Kiwi Living in Saudi

Dehydartion is Dangerous

2017-09-09T00:08:00.000+03:00

Dehydration, and all manifestations related to it including heat exhaustion and heat stroke, or sun stroke as it is often known, are extremely dangerous conditions that can creep up on you very quickly. They are also easily preventable. You would think because we live in a desert region and visit the deserted landscapes on many occassions we would be properly prepared against these issues, right? Not always. If the locals who've lived here for many moons longer than us can sometimes get it wrong, and every now and then local media will run a piece on deaths in the desert due to lack of water to remind citizens how treacherous desert visits can get, it was probably only a matter of time before we got a scary summer reminder of how hazardous the desert heat can be...

...NZ Patrick had never been to the Edge of the World, although he'd heard all about it from other desert adventurers. Being a fellow Kiwi, and a good bloke, Hubster offered that we would take him out there. My husband said 'we' in this conversation mainly because he can never remember how to get there. Plus he knows if I'm included, so is lunch.

We have ventured to The Edge a few times since moving here: once with Mr Noor driving a taxi, again when we took Mr UK and friends, another time we accompanied a group of Canadians, and on yet another occasion escorted Miss Louise and friends to give the dogs a run.

So, on the appointed day NZ Patrick arrived bright and early at our compound. It had been decided, or so I thought from discussions the previous night, that we would leave earlier in the morning as it was the beginning of summer and the day can heat up pretty quickly. In my mind our plan was to arrive at our destination around 9.30/10am, look around, then drive back with a stop for the aforementioned post-Edge meal. I'm not quite sure what was going on in Hubsters mind. Dilly dally by the looks.

Patrick mentioned that he hadn't bought a picnic chair, which wasn't really a problem as we had packed two into the 4WD along with a carpet and Arabic cushions to spread on the sand as we planned to stop and snack 'neath an acacia tree along aptly named Acacia Valley . However, Helpful Husband thought it would be a good idea to stop at almost every gas station or potential camp shop on the way out to Uyayna in search of said seat. As time ticked on I did start to wonder if perhaps he'd forgotten we were going to the desert and mentioned as much as he pulled into yet another parking space. He gave me this look of, 'yes of course I know that'. 'So, why', I asked, 'are we meandering our way there? At this rate we won't get there till midday - when it's hot!' Apparently, this thought hadn't occurred to the helpful one. I watched the slow computation as these words slowly sunk in. Hubster suddenly clicked into action mode and his foot hit the accelerator. We arrived at the Edge just after 11am.

A few cars were already there. We parked next to them, grabbed a bottle of water each, put on our hats and went to look out through the escarpment window. Then we started our way up the hill, meeting fellow Edgers as they were on the way down. We looked at the view of the escarpment taking photos and discussing the evolution of Saudi in general, then headed, as you do, over towards the two points where Edgers like to go for photo ops. We followed Patrick out to the first point. It's a fairly easy walk. Hubster decided this was as far as he would go, so sat down and said he would take photos. Patrick wanted to continue. I ummed and ahhed and then decided to follow him to the second point, the table top. This was, as it turned out, not a good decision.

The sun was nearing its high point. The day had heated the earth and the wind blew warm across the desert and up the face of the escarpment on to the skin. And I am not exactly the most fit and healthy specimen on the planet. Since our last visit out a number of inches have been added to my waistline, and every other body line as well (due purely to a medical issue of course, not because I eat too much and exercise too little). This excess doesn't help my heart and lungs that like to do this thing where they protest against uphill effort. And protest they did.

Getting out to the second point is mostly downhill. Getting back again is mostly uphill. In the increasing heat the walk felt further than previous visits. My water bottle was already half empty when we started over to the point so taking tiny sips was necessary to make sure the water would last. We got to the table top. We took photo's. A blast of warm wind blew my hat off, fortunately just to the side of the track so it was easily retrievable. At that point it dawned on me that I was not looking forward to the upcoming return climb.

Lack of communication between myself and Hubster on this trip was proving to be a bit of an issue. What do they say, presumption is the mother of all stuff ups! I had presumed, mistakenly, that the Helpful One would hang about waiting for us as he knows that hill climbs are not exactly my favourite thing to do and I like him around to push, pull or drag me up the steeper patches where necessary. But when I looked back over to where we had left him so I could signal we were coming back, he had gone. He didn't hang about. He got bored and hot taking photo's so buggered off back to the vehicle to listen to music. Not very helpful after all.

Patrick was making his way back up the hill in no time because he's in much better nick than me. He would stop and look back to check my progress - I was making my way at turtle pace, with lots of stops to heave in air and assess the best and easiest path through the steep, and sometimes loose shale rock.

It occurred to me, half way up, that something was not right. The eyes were not focusing at all well. I promptly sat down and thought, Shit! as I hung on to the rock beneath me and the view turned just a little bit fuzzy.
This, I remembered thinking, is not good.
What am I going to do?

I sat for a moment and took a few breaths to reassess my condition, before calling out to Patrick. 'I'm not in a good way'.

Patrick had run out of water.
My water was almost all gone.
He shot off like a Jack Rabbit back to the car and water and help.

The rock I was sitting on was hot.
The air was hot and so very still in the lee of the hill.
I closed my eyes and tried to calm my over exerted heart, breathe slowly and relax...and while I was at it just quietly tell myself off for being an idiot.

There was, I remembered, wind blowing over nearer the edge of the cliff. I needed wind - it would cool me down. Thinking that falling off the side would not be a good idea, I made my way, just a few yards, over toward the edge. The movement of air once it hit my face, though warm, was somehow calming. It helped me think. I tipped the last of the water in my mouth and held it there, attempting to fool the body that lots of hydration was incoming. Then I decided to continue my way up. After all, I was halfway there already. The idea of stopping here somehow equated to giving up.

I do not give up.

Possibly not the best second decision I'd made that day, but in my mind moving would help me to focus and be a way to keep control of my thinking.

So I started off again moving slowly, concentrating on managing my breathing, watching where I put my hands and feet, and carrying my empty water bottle that, for some reason, I could not throw away to join every other biffed plastic bottle lying about the hillside because that is littering. (Seriously).

Once at the top, my legs began to shake as I stumbled over to a relatively smooth rock to sit and wait and keep deep breathing. Soon after, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Hubster trotting with two large bottles of water. He also, I noted, didn't have a hat on.

Soon water was pouring over my head and body and a water bottle was thrust in my hand as I was ordered to drink. It felt so nice.
Thank you I said to his worried and, at the same time, disapproving expression and shaking head.
Then I asked him, Where's your hat? You should have a hat in this heat.
Like, I should talk!

We walked slowly back to the vehicle with its air-con and more supplies of cold water. The boys waited patiently and quietly, with more looks of displeasure being cast my way by the bald one sitting next to me, as I cooled myself down with ice cold water from the chilly bin and the air-con jets pointed my way and got myself together before Hubster decided to call an end to this visit and started making our way out.

Once cooled and properly hydrated I felt fine. Really. In fact I convinced Hubster I felt good enough to stop, as planned, under an acacia tree and have some lunch. Plus I had to pee - a good sign, I told him. The distraction of lunch helped to lighten his mood a little, although his watchful eye still had my every move under scrutiny. I knew this little episode was not going to be forgotten for some time to come, probably for good reason.

Dehydration and associated heat related illnesses of heat exhaustion and sun or heat stroke are potentially fatal conditions especially out in the desert miles from help. They really are. And they can strike surprisingly quickly. The Saudi desert claims a number of lives each year because people are not prepared for, or make bad decisions in, the hot conditions. We know this. And still, against my better judgement because I like to do stupid shit, I went roaming off down a hillside quite ill prepared. In case you aren't aware, here's a little lesson on what heat exhaustion and heat stroke are and what to do should you, or someone you are with, be affected.

Heat exhaustion is a condition that occurs with exposure to high temperatures. It is often accompanied by dehydration. Signs include profuse sweating, thirst, weakness, headache and loss of consciousness. Heat exhaustion may not be as serious as heat stroke, but it should be taken seriously and treated immediately with proper intervention because it can quickly progress to heat stroke.

Heat stroke is a very serious life threatening condition, often considered a medical emergency. It is potentially fatal. In other words, you can die. The symptoms of heat stroke are similar to heat exhaustion so it can be hard to distinguish between the two. One warning sign of impending heat stroke is that the victim does not sweat. They have dry, hot skin. It is generally accepted that changes in mental status such as confusion or lethargy, and definitely seizure or coma, indicate a move from heat exhaustion to heat stroke.

To treat heat exhaustion it is essential to get out of the heat and rest, preferably somewhere with cool air-conditioning. If that isn't possible then find the nearest cool or shady spot. Drink plenty of water, remove tight clothing, cool the body with a shower or bath, ice packs or fanning. Any cooling measures you can. If such measures are not working, seek emergency help because, as mentioned previously, heat exhaustion can quickly progress to heat stroke.

Treatment of heat stroke is the same - make every effort possible to cool the body - and call emergency services.

Of course, the best treatment for heat related illnesses is prevention. Properly hydrating before going into the desert is a good plan, taking plenty of water with you and continuing to drink it while out is an even better one. Not roaming around in the hottest part of the day sounds like plain common sense - yet quite obviously it is so easy to talk yourself out of common sense for unknown reasons. (Well, it is for me!)

Since this little incident I have been toying with the idea of buying a hydration pack. You know, one of those backpacks with a water bladder and a sipping hose. A friend of ours had one when we used to go motor bike riding together. He had a health condition that dried his mucous membranes so had to stay hydrated at all times and the pack was easy to use, easier to carry than water bottles and also held a lot of liquid. It seems like a good idea for any future desert roaming. Hubster just hits me with this look I'm sure he's attempting to perfect...a sort of 'don't talk to me you walking disaster' glare each time I mention such potential purchase. Experienced hikers have also suggested having electrolyte replacement drinks on hand in the truck as well because sweating out in the heat for great lengths of time can deplete the body of needed salts. Sounds reasonable. Will look into it.

I am extremely grateful that both the boys were there that day and that they acted so quickly. I am also acutely aware that my husband is watching every move I make when out and about during these current hot summer days. Any hint of thirst, dryness, hotness, ridiculousness, anything... and he's on my case. Probably serves me right.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

A Night Camping At Abu Jifan Fort

2017-01-27T20:28:00.001+03:00

Abu Jifan Fort came on to my radar earlier last year, in March to be exact, via a random conversation with a random person - there are a lot of random people in Saudi, so such conversations are not that surprising really. He mentioned there was a fort down near Al Kharj, though he had no idea where. So I turned to Google to see if, maybe, it was a known landmark, though not too hopeful of a result as Saudi was still largely under-mapped. But to my surprise, there it was in the middle of the desert, literally, with no access to it at all.

A closer inspection of Google maps identified a road part way and a run of power lines passing nearby. Where there are power lines there must be a track, of sorts. So Hubster was advised to load the hired 4WD and some firewood while I stocked the chilly bin with food and the back seat with our sleeping bags because we intended to camp the night.

We drove down toward Al Kharj and turned eastwards after refuelling with gas. Having earlier identified two possible options for reaching our destination it was time to figure out which route would work best for us. Waiting till we got closer to the desert to make this decision was done for two reasons.

One, given the amount of development that is taking place in this country, Google cannot always be completely relied on for route planning. Sometimes you turn up and there's a road where the written instuctions say there shouldn't be. Other times where there should be a road you actually find yourself at the edge of the desert with car tracks angling off in all directions into the distance. It can be a bit freaky leaving the saftey of solid tarmac for the unkown desert. Some days you turn up and find someone has built an apartment block. Laying eyes is always best when heading off exploring in Saudi, especially when you don't really know where you're going.

And Two, the man I married had, yet again, been paying absolutely no attention to any route suggestions I had been passing on to him previous to leaving home. This fact was borne out when, as we passed through our compound gate he said, 'Which way?' I sighed, somewhat exasperated, knowing it was going to be one of those days when he wasn't really looking forward to this trip, he was simply humouring me. I also knew that if this fort visit turned out to be worthwhile, he'd be singng it's praises for weeks. My fingers were crossed for praise singing and my exasperation was put on the back burner as he was pointed in the right direction, but honestly, there are times when I think that if I didn't need him to drive, I wouldn't take him at all!

We decided sticking to the ashphalt for as long as possible was the best idea so headed off to the road with the power lines. We followed that till it came to the end, then we were on our own. The wadi that greeted us was a little rocky, and we set about finding a way through it in the general direction of the Fort. This was definitely a four wheel drive expedition as the route became rougher the further we went and did not always follow an obviously marked trail - at least we couldn't find it. Hubster had to get out of the vehicle a couple of times to assess whether we would make it over a rocky incline or two. I was grateful he had come along after all because when it comes to navigating through rough terrain he has more balls than me, (figuratively that is...OK, and literally).

We eventually came across a graded track of sorts that seemed to start in the middle of nowhere for no particular reason. Although it was graded, it was also steep, narrow - the vehicle just fit through - and rock-strewn, so a bit of care was required as we wormed our way up it.

Once through this escarpment the land leveled out and was much easier to drive. We checked our bearings and set off, once again, in the general direction of the fort. Finding a relatively well used track we followed it and found ourselves at the base of some low lying hillocks with the depressions of old wells. The faded track split in two and we decided to take the one that disappeared into a nearby wadi. As we rounded the bend we were greeted by the sight of the fort sitting solitary above the wadi bed.

As we drove nearer we were quiet with our own thoughts - mostly questions on my part. Why had the fort been abandoned? Who uses it now? Who used it then? What was it like to live here?

The afternoon was late and Hubster was hankering for food so we decided to set up a permanent camp in the wadi near the wells and get a fire started with tea on the boil. There was plenty of greenery (I prefer a bit of foliage for toileting purposes - we might be married but there are some things you just don't want to know, right?) and we could fossick for extra firewood. Tomorrow we would get an early start to explore the fort.

Our camps are very basic setups. Chairs to sit on, carpets to rest on and, later in the night, to spread our sleeping bags on and a fire to cook our steak over. What more do you need? As we don't own a tent, there is not much option for any other kind of set up. We did try sleeping in the back of a vehicle once, but really, hailing from the 'a bit large' brigade, there is only room for one of us comfortably.

To make the ground more comfortable we also have an extra sleeping blanket that we lay on top of the carpets, under our sleeping bags. To date we have not been hassled by dust storms, wildlife or rabid dogs, although we did find a scorpion nestled under our sleeping blanket once. Hubster got such a shock he shooed it off quick smart into nearby desert grasses....I was like, 'What did you do that for? I wanted to take a photo of it'. He realized that maybe he had over-reacted. 'We could go look for it', he says. 'Yeah right, lets search for a scared critter in long grass. Away you go. Mug!' (Kiwi word for blockhead). Mr Scorpion did not become photographic famous that day.

Word is that the name Abu Jifan refers to this very wadi, above which the fort sits, and the wells dug into it that have offered travellers a respite from the long days of traversing the desert in both Islamic and pre-Islamic periods. The wells still have water in them today.

In 1864, foreign explorers wrote about two routes that passed by Abu Jifan - one that connected Riyadh to Hofuf, a major east-west thoroughfare to the gulf apparently, and one that linked Wadi Dawasir and Sulayal to Hofuf. It is possible locals used more routes from this spot, but they were not confirmed by early European visitors. This sounds reasonable given it is thought that the wells date back to the Bronze Age, as judged, so I read, by the masonry lining them - which means the wells are quite old.

Rumour has it that when the modern Saudi Arabian road network was initially being drawn up there were plans to maintain this historic route as a main highway, so the narrow cutting we came up was one of the first pieces of road construction in Saudi Arabia. But a change of plans meant that the road went nowhere near the fort, hence it sitting all alone in the middle of the desert.

From the main entrance the fort looked a little forlorn and worse for wear. The gate was broken, the old trespass sign was almost unreadable, though on the otherside of the driveway was what looked to be a perfectly new sign declaring Abu Jifan to be a palace.

An old guard post and in the distance on the hill, a lookout

View to the fort from a lookout, with a guard post visible in front of the fort.

The fort is not as old as the wells that serve it. Apparently the official purpose of the fort was to protect the travel route, and remnants of old guard outposts can be found at each end of the track that runs in front of the fort, while further out are what appear to be lookout posts. Before the discovery of oil, the only money coming in for the country was through charges to pilgrims and traveling caravans and, as this was a main route and watering hole to and from Mecca and the Gulf, it seems reasonable to build a collection point along it, though how long ago, and whether or not this fort was erected specifically for that purpose, I can't say.

I read somewhere that the fort was used in the 1950's by the National Guard, though I can't confirm that either. About the only thing I do know is that the sign out front claims the fort was protected as an archeological site by which ever King was on the throne in 1972. Abu Jifan became famous in the history of modern Saudi because the original King, Abdulaziz, stopped at the wells on his way to Riyadh in 1902 to claim back his heritage.

Abu Jifan is apparently admininstered by the Ministry of Antiquities and Museums who rebuilt it around 2007, presumably to be used as a tourist spot. It has subsequently been abandoned for reasons unknown, which I have to say actually makes it look kind of cool for we romantics or highly imaginative types. You know what I mean, imagine telling camp fire stories around a lonely, hard to reach abandoned fort next to ancient wells - the tales you could tell and the visions you could conjure up in the minds of the impressionable of camels and dust weary travelers, the sounds and the smells of pulling up water and setting up camp and preparing for battle - that kind of thing.

The visions that met us as we walked beneath the entry arch to the fort proper spoke of glorious plans that had come to a halt. Tagging decorated the walls and the doorways were dark, almost pleading to be lit up again with life and love. We went from room to room wondering what it would have been like to be posted here. The recent refurbhisment meant that along with the traditional fire hearth in each room, there were also power points. The central courtyard is dominated by a concrete base that was obviously some unfinished designer vision.

The mosque with it's traditionally built ceiling was lit only by the sunlight as it half heartedly crossed the threshold through the door we had opened, preferring to shine its full brilliance outside. Other people had obviously found the place quite intriguing and had stayed for a lengthy period judging by the cold ash of a fire in the middle of the mosque.

The silence at the fort was deafening as we looked out between the rooftop parapets to the wadi beyond. I did wonder who will maintain this fort into the future. Apart from the fact it doesn't seem to be a tourist stop, the skills required to upkeep an adobe structure are fast disappearing in this country as ongoing construction favours concrete. Historic adobe buildings deteriorate - that is their nature. The only blessing Saudi has is that it doesn't rain here much. But even slow decay will eventually lead to collapse for this abandoned palace unless there is a maintainence plan in place.

We left the fort to take a look at the surrounding hills and didn't have to go far to find what looked to be the remnants of an old village forged out of desert rocks. The stones were piled into squares that could only be dwellings - in some it was easy to identify what appeared to be entry ways and fireplaces (to my non-archeologically trained, possibly imaginative eye that's what they were). We spent a bit of time pcituring how harsh it would have been camping or living here. Makes me glad of my brick and mortared home. Oh the quandries of balancing the love of modern life with the desire to not forget history.

We spent a bit of time exploring the area and then it was time to figure out how to get home. It is not necessary to retrace our steps driving out the way we came in. This took a bit of explaining to The One Wth No Ears for reasons mentioned at the beginning of this post. We headed toward the row of power lines and simply followed them all the way out to Khurais Road. It was easy peesy. I have to say, I'm glad we chose the exciting way in to Abu Jifan and, because it was getting late, I was just as grateful there was an easy way out. And by the way, praise singing is long and loud when our trip to Abu Jifan is mentioned.

Location of Abu Jifan

For a little more detail:

Red is the way we went in, Blue is the way we came out.

I hope you enjoy your trek to Abu Jifan Fort if you chose to take it.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Please, Signpost The Toilets in Riyadh

2017-01-12T02:16:00.000+03:00

This post is a plea. For women. And, ok, the continence challenged men of this city too. Whoever is in charge of the streets in Riyadh, please, erect signage that indicates the existence and location of back street parks with toilets in Riyadh. Such signposts to be clearly visible, preferably, from the main roads.

I know there are a number of parks with toilets dotted about this city because I've cycled by and utilised a few of them on my morning bike rides. Most are in OK condition for park toilets - as in, there is no toilet paper but the hoses work, the smell isn't too ripe, and they flush on completion of squat job. Oh yes, they are all squat toilets, which doesn't bother me at all because when the urge strikes in the middle of the city I don't care what kind of toilet I'm in, just so long as I'm in one!

Lovely park. Toilet in the back right corner.

Most toilets I've come across in the city center are open for use in the morning, however, let me just clarify that statement a little - the toilet marked "Mens" is usually open, the one marked "Womens" can sometimes be locked which is exasperating to say the least. In such instances a few seconds can be wasted shaking, and, I admit, on bad days, kicking, at the door (with a curse word possibly hurled that way too) before I dash into the mens side where I release my issues to the drain. Finding a toilet available is, as you can imagine, a great relief. It has also proven a bit of a surprse to those wonderful men whose job it is to clean up Riyadh while the residents sleep - women schreeching their bicycles to a halt outside park toilets is not a typical feature of the city's early morning landscape and they seem to accept it in their stride.

Mr Noor used to clue himself up on parks with toilets because he gets uncomfortable at the discomfort of we women who can often be caught desperately short of bathroom avaialability due to prayer time closing restaurants (the usual place to visit the loo) five times a day and Malls being just a tad too far away due to Riyadh's horrendous traffic.

