1001 Arabian Facts- Part 1

There are subtleties to any culture that you only notice after the glaring differences fade into normalcy. With time, patterns begin to appear out of the chaos.

For example, when you combine frequent sandstorms and elaborate lattice work, you have to hire three Indonesian guys to clean the acres of intricate woodwork:

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One of the most well-known facts about Saudi Arabia is that alcohol is illegal. However, I suspect there may be a little home-brewing going on, evidenced by the pallets of grape juice for sale at the local grocery store:

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Now I know why everyone drives SUVs with so much cargo space…

Stay tuned, at this rate I’ll have time to learn 999 more things about Saudi culture before global warming turns my villa into a beach-front paradise…  only without the margaritas.

Family Fun Day- Even More Fun Without the Kids!

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Inside this building, there must be some incredibly magnetic force for children; it’s a black hole of time (and parents money). It’s Girl Scouts Family Fun Day. I guess it makes sense that Girl Scouts aren’t going to walk around the Arabian peninsula selling cookies, so this is their yearly fund raiser.

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The great thing about Family Fun Day is that you can give your kids a handful of cash and not see them again for four hours. It’s like a foretaste of college. Then the parents get to have fun, and spend their own money…

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This was like a traditional Arab souq (market), but without the flies and pickpockets. Now that’s family fun!

 

The Edge of The World

Or “The Day I Learned That Camels Like Bananas”

Waking up the kids on a weekend takes tactical decision making. Any activity you have planned had better be well worth the drama and heartache of ruining an entire day of Xbox and compound-roaming with friends. To find the perfect weekend adventure, I cruised the internet until I found The Edge of the World. It sounds like an ominous apocalyptic prophecy, or maybe a cheesy Tom Cruise sic-fi movie, but it was near the top of TripAdvisor for Riyadh, so we made plans.
Early this morning, we harassed the munchkins and loaded them into The Beast (our rented Suburban) and headed for the rendezvous point. Fifteen minutes late, but that’s not bad for a Saturday.DSC_0263
Our amazing tour guide, Maz, advised us that the day would completely revolve around our every whim. With that new-found freedom, we voted for breakfast. This, you might guess, was not a drive-thru fast food joint:
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After enough carb-loading for a marathon, we jumped back in the truck for the 80 mile drive into the desert. I was glad we had hired Maz, as the directions I found on the internet included references to GPS coordinates and bringing extra supplies. As it turns out, once we were in the vicinity, we could’ve just followed the herd of SUVs:
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Along the way, we crossed paths with the other indigenous species of Saudi Arabia, the camel. Our guide expertly paralleled the nearest group, and lured them over with a banana:
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He was then rewarded with a kiss. I think he had mixed feelings about the camel’s amorous overtures.
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The other camels soon figured out the scam, and wanted in on the action…
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and wouldn’t take “I have no more bananas” for an answer..
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Before the kids could really amp up the “are we there yet” chorus, we reached the end of the trail. No signs, no ranger stations, and certainly no guard rails or amenities. The hiking and views were, however, world-class.
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We discovered an invasive species of mountain goat that is notorious for leaving granola-bar wrappers strewn throughout their habitat:
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Most importantly, we had quality family time without losing anyone to a long free-fall.
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Maz gave us a bucket list of places to visit in the Arabian peninsula, and we can’t wait to take everyone along via the blog. Saudi Arabia doesn’t issue visitor visas, so we are looking forward to unspoiled wilderness and many opportunities to ruin our kids’ weekend social lives.

The More Things Change…

It is amazing how similar life in Saudi Arabia can be to North America. The shorter members of the family start school tomorrow, so we’ve been school supply shopping. All the supplies were familiar; the primary difference was handing our list to a nice Pakistani man who found everything for us and filled our cart. You don’t find that kind of service at Wal-Mart! The bookstore that was recommended to us is a popular chain here; sort of the Barnes & Noble of the Middle East. I was expecting a dozen rows of different Qurans, which they had:

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However, the next row over was a little less conservative:

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I think the religious police must not read in English, because this stuff is even offensive to us lewd Americans!

Another familiar experience this week; the president visits, and traffic is a mess. He didn’t stop by to say hello while he was in town, but I did get some quality time staring at the bumper of the truck in front of me while the highway was closed.

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Not surprisingly, people were honking constantly, because that usually helps in a traffic snarl like this. It gave me some time to think about how much of my tax money was being spent on this little trip of the POTUS. In the end, I was able to smile at the symmetry; we both ended up in Saudi Arabia trying to balance our budgets. At least I didn’t have to spend the afternoon with Nancy Pelosi, which makes this view of the Toyota in front of me seem OK after all.

