“Hey!”
“America!”
A voice nearby becomes more urgent, more forceful. Insistant. I realise
that it is talking to me.
“AMERICA!”
To my left I saw a young lad waving a bottle of water at me
from the serving hatch of the Derby Coffee Drive Through in King Abdullah Park.
He was grinning ear to ear. The stand was deserted. His
bosses would be pleased with his sales initiative.
“America. Want water? Water!”
I’d bought a coffee from him a couple of hours earlier which
I had half discarded under a palm tree as it was pretty ropey, but he was now insistent
that I sought refreshment. I was hot, parched and – as priority – felt an
overwhelming urge and need to correct him on my nationality.
I am not Huck
Finn, Travis Bickle, George Alan Rekers or a child of Sarah Palin.
I am from England.
I strolled over, momentarily taken back to a tram ride in
Prague where my friend Simmsy had been accosted by an undercover ticket
inspector. Neither Simmsy, Fayle nor I had validated our tickets so were
unintentionally fare dodging. Simmsy was picked off first. Not speaking Czech,
he had no idea what this crazy guy in a grey mac was going on about and didn’t
have the first clue what his badge/ID meant. The inspector, realising that he
was dealing with a tourist, changed tack and started saying “English? English?”
prompting a shouted, insulted, anger fuelled, angst filled yet near poetic
response:
“NO... ... ... I’m FUCKING Scottish!”
Fayle and I laughed like dogs. Until we, too, were fined. After that, we just giggled.
I bought the water that had been offered. And chatted with
the two lads working. Both were Filipino, from Manila. They seemed impressed
that I was English. They were overjoyed that I was from London. Both were
telling me that it is a beautiful city. So green, not like Saudi. That I was
lucky. The conversation was such that I assumed that their knowledge was first
hand but they explained that they had only seen London on the TV and in movies
but that one day they would visit. It was a dream they were following, which
was why they were working in a coffee house in Dammam rather than staying back
in Manila. They are/were working to raise the money to see the World. Neither
wanted to be there, they see Saudi just a means to an end.
I drifted away and was called to the shade of another palm where I chatted
and shared my water with an old man dressed in throbe and keffiyeh who told me
that he was pleased to welcome me to Dammam; to his home town. He told me that he was pleased
to see me because he did not see many western visitors in the park. I explained
that - for the most part - I like Saudi Arabia. It is so different to see it
with my own eyes compared to way that it is portrayed in the press.
He said that he liked
England. He respected it;
“England tries to be fair.”
Like many before, he wanted to assure me that if I ever
needed help he would try; all I had to do was ask and he would be there. I will
never see him again and maybe his offers were empty safe in the same knowledge.
I will never know. But at the time it sounded genuine and heart felt. It was a
pleasant way to pass fifteen minutes. As I left, he warned me that I should
cover up in case my skin disease (my freckles) became worse.
Bless him. I was burned to a crisp that day.
You see, the weather is turning.
In England, we say that two swallows do not make a summer. But I’ve
seen dozens over the past few weeks wheeling and twisting north to Europe and
the temperature is drifting upward. It’s safe to say that spring has sprung and
summer is knocking on the door. But summer in Khobar means weeks where it will
not drop below 30C day or night and will stay sticky and humid. I’ve not been
through it, yet, but I believe that my new best friend will live indoors and
call itself “AC”. Which means I have been taking as much opportunity to get out
and explore while I can.
But Saudi Arabia is not geared up for tourism.
Firstly, it is difficult to gain entry as a visitor. Second, the industry is geared toward the holy sites in Mekkah
and Medina; even then, numbers are limited to ensure safety at the various
venues. In addition, non-Muslims are barred from visiting either city.
But the country is trying.
I’d read and heard much about the hills around Abha in the
South West and of Taif close (ish) to Jeddah. Ha’il is also reputed to be
beautiful. And one day, when I have a bit more time for the long, long journeys
that visits will require, I will explore. But in the meantime, I am staying
close to home.
So, as you would in any country you start online…
“Things to do in Dammam” leads to a few links in Google
including the following:
Missing culture back home, I first plumped for the Dammam
Regional Museum located alongside King Abdullah Park. I knew it would be a hot
day, so thought that the indoor refuge would offer welcome respite to the sun.