Mall toilets are the other favoured location for Dunny On The Run occasions in Riyadh but with the traffic often snarled and congested due to the Metro work going on these days, there is always a danger that the taxi will not reach a mall quickly enough - and trust me, that thought is absolutely horrifying . And even when the taxi does get to a Mall, finding the toilet is another panicky dash through shiny hallways trying to find the convenience, which you can gaurantee is upstairs somewhere and nowhere near the Mall entrance.

Hotels in Riyadh have also proven helpful in providing easy access to a bathroom. In fact, I have to say, that people in Riyadh seem to be much more understanding of the human need to pee and go number twos than many places in the Western world. I have run through a closed and darkened Mall on Riyadhs outskirts thanks to security understanding a convenience was required quick smart. And I do appreciate that in Saudi Arabia you can rock up to a dining establishment just to use the loo, no questions asked. Such is not the case in other parts of the world where lots of effort is made to not let people near the toilet. There are the diners and gas stations where you need to get the guy behind the counter to give you a key (and he almost always looks harrassed and tosses the key in the general direction of outstretched hand), hotels where you need a swipe card or button codes to access toilets in the public areas or cafes where you are are simply told No, if you don't eat, sleep or otherwise contribute here, you don't toilet here - obviously all the above are rules made up by people who've never suffered the indignity of being caught short. So big ups to you for being a lot more understanding Saudi Arabia.

There is always room for improvement though, case in point being that occasionally, when I can get the husband up early enough to join me because he's got to drive me there, I cycle along Wadi Hanifah. So that said husband doesn't feel completely unhappy about his weekened sleep-in being cut short, we also take along coffee and a snack for a post ride picnic. Our route generally ends at one of the park areas set up specifically for locals to enjoy their evening picnics. And there-in lies the problem. The toilets at these picnic sites don't usually open until 4pm, or so we have been told by the blokes cleaning up the rubbish strewn about the place by the previous nights desert revelers. These same men also do not have a key to the toilets, so can't open them for morning cyclists on a toilet break. So we early risers have to wander about till we can find suitable cover for toileting issues before 4pm which is not ideal because, on the weekends especially, other people start turning up to these sites just after midday prayer. Empty space for defecation purposes gets hard to find once the masses begin to arrive, and you can gaurantee it's a good plan to watch where you're going in case someone else has already been. If the hierarchy could give the cleaning crew a key or unlock these particlular toilets early, that would be much appreciated.

When I first started my early morning cycles around the city a few years back I relied on Google Maps to highlight the nearest green patch that may, or may not, indicate a park. Not a highly reliable source I have to say, as Saudi seemed to have this aversion to being geo-located back then, so not all indicators were parks, not all such parks had toilets, and not all toilets were open.

Riyadh is much more on the map these days (thank goodness) but back then lack of a facility resulted in two things - firstly a furiously epic cycle to the next green patch indicated on Google Maps in the hope of better luck. And two, I started plotting back street toilets on a Riyadh Toilets map on my phone.

Park Toilets in Riyadh Map

My map has proven extremely useful over the years and as I continue to traipse the city it is always being added to. Oft is the time I've considered turning it into an app. I'd call it Oh Poop! What do you think? A good idea or what?

Toilet locating apps are not a new idea, I know. Browse through Google Play and you'll find plenty of dunny locating apps. I've even downloaded a couple - and deleted them soon after. They have, sadly, fallen short of useful information about the presence of toilets in Riyadh particularly for females. There is not much point telling me there are toilets at the gas station down the road when it is only for men, or of highlighting all the restauants in the vicinity, because at Salat they are closed.

Seriously. Riyadh needs its own toilet app, specifically for Riyadhians. I think all peeps whose muscular control of their nether regions is slightly lacking, for whatever reason, would love it.

Or, alternatively, please, whoever is in charge of signposting Riyadh, sign post the existence of parks with toilets.

Thank you.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Safe Havens and Semi-Adoptions.

2017-01-04T14:17:00.000+03:00

Numerous cats hawk the streets of Riyadh and spill over into compounds. And in every compound is someone who feeds the cats which is all well and good till That Someone leaves the compound and the cats come to the neighbours, or the cat averse new tenant, looking for their free meal of the day - then they can become annoying. I have shooed away a cat or three from our doorstep toward the guy in a big villa on the corner who has a reputation for feeding strays because we aren't really cat lovers - although I say that with a cat currently snoozing on the couch next to me. I never thought the day would come when I would admit that we have, through cat stealth, semi-adopted one of Riyadh's strays. This does not mean we have become cat lovers in the plural sense of 'cats', we are simply 'single cat' appreciators.

Every now and then, when cat numbers got a bit large and numerous cat fights or cat couplings, (which I learned from Miss Louise, a woman with a wealth of information, is a noisy affair), disturb residents' sleep, compound management would do a cat cull. For some obscure reason security used to get tasked with the job of cat catching and could be spotted running around the coffee shop (because cats are naturally drawn to where the food is) with sacks. They didn't look particularly happy about their job, I'm fairly certain cat scratches were many, but what can you do when the boss says cull time?

Suggestions from tenants that they get a net or a trap to make the job more effective and safe for all critters concerned fell on deaf ears because everybody is well aware that managment wouldn't actually spend a cent on proper equipment for this job! If you live here just for a short while you quickly figure out that Saudi hierarchy are, by and large, cheapskates. (Actually, let me clarify - the Egyptian guy hired to oversee operations probably has a deal with the Indian bloke in charge of the books and together they figure out ways to skim money off the top, which doesn't really bother the Saudi owner provided lots of cash is still coming his way while all complaints are being curbed at the door by the Lebanese office bloke who is also on the take. Which pretty much sums up the way the Arab world works, in this country anyways, and still makes the Saudi hierarchy cheapskates but with an added attitude of zero responsibility for anything - after all, it wasn't me, it was them! Which all results in no left over cash for, or interest in, purchasing proper equipment for trivial things like cat trapping).

Rumour has it the captured critters were taken somewhere else (eg - to the desert) and let go. Survival is then up to 'The One Who Knows All', you know, that big Kahuna who supposedly created everything. Apparently the general consensus here in Saudi is that killing cats would make the The One very unhappy with humans but dumping furry creations in the desert where survival is questionable is perfectly OK. It would be nice if cat culls happened in winter when the lowered desert temps gave the released felines a fighting chance, but in the past that was rarely the case on our compound. Probably because much like people, cats like to be out and about on a balmy summer evening.

When a cat cull was underway it paid to keep your friendly cats locked up indoors so they weren't mistaken for cat riff raff and caught up in the cat crowd. (I had images of The Boy In The Striped Pajamas as I was typing that sentence - a fantastic, terrible movie!)

I'm speaking in past tense about Cat Culls because they used to happen on our compound before we found out about the Open Paws Trap, Neuter and Release program and informed management, which you can read about on my post Turf Wars - as with anything in Saudi, this was not a straight forward exercise!

Anyway, one warm summer evening soon after a cat cull we were moon bathing by the pool eating our dinner (we find the heat of a summer day far to hot to be lying by the pool, so wait till the sun has set to get comfy in the sun loungers), when this tiny ginger and white head peeped out from behind a sun lounger nearby. It looked so forlorn. And nervous. And cautious. Yet hunger was making it sit nearby where it could smell our roast chicken just waiting for a tidbit to drop to the ground. Obviously, we decided, its mother had been 'relocated' because she was nowhere to be seen and this kitten was very young.
It sat there. Silent. Wretched. Watching.
Hubster tossed a tidbit.

The kitten lifted its head. Sniffed. Looked at us looking at him. Looked at the little piece of meat, then raced out grabbed it and scuttled back behind the chair. It never made a sound but kept on peeking. He eventually got another morsel which, I have to say, was a surprise. The Hubster is not renowned in the family for his Cat Love. But this little thing had struck a chord with his quiet, non-annoying, persistence.

The next night the kitten was back and he did the same thing. Just lay behind the chair, watched, waited and eventually got rewarded. The kitten must have followed us home because the next evening he was laying low in the impatiens plants beside our apartment door. He looked so tiny peeping out from under his attempted camouflage. "Look at that", I said to Hubster. And we started putting a little plate out at night by the flower bed to feed the kitten. We always watched him eat because although this kitten may have gotten under Hubsters tough Cat Armour, we had no intention of leaving food lying around for the rest of the felines hawking about the place. Plus we didn't want one of the big boys coming along and beating this little guy up. Once he was done our guard duty was over and the dish was removed.

Just to be clear - we only semi-adopted this kitten who we have called Cat because we aren't very imaginative and (quite frankly, it suits him) because we will not be taking him with us when we go and he has to learn to survive in Riyadh's Cat World without us. To that end, we never feed cat a lot of food nor, since he has grown up quite a bit, do we put a bowl out for him every day. "He's a stray" I would say, "and he needs to know how to fend for himself not rely on us because we often go away and one day we will leave". So when we are in town he gets enough to keep him going but not so much he'll get fat and lazy.

I think it extremely mean of expats to adopt cats while here, to take them in, feed them, love them, keep them in-doors treated like one of the family and then turf the animal into the wilds of the street with their final exit. Just the other week we found one of those cats, a pure white lady who had recently birthed and she looked like life on the street had put her through the Hard Cat Life wringer. She was scraggy. Her long white hair, matted all over her body, was filthy and she was looking malnourished and dejected. But when a hand was reached out to stroke her she hesitated only for a moment, craving a love she used to know. A truly wild street cat would definitely not do that. Our cat loving neighbour has taken her in to get her, and her offspring, back to health.

Our Cat was eventually enticed out from under the flowers to the doorstep if we sat quietly enough next to his dish. It took a long while before he deigned to let us stoke him out on the doorstep, though he never really looked comfortable with that, so we never pushed it.

One day while Hubster was on the couch and I was in the kitchen and our door was open, the growing kitten ventured inside the apartment, ever so slowly edging his way along the wall, cautiously sniffing here and there. I still remember him skating on the tiled floor his legs racing on the spot like some cartoon character in his rush to get back out the door when one of us moved and frightened the daylights out of him.

A friend who heard about the kitten very kindly gave us a cat stand. (Hubster was horrified - that was going too far, but I thought it may prove interesting). We introduced the kitten to the stand and he loved it. He would make a game of creeping into the apartment, jumping on the cat stand, then leaping off and racing out the door, skidding and sliding on the floor tiles all the way saving his final vault out onto the welcome mat at front our door to send it careening down the steps with him surfing on top. The mat would be returned to its place because we used to like watching his antics.

Cat is a bit big for the cat stand now, though will still jump onto it for a scratch or to sleep when he is banished from the furniture - which is often when The Hubster is around. He is quite at home in the apartment when he comes strolling in these days. In fact, this is cat as I type...

How he has managed to wheedle his way from his cat stand to the couch with me in situ has been a long and slow process, but wheedle he has. It has helped his cause that he is quite a bright cat. He doesn't push his luck while in house. No pulling rubbish out of the kitchen bin (like his mate The Black Cat who has, on occasion without us knowing until we hear plastic bag fossicking, followed cat indoors), no jumping on the bench in search of food (Black Cat again - varmint!), he tries very hard not to scratch and claw at the furnishings saving that activity for the pole on the cat stand, and should he forget a light tap on his paws stops him in his tracks. And if he turns up while we are having dinner (we tend to leave our door open when at home in the evenings for the breeze) he does now what he did when he first arrived on the scene. He'll sit a little distance off, looking hopeful. He also understands the word 'Out', and out he'll go.

To this day I have never picked cat up. A visitor tried one day and is wearing the scratch marks for his effort. He does, however, after five years, quite like a scratch under the chin and will curl up beside me on the couch on those evenings he just needs someone nearby while he sleeps.

Cat has only spent a few full nights inside our apartment, but those were special occasions - each night, even as that tiny kitten with an obviously well tuned survival instinct, he gets turfed back outside when we go to bed.

Very early on in our relationship Cat went AWOL. He was gone for almost a week. I figured he'd found someone else to feed him or come to an untimely end in a fight. Then one morning we woke to a pounding on the door - 'Bang, bang, bang. Bang bang bang', in quick succession and a desperate crying. I opened the door and in shot Cat - straight under the couch. He stayed there all day. When I finally enticed him out he looked a mess. Dirty, bedraggled and with two huge patches of bare flesh around his shoulder and neck where fur should have been. He got to spend that night in the apartment, hidden in the the little dark cubby at the base of the cat stand, with cat biscuits and a warm blanket.

Quite often cat will simply sit on our doorstep without coming in at all. Our neighbor thought I'd trained him that way. But no. I guess he just feels relatively safe there surveying the neighborhood as it does offer quite a good view of the path where he can easily spot any approaching feline that should be avoided like nasty Ginger Tom on his nightly prowl or the mean White Mess looking for an extra meal.

Ginger Tom likes to beat up other cats. He is afraid of people so tends to sit in the shadows till he thinks the way is clear to come a steal Cats food. The White Mess also likes to beat up other cats (even Ginger Tom) and is not afraid of humans and will boldly head up the steps, hissing and growling his way to the bowl as Cat backs off. Anyone who thinks being a stray is fun needs to spend more time watching the cats in their neighborhood. It's a tough street life.

Cat used to run inside and hide under the couch when the big boys were patrolling the grounds and our door was open, now he tends to stand his ground, just for a bit because he knows nasty cat visits on our doorstep are not tolerated and something with clout is usually thrown out the open door at offenders. Our neighborly cat lover thinks we should just let all the visiting cats eat. She's crazy.

Cat, after he's sufficiently fed, will curl up next to me when I sit on the front steps strumming on my guitar, just chillin'. (He obviously doesn't have an ear for good music otherwise he'd find someplace else to sit). These days Cat feels brave enough to stay beside me when Ginger Tom passes by, taking a wide berth because Ginger and Hubster do not see eye to eye and many a thing has been biffed in Ginger Toms direction to let him know how unwelcome he is. (As I mentioned earlier, the Husband has this lack of other Cat Love).

When we put Cat out he usually sits about on the door mat for a awhile (I've seen him through the curtains) and then skedaddles to places unknown, occasionally not coming back for days.

A few evenings it is obvious Cat has had a hard time out in Riyadh's Cat World because he will turn up at the apartment early, sometimes looking dirty and ruffled, occasionally carrying an injury, and he'll jump on the cat stand, sprawl himself out and crash. I can walk past, lift his paws, twiddle his ears or pull back his lips and he won't flinch. He is out for the count. On a couple of those occasions I haven't had the heart to throw him out because, clearly, cat needs a rest, so he has got to spend those nights indoors. It's nice to know he feels safe enough to completely zonk out in the apartment. Around 4am he will walk into the bedroom and make a few mewling sounds to wake us so we can put him out. Cat has never gone to the toilet in the house. Not even when he was little.

Waving goodbye to Cat when we leave will be a time of mixed emotions, I'm sure. We have, after all, deliberately only semi-adopted him knowing our life here is temporary (though that 2 years has extended to quite a healthy 7 at last count) and that he needed to be left outdoors to learn street smarts, only coming to us for a safe or quiet haven. Cat has worked out a Compound Snack Route to keep himself amply fed. Our place, Ahmed's place, Theresa's place, Euan's place, the security office and, just recently, Nathalie's place. And of course the Bar-b-cue area when a group meal is on. Those, as far as I know, are the Free Cat Food zones available in the compound. I have no idea if cat ever ventures out of the compound, though there are a few cats who have ventured in and stayed - Nasty Mess was one of those. And I know Cat can hunt. I've seen him chase down a bird and run off over the back fence to devour it. So I shouldn't be worried about his ability to find food. It's just I know he needs a refuge, a retreat, a safe house now and then to recharge before heading back out to face the many dangers and challenges of the Stray Cat World in Riyadh. Where is he going to find that if we aren't here?

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Change is In The Future

2016-11-17T19:02:00.001+03:00

"When the oil runs out, Saudi Arabia will be history...everybody will up and leave, including the rich Saudi who have homes and investments all over the world". That's the common rhetoric you hear around the expat traps. Even I admit to thinking along those lines every now and then.
Well, the oil hasn't exactly run out but the downturn in prices has meant that the Saudi government has, for the past many months, been thinking about their future. As Saudi's future affects a number of expats, I started a blog post on what I thought should be part of those changes. The Husband, bless his worried heart, told me not to post it and every now and then because, lets face it, he pays the bills, I heed his advice but given how things seem to be panning out, here's what I wrote all those months ago.

***************************

The Deputy Crown Prince made an announcement the other day that wasn't exactly a surprise given all the debate going on in expat circles - well the ones I move in anyway. I'm sure there was debate in Saudi circles too, but not so anyone else could hear it because peeps in this part of the world are cautious about exactly what they express and to whom.

And Yes, we all know if Saudi hierarchy had thought about their future years ago when the gravy train was so overloaded with cash that the handful of peeps at the top who had access to it all didn't really know what to do with it so wasted a boatload of it on themselves and their closest relatives, they would be in a much better position now to deal with this little economic hiccup. But they didn't, so lets move on...

The general consensus is that the government is going to use this little downturn in the oil income to drag this country into the 21st century. All of it. All the way. I'm guessing the young people love this idea. (I have to guess because I haven't actually asked that many young people their opinion, but the ones I know are waiting, expectantly, for things to happen - here's hoping they aren't disappointed). The old conservative bunch may have to dragged kicking and screaming.

Here's a Bloomberg article on the man charged with guiding and directing the future of Saudi Arabia if you are interested: The $2Trillion Project to Get Saudi Arabia's Economy Off Oil .

What Saudi don't want, and who can blame them, is a move toward change that will descend into chaos, as has happened with their neighbors. Personally I don't think young Saudi are at the mass revolution stage. Restless, yes. Revolting, no. The sector that needs to be watched are the old guard and any of their loopy loo friends. The time is right to make a few adjustments to the way the populace thinks - the modernists will be looking ahead. The loopy loos will be looking backwards.

Some indications of the changes are already published and if you want to read more about them just google: Future of Saudi Without Oil.

Personally I reckon we'll see:

The sponsorship system eradicated. It's nothing but a slave trading system full of exploitative kafeels and their equally unscrupulous agents. Naturally there should be some other form of control for monitoring the comings and goings of people into and out of the country...just not that one.

True reform of the public education system which most intelligent people recognize needs to change, the question is how. Naturally I have formed an opinion on this subject even though I have close to nothing to do with the current educational institution. I see there has to be a two fold approach. First the curriculum needs a massive upgrade to better prepare youth for the modern world in terms of their ability to ask inquiring questions, to think critically and creatively and not be afraid of expressing an idea or opinion. (You're thinking I'm barking up a tree with this, aren't you?)

Perhaps instead of insisting on rote learning of the quran, which I gather through much discussion with people in the system is largely the current set up of public education, Saudi could set its brightest brains to creatively integrating quranic lessons into a more useful school curriculum. You know, like real life word problems.

Then of course you have to find someone who can teach such a curriculum and encourage participation and expression without getting their shemarghs tied in a twist. I have mentioned before that you cannot possibly teach a student to think out of the box if you don't know how to think that way yourself. Most local teachers in this country have definitely been programmed to live 'in the box'. And the box sucks.

I have been the recipient of Saudi type lessons. It was quite early in my residence in Saudi and fellow compound dweller and I decided to try and learn Arabic, spoken and written, so hired a woman who said she could teach us. We thought learning from a local would give us an edge. We had one lesson.

There wasn't much structure to the session which wasn't so bad. The disturbing things were when we struggled. After teaching us 'Hello, How are you' and the response she asked us to have a conversation with each other - but she wouldn't let us have the conversation. She would jump in and say the words for us...every time. We're lucky if we got half a word out. When we struggled with pronunciation she was less than complementary and, eventually, she gave up teaching us to talk, with a huff and a sigh, and moved on to writing the alphabet. She shows us a few letters and asks us to write what she has. While I am trying to do so she snatches the pencil out of my hand exclaiming 'No, no...like this', takes the paper from in front of me and writes the letter herself.

Suffice to say my friend and I decided to relieve this woman of the language teaching position and then sat about expressing, with absolute astonishment and disbelief, how shit it must be to be a young student in her class with no recourse to removing her for from the role.

A few years later, after many promises being made by the modernist hierarchy to revamp the national education curriculum not much was improving because, basically, they were being beaten back every step of the way by the conservative crew who didn't want to give away a second of Quranic Time. (Gosh this reminds me of the American education problems. If you ever get a chance to watch 'Waiting for Superman' you may see a lot of similarities to the Saudi situation).

My neighbor was hired to teach in a supposedly international but actually Saudi school and complained constantly about the ridiculousness of her workload. Not the teaching workload - the additional stuff, like the marking of homework. She had to go through every student book and mark every missing dot to the 'i', every crooked cross to the letter 't'. Such activity is an absolute waste of a teachers time and is also not teaching, but it is a reflection of what the system thinks is important. Trivialities. Image. She would watch my grand-children on the mat outside our door writing imperfectly shaped words and hear me saying well done - not for the imperfection, but for the effort - and correcting every now and then as required and wondered why that type of teaching wasn't acceptable in her class.

Here's hoping the new changes include real change to the education system, its' curriculum and delivery. Those would be a good start.