 

 

 

Going Native

I was hoping my children would have a mind-expanding experience (without the mushrooms typically involved back in the states) moving overseas. It might’ve worked too well. We had a fantastic Saudi weekend in the desert, complete with dune-sliding,DSC_0169

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and khabsa-eating. DSC_0241

The views were simply stunning:

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And we got to get a little more mileage out of the “Humpdaaaayyyyyyyy” camel jokes:

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The most memorable moment came in two parts; it began when our 4×4 lost the license plate after plowing into a sand dune. That became relevant later as we were passing through a check-point, and the guys with assault rifles decided we looked like incognito smugglers- since we had no license plate. It all worked out.

To my wife and daughter back in the states: we are really having a rough time here, barely getting by without you. Hope you won’t mind all the sand in the sheets! See you soon 🙂

Any Landing You Walk Away From….

Pilots tend to have a dry sense of humor. The unnatural act of placing yourself in a tin can and being propelled through the air at hundreds of miles per hour leads to a disconnect between one’s opposing senses of wit and self-preservation. A popular cliche is that a successful landing is one you walk away from; a really successful landing is when the plane is still in one piece.

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Following that unassailable logic, my wife and I have been thinking about writing a self-help book based on what we’ve learned from our “take-offs” and “landings”. Having been intermittently separated, we’ve found that cruising altitude is usually smooth and turbulence-free. Like any flight (or fall), it’s the nature of the sudden stop at the end that is critically important. It is so easy to get caught up in the details (buckle your seat belt, here are the exits, can I get some peanuts?) that we lose sight of the headwinds that reduce our relationship groundspeed to a crawl.

There are several things I’ve tried; some successful, others resulting in a flaming pile of debris on the runway. Giving your spouse attention is not simply buying something at the duty-free shop, unless they really like whiskey, in which case you’ll be just fine (or probably not, to be honest). It’s also not like the trash-hoops game the flight attendants play. You know the game, the one where they hustle down the aisle at a half-sprint with the trash bag and you have to toss in your empty cup and napkin as they go by. Three points if you make it from the window seat.

I think we’ve been happiest during aimless walks through the Ozarks, cutting lazy figure-eights while tubing on the lake, or on endless ski runs in northern New Mexico.

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Selfish itineraries, poorly-scheduled connections, and a general tendency to focus on the destination seem to be effective metaphors for all the things we allow to come between us. With all of the tragic imagery on the news the past few days (and our prayers go up for those whose families are forever shaken by the recent AirAsia crash), this is an ideal time to look over at our co-pilot and make sure we do whatever it takes to bring everyone home.

 

Many Meanings

Inshallah is a word you hear at the end of every third or fourth sentence in Saudi Arabia. The actual meaning, I’m told, is “God willing”, a nod to the uncertainty of life and our place in the cosmic pecking order. However, there are nuances and undercurrents to how this phrase is used, so I’ve put together a list of the many meanings of Inshallah.

1. When spoken by a friend it means “I hope so.”

2. From an acquaintance: “Good luck with that, you’ll need it.”

3. In meetings: “That idea has a a snowball’s chance in hell, but I’m going to smile and watch you fail.”

4. From a teenager: “Whatever…”

5. From a bureaucrat: “That’s not my job”

6. From a taxi driver: “With this traffic, there’s no way we’re getting there on time, but I’m not admitting that. And I’m going to charge you more and hope you don’t notice.”

Riyadh- a “Land of the Lost” rerun

You might not remember much about 1975. If you happen to be a Millennial, Gen-Y’er, hipster, or other person who looks longingly back at the idea of the 1980’s as the pinnacle of American pop culture, there is a unique opportunity to go back in time and experience the gold-dusted decade that kept us all waiting for Prince, Ronald Reagan, E.T., and all that 1980’s awesomeness. It might even be the most under-appreciated decade; where would society be today without the contributions made by Battlestar Galactica, Watergate, the fall of Saigon, and Farrah Fawcett’s hair? To take a tour of America in the 1970’s, buy a ticket to Saudi Arabia today. You might see why the 80’s looked so good in comparison.

Your tour begins with going for a drive. Don’t worry about a fuel-efficient car; full-service gas is still less than $1 a gallon, so hop into that V8 Suburban and hit the road. If you’ve never heard of full-service gas, it was this quaint experience wherein you paid a little more money for someone from a lower socioeconomic class to pump your gas. Very Victorian if you think about it.

Back on the road, but don’t turn the radio on; it might not be disco, but it’s just as bad. Don’t bother buckling your seatbelt either, no one else does. Your kids will enjoy roaming around the interior of the car like those adorable hamsters your parents never let you have. So where should you drive? To the mall. Huge malls, because that’s where everyone wants to be. However, GPS maps don’t work particularly well here, so unfold that origami from the gas station and make like Lewis and Clark.

