Movement within the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is highly restricted. Residents must apply for permission to travel. On the other hand and perhaps a bit counter intuitively, foreigners who are here on visitor visas are allowed to travel fairly freely. I can’t remember who suggested Dammam, a port on the coast of the Arabian Gulf (or the Persian Gulf depending on who you ask) near Bahrain. On Friday (March 26), we had a day trip there. Markus, Srini, Carlos, Ricardo, and I packed nicely into a Suburban. Gafoor drove. On our way to Dammam, some 390 km away, we stopped at several checkpoints. Each time, we were waved through.
It is true that Saudi Arabia is mostly a desert, but it is not exactly all sand dune kind of desert. Riyadh itself sits on rocks rather than sand. The highways in the city sometimes cut through what looks like sandstone. Enough water reaches the desert to support low growth plants. We could see camels grazing just off the highway. Only at one place on the way to Dammam did I see sand dunes in the distance. Then again, I slept most of the way.
I wondered whether the electrified fences on both sides of the highway were to keep the camels out or to keep the humans in. What I couldn’t understand was why electrified fences also separate the median dividing lanes in the opposite directions. I deduced that these were electrified fences because they looked much sturdier than the average fence, because wires were rested on what looked like white ceramic insulators, and because every several miles there would be what looked like a transformer station.
The drive to Damman was otherwise pretty boring, as any drive through the desert should be. Gafoor drove fast. Sitting in the third row of the Suburban, I could hardly hear the beeping, signaling speeds over 120 km/h. The beeping was drowned out by the wind noise. It was barely noticeable that Gafoor was doing 160 km/h, except the slight feeling that the car floated. The highway was in excellent shape, but the gas stations were in third world condition. This, in a country of oil and money. The pumps seemed to be of a vintage version from the seventies – the blocky tin box type. Only leaded gasoline was sold because that’s the only kind used here. Whoever built the pumps were probably long gone, and little seemed to have been done since then. This highlights something I see over and over again, including our work at the client. The Saudis get the best of what money could buy. Then the builders leave. The best the Saudis could do was to maintain it. They buy, but they don’t exercise ownership over what they have bought. They possess, but they don’t own.
It was during prayer time when we arrived in Dammam. Plus this was a Friday and the Friday before Hajj week, the city looked completely deserted. There wasn’t much to see in Dammam. What a surprise. We drove towards the sea. Along a U-shaped shore, a road had been newly built. Small trees line both sides of the road. The road and the beach were deserted too. We stopped at a place, where a few Indians were fishing. We had a good lunch at a Chinese restaurant in town, which served fairly authentic Chinese food, although none of the waiters looked remotely Chinese.
We stopped at a narrow beach and hung around for a while, not doing very much. Not very much could be done. A few Saudi families sat around having picnics in the grassy area near the beach. The others seemed to be Lebanese. Some people walked along the beach. Kids played in the shallow water getting their feet wet. It was painful to see the teen girls constantly fighting the wind to keep themselves covered in their abayas.
After some driving we finally found the causeway linking Saudi Arabia with Bharain. The idea of going to Bharain was entertained, but not very seriously. It’s possible to get a visa at border control somewhere in the middle of the 25 km long causeway. Well, what about coming back? I had a single entry visa for Saudi Arabia. Doh, those SIMAC.
We passed by Al-Khobar, an adjacent city. We stopped at some so-called souvenir shop mentioned in LP Arab Gulf States. Nothing but a hodge-podge of junk.
I had somehow gotten carsick sitting in the third row of the Suburban, so I was taking a nap half of the time on the trip. The whole place was boring, boring, boring.
On the way back to Riyadh, we met a sandstorm. We stopped at a rest area to get gas, but there was no gas. The wind was strong enough that I would barely keep my eyes open. It was apparent why a ghotarah could be very useful in this situation. Immersed in the sand-filled air, the sun hung lazily in the sky with an eerie orange glow. We discovered that sand blown over from the desert had built up covered a part of the walls. Some of us climbed the newly formed sand dune. I opted out. Srini had been saying all day that he had to touch the sand, the fine sand of a sand dune, before he could really start working here. Now his wish was granted. As I would later come to understand, such romantic notion, of so hostile and boring as the desert sand, was merely a symptom of the first stage of cultural shock.
During the following week of Hajj (Saturday, March 27 - Friday, April 2), Srini, Ricardo, and I spent most of our time in the compound. Somewhere during that period, I was in the compound for four days straight. We worked on some reports. I wrote some of the stories you have been reading. Around the World in Eighty Days lasted me a day and half.
Terrence
Riyadh
Monday, April 26, 1999