles, retired truck tires. This was not Lawrence of Arabia vistas but it was a taste of things to come later. Once we left the lights of Riyadh and other thana small University campus near Al-Majma'ah, the Region was relatively unpopulated but for occasional groups of tents used by urban campers.
As a manifestation of my nervousness about the trip I was alert to the placement of gas stations, which fortunately were relatively frequent on this main highway which led eventually north to Kuwait. My colleague apologized for the inadequacies of the gas stations which he found unacceptably far below Western standards (as he had lived in the States for several years earning his advanced degrees). Having been forewarned, I avoided the "restrooms" with religious conviction...
Having arrived at the farm, which was primarily the responsibility of and weekend retreat for K, the eldest brother of the family, after dark it was difficult to sense the layout and extent of the property. I was invited to enter one large room (actually a permanent tent with hard walls) and was greeted by K who was watching a camel competition on a US tavern-sized TV screen. The room, at least 18' x 25' was carpeted in a dark red with beige geometric patterns. The seating was provided by low carpeted benches along the long sides of the room with moveable rectangular hard pillows used primarily as arm rests. Dark green and gold curtains covered the windows along the perimeter. Except for the TV the ambiance was, if not exactly Arabian nights, at least a more rustic equivalent... Even before the other brothers had arrived we sat on the floor enjoying dates and ginger tea. In truth, I don't enjoy the fresh dates - though being able to spit the seeds onto the table cloth provided is rather liberating - but the ginger tea, now that's another matter. The warm ginger is accented by an unknown (to the expat novice) spice with a hint of lemon leaving a peppery aftertaste. To say that I enjoyed it and willingly took three small cups is a small miracle, given my disdain toward tea being a bold coffee addict and advocate.
Slowly the family assembled having changed into thobes appropriate for the celebration. I was wearing the conservative sports jacket and slacks as my on-campus uniform, realizing I would blend in like a lump of coal thrown onto a snow bank... tension was mounting in spite of the ginger tea!
The wedding reception was held in a wedding hall, not unlike the suburban Pittsburgh equivalent except for the absence of a bar, wedding gifts, band and females. Men and boys were seated in red and gold upholstered chairs and love seats the length of the marble floored hall. Four elderly gents were seated in the row of chairs facing the entrance but appeared to have been offered choice seats and otherwise had no discernible role in the ceremony. Well, actually what was most notable - other than the expected (but for me, unforgiveable) exclusion of women - was the absence of ceremony in a formal sense. The basic ritual was an endless walk-around of guests expressing greetings to family, friends and acquaitances with handshakes and kisses on the cheek for close friends. While waiting to greet or be greeted and for the groom to enter, we sat sipping Arabic coffee and munching on the ubiquitous dates offered by tea boys dressed in robes, an image that for me evoked Kipling more than 1001 nights... Finally the groom and his entourage arrived, evident primarily by the timely appearance of the official photographer who had also been taking shots of small clusters of guests. [I would love to be a fly on the wall when the groom shares the photos with his bride showing a graying Western expat in coat and tie who crashed the party.]
After a final round of tea and mamouls (date-filled cookies, the local Oreos) and heralded by the teaboys goiung through the crowd with large censors of an acrid incense, we were urged to sit for dinner in an adjoining room. The groom, his father and other members of the groom's party sat at a banquet style head table but there were no speeches, toasts (considered haram along with alcohol), smooches between bride and groom since no bride present. The food was good and filling - and the excess of food was the primary link to the Western style wedding reception. The major entrees were camel and rice, beef and chicken strips, Arabic flat bread, a humous and vegie salad plate and an overflowing desert station where I opted for a tiramasu-like custard.
As the only expat in the place - perhaps the only one ever to be in this small town wedding hall - I consider it to have been a privileged experience, reflecting the unfailing courtesy of my colleague and his family. Nevertheless I left feeling both relieved - having apparently escaped without committing any obvious cross-cultural blunders - but also disappointed. From my outsider perspective, the celebration was oddly joyless, the atmosphere more of a subdued political rally for a novice candidate running in his first election but without the press or speeches. I'm confident that the men found it rewarding or at least satisfying, i.e., that they had participated according to custom and expectations and maintained the good name of their family... But I cannot describe what I observed as a celebration of the central focus, the joining together of the couple - impossible since SHE was absent and unspoken.
To be continued...
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