Popular culture hasn’t recognized that just because you can afford 4000 calories per day of fried food doesn’t mean you should. Start with a coffee and donuts at Dunkin Donuts (remember the commercial with the guy who always got up so early? You can’t let his perseverance go to waste, can you?).  For lunch, drive through McDonald’s, saving room for some KFC and all the Pepsi your pancreas can handle. Don’t order anything organic, vegetarian, locally-sourced or even slightly untoxic. Remember when bottled water was for foreigners with questionable masculinity?

Reading a newspaper, you might find an occasional patronizing mention of women’s changing place in society, but it will be written by a guy who looks like every other guy writing for every other newspaper. Immigrants are a population to be kept under control, even feared a little, but they are better than the alternative of doing the work yourself. After reading Peanuts, throw that paper in the trash. Do not recycle, as that might accidentally reduce consumption and therefore the need to produce more oil. Since in the 1970’s Bob Barker hadn’t yet gone on his personal campaign to spay and neuter your pets (and I don’t think The Price is Right is all that popular here anyway), stray cats roam the neighborhoods, each one trying to look more mangy and hungry than the last.

As your tour of the 1970’s ends somewhere around the Jordanian border, you find yourself thinking that in a garage somewhere in Riyadh there’s a Bruce Springsteen honing his sound, a whole generation of corporate raiders getting ready to skim other people’s money, and a burgeoning media industry making a determined effort to mass-produce mediocrity for the lowest common denominator. Put on your MTV T-shirt, put away the bell bottom jeans, and wave goodbye to the decade that wasn’t as revolutionary as the 60’s, wasn’t as corporate as the 80’s, and maybe deserves its reputation after all.

Two Rules, Three Right Turns

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We have all been given more advice than any person could possibly absorb. Wisdom is something that is gained by experience, which means you have it right after you needed it. That’s no excuse, however, for the fact that we ignore most of the perfectly good advice we hear. One such gem of wisdom is regarding social interactions with people of a potentially different mindset; do not ever, ever, talk about politics or religion. Another shiny nugget I heard recently was to never get into the car with a strange Arab and let him drive you to an unknown location. Just like turning left in Riyadh involves three right turns most of the time, combining a disregard for the above advice made for a wonderful afternoon.

Do you turn down an invitation from a Saudi prince for lunch at his palace? Of course not. Around noon today a nice young Somali man showed up at my door, and he was eager to show off his driving skills that he has undoubtedly honed over many weeks of practice; before that I think he had mostly driven cattle, but that is probably a decent preparation for driving in Riyadh (see other posts). I was the only one who put on my seat belt. I don’t care if they think less of me; my life insurance probably has a “stupidity” clause somewhere. More about seat belts, Pepsi and related issues in a future blog.

Upon arrival at the palace, we drive through the open gate. Evidently my host always keeps his gate open, so that friends can enjoy his hospitality at any time. The prince and his entourage greet us and welcome us into the tent he uses for greeting guests. You can understand the cultural identification with traditional Bedouin tents, but they haven’t let the nostalgia get out of hand; this tent has air conditioning and a flat screen TV. An hour filled with warm hospitality and hot Arabian coffee ensues, with laughter and manly cheek-kissing. After that, we retire to the dining tent:

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This is obviously not my old camping tent with a Coleman stove and a can of Vienna sausages. As disappointed as I might’ve been over the lack of Smores, those feelings were smothered with an amazing breaded-and-fried-cheese-covered-in-sugar dessert that melted my taste buds. And there was cheesecake. Now I know why 25% of the population has diabetes.

To this point, no universal rules of family reunions had been broken; thoughts of religion and politics were as distant as tofu and Jenny Craig. Then, one of my host’s sons began discussing a recent trip to the Sinai peninsula, where he climbed Mount Sinai to visit the monastery there. This led to a comparative discussion of the three faiths descended from Abraham. It was at this point that my greased tongue moved faster than my brain; I joked that it seemed typical that it was Sarah and Hagar not getting along that started all the trouble… and then held my breath, not able to bring the words back after they had escaped. The ten seconds of translation were more than enough time for me to imagine my imminent discharge from the house, possible arrest, and ultimate public humiliation on CNN as the State Department has to negotiate my release. Smile, sip my coffee, please laugh  please laugh  please laugh   please don’t leave my fate in the hands of John Kerry…

And they laughed. Not as much as they should’ve, because that was a really funny joke, but they didn’t put a bag over my head so I’ll call it a win. The slightly wiser me eventually left with an armful of books gifted from his library, thankful for an uncommon display of grace and tolerance where I never expected to find it.

A blog about travel and other random events, hoping to bring clarity to the chaos