I jumped a white taxi down close to my digs and had a great
chat for the thirty minute journey with a cabbie from Achabal in Kashmir,
India. We talked about the economics of his industry, how much he needs to make
each day and how he supports his nephew’s education from the profit that he takes
home. We talked of his extended family and how they all rely upon each other.
We spoke of how different the West is and how family cohesion is far more broken
down. Neither of us were judgemental we just spoke honestly about the
differences, the constraints and freedoms that our cultures create and allow.
He works seven days a week, working ten to twelve hours a day across two shifts
depending on how successful his day goes. He has a seven year old son that he
has not seen in over four years. He showed me photographs, ever the proud
father. He asked me talk about London. He had heard all about it from a friend
who had worked there for a few years; he wanted me to describe the parks. His
friend would go to Hyde Park and just sit in the sun on his days off. My cabbie
said that it sounded perfect. We both agreed that we missed the greenery of our
homes. He showed me photos of his city. We both miss trees and hills.
My driver noted that Saudi seems a sad place; how you never
see children playing in the street. He asserted that the Saudi’s just stay at
home glued to the TV and computer games behind shuttered windows. I don’t think
that that is quite true, but I understood what he meant. You do see Arabs out
and about; in the parks. But you rarely see children out alone. They are always
supervised. Mostly well behaved and apparently under control. Watched. Very
different to London. Presumably, very different to Achabal.
We spoke for longer than we needed as we searched high and
low for the museum. I eventually bailed at the park and immediately found the
problem. The museum has been demolished and is being rebuilt. The hoardings
around it seem to suggest that it will be quite impressive one day, but for now
it is just a building site. I’ve found reference to it online in several locations,
all of which suggest that it is still open and happily advertising its opening
hours.
 |
| Yeah. Better Than a Building Site |
Like I say, Saudi isn’t geared to tourism.
At this point, I will draw reference to the back drop of the
politics in Saudi Arabia at the moment. You will have read of the troubles on
the Iraqi border and of the Gulf States attacks on Yemen to try and restore
some semblance of order to the country. I am not going to bore you with detail.
I do not know enough and it is not my place. But I do appreciate and understand
that the conflicts are very, very real and that they do have an impact on life
across the region.
As is sensible for a person living away from their home
country, I keep an eye on communications from my own and other governments that
may have relevance or bearing on my life. Which is how I have come to see so
much US advice online. And what I read regularly frustrates me.
This includes:
“The Department of State urges U.S. citizens to carefully
consider the risks of travelling to Saudi Arabia and limit non-essential travel
within the country.” (March 14th 2015)
The one that pushed me over the edge, though, was a detailed
one page report that detailed every single attack on U.S. citizens and other “Western”
interests through 2014 to date. I was frustrated because it drew reference to
the death of a U.S. citizen at a gas station in Riyadh on October 14th.
This was widely acknowledged as being a personal/employment dispute between
three people (one Saudi born US educated man and two US citizens).
How can that ever be considered a reason for other US
citizens to limit their movements?
“Don’t go out today in case someone you know decides to
murder you.”
Paranoid.
The UK Embassy issue similar communiques, but they always somehow
seem less emotive and more matter of fact. Perhaps our stiff upper lip rightly or wrongly continues to shadow us around the World or perhaps, having learned to shake off
attacks by the IRA and their kin through the 1970’s until the present day makes
us a bit more stoic. I don’t know.
My colleagues will tell you, I usually fly around the room
like a deflating balloon – arguably, with sound effects to match - when I
discuss this issue, ending up an emaciated, spent, dribble soaked, rubbery husk
on the floor. I’m trying to be measured, here. I understand the need to share
information, to advise and urge caution. It makes good sense. But, I fear that
the U.S. create hyperbole and provide unnecessary free oxygen to a situation that
really doesn’t need any more than it already has. It all seems so unnecessarily deliberate to re-enforce the feelings of "us and them".
Some of the Facebook responses I have read have Saudi based US
citizens stating that; “perhaps it’s time to call it a day”.
But, have they seen the US press, recently?
I mean, if they
are being advised to consider non-essential travel and to change their routes
and journey times to remain safe in Saudi, I can only assume that many US
cities and states will be on the edge of lock down and imposing curfew to
protect the innocent if the news reports are anything to go by.
So, my tourist activities have knowingly taken me close to
places that I am actively discouraged from visiting by the US State Department.