The government can't afford to keep employing their own so all those cushy government jobs need to be fewer and further between. And seriously, I have heard numerous Saudi say they prefer to be hired by the government because its a cushy, non—demanding place to be. Watching the reshuffles in those offices will be interesting.
More foreign investment makes sense so people can be pushed out of their comfy government employment into real work. PPP's (Public Private Partnerships) seem to be flavour of the month. I'm guessing a Saudi influenced arrangement will see more risk put on, and more profit demanded by, the private P in that bunch

The Private portion of the PPP's also has to be able to have more say on how to deal with unproductive workers because no company wants to come here if they have to pay people whose productivity is negligible, or pay two nationals to do the job of one expat and, whether Saudi likes it or not, that is the reality of the Saudi reputation on work ethic - it is sorely lacking. If the Private Sector is going to be expected to take on more risk, it would not be impractical of them to push back on Saudization criteria because it will hugely affect their bottom line.

Too much privatization isn't healthy either. Often times the profit becomes more important than the people. Saturating a country with large corporations only leads to the small business owner being pushed out. With 20+million nationals, there's the potential for a lot of unhappy small folk if privatization by big corporations takes over willy nilly like it has the rest of the world.

If Saudi is keeping their finger on the pulse of global trends, they will see the the little guy is beginning to re-emerge in various areas, mostly because the consumer, sick of the big guy, is asking for more community focused, user friendly, responsive and local entities.

Balancing large and small business investment properly will be tricky given that the Regal Clique has a lot of their fingers in the big corporate pies. That clique just stamp their stroppy feet and say NO to anyone else wanting to enter the market that looks like they might be either too much of a competitor to an existing regal owned entity or unwilling to pay the backhander to the Princely Type holding up the paperwork. Ask around the traps and many a rumored tale will be told about that!

Training institutions, educational institutions and the workplace has to be able to emphasize reward for effort, not reward for existing which, unfortunately, is how the many Saudi view their place in the world. At the top, regardless. Take for example a locally based firm that gives its Saudi workers raises and promotions for billing four hours a week. Four hours. A week. And you get a promotion. The amount you bill over the course of a year doesn't even pay your salary. Nope, the expat slaving it in the office next door, billing 60 hours a week is covering for everybody else. And his promotions get over looked. If the idea is to replace all expats with Saudi's then stuff like that should not be happening. A good hard look in the mirror and facing some home truth's about exactly what the Saudi employee is or is not producing is required.

Women should be driving. There are far too many unnecessary foreign men milling about in this country who don't actually need to be here.
The government will be expected to assist while the local people get used to less money in pocket due to price rises of consumer goods. And they will rise some more although I'm guessing expats will be expected to shoulder the brunt of those somehow.
To make the locals more accepting of price increases and austerity measures The Regal Ones should start leading by example. Everyone knows where all the money is. If peace of the masses is to remain and vocal disapproval by them is to be kept to a minimum, I suggest the peeps up top take some of that cash they have stashed in their bank accounts and back their own country by plugging deficits with money they should have been sharing with their countrymen for years anyway.

When the household budget gets tight the natives will get restless and risk being outspoken. If things go that far and Saudi responds with a heavy 'Shut your trap or you will disappear' response, they will have lost the respect of their nation. After all, only nasty dictators pick on their own. But if the hierarchy can be seen doing the right thing and curbing that terribly bad habit they've developed of rewarding themselves with and from riches they basically siphoned away from the masses just because they have a certain blood line, then everyone might come out of this downturn relatively happy chappies.

Women should also be doing their own housework and childcare and Dad will have to start helping out more with both. If families insist on the the 'need' for a maid cum–nanny cum–cook come–every flaming thing, an unfortunate side affect of price increases will be abuse of poorly paid maids and drivers (money stress always makes people crack and pick on the weakest link).
Free health and education for nationals may be a thing of the past. (Such a shame. This is the only country that actually does provide for nationals health and education. We say health and education is free in NZ but we're always having to pay fees, books, uniforms, trips, medications, procedures,....it all gets very un–free very quickly.)

Conservative fruitcakes will get all trigger happy because they prefer the country back in the dark ages. Everybody, be on your guard.

Naturally, such modernization has to be in agreement with the quran because, it just does. However my take is that, though the contents of the quran can't, and will not, be changed, there may be some adaptations to current interpretation in the wind.

And those are just some of the things I think might be, could be, should be in Saudi's future if they want to come out on top. Whatever happens, the future here is going to be an interesting ride. Everybody, hold tight!

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Stunned Falcons, Layla Lakes and Water.

2016-10-28T12:27:00.000+03:00

The picture is beautiful. A blue water lake fringed with green grasses and a jet boat pulling a water skier. If that is in Saudi we need to go find it, I said to Hubster. So Google was searched and searched again for the location of Layla Lakes.

We took Mr UK with us on this trip. He was on a short stint back in Riyadh and loves road tripping with us. Either that or he didn't have a better offer this particular weekend.

An early departure was set because our first stop was just south of Riyadh to watch a falcon display in the desert.
There were Ooooo's and Ahhh's as the birds were carried out on their perches and displayed. Then Oooo's and Ohhhh's as the live bait was bought out and released into the air for a raptor type breakfast.

Mr UK and the rest of the group were impressed with all falcon related activity and the falcon handler was a wealth of information. The birds displaying their speed, grace and aggression as they swooped in on their prey in the brilliant blue sky, a perfect backdrop to the brick red dunes on a crisp but clear autumn morning, was spectacular to watch.

The sight was only marred by all the rubbish sprinkled over the desert. If someone could please invent biodegradable plastic bags - and cheap ones because Saudi businesses won't buy them otherwise - that would be great. (And I'm looking at SABIC here - you great massive corporation of plastic related inventiveness. Take up the challenge for your country if not the world and create truly safe, biodegradable plastic bags! Either that or sponsor nationwide education on how to put rubbish in bins, preferably in all languages of those who live in the country because, lets face it, its not just resident Arabs throwing their shit around the countryside. Or sponsor the supply of reusable canvas bags in supermarkets while training the grocery packers on the concept of ”Less plastic, Better Environment." PS - I know someone happy to spread a Two Bag Rubbish Revolution message if you'd like to sign him up).

The ducks who made a dash from their open cage narrowly escaped becoming a mid-morning falcon snack. We watched with mounting tension and nervous chuckles as one escapee waddled up the dune past a falcon resting in the sand seemingly oblivious to the imminent danger, while the falcon, looking on in total disbelief at the sight of the bird shuffling through the sand in front of him, seemed stunned into inaction.

We're out....RUUUUUNNNNN!

Falcon: What the......?
Duck: Got to escape, got to escape...puff, puff, pant, pant.

Falcon: Ya shittin me...

Falcon: (Confused, stunned, falcon face)

Falcon: (Doing a double take) (Contemplating action)
Duck: Got to escape, got to escape....I'm at the toooooppp!!!

Falcon: *Sigh*...doing nothing is making me look bad.
I have to go check this idiot out.

Falcon: Hey duck
Duck: Got to escape, got to escape

Falcon: From? (raised eyebrow look)
Duck: (realizing this is a Falcon) ARRRRGGGGGGGHHH

Duck: please don't kill me, please don't kill me

Falcon: Hmmmmmm...(pacing, thinking like)

Today's your lucky day duck.
Get outta here before the Falcon man sticks you back in the cage

The Falcon man caught the duck and put it back in the cage. We asked why the Falcon didn't seem interested in ripping the duck to pieces. Probably, he said, because the duck was too big. The birds won't take on large prey if they don't have to because of the risk of damaging a wing. Wing damage is not good for a hunting bird.

A sigh of relief was breathed for the duck that this Falcon had already eaten. This group was not into totally unnecessary blood letting.

To top off the morning, everyone who felt inclined got to hold a falcon. Or rather, the Falcon got to hold them. The claws on these birds are quite large and very sharp. Leather gear is a necessary accessory for this photo opportunity, as is not minding holding bits of shredded pigeon - presumably an incentive to keep a falcon steady and quiet for the photo shoot.

After a spot of qahwah, a few more photos and a chinwag with fellow early morning Falcon watchers, it was time for us to head out of town, further south, to our intended destination of Layla.

Layla is about 300km's from Riyadh. It wasn't so much to the township we were heading as to the lakes outside of it. According to my research there were 15 lakes in all, some of a very large size. Having unearthed a map on Google we headed toward the pin drop on my phone, and yes, having an almost direct route to our destination felt like I was cheating on this expedition. We are so used to traversing this country almost mapless.

Although our early exploits in the desert had taken place in the cool of the morning, we arrived in Layla in the hottest part of the day. Possibly not the best planned timing but then I was driven by this picture of water based sports...

Source

Yes this is Layla lakes only a few short decades ago.

On the other side of town we turned onto a side road at the end of which was a rather long fence, slightly old, and a gate, slightly ajar. The vehicle was parked and we walked through to see what could be seen.

Topping the Saudi version of a country fence - sand piled into banks by a digger all along a boundary line - a squeal of excitement passed my lips. The boys clambered up to see what brought on such uncharacteristic behavior.

Ummmm....errrrrr.

Is that someone's house?

It looks a bit wrecked.

Where's the water?

Just a few of the comments being made by my weekend travel companions about the deserted buildings we were looking at. They were confused. I was excited. We were in the right place. This was the reputedly never opened Layla Lakes Resort, built when the lakes were a weekend respite destination from the heat of the desert.

Now the lakes are dry sinkholes - geological marvels of little use to the man who spent a fortune erecting the nearby retreat. The depleting of the country's water table sank the resort as the water in the nearby lakes disappeared before his eyes.

We stood at the edge of the now dry lake beds They are rather large. So large in fact, we didn't make our way around them - the heat beat us back. We looked for ways to walk into the bottom of the deeper hole - the water must have bubbled up from some cavity in the ground and that would have been a great find - but there was no easy trail. Part of a natural bridge between two of the deeper lake's had caved in as well, suggesting a search in that area might be a risky adventure. The pigeons we disturbed were easily flying in circles in the shade of the deep wells, teasing us with our clumsy efforts.

The small formations on the side of the big lake, shaped like cups that one could imagine making excellent cascades as water poured over them or making homes for fresh water critters, and the much larger ball and boulder shapes making up the sides of the deeper lakes are apparently of significant geological interest - a Saudi Caves article has more information for you geologically inclined readers who would like to find out more about this. All I know is the formations are slowly, but surely, turning to dust.

Though this location can be marked off as something interesting we visited in Saudi, it was a sad sight not just because of the haunted looking buildings. Saudi has a major water crisis that I'm not sure everyone in top positions has been appropriately addressing in their rush to build new homes and expand their cities. And for people who hail from the desert the Gen Y and Z populous don't seem to have much of a water conservation mindset. Water is wasted everywhere. Drivers can be seen early in the morning washing sponsor cars every day, I've watched maids run water in the kitchens cleaning the dust from between the drupelets of blackberries till the fruit practically shines - a completely unnecessary exercise if you ask me. And it is possible to stroll past water leaking on to the road from a hidden but obviously broken pipe for days in Riyadh. In saying all that though, I have to admit, as I look out at my well watered compound residence with its green trees, lovely swimming pool and quaint but unnecessary rockery water feature, my choice of home probably isn't helping the water situation much.

Rumour has it that the guys responsible for this country's watery plight are now playing a 'Steal from Peter to save Paul' strategy, which basically means locations in Saudi that still have sufficient underground water for their local population, like Al Ula for example, are being 'encouraged' with lots of wheeling and dealing, much to the disgust of the local residents, many of whom are small plot family farmers and gardeners, to send their precious resource to other areas of the country marked for rapid expansion. Not exactly a long term strategy and one can easily envisage Al Ula winding up with sinkholes like Layla Lakes and Al Kharj (whose sinkholes you can read about in this post Al Kharj and the Eyes of Najma).

We left Layla Lakes contemplative of the future of this country and its drive to rapid modernization and growth wondering if it was all really worth it if such action is bleeding the country dry. One day, perhaps like the falcon and the Layla Lakes resort owner, the country will be left stunned at how it buggered its water supplies up because of their early arrogant lack of concern for its limits.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Saudi Waiting For Change?

2016-10-16T15:20:00.001+03:00

There is a Deputy Crown Prince in Saudi Arabia who, according to recent accounts, is wearing himself out because he wants to drag this country into the 21st Century. There is also a huge youthful population who want to start living in that century in more ways than just buying the latest iPhone release. We were discussing the other day, a few peeps and I, how these same youth don't seem to have jumped on board the 2030 plan and shouted out, loudly and clearly....'Yes! At last! Finally someone to get us ahead'. Why is that?

The majority of Saudi youth, so I gather, want social modernization more than economic reform. As a bright, well traveled and well educated young Saudi man told me, he sees that many of the issues considered immoral in Saudi Arabia today are only a problem in this country. The rest of the world seems to have moved on and he wonders what is it with his own countrymen that they are happy to remain behind in many ways. His family question his attitude, asking why he is not happy with the norms that have sustained this country for centuries.

There are young women I know with degrees in the business sector who have been told they must stay behind their frosted glass office with no view out at all, ladies (and not all of them young) crowded into a hot, shared, noisy space while their counterpart males get spacious, individual offices with views of the street out in the main business area where all the high flying discussion takes place. And the young women wonder what is so special about them to get such treatment? The answer from the Saudi man in charge of the office is 'That is the way it is'. Their question behind their glass cage is, 'Why?

The other question young people ask is "What are our people afraid of?"

The answer to that question is easy. The old guard are afraid of change. The young people know this already, though not all of them are sure what to do with that knowledge. On the one hand this could highlight their immaturity or on the other is a reflection of the respect that most Saudi youth hold for their elders who they consider to be wise and worthy - even if on modernization issues they largely disagree with them.

The old guard fear has its own. Those who have become powerful, whether in the business arena, the Mosque or the home from the entrenched norms aren't about to give up that power without, at the least, a personal internal struggle or, at most, voiced protest. That voice usually comes in the form of stern words that generally say things along the lines of 'you're being un-Islamic, of not being Saudi, of chasing infidel values, of going to hell. Of do what I say or else... '

In the past such a dressing down may have instilled fear and doubt in the hearts of their intended target. What the old guard have forgotten is that the youth of today are, for the most part, well educated, globally connected and influenced, large in number and looking for answers that gel with the modern age. In other words, such tactics don't work so much any more.

What the conservatives of this country also seem to have missed, which isn't so obvious unless you know where to look, is that the youth have quietly gone about advancing their goal of social modernization despite efforts to prevent it. And they have, either cunningly or unwittingly, used the economic, political and cultural situation of the country to their advantage. While the focus of the world, media and general Saudi population in recent years has been on the state of the Saudi economy, Saudi politics, Saudi oil, terrorism, Middle East conflict, new kings, Ministerial reshuffles and the Deputy Crown Prince as he pushes ahead with economic reform, the youth have been implementing strategies, presumably developed in youth based digital media circles that the old guard are deliberately kept out of and ably assisted by forward thinkers within the government, to create centers that are, well, modern.

There is no frosted glass. There is no gender favoritism of space. And the world hasn't ended. More importantly the young people in that space are positive, energetic, happy in their work environment and getting things done. Prior to discovering these bastions of progress I did wonder why there seemed to be silence from the youth sector regarding the economic reform plans and rather pitied the Deputy Crown Prince as without voiced support from the sector who will most likely, fingers crossed, benefit from his plan because many of his ideas include improvement for youth, his seems an uphill battle.

It was only while out the other day, chatting and laughing with some young women at a cafe while some from the old guard frowned at the fun being had, that I was reminded that cheering in this country, that emotively driven act of shouting for joy or singing praises, has been so completely discouraged in the past that the population is cautious about such expression in the public sphere. It's ironic how advantageous that forced impassiveness has been for youth who, I sense, prefer to keep their cheering regarding social modification of their spaces to a minimum else it attract unwanted attention.

Here's hoping some part of the 2030 reforms include promotion of the normal human emotion of expressing happiness.

Change is not an easy thing to implement or to face and it has been interesting noting the two different methods for creating change in Saudi - one very public, the other quiet and steady. Recent reform policies, such as public sector pay cuts and various price increases, have thrown up consequences that the Saudi population had not bargained for and the youth probably had not even considered possible in the bright future they dream of. Should the reform policies begin to adversely affect their comfortable lives the youth may start viewing the nations makeover more seriously and vocally. For now, being born into a life of plenty and having not had to face economic downturn before, coupled with that natural youthful optimism we of more mature years remember having but cannot for the life of us figure out where it went, the youth are keeping themselves buoyant, seemingly relatively unperturbed and quite upbeat because their desire for changes in the social arena is bearing fruit. Long may their happiness last.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

The Hunt For Vege Seeds in Riyadh

2016-09-26T21:46:00.000+03:00

While wandering the street during salah one day a year or two after my arrival in Riyadh, I came across a Sultan Gardens store on Takhasussi St and decided to hang about till it re-opened. Not because I wanted gardening supplies. Because I was missing a garden. A vegetable garden, that is.

Riyadh is the only place we have lived where we have not, almost immediately, put in a vege patch. Perhaps it's because we were new to apartment living, or perhaps it is because we were living in the Saudi Arabia, renowned for its quirky rules, but I remember looking at all the other apartments in our block the day I arrived and registering the complete lack of anything green or plant like in their windows or on their doorsteps. Maybe, I recall thinking to myself, other than the beautifully landscaped patches of common grounds with their arty seating and rocky rook waterfalls, gardening isn't allowed here.

It was a fleeting thought, chased away with a shrug of the shoulders as my mind set itself to other things about this new life that needed attention. Eventually though, this green grass, country girl, while sitting on her front stairs, started wondering what that common ground would look like planted out in spuds with a bean runner at one end.

The Husband and I hail from rural NZ. We're used to space - the quarter acre section with someones paddock over the back fence. And within that space has always been a vege patch. My father dug up a garden whenever the whanau moved homes. And with nine mouths to feed, Hubsters father found a large garden made economic sense too. I guess vege gardening is in our genes hence the reason we like them, much more so than the flower gardens that beautify our compound.

Our compound is lovely, it really is, and I often tell people we reside in a pretty compound. But that's just it. It's pretty. And someone else maintains it. Gardeners turn up regularly to cut grass, trim trees, fix the watering system, tend to the flower beds, weed, take out plants and put in plants. Granted they've planted a couple of herb bushes about the place, specifically Thyme (aka Zataar) which, along with mint, seems to be a Saudi herb staple, and it all works to make the compound pleasant to look at. But I doubt that taking a spade to our landscaped compound lawn to stick in some rows of silver beet would have been appreciated by fellow tenants or the manager.

One day I noticed tomato plants coming up in the beautifully maintained flower beds and thought 'Wow, tomatoes. Awesome'. A few weeks went by and the spindly plants had started bending toward the ground due to lack of supports and tiny yellow flowers could be seen, 'Cool', I thought, 'tomatoes soon'. Shortly after, the garden maintenance crew turned up and ripped out the young tomato plants. and replaced them with pansies (or something similarly flowery). This vege patch kinda girl spent the day feeling somewhat deflated.

Though I think the pansies (or whatever flower it is that is flowering in our compound right now, because flowered plants are simply not my forfeit), look lovely, having someone else stick them in the ground, then remove them as per the management gardening plan doesn't really soothe the soul like do it yourself vegetable gardening.

It was time, I decided, to start growing vegetables.

Potted veges at our front door, because we don't have a back door, (our compound was built at a time when OSH was a money making twinkle in somebody's eye), I told the Hubster my plan. He reminded me that the lack of shade at our doorstep at heat battered times of the day (which in summer is pretty much all day), would only result in shriveled plants and be akin to plant abuse! No matter. I was on a mission.

Two places were touted as the 'Go To' for gardening supplies in Riyadh as I headed off in search of vegetable seeds to soothe my gardening soul - Sultan Gardens or one of the roadside nurseries that seem to be placed at random spots along the main roads.

Sultan Gardens has lovely garden decor for landscaping purposes - rustic iron seats, huge fountains suitable for family palaces, ceramic pots of all sizes, artistic stone ornaments and, of course, the outdoor flowers and shrubbery to go in them. But no vege seedlings.

The nurseries had bags of soil, loads of potted trees and flowers, but no veges. Why, I asked Mr Noor, are there no vegetable seeds in the gardening shops? We concluded that the home vege patch isn't really a Saudi urban thing.

Chats with Saudi's friends when describing my mission at that time backed up that assumption. Patches of dirt for vege gardens isn't really factored into the typical modern Saudi urban home design. That isn't to say they don't eat veges. They do. But the growing of vegetables is somebody else's concern or takes place out of the city on the farm. One Saudi friend noted, with a hint of sarcasm, that if the modern Saudi home design did include a garden it is highly likely the maid or driver would be put in charge of its care! Okey dokey, I'll wait a year or two while considering how to put that into print - and there it is...

Suggestions that we move to a farm out of town a little, or simply lease a patch of ground someplace nearby so I can get my vege gardening fix fell then, and fall still, on deaf Hubster ears. (After much meditation it has dawned on me I am probably grasping at rather large straws with those ideas).

Another option for my vege patch fix was making regular visits to an organic garden owned by a local Prince who, I understand, is an excellent chef that I mentioned in my previous post Organic Garden in Wadi Hanifah. Any excess from his garden is sold to expats. Having never had to travel huge distances to my vege patch before, stubborn, pouty old me didn't want to have to start that kind of nonsense back then. I have since figured out that living in Saudi requires adjusting your mind set to doing things differently, if you want to do anything at all.

As you can imagine, the day I found packets of vegetable seeds in Lulu's I was totally stoked and bought more than a few. So, though it has taken a while, over the Saudi winter I have a range of vegetable plants at our front door - tomatoes, capsicum, and lettuce with mustard and radish - and I love them. My eyes search out the green and growing plants each time I return home and evenings are spent sitting on the stairs beside the pots thinking how lucky I am to have them. Just looking at them brings me peace.