Not because I am some kind of uberman, some adrenaline junkie or worse; as a naïve
hippy peacenik convinced that love and peace (man) will see me through. I go
because I have found people in Saudi Arabia to be nothing other than open, warm
and friendly.
I go with my eyes open, in the same way that I travel other
cities and towns that I visit. Believe me, I have felt far more nervous,
uncomfortable and self-conscious in some suburbs of Paris, the centre of
Amsterdam, on the Holloway Road in London and Wolverhampton than I have in Riyadh,
Jeddah, Dammam or Al Khobar.
So I ended up on Tarout Island. Just north of Dammam.
It is close to one of the suburbs that the U.S. Department
of State singles out as a particular hotspot for anti-western feeling. Additional
to that, a Bahraini colleague had also advised me not to visit, as it has; “too
many, far too many Shia”.
But a look at a map assured me that it should be fine. So I
went to check out a castle that was highlighted on the Saudi Tourism site I
linked above.
The whole region of Dammam, Al Khobar and Dahran has
developed over the past thirty to forty years. The sprawling conurbation has
grown out of the need to support the oil industry. Dammam offered an
opportunity for a deep sea port on the Arabia Gulf and the rest has sprung up
to service it. The old town, old villages dotted along the coast have been
swept away. But Tarout remains. Tarout with its 2,000 year plus history of defensive
positions and a castle in situ for hundreds of years.
I love a bit of history. Tarout was too good to miss.
Francis, my trusty companion and legendary cabbie agreed to
drive me and we soon found ourselves lost given that my directions were pretty
vague; “drive onto the island and find the highest point… that’s where the
castle is.”
It may be the highest point on the island and the castle, in
its own way is quite impressive, but as hills go, it doesn’t really rank with
The Malverns, The South Downs, Hampstead Heath or even Horsenden Hill. It’s
more like Tower Hill. So most two story buildings hide it… Tarout Island has
many two story buildings.
The castle is not sign posted. The Corniche is. The castle
is not.
So we are lost in a place that I am being warned away from.
We get talking with an elderly Arab guy in one of the many beat up 1970’s
American cars that still crawl through the area. With the short comings of our Arabic
and his English we all struggled to make sense of anything any of us said, but
he seemed to understand where we wanted to be. As a result, rather than try and
direct us through the byzantine lanes and alleys to our goal he chose to drive
on with us following and guide us most of the way with a series of cheery
smiles and waves…
You see, they hate Westerners over here…
Francis and I found the castle. It is, indeed, atop a hill.
Quite a steep sided and relatively high hill, as it turns out. But in Saudi
tourism style, it is fenced off and you cannot get anywhere near it. It is
surrounded by private land affording only views through barbed wire and chain
link fences. The closest vantage point is down by a roundabout. Still through a
fence and obscured by shrubbery, it was there for me to see.
No visitor centre. A distinct lack of information. And, as
an Englishman, the lack of tea shop left me truly insulted and affronted.
As I said earlier, Saudi Arabia is really not geared up for this
tourism lark.
Back at the car, having snapped off a few half arsed photos,
and a little despondent, we caught the eye of another local. He saw my camera
and called us over. A quick discussion led us up a path, through the edge of a
site where a building was being demolished to a hole in the fence. Ducking
through the hole, I could sense English Heritage wincing at the ready and easy trespass
access to the castle site. Turns out, it’s quite impressive up close. Some nice
little views.
You see, they really hate Westerners over here… Don’t give
us the time of day. Won’t help us. Awkward, awkward… just plain awkward.
 |
| Tarout Castle. All Welcome. |
I’m going to keep doing my thing. I like this town. I like this
country.
Yes, I know that there are aspects to society and culture that I find
hard to accept or understand, but I knew all of those before I came out here. I
also knew that nothing I could ever do would change them.
But, I am sold on the
people.
I’m not an idiot and I know that there are some pretty odd people out
here and I have been lucky not to have run into them, but the same can be said
of any country and of any culture. So, without doing anything fool hardy, I
will keep living as I live and soaking up the culture around me.
It will be fun
and I will be fine.
…
…
Shameless plug.
Being out and about means that I have taken a
fair few pictures recently. Check out my Flickr site if you fancy exploring.
Here:
It features shots like this...
 |
| Tarout Castle... And a Fence. |
And, finally, here is something for those who want to hear another story of discovery:
No comments:
Post a Comment