During the summer months, Hubster is right. The summer sun glares relentlessly at our front door and, because we tend to leave the country for a week or three heading for cooler climates at that time of year, the plants don't stand a chance of surviving. I have considered asking security to take up watering duties but, as they already look after Cat on our jaunts away, I don't think it fair to impose any more on their time. So as the weather warms up, any remaining plants are turned into the soil until August when I can start my vege pot patch all over again.

Summer is drawing to a close now and I am eyeing my empty pots and planning another trip to Lulu's for seeds and the local roadside stalls for bags of soil and, wait for it....vege seedlings. The roadside nurseries have got themselves up with the play and it is possible to find little pottles of tomatoe seedlings and one or two other vegetables. I might pop into Sultan Gardens as well, just because. Hubster has decided that perhaps my mission needs help, so he has managed to find a couple of guttering channels (a bit of a chore in a place that doesn't tack them on to building rooves because it rains so rarely) to put together a hydroponic system at our front door to complement the pot collection. I knew he wouldn't stay out of the vege garden for too long.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Love London

2016-09-20T14:56:00.000+03:00

It's definite. I love London. It's got lots of things to love - history for historians, old buildings for old building lovers, cutesy little green spaces all hedgerow and flowers, large green commons for walking the dog or playing team sport, young people dashing about going places dressed in their business suit best and many of those same young people overflowing out of pubs on to pavements at the end of a hectic day, cyclists merging with the rushing noisy traffic, the underground rumbling commuters from place to place, theaters with musicals, plays and orchestras. It's just a happening place. And I love it. Now.

My first visit to London wasn't what I would call inspiring. But that may be because we were travelling on a budget. We arrived into Victoria Station all those years ago at rush hour with our overlarge bags (we weren't experienced budget travelers at that point) and were overwhelmed by the numbers of people hurrying down escalators, that we learnt quickly to stand to the side of, crushing onto the trains, that we found ourselves sweltering in, and racing through turnstiles, that we learnt just as quickly couldn't fit large bags. Knowing I was holding up the hurrying, scurrying masses was an unpleasant feeling.

We stumbled out of the station thinking, 'What the hell was that!' After catching our breath and regrouping we headed off to find our lodgings. A boarding house. A dirty, grimey, yukky place it turned out to be - much worse than what I expected from the word 'budget'.

We had a small room up a number of flights of stairs (not good with big luggage), with two single wire wove beds and flat, well used looking mattresses barely covered by old, thin scratchy looking bedding. They were the sort of beds that made you lift up the sheets with the tips of two nervous fingers while holding your breathe to look for giant, scuttling bed bugs.

Having just arrived and in need of the loo I got my first look at the bathroom and went 'EEWWwwww'. It was the size of a closet, smelled of something indescribable coming off the damp floor (having obviously recently been used), with soft, rotting springy floor boards that looked like, at any moment, you could fall through them. And mold was climbing up the walls and literally hanging down from the ceiling. Peeing was put on hold as we decided the nearest pub would be a better place to find relief and refocus ourselves with a good beer or two.

We had a grand old time at the pub and felt like a bit of a stroll to get familiar with our surrounds before returning to our divey digs for a warm cardi (as the air was beginning to cool) and heading out for dinner. Yellow police tape surrounded the property. Fellow lodgers were sitting on neighbouring steps looking slightly shocked and bemused. Apparently there had been an altercation in one of the rooms in our lodgings (possibly over the crappy state of the place) and one disputant had thrown the other out the window from the top floor. Yep, we had picked a real doozy budget place to stay!

It was decided by the step dwellers, ably supported by The Husband, that we should head to the pub because no one in authoritative looking uniforms could determine how long we would be kept out of our rooms. So we spent a good deal more of a grand old time down at the pub with the people we had just met on the steps who hailed from around the world and who, like us, were on a budget, were only in London for a short while and were somewhat shocked by the state of the lodge and disturbed by recent events.

The next day while out sightseeing a group of men who were, I was told later by someone who was presumably well informed, likely gypsies from Europe, attempted to surround my husband and take his money while we were on a train. He did not take kindly to that at all and they underestimated his athleticism. After a push and a shove and a bit of attention attracting noise, they moved off while he kept a hold on our money.

Like I said, my first trip to London town did not exactly endear this city to me.

But I have come back since that first short visit, a few times and it has grown me. I think it is much easier to appreciate the vibrancy of this city when you have a little more disposable cash on hand, are prepared for the multitude of bodies you will encounter as they go about their daily lives and you have whanau who don't mind a relative or two crashing at their place for a week or so when you're in town. Or maybe I just appreciate the place and what it has to offer, warts and all, when I am on a break out of Saudi Arabia.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Awesome, thanks.

2016-08-29T16:20:00.002+03:00

I got a message today from the MOI and I was impressed. Not that the Ministry of Interior had sent me a message. But that is was in Arabic and English.

For a struggling Arabic learner (and given I'm into my seventh year here and still can't string an Arabic sentence together that other Arabs understand entitles me to the label 'struggling', though I don't think it prudent as this point to debate the reasons for the struggle - they could make me look bad), it is fabulous that in a text message I could have a go at deciphering the Arabic text and check it against the English at the same time without having to copy and paste to Google Translate, which is usually what I have to do, when I can be bothered.

Sure, the translated English sentence may not have been perfect, (a better sentence would be - the MOI wish you a pleasant and safe stay), but I don't care. What matters is that because the message was dual-lingual (is that a word?), the whole experience of receiving a message in Arabic was much less frustrating for me than usual.

The Saudi based telecoms or Banks that send me emails and text messages gave me the option, when I signed up, of receiving their messages in either English or Arabic. And though I chose English, they send it in Arabic anyway. All the other spammers don't give me options, they just blithely send me crap in Arabic that I'm fairly certain I didn't ask for and that I can't understand.

If I do want to read lengthy Arabic messages I have to wait till I get to WiFi to copy and paste the text into Google Translate because accessing internet from my mobile via cellular data is ekky. (Hang on, is that the mobile company's ploy all along - send me a message I can't read and have me pay extra to figure it out!)

Of course, if I don't get to WiFi till later in the day my motivation for Cut and Paste translation is fairly low, so often Arabic only text messages are deleted without being understood at all and, depending on my frame of mind, with just a little bit of irritation that I'm receiving the stupid things in the first place.

So thank you MOI. I loved your dual language message.

It did make me wonder if English was the only other language you deliver your messages in. Do you deliver in French, German or Chinese as well? I'm aware there are a number of expats who hail from those countries living in Saudi right now who might also get a buzz out of receiving your message in their native language.

Although I'm not going to Haj, I appreciate, along with all those who are going, the Ministry's concern and the fact they let me know in a language I understand and this post is my way of letting everybody know how ridiculously happy that made me feel. Sharing the love.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Arabic Language, Bedu Poetry and Frozen.

2016-05-28T00:59:00.002+03:00

Arabic is quite a poetic language I think. This epiphany was reached while visiting a Saudi friend one day and she was attempting to teach me Arabic via the phrase 'the sky is blue'. Only the sky wasn't just blue. It was shades of blue, depths of blue and sounds of blue depending on which grammatical notes, words or purposes were added to complete the idea of how blue the sky may be. I might get the basics of this language while I live here, I thought to myself then and there, but it will take a lot longer to learn the poetry of it.

From discussions with my friend and tutor I gathered that poetry elements are mostly found in classical Arabic which is, as my friend described it, proper Arabic. This comment naturally led to a discussion on the types of Arabic out in Arab world. She speaks both Saudi and classical Arabic, her situation determining which and when - Saudi at home and with friends, classical for more formal times.

Within Saudi there are numerous differences in the local language depending on what tribal region you hail from. And there is also Bedu Arabic, different again. She said Egyptian Arabic is the most popularly spoken Arabic outside of Saudi while Quranic Arabic is in the Quran.

Added to that are the other regional differences in dialect - Lebanese, Syrian, North African not to mention the variations in Gulf Arabic and so on all with their own specific vernacular and it becomes clear, very quickly, to a Kiwi attempting to learn, and possibly travel the Middle East with my Arabic For Dummies book, (hailed in the book blurp as the only Arabic Language book you'll need), that the Arabic language is anything but standard.

This morning I Googled Arabic Language and poetry (yes I'm at a lose end today), and came across a fair amount of information on the topic. What I found basically confirms that Arabic has made use of metaphor, simile and idiom to create verbal imagery, flowery phrases and even exaggeration - a.k.a. poetry - as a normal part of the language for centuries. There was an understanding, researched aeons ago by Arabic scholars apparently, of the relationship between words spoken or read and the pictures the brain could see if you were descriptive enough.

It stands to reason that if poetics makes up so much of the Arabic language, that same emotion and sensitivity would spill over into the culture, though we expats tend to label a Saudi beating round the bush as 'avoiding the issue' or an emotionally charged conversation about something quite minor as 'typical Arab crazy'. Who'd of thought it's all just poetry in motion. Compared to Arabic, English is quite literal and direct. Directness isn't a big thing in Saudi.

One article I found says that as time marches on and as more western influences arrive and the world modernizes with language apps doing the talking the poetic language of Arabic is at risk of being lost by today's generations. Language is a moving changing thing and one day if Arab nations aren't careful, much like Latin or even Shakespearean English, Classical Arabic could wind up a thing of the past, studied by the few.

Another article said that Modern Standard Arabic (another name for classical arabic) is only limited in its ability to express everyday experiences but is perfectly suited to in-depth conversations on politics and philosophy. I'm not sure how that works, but they are sure it does. Basically, the feeling in this article was that, instead of linguists treating modern standard and vernacular arabic as two different things, they should look at them as supporting each other. Modern Standard Arabic can be made more relevant by incorporating colloquial words and phrases, colloquial language can have more substance and expression using Modern Standard Arabic. A debate for the linguists that I'll leave right there.

The other thing I found in my Google search was the song 'Let It Go' from Frozen. Disney, or somebody, has recorded the song in numerous languages and Arabic is one those. Elias Muhanna wrote an article in the New Yorker, 'Translating “Frozen” Into Arabic' that was an interesting read on the changing of Arabic in this modern day and age and how translating this movie using classical language instead of the more popular colloquial language somewhat shifted the experience of the film. I'm presuming that means made it more 'stuffy'. Sort of like the movie Romeo and Juliet with Leonardo Di Caprio, set in the modern age with automatic weapons as fire power, but spoken with Shakespearean English. Not a movie I enjoyed very much I have to say.

Although all those years ago (six to be more precise) my friend had made me aware that Arabic oration is akin to poetry, I never thought any more of it till we met Marcel Kupershoek in Ha'il, at a celebration of his work. He is from the Netherlands and, while posted to Saudi with the Netherlands Ministry of Foreign Affairs Office he fell in love with the oral traditions of the Bedu and spent a few years studying their language and poetry. Then he wrote books on the subject, as you do. According to Amazon's synopsis of his book Arabia of the Bedouins'

...he was posted to Saudi Arabia where, 'he started exploring the country's vast deserts and hunting in the Rub 'al-Khali , the Empty corner. Three years later, having familiarized himself with the Bedouin dialect and poetry, he set out to do five months of fieldwork among the tribes of central Arabia, travelling the Saudi desert in search of the living chronicle of the Bedouins.

He established contacts with tribesmen and Bedouins in this remote corner of the desert and discovered the powerful tribes of Utaybah, Qahtan, Subay and Dawasir, whose poets celebrated bravery and feats of arms. His host, Khalid, a Utaybah Sheikh, told him all he knew of his ancestors' chivalrous feats and daring raids when the tribes were a law unto themselves. He also became the first Westerner to visit ad-Dakhul and Hawmal, two mountains mentioned in Imrul Qais' famous pre-Islamic ode. His encounters are recorded in this part travelogue, part book of poems and study of traditional Saudi society'.

There are actually five volumes of Oral Poetry and Narratives from Central Arabia. And you can find all of them on Amazon. If you want to listen to the poems on which these books were based, you will find the original recordings of the poets and transmitters can be downloaded for free as MP3 files from Brill’s web site at www.brill.com/kurpershoek.

I admit I haven't yet read the books. It just seemed a good idea, as we have met the bloke, and this post is about the poetry of Arabic language, to give them a mention here. I did, however, have a quick listen to the poetry. I find it helpful, while attempting to learn Arabic, to listen to people speaking to try and pick up on sounds and words or phrases. It is obvious I have a long way to go yet to learn Arabic.

It's late and I'm rambling.

Ka Kite...

Kiwi

The New Improved Princess Souq

2016-05-20T15:35:00.003+03:00

The Princess Souq has been moved and with its relocation has come a major upgrade. Gone are the low ceiling and piece meal materials of wood, plastic corrugated roofing, canvas throw overs and rotting carpet that used to hold the old, dark, dank and dirty princess souq together. The new location of princess souq, part of what is officially called the New ibn Qasim Market, is held up with high metal frames covered with large white sunshades and underfoot is a lovely patio type tiled floor. We thought the move might hike the prices, but no, you can still buy garish gowns for next to nothing at the Princess Souq.

The other thing that seems to have been cleaned up at the new location is the D&D's (aka Dirty and Disgusting men). You can read all about them in my previous Princess Souq post. We spent a hassle free morning at the new improved souq when I went with a couple of friends.

That isn't to say there aren't still men, but they seem reasonably sane and relatively capable of normal interaction with women. And they were happy to go on my little Weehee (was meant to be woohoo, but really, it didn't come out that way) video.

The clothes are still hung in racks packed closely together so you feel like you're moving through an ocean channel of frills, tulle, silk and satin. And that old second hand smell can still be caught when you are deep into the rows of hangers, reminding you that your purchase will likely need a good wash or dry clean when you get it home. And when you pull a gown off the rack to assess it more closely, chances are high that baubles, ruffles and and diamantes will be present in excess.

The ladies found themselves a few goodies. I just took photos. Some gowns actually look quite reasonable in an overstated way and for less than 40 Riyals you could find yourself a gown or two.

Mrs B happy browsing.

It can be a fun rushing over to assess the costume discovered with calls of 'Come and look at this' and 'OMG - this can't be for real' to 'Wow, what a bargain.' Some women head down to the souq on a very regular basis. I am not one of them. Hailing from the shorts or jeans with t-shirt brigade I don't have a lot of call for gowns so will go on the odd occasion if I'm feeling particularly bored, want to buy some princess dresses for the granddaughters or there is a nice lunch somewhere afterwards.

The new princess souq is south of the south western ring road. One lady, in giving instructions, said it was just down the road from the old souq. It's actually down the road, under the bridge, Turn left then, with the concrete works on the horizon, turn right and then.....oh never mind, here's a map. Google co-ordinates are 24.568012, 46.745333.

Location of the New Princess Souq, Riyadh

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Radioactive Health and Aged Tortoises

2016-05-02T21:01:00.005+03:00

I've been a bit under the weather lately due to a long term thyroid issue that, it was determined by my endocrinologist, needs to be sorted out once and for all because the plan, started almost two years ago, to regain normal function has not panned out. More drastic measures had to be taken. My options were surgery or radioactive iodine. What to do Pounamu? I chose the latter largely because I have a couple of friends who had surgery here in Saudi, and lets just say the scar they carry around as a momento isn't pretty. Vanity, it appears, is a bit of a thing with me.

My doctor agreed the 'atomic cocktail' was the way to go, so I was sent to see the bloke downstairs (quite a young bloke and, if I was looking, cute as well) who talked to me about a thyroid uptake scan to test how functional my thyroid actually was and, therefore, how much radioactive iodine would be required to treat it . My thyroid meds had to be stopped about five days before the scan. I also wasn't to eat fish of any description for three days prior, and breakfast was off the cards the day of the scan. Bugger - I don't know about you, but I think breakfast is the most important meal of the day!

On the appointed date I turned up at Radiation Reception and met a friend who was booked in for the same test. We sat and chatted, comparing thyroid function notes, as you do, until I got the call to follow a nurse to a smaller waiting room. The doctor came in followed by four women dressed in white medical outfits and black veils who I presumed were nurses. The whole procession was quite intimidating actually because only one of the ladies nodded a hello and smiled with her eyes. They stood fanned out across the room, reminding me of a defensive line prepared to tackle me should I do a runner.

To lessen the tension, I asked the doctor if these young ladies were trainees? It turns out they are employees at the hospital. OK then. This must be an awfully important part of the process to have this many in the room. When the doctor left to get something he'd forgotten, the Line Up were just standing there, doing nothing at all, so I decided to speak with them starting with Smiley Eyes who was perfectly happy to chat. She said they were all on placement in the radiation department and would be there for maybe a year.

On his return the doctor explained the process for the day. I would be taking a tablet with a small amount of radioactive material and was to return four hours later for the actual scan. Food was still off limits for another 2 hours. Mentally calculating the time, that would make it midday before I could eat. Eating, for me is a necessity. When my blood sugars drop I can very quickly become an unhappy chappy. Would I make it?

Doctor handed me a paper cup with a tablet and a bottle of water. The Line Up gathered around as I took the tab. All the heads turned my way and, as the masked faces watched me drain the water bottle, various horror story plots flashed across my mind complete with accompanying dramatic music - Invasion of the Body Snatchers was one plot, Hitchcocks Psycho provided the musical score.

Steak dinner at Gala Steak Inn.

You'd have thought with four hours to kill I would've managed to eat but the time seemed to disappear, lost in the drive home, the need to open the computer and answer a few emails and preparing a stacked lunch. I was about to bite into my succulent, juicy, perfectly cooked steak with a side of creamy mushrooms, when the phone rang. The driver was here to take me back to the hospital. He had come a little early because he had another pick up. Sugar Plum Pie! Stuffing food is not lady like, so instead I sliced off a piece of meat and carried it to the waiting car saving the rest for later.

The Dr told me the scan would take around 20 mins. It is easy to feel quite claustrophobic when the huge scanning machinery starts whirring and thick slabs of metal descend toward your face while you're lying prone on the table. I figured there is nothing I can do about this. Might as well have a nap. Sleep is a great healer for me. If I can get myself to sleep, I can get through anything. So I dozed off.

When I woke I was told all was done, and to come back again tomorrow.
What?
They have to compare scans, so you have to come back tomorrow.
Well, that was news to me, but what choice did I have.

It was after three by the time I headed out the door and, without having had anything substantial to eat all day, a migraine was threatening with the headache throbbing at my temples. I knew I had to eat. And not just anything. I had to eat fries.

For some reason fries help to settle my headaches. And I mean fries, not crisps or baked potatoes. Not sugar or chocolates either. Fries. Just down the road from the hospital is a burger joint and it was to there I rushed, ordered my meal and then sat upstairs in the almost empty dining area, closed my eyes and waited for my fries.

They arrived with a burger and thick shake.

I ate the fries, looked at the burger, sipped the shake. When food is not appealing, I know I'm in a bad way. Shutting my eyes again and leaning back in the booth, I waited for the effect of the fries to kick in and the headache to subside.

When my eyes reopened the only other people in the diner were a young Saudi couple sitting across the room having a bit of a snuggle. It was cute. The blinds on the windows were being wound up signalling the end of salah which meant I had dozed for at least half an hour. The young couple stood and left. My headache had eased slightly, but not gone. It was time to go home, lay on my bed in a dark room with a cold cloth on my eyes and sleep.

The next morning I ate before going to the hospital. Repeating yesterday was to be avoided. It was a good call as we had to wait quite a while before the scan. (My friend was back too, so we chatted till scan time).

A week later it was time to receive my dose of radioactive iodine. The Nuclear Medicine anteroom was crowded so I got stuck in a smaller side room, more like a closet, which might have bothered me except there was a dental chair in there that just begged to be played with. Fiddling with the controls, lifting myself up and down, and laying myself flat and back again made Hubster, who had come with me on this trip, look on with disapproval at my childish antics. (As I get that look quite often it tends to have little effect these days).

Soon enough we were led off to chat with the Radiation Doctor who went through the list of do's and don't's related to taking radioactive iodine. He mentioned the ability to set of airport alarms. I thought that was cool and asked Hubster if we could fly somewhere. He gave me one of those disapproving, don't be ridiculous looks.

Isolation from the elderly, the very young and the pregnant was a must for a few days, according to Dr Radiation. And Hubster and I were to keep our distance as much as possible too, so for three days he slept on the couch and wouldn't let me in the kitchen near his food. He prepped all the evening meals. There was no complaint from me.

The radioactive iodine came in two tablets which were delivered in two thick metal containers. Dr Radiation used his gloved hands to tip them, one at a time, into a paper cup then stood well back, out of my way, after I had downed them. It appeared that staying away from people was to start immediately.

My doctor did say that hyperthyroid symptoms would get worse before they improved - but that little tidbit of info didn't really register at the time. Naively I presumed that health improvement would be almost immediate once the weekend long stand down period for being radioactive was over. So I planned a trip to Made'in Saleh with a Kiwi friend and his visiting parents for the following weekend

It turns out that climbing up mountains and rock hewn stairways, or anything remotely resembling an incline, to look at the view was not the best plan at this point. It had been three weeks since I'd been off my thyroid meds and the doctor instructed me to keep off them for the next month. My heart obviously hadn't received the message that it was to supposed to start behaving after a dose of radiation and was objecting to excess effort. (In fact, by the end of the weekend the heart and body were objecting to any effort at all, which was majorly annoying and ever so slightly frightening).

Any normal person with wobbly hearts would have said, 'It's OK. I don't need to come look at the view with you today. You guys can tell me all about it when you get back'. It seems 'Fear of Missing Out' is also a thing with me. Buggered or not, I was going. So I'd hang on to the Hubster's belt and he would drag me up the hills and stairs. Slowly but surely, like a couple of aged tortoises, we got there.

The doctors instruction to revisit him a month after taking two nuked tabs for a blood test to see how things were going was welcomed gladly because it didn't feel like there had been much improvement in my thyroid function at all. I was actually feeling like crap. The heart was doing flip flops even with the Beta Blockers, I had internal tremors, the body temp was all over the place with subsequent sweating being very unlady-like, and the bowels had a timetable all of their own, usually marked "URGENT!"

When I called the doc for my blood test results his exact words were:
Are you sure you had radioactive iodine?
Yes
Was there a period of isolation?
Yes
Mmmmmm...I'll have to call the radiation department to see what they gave you and how much because according to the blood test, you are still very hyper-thyroidic. Do you still have thyroid tablets, he asked.
Yes I said.
Go straight home and take some now. Take four a day. Call me next week.

Oh great! (which is not exactly what I was thinking, but you get the point). You mean this treatment hasn't worked! Well, at least there was a reason for feeling worn out most of the time for the past month and wanting to do very little except lie on my couch. It wasn't all in my imagination. I wasn't being paranoid. My concerns about feeling like a wilting daisy needing attention were well founded because I was actually wilting and in need of attention but not in a hopeless, spoilt, demading way, of course.

What tends to happen when I'm not feeling the best, is that I go into what I call a 'Caving Phase'. I like to hide in my home, go nowhere, do nothing, and see only a select few people. Me and the cat just hang out, him sleeping on top of the back rest of my couch, me surfing the net or dozing. Going out to do anything, even shopping for supplies, takes a huge force of will.

The husband tends to get concerned when I Cave. He thinks it quite unhealthy. I beg to differ. I know what my mind and body needs, and when I'm off color rest and a certain amount of isolation are what is called for. It's the isolation that makes people think I'm terribly unsociable and possibly depressed. I prefer to call Caving my way of looking after myself.

Except for my little jaunt to northern Saudi, and occasional forays into the office to appease concerned husbands and show I'm still alive, I'd been caving quite a bit the month after the dose of radiation. Hence my lack of blog posting. I just couldn't seem to get my head into it. But I'm back on my meds now and feeling so much better. Provided the country doesn't run out of my meds again (and you can read about that on my post 'Riyadhs Run Out Of My Meds'), everything should be fine.

Eventually, one way or another, the thyroid will get sorted and this time I'll be prepared for the effects. Hubster thinks I should be using this current down time to stay put until my health is 100% improved. I think that's nonsense now that things are looking up, so am attempting to talk him into a trip next weekend - to a mountain with rock pools.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Truly Amazing Ha'il and a Car Rally

2016-04-02T23:04:00.000+03:00

Our first trip to Ha’il is one that will be remembered fondly for many years to come. Hubsters work colleague suggested that we visit Ha’il, his home town, to watch the annual Ha’il Car Rally. The idea of watching cars racing in the desert dunes certainly appealed, so we agreed to go.

The flight from Riyadh was very quick and we were picked up by a young man who whisked us off to our hotel and a waiting home cooked traditional meal that was not only delicious but was a perfect introduction to the region.

The 2016 Hail International Cross Country Rally is organized by the Saudi Arabian Motor Federation (SAMF) in conjunction with a few big wigs from Ha'il. Thanks to the father of Hubster’s work colleague we were fortunate enough to be invited to the opening ceremony held at the Maghwat Conference Center. It is a very impressive location with the mountains of Hail standing solid and proud against a clear blue sky, proving an imposing yet beautiful backdrop to the formalities.

I followed the boys out to the official seating area and, looking around at all the white thobes and checkered ghutras, came to the conclusion not many women were here. Hardly surprising that in a land where women aren't permitted to drive female rev heads are few and far between at a Saudi based car rally. (I did double check that our invitation was in my handbag, just is case someone queried my presence).

The officials arrived among a rush of buzzed excitement and the speeches began. To be honest I didn't know who was who or what exactly they were saying so at some point, because my Arabic still sucks, I passed the time taking pictures of the guards on the mountains and rows of male feet - I figured that would be visual representation of the lack of females without pin pointing any particular male. (If I could have inconspicuously knelt on the floor for really good shots I would have, but The Hubster was giving me the evil eye for being a fidget).

The presentations by officialdom were over quickly as everyone was keen to get to the real purpose of the day - seeing and welcoming the cars and drivers. Initially I thought there weren't many rally cars present as none had been spotted on our arrival to the conference center, but soon the sound of revving engines could be heard and the procession of vehicles grew as, one by one, the cars waited their turn to drive up on to the purpose built platform for the official briefing signifying the start of their rally before disappearing up the valley in a cloud of dust.

We lined up alongside TV cameras, photographers and news crews to take our own photos of the vehicles and drivers. It was a well organised occasion with just the right amount of pomp without being over the top before getting down to business - a great way to start our car rally experience in Hail.

Our next stop was to watch the start of the Super Special Stage, a compulsory part of the event for all crews according to rally regulations I found on the net. There was a buzz of excitement as rally cars lined up on the road and the general public gathered around their favorite driver and his navigator to offer encouragement while they waited for their start time. Many a call could be heard as groups chanted their support. Four-time winner from Saudi Arabia, Yazeed Al-Rajhi, and his German navigator, Timo Gottschalk, were popular among the crowd.

The teams were more than happy to pose for photos with a thumbs up. As the vehicles approached the starting gate crews could be seen checking and rechecking their safety harnesses and helmets. There was security on hand to keep the spectators organised as the rally proper got under way to the sound of grunty engines and flying sand.

It had been an exciting afternoon and it wasn’t until we were seated on the floor of the oldest restaurant in the heart of Ha’il, At Turathii, watching local dishes being uncovered that I realized how hungry I was.

I love the way Saudi meals are eaten around a central dish. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest that I have to use my hands to eat. And I'm perfectly happy sitting on the floor - so long as there is room to stretch out my legs. Discarding scraps on to the plastic sheet that protects the floor in front of me suits me just fine as well. Clearing the setting and carrying off the leftovers to whoever may be waiting for them is a breeze too. The whole arrangement is my kind of dining. At this meal we had jarish, harisa, murguk, and more. It was a feast and absolutely delectable.

That evening, after a rest in the hotel, I was dropped off at the family home, while The Husband went to an Isteraha to spend the evening with a few of the younger Hail men folk.

I've met a number of married western expat women who are not happy that, should they visit a Saudi home, they will be separated from their husband and whisked off to goodness knows where and have to cope on their own. It can be a scary idea, of course, being out of your comfort zone and alone, especially when a language barrier is also included, but in the scheme of a lifetime it's only for such short while. It does help to be prepared for such occasions. These days I make sure I have my phone fully charged and, for extra insurance, the charger in my handbag because the Arabic dictionary on my phone gets a workout. (I use the English Arabic Dictionary by Xung Le - available free on Google Play and iTunes in case you were wondering).

I think if you want to get the most out of Saudi it pays to get over your fear of separation else you will miss out on some awesome experiences. When I arrived at this family home the adults, consisting of mum, grand-ma, grand-dad, a sister, and a younger brother were all sitting around an outdoor table enjoying lively conversation and snacks in the cool night air while younger children were running around.

They steered me indoors to the guest room while a discussion took place outdoors to determine who should come and keep me company. I asked if it would be OK to come outside and join the family instead of splitting everybody up. And besides, it was such a pleasant evening to be sitting outdoors. Seconds after my request I was ushered to a seat at the patio table and spent the next few hours getting to know the family. They were wonderful. So relaxed and all with a keen sense of humour. Being with them reminded me of our own family gatherings at home with its good natured banter, the ebb and flow of discussions and that sense that this is where you belong.

It had been an excellent day. Truly excellent. That night we settled into the Golden Tulip hotel very impressed with our first full day in this northern city. We couldn't wait to see more.

The next day was Friday and our itinerary for the day was a spot of sightseeing. First we went to A’arif Fort which, though closed, affords an excellent view of the city and the enveloping arch of mountains within which the municipality is nestled. We drove past the Qishleh Heritage Palace and then headed up to the top of the hill at Samra’ Park. From there we could survey the city of Ha’il out to the distant horizon.

It was into this distant horizon that we ventured later that afternoon. Our host family took us into the mountains we had been admiring where we clambered among the rocks after enjoying another sampling of home cooked traditional food – this time kayaba and a spicy chicken dish on milk baked rice, called sliiq.

We then had the option of going to watch the afternoon rally in the desert or to visit a local historical grave site. We chose the siteseeing because we presumed we had the next day to watch the rally. The grave, and attached mud ruins, are reputed to belong to folk legend Hatim Al Tay, the most generous man whose stories of giving and generosity have been passed down through the generations and are said to epitomize the spirit of Arabic hospitality. The sun was starting to set while we were at the site, turning the mountains aglow in various shades of burnt orange. It was time to move on.

That night this Wifey headed back to the family home where I felt as welcomed as all the other relatives who were coming and going that night, while The Husband went to a gathering of local tribal leaders. (I really ought to get him to write a piece about that shouldn't I). It was there that a gentleman extended an invitation to attend a celebration at the small village of Al Mortadh, about 60 km south of Ha’il the next day.

Of course, Husbster wasn't quite sure what it was exactly we had been invited to. The way he explained it to me we were going to an Ambassador's house for a coffee and then we'd go to the desert for more of the car rally. So bright and early the next morning we were picked up and, after a U-turn or two, found ourselves guests at very important and rather large international event. (Not quite coffee).

Thirty years previously Marcel Kurpershoek, a former Dutch diplomat was posted to Saudi Arabia. He traveled extensively through the northern and central regions establishing contacts with tribal leaders and Bedouins to research and learn their history and stories through their poetry. He has since written a number of books on the what he learned during that time. This day was a celebration of his return to the village of Khalid Al Dabais, one of his valued contacts. (The complete Corpus is available on Amazon.)

There was a minor hiccup when, because we arrived earlier than the Ambassador and because the village wasn’t expecting another white guy other than said Ambassador, we were mistaken as the guests of honor. As with all mixed gender hui (Maori word for gatherings) in Saudi, the men and women were housed in separate areas so, once I realized what was going on, some Arabic words were dredged from the back of my brain, and supported via Arabic Dictionary on my phone, to explain to the collected group of females busy taking my photo that I was nobody really. The proper guests were yet to arrive. (Hubster had a translator to do his Arabic communication out in Man Tent).

Photo Credit: سبق حائل

Even with my extensive range of Arabic language skills and Hubsters English speaking colleague, some things were still lost in translation. After the real guests had arrived, (that being the Ambassador, his daughter, a female translator and a group of media personnel for a planned documentary on the Ambassadors travels), one local Saudi woman insisted we should be allowed to sit out with the men once the formal welcome was over and the speeches had begun. (At least that is what I gathered she was saying, while getting me to follow her out to the gate). I wasn’t too sure that was a good plan, given there were a lot of men who might be upset should a mere femme simply wonder out into their midst, and asked, more than once, if she was sure. The local men thought otherwise, too. There ensued some form of discussion and the woman, believe it or not, won out because midway through proceedings we three western females were ushered to seats out in the Man Tent.

To my surprise, and most definitely to his, The Hubster was called to give a speech too. He did well thanking the people of Ha’il for their fabulous hospitality. And their hospitality was fabulous…and it hadn’t finished yet. After a photo with the Hubster in his newly gifted Bisht, Shamag and Guttra, I was ushered back to the ladies side for a display of dancing by some of the younger women and then moved to the dining hall for a huge lamb meal. This was meat heaven. (True Kiwi. Love lamb). Some of the honored guests were not so thrilled, being vegetarian as they were.

Soon after the meal it was time to move on from the village to a couple of other places that The Hubster had been invited to, that being a visit to a camel farm and then qahwah at the remarkable home of another local leader, Muhammed al Suaied. It is not often I see The Hubster overwhelmed, but there were so many people offering open invitations to him, and accepting I was tagging along too, that he was quite overcome.

It goes without saying that we had a great time in Ha'il. The next day Hubster sent me a message, ‘Still buzzing a bit from weekend. Truly amazing’.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Bedu Hospitality And Searching For Caves.

2016-03-23T22:57:00.000+03:00

For some reason I have been enjoying Riyadh just recently. Maybe it's the weather. Or maybe it's the fact that we had a good break with the family over Christmas that I'm still buzzing about. Or perhaps it s the attention that The Husband has been paying me recently. Whatever the cause, life has felt rather upbeat just recently. And in this positive frame of mind The Hubster was more than happy to go in search of some caves out on the Dhana Dunes.

There are a group of cavers (or spelunkers if you'd prefer) in Saudi. We are not one of them. But after having read about caves in Saudi, I decided the idea of roaming around caves in the desert sounded kind of cool. So, for the past few years I've been attempting to find the location of two caves on the Dhana Dunes that don't require spelunking gear.

For very good reasons like vandalism, the dangers associated with caving and the general brainless activity of wrecking anything they find, cave locations aren't published to the general public by the spelunking crew. It has taken a good deal of Googling to find what I was looking for. Or at least I thought I'd found it. (If I knew any spelunkers I would've just asked, but I don't, hence the need to Google).

As the dunes we needed are only three hours away and we presumed to know exactly where we were going, our departure from Riyadh was left till late in the afternoon in our rented Fortuna packed with some of our new camping gear. This was a perfect weekend, we decided, to test out our new purchases - namely some great big heavy duty swags that don't actually fit anywhere in our apartment, so are stacked on top of each other in a corner of the lounge, next to our bicycles that also don't actually fit in the apartment, but there's nowhere else to put them except in the lounge.

Hubster was guided directly to the Google co-ordinates I'd unearthed. It turns out the co-ordinates were to a RawDhat - or park area -completely fenced all the way round obviously to keep people out so that plant life has a chance to grow. Initially I thought we'd stumbled on a local cemetery so wasn't that keen to go find a cave in the middle of it. It took driving almost the entire circumference before Hubster and I decided we'd come to far not to go traipsing through looking for our cave. We didn't find it. (And it wasn't a cemetery).

It must be around here somewhere, I said to Hubster as we were retracing our tracks toward the highway.
Why don't we ask the people in that tent, says Hubster.
What people, I said given that there weren't any people to be seen.

And there, parked by the tent that on our arrival had been flapping in the wind, was a Ute.

We drove around the tent, as you do in Saudi, and nobody was there.
But a little way off was an SUV. And just beyond that were makeshift metal pens with a number of goats (or sheep - I can't quite tell the difference with the animals up this end of the world. NZ sheep look like sheep. ME sheep could be goats and vice versa!) And outside the pens was a Saudi bloke. We drove over and he came to the car to say hello. We managed to communicate thanks to his daughter whose English was sufficient that between us we could all get our messages across.

We are looking for caves, we said.

He was surprised and there followed, in pigeon English and Arabic between the four of us, this conversation...
Him: It is late in the day. The sun will be setting in just over an hour. You can't go into caves now.
Us: We'll find the cave and then camp beside it and go searching through it in the morning.
Him: What! Camping! You can't be camping out tonight. No, no, it is too cold to be camping. Come back to our place, eat, sleep and we can take you to the cave tomorrow. It is too far tonight.
Us (to each other): What do you think? I don't mind if you don't mind.
Us (to Him): Ok, that is very kind of you.
(Obviously the entire conversation wasn't quite as black and white as all that, but as a summary it's spot on).

Once the invitation to his home was settled he called us over to the pens to meet his wife who was busy with the hired help, a young bloke from India, attaching baby goats to adult females that were tied to the pen fencing so they couldn't argue with the fact they were there to feed. (On closer inspection I decided these were goats).

The wife was given the news that there would be extra company tonight and she seemed perfectly OK with the idea. It was as though this family were quite used to strangers rocking up late in the day and being invited for dinner. And soon we were being shown how mothers are attached to fences and kids to mothers. (I wish I had taken more photos!)

We followed this family out of the desert to their home in the nearby small township. On arrival Hubster headed to the tent near the entrance of the house to spend the evening with the men while I was shown the way to the ladies hang out, out back.

The house was not the huge flash triple story buildings that you see in the city. No. This single level dwelling was a family home. And the family were quite happy living in it with its collection of comfortable rooms circled around a large central courtyard, in the middle of which was another big tent.

I was taken to one of the rooms alongside the tent that was decked out as a Saudi salon - brightly colored wall to wall carpet with cushions up against the walls for leaning on and covered squares scattered about for added lounging comfort. Next to that was a large kitchen and a store room (almost like a huge walk in pantry) and next to that was the parents quarters. Round the corner was the bathroom - a toilet, shower and washing machine were housed in it - a simple yet functional space. Another large room took up an area on the opposite side of the square that I understand the boys slept in that night, while behind the tent was yet another building presumably providing various rooms for the rest of the family.

Mum organised qahwah and dates and also gave instruction on what was to be prepared for dinner and soon we were joined by other female members of the family - daughters, daughters in law, aunties, nieces and grandchildren most of whom, I learned, lived in houses next door. We sat around the gas heater that had been lit to warm the room. Dad had been right. It was a very cold night.

Dinner was a simple yet delicious meal served up in the middle of the circle of ladies all sitting croiss legged on the floor (except me...just haven't got this leg crossing position down). Throughout the evening the women chatted and the kids went running in and out. They were happy to practice the English they had been learning in school and I used the tiny bit of Arabic I know, turning to the dictionary on my phone for everything else. The evening passed very pleasantly indeed and I felt perfectly comfortable in this gathering.

The Hubster let me know what went on in the man tent. He said they asked lots of questions about NZ, were constantly making sure he was attended to with qahwah and dates and were somewhat bemused we didn't have a GPS to assist our travels (a Google Map on iphone doesn't rate as GPS), and just couldn't believe we would go camping alone in the desert. Although Hubster does not understand much Arabaic at all, he could tell by the warmth of the men he met, and in particular on the face of father who invited us to his home, that we were extremely welcome.

By 9.30pm the dinner things were cleared up, the women bid goodnight and Hubster was brought over to the salon. It was time for bed and he was going to be sleeping in here with me. I gather from this family that Saudi in the rural areas go to bed early which was fine with me - I was tired. We bought gear in from the 4WD - pillows and our backpack of clothes (the swags had to be left for another day) - and settled in for a very comfortable sleep.

I woke around 6am the next morning and, after getting dressed, decided to go for a walk to take some photo's of the area. Dad was up already and he had the fire lit in the guest tent with thermos's and kettles lined up beside the fire keeping warm. He waved me in and I curled up by the open fire place while Dad offered qahwa and dates followed by some hot and sweet milky tea and we used hand signals and short sentences to talk about families and work and caves and living in Saudi. Hubster wandered in later in the morning and then I was called back to the ladies area because breakfast was ready. It was being served in the big tent.

After breakfast one of the sons, with a few of the kids on board, was charged with guiding us to the nearby caves. Dad was wanting us to come back and have lunch, but we had imposed enough. Plus our time was limited as we had another event to attend that evening back in Riyadh.

Hubster couldn't believe the caves when we reached them. He had been expecting a massive hole in a hillside and was wondering where the heck such caves might be given the landscape we were driving through was relatively flat and sandy.

Desert caves are holes in the ground. And not particularly large holes either. The first was just a little gash out of which birds where flying. If you stood close enough, though not too close else you'd slide in with the sand, you could hear them twittering. The kids picked up stones and threw them into the hole and we listened to see if you could hear a thud as they landed at the bottom. (Nope, heard nothing).

The second cave was much larger, but unless you knew where to find it you'd have difficulty locating it because only as you get close do you see the hole in the ground. We are amazed at how Saudi's know their way in this flat seemingly featureless and always changing desert. This cave was big enough that we could walk down into it as, it was obvious from the graffiti on the walls once we were inside, numerous others had. We thanked our new found friend and guide and set about walking down into the cave.

The cave split in two once we'd clambered over the rocks near the entrance. Off to the left was a rather steep rock strewn bank disappearing into the dark depths. The right side was a slightly less steep sandbank. I decided to step off the solid rock into the sand wondering, as I did, if the whole lot was going to slide down and carry me with it. Clearly that was just me being freaky, because nothing happened at all. Except The Husband said, 'watch out for scorpions in the sand'. I don't even know if scorpions live in the sand. (I Googled. They can, though they prefer rock crevices and soil burrows).

The sandbank ended in a rather large cavern that people had been using as a picnic spot, evident, as per usual in Saudi, by the rubbish left behind.

As part of my research to locate caves in Saudi, I'd also been reading the Saudi Caves website and picked up a bit of info on the different formations that can be found underground. Though not optimistic of finding much because crappy humans had been here making a crappy human mess, I wandered off into the recess with my torch to see if I could spot anything. I attempted to explain to Hubby why I was taking photo's of the cave ceiling. It was difficult to create enthusiasm in my caving partner when I don't know exactly what I'm looking for nor precisely why it's of importance. Perhaps next time I'll bring a passionate speleologist along for the ride who can do all the talking.

After taking a few pics of the cavern I looked around for my buddy and he had disappeared. He'd gone over to the other branch of the cave. Naturally, I followed him over there.

He was nowhere to be seen. And the rock pile at the branch head didn't look particularly easy, nor safe, to clamber over. I wondered how he got over it! I gave a shout and he answered when I called. Come on down, he said. On closer inspection a narrow strip of a sand bank ran down the side of the rocks. The quickest way down was to walk and slide down the sand. There was always the thought that loosened sand may destabilize the rock fall, or perhaps I've watched to many Indiana Jones type movies. Anyway, once that first foot hit the sand there was no looking back. Getting back up was gonna be a butt and thigh killer!

Hubster was standing on a shelf part way down - among more rubbish. He'd broken off a tiny piece of white rock from the roof and proudly showed it to me, saying there was a lot of this all over the place. It has taken a few years, but I have learned that the best way to tell The Hubster something he may not like the sound of is to start with, 'darling I love you but'....I think this stuff takes years to form and breaking it off isn't really what you should be doing in the interests of cave conservation.

Oh, he says. You're right. Sorry
(He may not always listen, but when he does he's a quick study).

I took a few more pictures from the shelf. It looked as though this cave came to an end a short way down - more rubbish was down there. We decided we'd seen enough. There was no need to go further. Apart from the fact it got a bit narrower on the way down and we aren't exactly thinly built, it was going to hard enough walking back up the sand from our current position.

Coming back up to the surface into the bright sunlight you can appreciate why caves were used by Bedu for shelter from the elements. It's a pity the modern desert visitor doesn't treat the place with a bit more respect.

We spent a bit of time just marveling at what lay beneath the desert. If we could we may have tiki toured about looking for more caves, but time was not on our side. We had to head back to the city. And it would soon be time for lunch. We still had our chilly bin full of food, having tried and failed to give any of it to our hosts the night before.

Sitting over the smoke of the fire was the only way to eat our meat in peace this day because the wadi we had chosen was full of plant growth which attracted goats, sheep and camels, which attracted flies. It was funny. I had to laugh. What a weekend we had had. It began searching for caves, wound up finding fabulous bedu hospitality, continued roaming around underground and ended cooking over a fire beside a dried up river bed with roaming camels and evading flies. Some days, you just gotta love Saudi.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

10 Positive Thoughts on Living In Saudi Arabia

2016-03-09T01:33:00.000+03:00

This post is a complete flip flop from my previous one (Of Holidays, Fragility and Visa Issues). That was too negative apparently. I don't think people got that part of that post was me recounting in detail a hissy fit melt down. Hissy fits, by their very nature, are somewhat negative. And the rest of that post was extremely positive I thought. Anyway here is some positivity - for you peeps unhappy with my melt down.

Positive thought 1-

I'm loving Riyadh weather right now. It's beautiful and cool. I enjoy the cool freshness of the air and leave our front door open practically all day when I'm there just basking in the fresh air because I know it won't be long till its too hot to have the door open and the aircon will be blasting all day in an effort to beat the heat from our metal door. (Our front door is made of metal - tin I think. Crazy idea for a hot place like Saudi).

Positive thought 2 -

We have semi-adopted a cat which is big news because neither the husband or I consider ourselves cat people, mostly because cats let loose in the wild of New Zealand tend to eat our diminishing native bird population. But cat has grown on us here in Saudi and is quite funny. He sits rights next to me after he's come wandering into the house like he owns the place. He never use to. Being an adopted stray he was always quite aloof, but he's become kind of clingy since our last trip away. I admit I quite like having cat purring next to me in the evening, though once it's time for bed, he has return to Cat Land for the night.

Positive thought 3 -

This is the picture of the sunset in Dubai...

Beautiful isn't it.

Hubsters work might be overly demanding but the money takes me places. I'd probably be more grateful for the travel if there wasn't always a third wheel present (a.k.a his work computer).

Positive thought 4 -

Gas is cheap as chips in Saudi - even with the recent 50% price hike. That means when we rent a vehicle to travel around the country we aren't paying through the nose for petrol to get us from point A to point B.

Positive thought 5 -

This is a photo from one of our recent trips into the desert.

We met this Saudi man who could not believe we wanted to spend the night camping in the desert so invited us back to his family home for dinner, to meet the family and to sleep. The local people we have met in Saudi are very friendly, welcoming and hospitable and some days I'm overwhelmed wondering how we can repay them for their kindness.

Positive thought 6 -

I have a role that allows me to travel and still get paid.
Love that.

Positive thought 7 -

I have made some very good friends while living in Saudi. People from all over the globe. From places that, in the past, I never considered I would travel to, much less know someone from. That idea is both mind boggling and humbling for a Maori from Aotearoa (...that would be a Native from New Zealand to you non-Kiwi peeps).

Positive thought 8 -

Because we have to rent vehicles, (we don't own a car but we do own three motorbikes and two bicycles), I have had the chance to drive GMC Yukons, Toyota Fortuna's, a Prado, a Chev Impala, Kia Sportages, Ford Edge's, a Yarris (not my favourite), a GMC Sierra truck (less than impressed with that one too), Renaults, Honda Accords and a Crown Victoria. I also went for a spin in a Veyron (woohoo), and a Bentley Ghost (classy!!). Renting is a good way to figure out what vehicle one might like to buy the day on might decide to buy 4 wheel transportation. To date my fav is the Yukon (I love the pick up whenever you put your foot down and it's so easy to drive) and the Prado (quite roomy, breezy handling and great in the desert). (Naturally, none of these vehicles was actually driven by myself here in Saudi. Of course not! I meant I was driving vicariously, through my husband because I'm a mere female in Saudi, totally incapable of vehicular control... @8@...*Eyes rolling right round the back of my head)

Positive thought 9 -

They have coffee here. Granted it can be an adventure wondering what state the coffee will be in once it arrives in my coffee craving hand's because not that many places outside the city (or inside it for that matter) have highly trained baristas. Many times I've been very pleasantly surprised by the coffee I receive as opposed to other times when a grimace immediately follows a coffee sip.

I have also learned to enjoy qahwa and Turkish coffee especially when made by people who know what they are doing. (And contorted when offered absolute crap by people who should never be allowed to make Arabic coffee, ever!)

Positive thought 10 -

No hotel I've dropped into has denied me access to the toilet because I'm not staying there. Same deal with restaurants or cafes if I haven't bought anything there. (Long may this attitude to female requirements reign).

So there you have it.
My Top 10 Positive Thoughts for tonight on Living in Saudi.

Of Holidays Fragility and Visa Issues

2016-02-21T02:00:00.002+03:00

Kia ora people and Welcome to the middle of February 2016. Hasn't the New Year marched on already. It's been a while since I posted, largely, I have to admit, because of a slump on my mojo. That can happen to you here every now and then. But a lengthy planned holiday home to New Zealand, where the Hubster came to understand my less than optimal, somewhat fragile mental state, and an unplanned stay in Dubai have perked me up somewhat. So, I guess you can call this a long catch up post. It's full of arguments, celebrations, family photos and drama!

So, here we go....

On December 16th 2015, I was out of here, and I was looking forward to it. This was the first holiday that the entire family would be back in NZ at the same time. The first stop once on home turf was our sons place to catch up with his growing and gorgeous flock....

In my mind I had planned taking the kids to parks, playgrounds, movies and maybe a couple of shopping trips to buy them a few 'spoilt by the grandparents' things and had been mentioning such for quite some time before our trip. Hubby had different ideas. In his mind we were going to renovate the house and he had been emailing such to builders and painters and our son and not mentioning these plans at all to me. Needless to say quite early in our holiday we came to loggerheads on our different perceptions of what we would be doing during this trip home. I'm not very good at loggerheads. I cry and shout a lot. I cried and shouted a lot during this 'discussion'. What came out of it, in a nutshell, was this....I have issues. Here, briefly, is a summary of my tiny expat wife meltdown early on our holiday. (Feel free to add extra expletives where you think they fit nicely - lord knows I did! There were quite a few in the original of this post, but I was asked to remove a few terms - specifically those that related to my view of absolutely anything to do with Hubsters work!)

Hubby thought that my living the past six years in Saudi was a testament to how fabulously I was coping with being away from family while he works constantly, all the time.

The fact that he is working constantly all the time, even when on supposed holidays, even on this holiday, means we don't talk much. In fact, his daily routine in Riyadh of 'go to work, come home, eat, sit on computer working till all hours, go to bed, repeat', has meant that, for quite some time, I've been living with a sense of being, not exactly ignored but, pointless.

What did you bring me to Saudi for, I wonder? Am I just the tax break? (If you are a kiwi or ozzie planning to move here, check out how our tax laws will affect you). Am I here just to make soup that you can eat at your computer? (He eats at his computer).

I have asked these questions before when being ignored gets on my goat. I was asking similar questions again because I could see the holiday routine was going to be 'work at renovations all day, come home, eat, sit on computer working till all hours at night, go to bed, repeat'.

It is a gripe of mine that all our holidays of late are simply a continuation of the pattern in Saudi and I can't say I particularly approve and tend to let Hubster know because, basically, I'm not very good at keeping quiet.

Of course, he thinks I'm over-reacting and that I'm being silly. The next day any issues I may have are apparently forgiven and forgotten. They aren't really. They're just packed away under a face that says, 'Fine. Whatever'.

What I'd really appreciate is if he'd put down the f'n computer so we can talk to each other. We don't, I have concluded, talk much anymore.

It irks me that he'll put down the computer when his work colleagues, who also live on the compound, drop by. And they'll typically rabbit on about repetitive stuff like work. work, more work and more crappy work, and less than optimal support from head office, blah, blah blah...

But he won't talk to me. Nope . His head goes straight into the computer sending emails and doing whatever it is he does.

Him grunting in response to my attempts at conversation is, quite frankly, annoying. But if I push the 'why don't you talk to me' issue or if I suggest 'why don't log off your computer early cos I'm sure your clients don't have to hear from you at midnight' or, should I get really peed off and say something like, 'If you die tomorrow your clients wouldn't give a shit', I get, 'You don't understand my job', 'you don't understand the demands, the stress', you have no idea'...

Really? Is that what you think?

I might actually have some idea. I'm not exactly thick. I've got ears...I hear you talking with your mates about the same thing all the bloody time. And I live in Riyadh too, you know!

And maybe if you talked to me we could discuss how difficult your work life is. (Or how difficult you like to make it which, I think, is part of his problem).

And maybe, just maybe, I'd like to tell you how being eye raped while doing something normal like walking to the shop is disturbing, how being dismissed from a major telecom retail shop with the wave of the hand and shouted 'No Woman' is flaming irritating, how getting into a taxi and have the driver lock the doors brought out the nasty in me. Maybe I'd like to exchange my everyday shitty news with you. Or maybe I'd like to talk about the photo's I take in the morning when I go out on my bike rides, alone, without you. Or pass on news from our daughter who called.

Maybe, no definitely, I'd like you to close the computer because your work gets to have you since 8.30am every morning.... at 10 pm at night, I'd like a little us time.

It is one thing to feel like a second class citizen due to local attitudes, it is another to feel irrelevant to your spouse because that's how his current work demands and his own insistence on being so damn good at what he does, make me feel. Why can't you be like the locals and chill, relax, cruise, don't give a hoot....?

Although I have met some lovely ladies in Riyadh who have become good friends, they are not the best friend I married but who seems to have wandered off into 'Home But Never Here Land' in the short space of time we have been in Saudi. And I am extremely upset that on this holiday, this return home holiday, you are going to continue to put me on the back burner because you have decided you have more important things to think about. I am important! And I refuse to be brushed off by you any more!

It turns out that he thinks that working all the time while in Saudi is what I expect from him so we can pay off our mortgage and go home. He also insists that we both agreed to renovating this house ourselves.

He has this habit of having imaginary conversations with me in his head. He does it all the time. It pisses me off because he'll come out with these grand statements of 'we talked about this' when we didn't. I know we didn't. That, after all, would require a conversation. (In fact, one night in Saudi at the coffee shop with friends I asked everybody's orders and duly went to place the order. When the drinks came he says "Where's my diet coke". "You didn't order anything, I say." "Yes I did", he insists. "I'm sorry habibtii", says our friend who is sitting at the table with us, "you might have imagined ordering, but you didn't actually say anything." "Thank, thank you, thank you", I said, because that, right there, is what he does all the time.)

And why he thinks I like him working constantly is a joke. Many is the time I've begged with him to stop working!!! I actually intensely dislike him working all the time. Totally, intensely, can't stand it!

In fact, I wish that once out of the office, and especially on weekends, he would stuff work and tell his overly demanding clients to go to hell. It's the weekend. Rack off! Your work is not 'Urgent, Urgent', but he answers the emails anyway.

And I couldn't give a rats arse if we sold the bloody house if we had to. (In case you hadn't noticed, as well as crying, I swear a lot in loggerhead type interactions).

As emotional, potty-mouthed female meltdowns do little more than distract him temporarily from his work, I do try not to have them all the time (though sometimes they can't be helped) and, while in Saudi I have worked out a strategy for coping with his hours of head down bum up, give everything to the office, work ethic. I surf the internet.

It's purely a distraction strategy and not the least bit fulfilling, though I'm sure he tends to think I'm having a blast, mainly, presumably, because I'm quiet and not interrupting him.

Admittedly internet surfing does provide the opportunity to learn lots of unnecessary stuff like 'What are vulture funds?', recipes for Paleo bread or avocado chocolate mousse, 'The complexities of bank lending and Corporate Social Responsibility',' how to take apart your vacuum cleaner, how to cope with a workaholic husband (completely useless strategies I have to say) and who won the latest BGT or X-factor. What surfing the internet cannot do is take away the feeling of loneliness. And that, it turns out after all the frustrated crying in the converted shed behind our sons house, is what I really feel.

Lonely.
And fragile.

I don't know how much longer I can go on in this unreal life in Saudi with its ridiculous demands on both of us.

I miss talking with him about life, living, kids, home, family, future plans, sport teams, motorbikes, planning our weekend bike rides, playing cards, playing scrabble, watching movies together, learning Spanish and figuring out how to raise bees and grow vanilla beans. I'm tired of having to cajole him out of the house to do things together.

I might have coffee mornings I can go to every day of the week, but they do not fill the void of loneliness. He might be right there in the house with his computer, but I miss my man.

And he had no idea.
He thought I had simply adjusted fabulously to life in Saudi. I think he was trying to talk himself into believing that because how can you think such a thing after one of my expat wife meltdowns?

This little discussion did clear the air of a lot of my built up issues.
He has attempted to be more present lately and actually closes his computer.
I agreed we could spend the first week doing up the house.

(And what better way to do it than as a family working bee!)

It is safe to say that the rest of our time was spent happily, together, at (or near) a beach surrounded by the whanau.

Over the next few days the rest of the family arrived from distant shores (namely Ozzie and the UK) and it was so nice to have everyone in the same place for Christmas and New Year. A good reason to be dancing I reckon. (This is the kids latest cool song - Note the adults quite liked it too)

Naturally, being Christmas, the kids scored big time at each of the whanau gatherings for feasting and present giving. First up was Christmas Eve morning at home. I love watching kids reactions to getting long awaited for, hoped for, fingers crossed for, and just glad to get, gifts.

Then we headed down to my brothers place at the beach near the Coromandel for Christmas Day. The pile of presents placed under the tree grew and grew after the kids went to bed, ready for them to receive the next morning...

There were gifts for the young and the slightly more mature. There were fun gifts, homemade gifts and special gifts.

Everyone seemed quite happy with the gifts that they got.

The whole morning was a bit much for the old boy who needed a nap midway through proceedings.

And there was the food. Loads and loads of food. And laughs. And general good times.

As all the family were together it seemed a good idea to take a few family group photo's with my parents as the center pieces.

There was the grandchildren photo...

... the great-grandchildren photo...

...and the all in photo.

We even attempted a recreation photo. From this over twenty years ago...

To this...

Christmas Day was a great day, and so were the days that followed. The beach was spectacular and we enjoyed it, even on the days it rained.

We eventually left the coast and headed up North, to visit the farm. The kids got to run around the bush and paddocks, to visit the old homestead where their great-grandfather grew up, (now in need of major TLC), and to swim in the river.

Our next stop was the Manukau Heads, just outside of Auckland, to a beach house with its glorious views over the bay from a deck perfect for a New Years Eve party.

Of course, it wasn't all fun and games at the house. The gardens needed a trim and the deck needed a spot of paint. (The husband actually discussed both of these in real time, out loud).

But really, mostly, it was time to chill'ax.
We went to the beach every day. Hubby took the truck over the hill and we walked around the point. The kids dressed in rubbish bags the day we went over to the coast to go sliding down sand dunes. We basically had a great family time.

Then it was time to say our farewells and head back to Saudi. We landed in Riyadh and said hello to the nice bloke at the customs counter. He said hello back and then said to me, 'You can go'. But to Hubster he said, 'Your visa expired.'

What?
Your visa expired
It can't be.
It expired.
How? It should be the same as my wife's!
(Shrug). (Tense silence)
What do I do now?, Hubster said.
Go to office.
What do I do now?, I said.
You can go in, [to baggage collection] your husband go to office.
How long will this take?, Hubster said.
Maybe one hour.

So it was decided I would pick up the suitcases and wait in the taxi. What happens next is how Hubster described it to me later...

...Hubster went to the office where the men were drinking qahwa. After an introduction and description of the issue, they offered him qahwah and then one of the blokes went to check the visa on the computer. Expired by 15 days it said which is not what was printed on the piece of paper in Hubsters hand.

Sorry, they said.
The computer says expired. It's expired.
What now?, says husband.
Where you come from?, they said.
Dubai.
You go back Dubai.
What if I don't want to go back to Dubai?, he asks.
The blokes looked rather perplexed at that statement and said, 'Why not?'
Hubster was thinking he might do a stint in the airport cells. (When he told me this my first thought was, what awesome blog fodder. Bad wifey, I know).
You have credit card?, they ask
Yes.
You go Dubai.

Given that he not only had a credit card but also cash and his computer, all of which he thought may go missing while he was in the cells, he opted for a return trip to Dubai.

So he calls me and says he's being put back on the plane.
OK, I say, how long will this take.
Hopefully a day or so he says.
So I go home. He goes to Dubai.

Apparently he was considered a deportee so had to be escorted to the plane and handed over to the flight staff. Once in Dubai he had to wait to alight until someone from Foreign Affairs came to collect him. He wasn't allowed to simply walk out through Dubai customs because there is quite a bit of process and paperwork that goes with being deported. The Foreign Affairs Ministry (FAM) needs forms filled and the Dubai CID (aka Police) need to give him clearance. The FAM guy told him it is up to the discretion of the CID whether or not they would let him leave. Not to mention he had to pay for his return ticket to Dubai. Once the fare had been paid, the forms filled and the CID were happy his deportation was for fairly innocent reasons, he was escorted to the CID passport area and released.

All quite painless really, though time consuming, and the everyone he dealt with was very pleasant.

This all happened on a Saturday.
On Tuesday we decided that if he didn't have his visa in the next couple of days I would go over to Dubai for the weekend and to take him some clothes - (Remember I had all the suitcases, he had his computer bag. He needed a change of clothes).

I got to spend 10 days in Dubai before he got his visa extension.
He wasn't particularly happy with this delay as he had to cancel meetings.
Personally, I thought the extra holiday was ace.

In order to get his visa his office had to write a letter to the Saudi Ministry of Interior explaining the situation and asking for a visa. The MOI, after getting the office to send a few extra bits and pieces to prove they are a properly registered company, then sent a form back to the office that had to go to the Saudi Consulate in Dubai. Once Hubby had that form he had to engage an agent to liaise with the consulate. (You can't just rock up at the consulate with your form - something he discovered after he rocked up). It took a while to get the visa to the consulate because the systems were down, but once the visa extension was issued, it was only valid for seven days. Given we were told late on a Thursday that it was ready, and the agency is shut on weekends, by the time we got it three days had already expired.

So we had to head back to Riyadh. However, once back at Riyadh customs we find that a visa extension requires a different type of processing. So, once again, I was told I could go through while Hubby was directed toward the office to get his visa photocopied. Then he had to wait for the only guy who could process his visa to come back from lunch. Once said man was back at his desk I could see he and the Hubster both through the perspex class having a good old laugh. Obviously now that the whole process was coming to an end Hubster appeared quite relaxed.

And that folks, was my holiday and eventual return to Riyadh.
Stunning stuff, don't you think?

I'm just hoping his new found ability to close his laptop at night doesn't hit a rocky patch.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Creativity and Secret Celebrations

2015-12-09T14:55:00.002+03:00

The end of the year is drawing nigh and for we western types who wrote 'Christian' on our visa to get into this country, whether we are practicing or not, that means Christmas and New Year are also fast approaching. If you're relatively new to Saudi Arabia you've likely figured out by now that Christmas is not celebrated here. Not in public anyway. There is no holiday. No carols over mall sound systems. No publicly decorated trees with decorative balls, fat santas or reindeer. Expats, unless they have applied for a day off, are expected to be working on Xmas Day.

It's fair to say the festive mood is a little toned down in Saudi. Seasoned expats staying in Saudi over the Christmas season will know that seasonal activities on December 25th will likely be private invites to private dinners, so if you haven't got any yet, go make some friends quick smart.

Decking out your compound home with festive decorations is not for the time management challenged expats who think they can wait till the last minute to deck their halls with boughs of holly. Anything even vaguely Christmas looking begins to be removed from shops around about November, so you should have bought your red and green tinsel at the latest in early October.

Keeping your ear to the ground for notice of end of year compound bazaars will score quite a few nice decorations into December, many handmade by crafty expats. But compound bazaars are pretty much over and done by the end of the first week of December - not good news for the last minute decorator! I'm usually a last minute decorator. It feels kind of strange tonight, though I'm also rather chuffed, to be sitting here looking at decorations that have been hanging from the tree in our apartment, an evergreen scraggly looking thing I bought at Sultan Gardens, since December 1st.

I don't like plastic trees much, so a real tree, even if not exactly a pyramid shape that doesn't fill the house with pine smells, gives me warm, fuzzy feelings when I look at the results of my creative garnishing and the lights are twinkling in the lounge. Even the Hubster, who initially thought I was crazy, was suitably impressed.

My friend, Miss Margaret, could rarely make it to the Bazaars because she was a working woman here in Riyadh. So she would make her own home made decorations out of treasures she'd dig out from a couple of local shops. I would tag along because her enthusiasm was infectious and I thought her creative spark might rub off on me. (It didn't!)

The first place she'd usually go for crafty bits is Al Sharq stationary shop in Al Owayis souq. It may not look like much from the outside, but inside can be a treasure trove for the homemade craft decorator with creative flair. She's walked out with styrofoam balls of varying sizes, glue and glitter, card making supplies, beads, star shapes and feather boas.

DMC Accessories Store, in one of the Circon buildings down Musah bin Nasser St, and the Ribbon Souq, located in small corner of Al Owayis, are two places with plentiful colorful, shiny and baubled materials to make decorations for any occasion, not just Christmas. And you can get service with a smile. Limited English, but a smile.

As an aside to this story, in one shop we found a couple of vintage looking sewing machines for sale. There haven't been many sewing machines for sale in Saudi since 2009 when a rumour gripped the country that Singer Sewing machines contained a magical substance called Red Mercury that could turn you into a genie and grant you anything you desired (or something like that). Sewing machines were being stolen left, right and center. If you weren't into theft, the prices to buy a machine sky rocketed upwards of 50,000SR by some reports.

Of course, there is no such thing as magical mercury out of sewing machines.
That was a hoax for the truly gullible.
Though I do think people who can sew, particularly those who create garments from their own patterns, are brilliantly talented, and in that sense, quite magical, because I can't even sew a straight seam!

But back to our home made creativity.

Jariir bookstore has a fairly decent art section with bits and pieces that could easily be given a Happy Holiday flair. When the grandkids were here I bought paints and boxes and let them loose expressing their artistic side.

If you have someone who can drive, you can do a run to Al Zamil stores in Al Khobar for a rummage through their party and art supplies.

Those are just some of the places you can go to find bits and pieces to turn into your own version of Christmas ornaments. But really, the beginnings of creative pieces can be found all over this city. Dirrah souq has loads of pieces that can enhance a Christmas scene, like camel candles. old lamps and Morrocan lanterns - just add your finishing touch to them.

Of course, those not wishing to spend this traditional family time in Saudi Arabia can always high tail it to places more tolerant of the Xmas season and get their decorating, carol singing, gift giving and family togetherness fix in various other parts of the world. I'm doing that this Christmas. I'm going home.

Best of the Season to y'all.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Desert Bucket List and An Arch

2015-11-25T21:37:00.002+03:00

It has been quite some time since we have taken to the desert in Saudi. Largely because a good portion of this year has seen us travelling outside of the country. A couple of weeks after returning from our most recent trip (to the UK) I was hankering for a spot of desert travel. On my computer is a bucket list of places I'd like to visit in Saudi before we leave (Yes, believe it or not you can bucket list places in Saudi Arabia!). So, last weekend Hubster was encouraged to hire the 4WD - encouragement being wifey with her hands on hips, bored of sitting around compounds while he has his head stuck in a computer working, declaring she might leave for good if he didn't pull finger.

With finger pulled, he was directed to head west-ish.

"Where are we going?" Hubster asks as we head out of the compound a little later in the day than initially planned. What he means by this question is: 'Do you have a map to get us where we need to go?' Well, after a bit of Googling I have found directions to get us most of the way. Although Google can not tell us how far into the desert we have to go because Google just can't do that in Saudi at this point. But he doesn't want to know all that nonsense. So I simply say "To find an arch"

"How far is it?" is the next question. Naturally he presumes any directions I have in my possession will cover this little question with precise mileage and approximate hours of travel, give or take a few minutes for buying coffee, photo stops and general traffic conditions. Given that I never actually checked any of this on a map before leaving I say, "Not sure. Maybe a 200km round trip. Not far".

Two hundred and forty kilometers later, we arrive at the arch. (We found out later that we'd come the long way, a discovery made while going home the short way via an early sign saying 'Riyadh' and a gas station man who said 'Go that way').

Despite its unexpected length, it was a nice drive out. With the iPhone playing our favorite 80's hits we sang our way down the escarpment, past Muzaymiyah and then turned off toward Ar Rayn. Beautiful red orange sands rippled in waves beside the highway and wiggled their way off into the horizon. If we had stopped to take photo's there would be one here ______ , but we didn't as I presumed our return journey would give us ample time for sand dune photography. Tip to self - never miss a photo op!

Eventually the silky looking red sands gave way to a hard, flat as a pan dusty plain and the Hubster started wondering where we might find a gas station as it had become quite obvious by this point that I'd misjudged our travel distance and, apart from grumbling that we would have to be paying extra mileage on the vehicle, gassing up was starting to sound prudent. We also noted that there weren't many cars on the road although obviously that isn't going to be the case for long. Construction is busy widening the road and, after turning off towards Al Hariq, the single concrete blocks used in Saudi Arabia to indicate real estate plots can be seen set out and waiting for the expectant housing developments.

Just as Hubster was despairing that I had any idea where we were actually headed the dust pan turned back into red sands and the shapes of hills could be made out in the blurred haze that a desert seems to throw up as one looks into its distance. As we drew nearer and the haze began to clear and the hills slowly solidified, their color shifting from murky grey brown to layered stripes of cafe au lait and wine, their ridges sharp and clear against the vibrant blue sky, not a hint of haze around them. We slowed to crawl and I wound down the window searching for something arch like atop a hill.

It wasn't long before the arch was spotted, a tangerine outcropping standing clear against the rest, and we turned the vehicle off road. This is what I love about jaunts into the Saudi desert - you can go anywhere. The easiest track seemed to be down in a wadi as the rocks littering the embankments were sharp and large enough to do damage to the vehicle if one wasn't careful. As we had failed, yet again, to tell anyone exactly where we were going, having a breakdown was a situation we would rather avoid.

Keeping the arch in our sights we stuck to the wadi until the sand started looking a little damp. Damp sand in wadi's make me nervous, so it was time to exit the wadi. A track was visible among sharp rocks on the wadi edge making it's way toward higher ground. The well worn trail it joined led us straight to the base of the The Arch. Hubster was impressed.

The afternoon was ticking on so we grabbed our gear and walked in search of a route that would take us to the top of the hill. Part way up we came across a track of sorts that someone has taken the time to construct, pouring sand and rubble between the hillside rocks, making the ascent easier than I initially thought it would be for someone whose fitness is, ummmm, waning.

The arch is not really an arch. It's more of a circle. (Hubster thought is was shaped like a Kiwi. I thought Australia). It's also a circle that won't last forever as it is slowly but surely crumbling. Its promontory position is exposed to butting desert winds, extremes of temperature and seasonal rains. The activity more likely to expedite the collapse of this arch, however, is people attempting to break it down. Hubster pointed out the evidence of chipping and hacking on the structure by previous two handed brain defunct animals who have been visiting.

After posing for a couple of selfies out front, Hubster decided to head back down to the vehicle. He wanted to get the campsite set up and fire started so he would be cooking dinner while there was still some daylight. On many of our jaunts he ends up cooking in the dark with only the firelight to assist. That might sound romantic but the reality, according to him, is less so.

I took a few more photo's and sat on the ledge looking out over the valley surveying, on this day, our car lone among the scrabbly rocky terrain below while the sun was going through its range of end of day color changes. As the desert was claiming the last vestiges of heat from the orb, wrapping its hazy clutches around the waning fireball and threatening to drag it behind a distant hill, it was time to leave my perch.

My preference was for descending in as lady like a fashion as possible from this spot while there was still some light, else I could imagine a misplaced step creating a rockfall, chinking and scraping its slide downward with me screeching unbalanced atop it, followed by a pitiful cry for assistance. Knowing the Hubster as I do, assistance would less likely be a knight on white horse with shining armour extending roses and more likely be him calling out, 'Watch what your doin? Told 'ya to come down earlier!'

At base camp the fire was crackling and dinner was well under way with steaks and chicken breasts on the bar-b. After dinner when the dark had descended, we drank coffee and talked about how nice this place was. How quiet. How perfect. We rearranged the cushions and lay back on our Arabic carpet, wrapped up in blankets against the chill, and watched the night sky, talking about this and that, pointing at the plane routes made clear by flashing tail lights and simply enjoying the peace that came with being there. It seemed a shame to have to pack up and leave the Arch much later that night when the cold became too much for our thin coverings. To tick it off the bucket list.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Yay, Everyone Can Keep Their Passports.

2015-11-04T21:14:00.000+03:00

New Labour Law putting employers, aka sponsors, in their place indicate that, though it might be slower than some people want, Saudi is changing. Breaking news this week - employers are not to keep workers passports anymore.

Not that employers were legally allowed to keep their employees passports anyway, but they did it out of habit and because there was no law stating, quite obviously, that they weren't supposed to. Now Saudi sponsors are going to have to change their ways or risk getting fined if they continue in their wicked ways. If I was a worker bee, I'd head off today and get back what's rightfully mine!

A couple of years back I wrote about the issue of employers keeping worker passports in the post, That Passport Is Mine, Thanks. In it I explained how the passport issue was linked to Saudi sponsorship. It's nice to know at least a part of that post is obsolete.

It's funny that this new law was announced this week because just last week I was having a chat with our new compound manager (we'll call her the CM), answering a few questions she had about how the place operated. Not only is she new to compound management, she is also fairly new to Saudi (she's been here about four months). While chatting, one of our security guys came in to the office. He walked over and handed his passport to our CM. She looked at him quite blankly and said, 'What is this?'
He said, 'I back my vacation. This for you'.
They looked at each other for moment, both almost as still as statues, she not comprehending what he was saying, while he was most likely wondering if there was a problem. She turned and looked questioningly at me.

I said, 'It is common practice for employers to keep employee passports, though it isn't a legal practice. You can ring Head Office and find out what to do or you can decide here and now what is best'.
She turned to the security guy and said, 'Keep it. It's yours. I don't need it'.
He looked rather surprised. He hesitated a moment. She waved him away and he walked off pocketing his passport. (I'll have to check later if she gave him back his iqama).
'Do they really do that?' she asked.
'Yep', I said.
'Oh my god. I don't believe it', she exclaimed in utter disbelief.
Like I said, she's new here.

Here's a write up by Saudi Gazette on the new law - SR2000 fine for keeping workers passports.
My initial reaction to the news was a double take - I had to read it again just to be sure I'd read it right! Then I was like, 'Wow, OMG, Yes, fist pump, high five, Whoop Whoop, Party Party'. (Ok, so I may have been in the sun too long). As I said, Saudi is changing. Here's hoping if any Saudi sponsors don't heed the new law, the Saudi judiciary will do exactly as the new law claims.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Saudi Anthems and Orchestras

2015-10-14T18:13:00.000+03:00

National anthems from 20 countries are being sung with pride and tears most days here in London, just before kick off for rugby games at the Rugby World Cup 2015. I've even learned a couple of the ones with catchy tunes. After belting out the Kiwi anthem prior to an All Blacks game it occurred to me that I have never heard the Saudi Arabian National anthem, not in the entire six years I've lived here.

Does Saudi Have A National Anthem?
I had to turn to Google to find out if there was a Saudi National Anthem and was surprised to find one did exist. My amazement largely stemmed from the view that when the religious peeps go around telling folks music is forbidden this expat finds it a little contradictory for the country to have a national anthem, largely because anthems need music and they are usually played publicly.

Perhaps if I watched soccer (a.k.a football) I might hear the Saudi anthem more often as it's boomed over loud speakers prior to the international football matches that national team participates in. I made that discovery while trawling YouTube looking for the lyrics to the Saudi anthem. The mass of male spectators at football matches are enthusiastic in their rendition of the anthem. It's quite heartening to see as I have always found Saudi's quite a fun loving bunch although the Saudi public face is supposed to be so emotionally reserved.

But I don't watch Saudi football, not because the Saudi hierarchy, in their wisdom, won't let ladies in to stadiums to watch the games (which makes me wonder how many Saudi women know the words to their national anthem?) No, it is simply that rugby and rugby league are my spectator sport of preference and as there is no Saudi national team for either of those codes, I haven't seen, nor heard, their anthem singing in action yet.

North Queensland Cowboys NRL Premiers 2015...that's my team.

The Lilting Royal Salute
Yes, Saudi has a national anthem and the instrumental version, called the Royal Salute, doesn't sound the least bit Arabic (to my very uneducated musical ear). In fact it sounds quite fan farish and, well, lilting. But more surprisingly, it is orchestral! Why be surprised? Because I have no idea if Saudi Arabia has an orchestra capable of playing the song! If there is a National Saudi Symphonic Orchestra, or anything vaguely similar, they don't seem to make many public appearances. There's no advertising for Season Tickets or a monthly event Calendar that I'm aware of. Heck, I don't even know if there's a concert hall in which the orchestra could play if they do exist.

Apparently the Royal Salute is only played at very formal kingly type of occasions, presumably using a recording given the apparent lack of orchestra, though I'll never know because, being a mere femme expat, invitations to Saudi formal functions don't often come my way. (If a Kingly type is reading this a royal invite would be gratefully accepted. Just saying.)

Anthem Origins
According to Wikipedia Saudi officially adopted their National Anthem, called Aash al Malak, in 1950 although it was first composed in 1947 by an Egyptian composer, Abdul Rahman Al Khatib, at the request of King Saud when he was visiting Egypt. It has been adapted three times since that original composition. Once in 1958 when lyrics were written by Muhammad Talat though, for reasons I can't find on Google, apparently they were rarely heard. Again by Seraj Omar who arranged the brass instrumental version. And finally in 1984 when new lyrics written by Ibrahim Khafaji were added.

Saudi National Day has recently come and gone and there were loads of festivities planned, but I am wondering whether or not the Saudi National Anthem was ever played publicly for people to sing loud and heartily on the day. (Unfortunately I was out of the country for this Saudi National Day but on previous days I don't recall hearing an anthem, though to be honest, I may not have recognized it if I did hear it.).

So here it is, the Saudi National Anthem with lyrics and including transliteration, so you can sing along, and translation, so you know what it is you're saying.

Now I have no excuse not to know the Saudi National Anthem though, as I still have problems getting into soccer games or receiving invites to fancy receptions where I could sing it loudly with gusto, it makes me wonder whether it's worth learning it.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Computer Souq Full of Gaming

2015-09-20T11:39:00.003+03:00

Visiting the computer souq on Olaya in Riyadh is almost becoming a normal experience for me these days. Almost. Except for the staring. The other day after dropping off my computer for a spot of repairs I decided to hang around and see what else there was to see. Most noticeable was the increase in the number of gaming shops since my last visit.

I admit to knowing absolutely nothing about gaming. I hail from an era that was just coming out of Pin Ball machines and heading into Pac Man and, quite frankly, my skill level at both was fairly dismal, so I never really kept up with the development of video game entertainment. My children, the poor souls, had to make do with visiting their friends and waiting for a turn on their Atari machine because we decided playing team sport was a better way for our kids to spend their time and our money. Given that their friends were better at the Atari games because, let's face it, they got more game time in, my kids often had a long wait for the console. The day my son stopped begging to go up the road to play on his mates Atari made me feel like I'd helped him dodge a child development bullet. My view of gaming didn't change much over the years as the graphics improved and the popular games just seemed to get more violent. Watching my nieces and nephews attempting to blow things up with heavy artillery in futuristic battles just isn't my thing. Candy Crush, however, is. (Yes it's sad I know but remember, I'm old).

While wandering in and out of little shops at the Riyadh computer souq somewhat astounded at the number of luminous green and black boxes dedicated to gaming in all of them, I came across Ashraf who was more than happy to talk to this gaming clueless expat about the equipment being sold in his shop. And apparently they sell a lot. Here's a video wrap up on what I learned about gaming components. (As you can see Ashraf was not shy of the camera).

Although there is a technician on site to put components together as required, Ashraf says quite a few Saudi's like to build their own gaming computer systems. That surprised me because, lets be honest, I still think most Saudi's prefer to pay someone else to do everything for them. Perhaps where gamers are concerned I'm going to have to shake that idea.

Given there are few other avenues for recreation in this country it's no surprise that Saudi's have taken to computer games en masse. Apparently gaming in this country is a huge revenue earner for game developers because so many Saudi's not only play but are prepared to pay to progress to upper levels (why doesn't that surprise me!)

It occurred to me after waving goodbye to Ashraf, that I forgot to ask how many females head through his shop door who like to put together their own gaming consoles. It is no secret that gaming is popular among Saudi females given there is bugger all else for women to do here. In fact, so many Saudi girls are now into video games that, a couple of years back, a motivated young lady ran a female only gaming conference. I got a a bit excited to hear that 3000 or so women went to a gaming conference that was not only for players but also budding gaming developers. Here's an interview from the event in 2013.

After watching this interview I headed to Google to find out what else gaming women in Saudi were up to. It seems not much as there are only a couple of other mentions re: women and gaming out in cyberspace and both of them are articles about Saudi men developing games for the Saudi female psyche. I find it quite bizarre that, with the extreme gender segregation in this society preventing the mixing of genders and discouraging the exchanging of ideas between both groups, Saudi men presume to know the Saudi female mind. But then, Saudi men are brought up to think they know exactly what Saudi women need, and are entitled to dictate as much, so I guess the idea of them presuming to know what games their women ought to be playing isn't so weird after all.

First up was this interview: 'As Saudi Arabia's Love Of Online Gaming Grows, Developers Bloom' which is about a group of guys developing 'strong female characters' in Arab based, Saudi relevant games. I love how it says

"We wanted to present a non-stereotypical lead female character [who is] smart, intellectual and plays an active role in the game."

Perhaps this quote was the result of a terrible edit. These guys can't really be saying that the typical Saudi woman is not smart, intellectual and does not play an active role in Saudi society? I'm guessing they actually meant its ridiculous how Saudi girls just aren't allowed to do things over here like treasure hunt, drive, bike ride, participate in physical sport or contribute to matters considered too important for women to worry their pretty feminine selves about. (The game they are talking about in the interview, by the way, has a recently released new version called Unearthed: Trail of Ibn Battuta - Episode 1 - Gold Edition in case you want to go check it out).

What I wanted to know after reading that interview was whether or not any Saudi women join these group developer sessions above Chuck E Cheese. If a few, (or even one), Saudi women were involved in the development of this game it would have been nice for them to rate mention. On the other hand women helping men in gaming development above Chuck E Cheese would likely be akin to women walking on the wild side in Saudi and the Joy Stealers would probably decide they have something to say about it!

At the end of the interview the Saudi government gets a mention for supporting a female gaming developer in creating a driving game, of all things. Is this really a precursor to women driving in Saudi? (Personally, I would have thought allowing husbands, fathers and older brothers to provide driving lessons for their female relatives a more relevant forerunner to women driving. But wait, no, a few have tried that and gotten into grief though I do query why in my post Arrested For Driving.. ). Perhaps my pessimism is running rampant as I write this, but it occurred to me that with a government endorsed driving game available for the girls to play, it's far too easy for the blokes in charge to say, 'You ladies don't need to really drive - just play the game of driving'. (Perhaps they'll throw in a toy steering wheel while they're at it!)

The second article found making waves in cyber space re: gaming and Saudi femmes is about a Saudi prince whose company is creating an upcoming game called Saudi Girls Revolution. An interesting name don't you think? More interesting is what the game is about:

"In this post-apocalyptic future, women are placed in concentration camps with conservative men ruling the land and controlling resources," he said. "It is the story of the girls breaking out and liberating the Arab empire by replacing its leaders."

It should be noted that Mr Prince's company is based outside of Saudi and his games are mobile based specifically so they can't be shut down by the conservative half of Saudi hierarchy who, I'm quite certain, wouldn't be greeting the name of this game or its summary with open arms and a welcoming smile.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Looking For Schools in Saudi Arabia

2015-08-27T14:07:00.001+03:00

One of the searches that expat parents do before they leave their country of origin to relocate to Saudi Arabia, is to find schools, and preferably good ones, for their children. It used to be a daunting task because not much information was out there. Your best bet was to become a serial expat forum member asking loads of questions that had been asked before and being sent to numerous links for answers hidden in their depths if you could be bothered scrolling that far. The other day I came across Kurrasa. Kurrasa has made the job of finding schools in Saudi so much easier. Not only does the site provide a comprehensive list of all schools in Riyadh, Jeddah, Dammam and other cities in Saudi Arabia, they are also working on providing a wealth of information about each school

Kurrassa lets you know the grades taught at each school, their location and contact details, whether the school is an international or national school, and a co-ed or single sex school. You can delve further into each school and find out mission statements, admission policies, school facilities, school fee costs and, for most, photographs.

The most important part of the site for parents though, is its parents review segment. The site is still relatively new on the Saudi information scene so the reviews are in the throes of being built up, but I think it's still possible to get an idea of the running of the school from the information currently available. The reviews would be aided by a star system if there weren't a few minor glitches to the set up.

The site also offers a section for potential teachers to provide their CV's and, from what I could tell, this is one of the drawbacks of the site at the moment in that, those looking for work are putting messages regarding their intention to teach in the parent review segment. The other people messing up the star rating system are parents with questions who, instead of contacting the schools directly, are posting their queries on the website review area. It appears that, in order to complete your message, you have to offer a star rating. This means a number of schools are receiving single star ratings possibly where they shouldn't be. So if you use the site, read the reviews carefully to weed out the schools suffering a low star rating because teachers looking for work are using the wrong section, (and, quite frankly, the inability to read and correctly use a website would make me immediately cross them off my 'potential teacher' list), or parents with queries are doing the same. Despite this minor, though irritating drawback, (I think it's irritating), I can see the Kurrasa website very quickly becoming a valuable resource for parents searching for schools.

Of course the quality of education available in this new and foreign land is just one of the concerns confronting expat parents intending to uplift their offspring and move them overseas. A number of other considerations are just as important especially if you have children who are not that excited, or are perhaps nervous, about the move and have a few ideas of their own about what is important regarding their schooling.

The language in which the classes will be instructed can be a major issue. Your child may be less than happy to be sent to an English speaking school when they aren't very good at the language. I know one family whose older son is at a French school while their younger daughter is at the American School because their son did not want to have to learn English to complete his senior years.
If you are looking for a specific curriculum, such as American, British, French or even Australian, Indian, Filipion or Pakistani, that will influence, and in some cases limit, your choice of school. And if you don't find a school with a similar curriculum to that at home, your children run the risk of being bored or feeling overwhelmed. We found this an issue when we first moved overseas to Australia. Our daughters spent the first year repeating work they already knew because of the difference in curriculum between New Zealand and Australia. On the one hand the class work was quite boring for them, on the other they could spend more time being social and still get good grades.

Whether or not all subjects are available in the school is especially important if any of the children are in higher levels and doing specialist subjects because they are looking at admission into specific international Universities further down the track. In such cases, I always think its a good idea to talk to the school and the teacher of the subject, to make sure what you're getting is exactly what is required.

The cost of the school fees is important to know up front for your budgeting purposes because, contrary to popular opinion not everybody who comes here is on a megabuck contract and schooling, especially at international schools, can be expensive. Make sure to ask the school about additional costs like uniform, textbooks and extra-curricular activities as well. Some companies are happy to make school registration a part of your employment package. It always pays to ask if your company is one of those.

What sort of after school activities are offered is a question parents often don't think to ask. If your kids like to keep themselves busy and active with sports or chess clubs they may be disappointed with what is available here. Unlike western countries, Saudi Arabia doesn't have a lot of out of school clubs for children to join - this is especially the case for girls. So, if your daughter is a budding waterpolo player she may have to find some other recreational activity while here - unless she starts her own girls waterpolo competition.

Another consideration is location of the school from where you live. The traffic in Riyadh at busy times can be horrendous. Having to get your child up in the wee small hours just so they get to school on time is stressful for everybody. If you live in a compound, especially one that is a fair distance from the school, compound management may not be happy to provide a bus run to your school of choice across town. In this case you will have to sort out transportation yourself. As women can't drive that job is left to Dad or a driver.

The larger international schools offer education from Pre-school through to Grade 12. Having your younger children attend the same institution as the older ones can be an issue if you live a fair distance away. A number of families on our compound found that the mothers were constantly in the compound vehicle taking children to, and retrieving them from, school. This is because school hours for younger children end a few hours earlier than for their older siblings. The parents made the decision, and I can understand why, not to leave the collection of any of the children solely to the driver. So mothers, who are not allowed to drive in Riyadh, and tired youngsters would make the trek each afternoon back to school to pick up the older children.

Those are just a few of the things parents have to consider when it comes to the schooling issue for children in Saudi Arabia. If you want to know more about your school of choice I suggest you contact the school directly as early as possible to ask all your questions.

As there are a large number of expats here, demand for the more popular schools is high, so I also think you should apply to register your child as soon as possible. I understand the registration fee is non-refundable in most cases. Best of luck in your search for schools in Saudi Arabia.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Optical Adventure in Riyadh

2015-08-03T13:39:00.001+03:00

Reading Run Fat Bitch Runby Ruth Field

It had become glaringly apparent a few years back that my eyesight was not quite as good as it used to be. The first indication that I may require optical accessories was when I kept getting headaches while at work some years ago. The idea of having to wear glasses horrified me, largely because for a gal who usually has 20/20 vision, glasses means only one thing - I'm getting old? So I quit that job and all was good till I eventually got another role that required me to look at computer screens a lot. Of course the headaches came back. This time, however, I kidded myself that the wearing of glasses while looking at computer screens was not an age related thing - it was a technology issue.

"I can honestly say I love getting older. Then again, I never put my glasses on before looking in the mirror."

Cherie Lunghi - Read more at Brainy Quote

Eventually I had to get glasses and they were a very funky, modern looking pair because I wasn't over the hill just yet. Things ticked along quite well for quite some time till I misplaced my glasses somewhere and they decided to stay misplaced. A new pair of spectacles was required. So off I went to the nearest spec place in Riyadh. One of those little shops along the road that I've always thought just ever so slightly questionable. But it was close to home and Hubster was happy to walk up there with me (mostly, I discovered afterwards, because there was a shoe shop nearby that he likes).

The shop guy said, 'yes, I can test your eyes', and directed me to a back room with a rather antiquated looking piece of eye testing apparatus. After the test he declares, 'There is nothing wrong with your eyesight'. 'Do you want to buy these very expensive sunglasses?' Ummmmm.....no.

A few weeks later (because I am an avid supporter of procrastination) the taxi I was in screeched to a halt outside Eye World on Tahalia St. It seemed a good idea to stop there given we were driving past. Up the stairs I went into a shop floor loaded with the latest fashion, and somewhat expensive, eye wear frames. However, Eye World isn't just about frames. Oh no. You can get eye corrective surgery on the floors above, so the gentleman who came to serve me said. And you can get an eye test.

So in I went and met a man of Arab extraction with a bit of a mumble and a very heavy accent that required asking him to repeat himself for my comprehension. He sat me down behind the very modern looking eye testing apparatus. For those of you who've never had an eye test with the latest modern gadgets, this machine houses a number of lens of varying sizes, thicknesses and strengths and to find the one right for your eyes, they swap them around and ask for feedback on whether or not you can see the pretty picture at the end clearly, through one or both eyes. Once behind the machine Mr Ophthalmologist said...

...I don't know what he said. Between his mumble and heavy accent and my not being able to see his lips move because my eyes were staring through a very hazy lens that was in the machine, I couldn't understand him. So I said, 'What did you say?'

And down dropped another lens.

He mumbled something else...
'No, no wait, I didn't hear you, What did you say?'

And down dropped another lens.

I took my head out of the machine and said, "I don't know what you're saying?" And two things were quite obvious in the glance that he returned to me - one, he was very focused on the job at hand and two, it was going to be one of those days. Days when lots of communication in a cross cultural exchange is going to be lost in translation. On those days I really need to learn to talk more slowly.

He simply said 'Go back '. (With a 'Why are you not focusing on the task at hand?' querying look on his face).

My jaw set and one of those sighs escaped my lips (you know, those 'Sure, fine, this is going to be one of those days' kind of sighs.) I returned to the hazy lenses, this time determined not to respond till I was absolutely, fairly certain what he was saying. It was a long slow process because it took a while to tune in my ears.
I had the beginnings of a headache by the end of it.
He seemed quite happy with the result.

Photo credit: Not my photo.

Once out of the chair Mr Ophthalmologist was walking away and talking. I have no clue what he's saying because I've turned off my tuned in ear - my brain needed a rest. He turns and hands me a packet. A square, slimy, foil wrapped, squishy packet. I look at it and wonder to myself, 'Why have you handed me a condom packet?' Because seriously, the only small, square, foil wrapped, squishy packets I have ever seen like this in my life, are condoms.
I say, 'What the heck is this for?'
He says, 'Blah, blah...eyes...reading, blah...Put it in.
'Ummm....what?'

It turns out the squishy pack is a contact lens.
Really, it feels just like condoms. (Me and scientists in Australia must be on the same wavelength because in 2014 Wollongong University got funding to make condoms out of contact lens material).

'Put it in', says Mr O.
'Ummm....how', I say.
'Just put it in your eye', he says.

Obviously Mr Opthomologist had not bothered to read the extensive paperwork I filled out before the eye test which at no point said, 'I wear contacts'.

I have no idea how to put a blessed contact in.
I look at the tiny thing on the end of my finger, I lean forward and look in the mirror at my eye and go....nope, can't do it. He was a bit exasperated at my lack of contact wearing knowledge. 'I've never worn contacts before', I say looking at him innocently with raised, contact atop, finger. Can you do it?' In this land of Man Must Not Touch Woman, Mr Opthamologist had to go and get a nurse to put the contact in my eye.

The instant that thing hit my eyeball water started gushing down my cheeks and my eye went into spastic blinking. Gush, gush, blink blink.

'Just wait, it will be ok', the nurse says.
'Really?' Blink, blink, tears streaming.

Blink, spastic rapid blink. Gushing tear drop waterfalls.
I can't flaming see and feel around for the tissues noted previously on the shelf.
Wipe the tears off my cheek but they won't stop coming out my eye.

I blinked and cried so much the contact moved and I could feel it dropped down off my eyeball.
'Take this thing out,' I say. Of course, by this time the nurse had left he room.
'Just pinch it out', he says.
At this point I'm thinking less than complementary thoughts about Mr Opthomologist. For goodness sake, if I don't know how to put this thing in, ya really think I know how to take it out!

I close my eye, holding the tissue on to it trying to ebb the teary flow, and look at him out of one eye like Stuart the Minion, which, though the grandchildren may think it hilarious, I'm fairly certain is not a flattering look for me...

'Where's the nurse', I say.
The nurse is busy and Mr Opthomologist still doesn't want to come near me.
So I have to wait, tissue in hand, eye closed and contact feeling like it's down around my cheekbones, till the nurse could come take the contact out.

Thank goodness for that.
Suffice to say, I will never be trying contacts again! That doesn't mean contacts are bad. I know a number of my friends and family swear by their contacts - reading contacts, one day contacts, colored contacts and so forth, but given my eyes water with the application of eyeliner or mascara on the extremely rare occasions I feel I ought to try self-beautification of that sort, it is no wonder that a full assault on my eye ball by a contact lens caused the reaction it did.

Once I'd managed to compose myself and collected the piece of paper regarding the results of my eye test, I was certain things would be plain sailing from here on. I forgot though, I was living in Riyadh. All those tears for my new glasses was just the beginning of my "Get New Glasses" optical excitement as I traipsed Riyadh from EyeWorld, to Magrabi and other random places for specs so I could see. But we'll leave the rest of the story for another day.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Nairobi By Motorbike

2015-07-27T21:48:00.000+03:00

A few weeks back we suggested to Mr Finland that we visit him in Kenya for the Eid break because we discovered, via his Instagram, that he is now living in Nairobi. Naturally he was so excited to hear from us that he said, 'Of course, come. Would love to have you here'. (He's very polite). So tickets were booked and a week out from our arrival I did a perusal of Things to To in Kenya via Google (as you do).

A number of activities I had to take off the list immediately because The Husbands idea of an Eid break is to do as little as possible and not travel far. So Masai Mara will have to wait for our Kenyan return. However, I did find a couple of ideas he liked the sound of, and a few others he was doubtful about but I knew he'd come around. He always does.

Mr Finland, bless his heart, decided that riding of motorbikes was a must, so he arranged a rental bike for us. It was a 180cc bike (the best Mr Finland could find for motorcycle renting in Nairobi) and I have to say, we probably looked like a couple of elephants on a pimple riding the thing, and it did struggle a bit on the hills, but we loved it!

Our first day we walked to a local place for breakfast. The walk required crossing a brown colored stream while balancing on a sewage pipe (granted, it was a short pipe but at my age still rather challenging!). I was thankful that gymnastics was a sport I did in my youth and with arms outstretched imagined walking along a balancing beam (minus somersault at the end). The action was also helped by the thought that landing in that water would be ikky!

Breakfast was pancakes and coffee while Mr Finland and his lovely lady, Miss Milly, filled us in on life in Kenya. It sounded both interesting and frightening. The idea that white people do not go to the city center because it was unsafe, that nobody walked anywhere after sunset for the same reason and that car doors should be locked and windows kept up to prevent thieving while you are traveling in the vehicle were the frightening parts. Everything else was interesting.

That afternoon our motorbike was dropped off, so we donned bright reflective gear (regulation riding gear in Kenya apparently) and followed Mr Finland and Miss Milly through the busy outer city streets for our first experience of Nairobi sight seeing. The roads are rough as but the driving is much more orderly than that in Saudi. The scenery cannot be described as picturesque. Some areas are extremely poor with shacks housing either people or businesses. Roadside stalls are massed along the main roads atop the red Nairobi dirt selling furniture, clothes, plants, food, car washes and doctor services.

You could be disheartened by the ramshackle look of the place. Or you can be amazed at the beehive of activity, the skills on display in the open air - wood being hammered into beautiful furniture, sparks flying from grinders on metal creating everything from gates to lamp shades. The entrepreneurial spirit of Kenyans, doing what needs to be done to care for themselves and their families, is everywhere. We noted, with interest, that though obviously life was a struggle, in most areas of Nairobi there wasn't the same level of rubbish and garbage that can be found around many areas of Saudi. Kenyans, we decided, were a proud bunch. Kenya struck me as a place just waiting to take off....all it needs is a government interested in helping the people, not themselves.

Mr Finland rode us through some of the richer areas of Nairobi with their razor wire atop compound walls. The complexes seemed rather lonely looking relatives trying to be posh while surrounded by whanau (Maori word for family) from the back blocks who aren't the least bit interested in poshness because they are too busy getting through life. New construction development towers over the local housing and everywhere are tracks, worn into the dirt and through the broken concrete by locals whose main mode of travel is walking. And security is everywhere.

After a bite to eat we headed back to the apartment. Being out on bikes is not a good plan as the setting sun makes way for the mysterious activities of a Kenyan night where unsavory types, who tend to run around the streets, would relish the chance to hit up a couple of white people who've fallen off their bikes because they ran into one of the huge pot holes that are plentiful on the road.

The next morning it was raining so we waited till the afternoon to head out for more sight seeing - this time to a couple of tourist spots, namely the Giraffe Center and Karen Blixem House. We enjoyed both. It was cool seeing Giraffes up close and personal, And the tour of Karen Blixem's house was more interesting than we originally thought it would be. Hubster must have liked the tour because now he wants to watch the movie "Out Of Africa".

The following day Anthony, Mr Finlands trusted driver, picked us up early to take us to Naivasha, a couple of hours drive away. His car is one that melds nicely into the local surrounds. It's a rough, rattly old Toyata but manages to get from A to B every day. And the inside is very clean and rather comfy with it's maroon colored velvet covered seats.

We went to Naivasha to visit a school. Kitendo Children's Charity school to be exact. Marcus, a fellow Kiwi, helped to set up the place and I am teeing up the whanau to travel there one day to help out in this project. Given we were going to be in Kenya anyway, I decided to go up for some recon. Hubster, who was initially skeptical, (he gets lots of those "...I'm a millionaire living in Nairobi..." scam emails), was only coming along for the ride to humor me. After our visit, seeing the school, meeting the kids and talking with Marcus, he's decided my idea isn't such a crack pot one after all. (I told you he'd come around.) If you'd like to know more about this project visit their website www.kccprogramme.org

The next item on our Kenyan agenda was a Safari at the Nairobi National Park, just outside the city limits. It is possible to self-drive through the park and Anthony was keen to do just that but, after a spot of discussion with Hubster, it was decided to spend a few extra Kenyan shillings and hire one of the parks four wheel drive vehicles complete with driver/guide. It was, we decided part way through our three hour drive, the best way to see the park. The vehicle is high off the ground so you get a better view past the long Kenyan grass to the animals grazing.

The driver is also a guide and can answer any questions but, best of all, he is in radio contact with the other rangers so has a better chance of finding Four of the Big Five that the park houses. (The Big Five being Lions, Buffalo, Leopards, Rhino's and Elephants). On this trip we saw three of the big five - rhino's, buffalo and a lions, not to mention all the other animals that call the park home.

As an added bonus our guy was driving over the rugged terrain at pace, which made the rough and bouncy ride all the more exciting. The vehicle is open sided, and I did wonder initially how the heck we'd get away from wild things on the prowl, but brushed that thought aside to enjoy the ride and views of the wildlife seeming quite content against a city backdrop.

After our wildlife spotting ride and a dish of local lunch we decided to do the Safari Walk which is basically a walk round a Zoo like setting looking at animals that, after recovery from the orphanage (also housed in the park) cannot be put back into the wild, and met a very friendly security man, complete with automatic rifle, who told us to slow down our walk because we were missing so much. To drive home his point, he asked if we'd seen the lions in the tree.
"The what?' we said.
"In the tree. Look in the tree"
And sure enough, in the trees, near the male lying tanning himself, were two rather large females balancing on a not so large branch.

Friendly security man then took us back so he could call out the hyena's we had also missed and then he showed us the leopard and cheetahs. It's probably just as well Mr Security had been watching us and decided these tourists needed a sight seeing hand, else we would have thought there wasn't much interesting to see on this walk.

That night we headed out to dinner to a restaurant similar to Terrazzo's back home in Saudi. On the skewers making the rounds were delicious lamb, various cuts of tasty beef, crocodile, pork (Hubster was hoping it was warthog...but no) and chicken. We went to bed that night rather full and happy with our day.

After a bit of sleep-in the following morning, Anthony picked us up and took us to Bomas of Kenya, a place with replica's of tribal villages from all over Kenya. On arrival we met Alice, a young lady studying tourism who was on placement at the village. She was our guide. If you ever go to this place, get a guide. Wandering aimlessly through villages can get a little ho-hum without someone there to tell you the differences between building structures, village set ups and tribal customs. Each village also smelt like smoke because the staff go around and light the fires in the homes to give the villages a realistic, smoky, lived in feel.

After our tour we bought a few things from the market and then headed in for the afternoon show. The auditorium was filling with school children and their excitement and real enjoyment of the music and dance, not to mention their excellent behavior, was a pleasure to see.

Mid-morning the next day we headed off to Karura Forest. I was determined to get some cycling in. Hubster and Mr Finland were a little nervous about that idea but I'd given the Friends of Karura a call and they confirmed cycling was possible, so cycling we were a-going. Anthony came too. He decided he may as well get n some extra training for his future as a Nairobi tour guide, a career path he decided would be quite lucrative after spending time driving us around.

We discovered there are two fees to pay for cycling, one at the entrance to the forest for the pleasure of entering and another at the bike hire stand, for the bikes. There was a little confusion initially because this hadn't been explained during the phone call or at the gate, and Jackson, the bike guy, got the brunt of our 'What? Why do we have to pay twice?', indignation. But soon enough things were explained, apologies made (and accepted), cash handed over and soon we were off on a leisurely two hour cycle through the forest. The track was very easy and there were stops to see a waterfall and Mau Mau caves as well as the odd bit of wild life.

After our ride, we headed to the National Museum for a rather late lunch . I was looking forward to trying another Kenyan dish and after opening the menu exclaimed, rather loudly apparently, 'O shit, it's all white food'. Yes, the cafe at the museum caters to the tourist palate. Not a Kenyan dish in sight. Anthony had a bit of difficulty finding something he was used to. We managed to wolf down our food with a spot of Kenyan beer (that was local), and then, as time was ticking, decided to give Museum and the nearby snake pit a miss in favour of perusing the nearby curio shop. That afternoon we took home our purchases, borrowed an extra suitcase from Mr Finland (yes, that's how much shopping we did), and spent the evening quietly at home talking about how much we like this place.

Friday was our last day. It was also the day Obama was due to arrive in Kenya. We weren't quite sure how his visit was going to affect our travel time to the airport. Over the week we had noticed roadside curbs being freshly painted and roadside stalls being removed on his travel route. Notices of roadside lock down's were being reported all over the TV. Emirates was called and informed us, to their knowledge, our departure flight would be on time.

We walked to the Mall that morning, for breakfast at Nairobi Java House (we liked their Kenyan coffee) and to spend some last minute time with Miss Milly. Mr Finland had gone to work on his bike, though I reckon he was really in search of Obama's Beast. He came back to report that the main roads were empty because most people had decided to give themselves a day off. Anthony had arranged to pick us up early and so, after packing our bags and waving our goodbyes to our wonderful hosts, our final view of Nairobi was being driven through the town center and the main streets of Eastlands, a hectic, heaving mass of humans living and working in poverty conditions held together mostly by old, rusting, corrugated iron. Even on this dry day, the smell of sewage from the stream running through Eastlands was putrid through the open car window. This, we said to each other, is what Obama should be seeing. I doubt he ever will.

As we neared the airport people were beginning to line the streets for a glimpse of The Man in his Beast. His visit is a beacon of hope for them. I hope they got to see him.

Hubster really enjoyed this trip. I know, because he bought a heap of stuff from the little stalls. Usually he doesn't buy stuff on our holidays. We bought so much I'm going to have to start an African corner at home. It should look good with my Saudi salon. Kenya is also one of the few places he has said, 'I'm going back there'.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi