UPDATE : All Saudis Drive New Car's

In a posting in August, I commented on the fact that there are very few prestige cars on the streets of Saudi Arabia. Even the rich Arabs drive around in American SUV's which have a tendancy to break down or roll over every 5,000km.

I had wrongly assumed this was because they didn't want to get their nice cars scratched or dented in view of the appaling standard of driving out here.

However, I have been informed that up until the mid 1990's, the roads were indeed awash with Rollers and Bentlys........ so where have they all gone?

Well apparantly the mid 1990's was a period of troubled tension in the Kingdom. The hardliners were very unhappy at the countries involvement in the first Gulf war on the side of the American's when the Saudi's allowed American soldiers and planes to operate from Saudi Arabia.

I think they were also pissed off at the Americans suggestions that their Patriot Missiles had succesfully defended Riyadh from Saddam's Scud missiles. This is of course, utter bollocks.

I am reliably informed by ex-pats who were living in Riyadh at the time that at least 2 Scud missiles a day landed a day on the city killing several thousands of civilians. The Patriot missiles failed to intercept a single Scud!!! Even worse, one Patriot missile having managed to entirely miss a Scud , proceeded to exploded when it flew into a Mosque killing over 80 people.

In addition, I think a lot of Saudi businessmen had made a lot of money trading with the American Army during the conflict, as a result of which, even more Rolls Royce cars appeared on the streets.

The Hardliners and Imans forced the king to declare that the rich Saudis should not flout their wealth and apparantly overnight all the Rollers, Merc's and Bentleys dissapeared....

I cant imagine that having been used to driving in luxury that the rich Saudi's are now happy at having to drive around in their Hummers and Yukons.

Eid Mubarak!!

Eid Mubarak! or Blessed happy festival in Ehglish
At last, Ramadam is over. The Muslim Clerics have looked through their telescopes at the moon and have decided that as of today, the period of fasting is over….. Thank Allah!!

At last I can have a stiff drink in Bahrain or go out to a restaurant to eat. I can look forward to my Muslim work colleagues arriving for work on time, bright eyed and bushy tailed, instead of looking like the cast from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video.

At work, instead of expiring from dehydration in the desert, I can have a drink of water to keep me alive!!! Plus I dont have to sneak into the toilets for a crafty sandwich break!

For those that are that way inclined, the dodgy “massage parlours” can once again ply their sordid trade. Bahrain airport is full of Chinese and Thai “hair dressers” returning from a well deserved month’s holiday. I guess the causeway from Saudi Arabia will be getting a lot busier as a result!!!!!

What really has surprised me is that all my Muslim work colleagues have managed to pile on several pounds in weight…..at a time of fasting!!!!!

It turns out that they eat so much at the Ifter Parties (Parties that take place once the sun goes down during Ramadam) that they attend every night, that many are now on strict diets. Indeed now Ramadam is over, today’s local paper is full of adverts for diet programmes and keep fit classes.

We now enter the Eid al-Fitr festival. Basically everyone gets a week off work to recover from Ramadam, and people go to even more parties. All my muslim colleagues and freinds are sending each other Eid Mubarak card.

Im not entirely sure that the Muslim world aprreciattes the US postal office's attempt to celebrate Eid

Anyway, to celebrate Eid, I’m just off the Irish bar for 4 pint’s of the black stuff and to have my…er…hair cut by a pert Chinese lady I know ….ahem.

Only Joking…honest!

Teresa Tight-arse

Sales hit the clothing stores this week. Unlike the UK and other western countries, the sales here in Saudi Arabia are still real sales with real bargains to be had. When the signs say 50% off they mean it, not 50% off the inflated price they used for a week before the sale.

I recently learned from an Australian over here what it is to be "Terry".

This is a euphemism for "Terry Tight-arse". A "Tight-arse" is of course someone you need to sedate before you can part them from their hard earned cash......someone like my dad...or my boss.

As I'm careful with my money and I shop around to make sure I am getting the best deal, as far as I am concerned being a "Terry Tight-arse" (as a man) or "Teresa Tight-arse" (as a lady) is something to aspire to, not something to be ashamed of.

The shopping system in Saudi Arabia is unique. If you are so inclined you could wear your new clothes for a week with the label concealed and still take them back for a refund (I haven't done this yet, honest). This system provides exceptional opportunities to be a “Terry.”

I'd therefore like to extend my congratulations to the “Teresa” I saw in Debenhams at Dhahran Mall last night.

She had bought a lot of clothes from the store without knowing the sale was starting the next day. I was standing behind her in the queue as she returned the clothes and got her refund....

......and then immediately grabbed the clothes back from the cashier and bought them back at the sale price.

Perhaps there are times when it’s nice to be hidden behind a full abaya?

Queen Teresa, I salute you!

Insha’allah

"It will be ready for you tomorrow, Insha’allah." How many times have I heard this phrase since I arrived in Saudi Arabia??!!

Insha’allah. Don’t believe anyone who tells you that this means “God Willing”. It actually means “If I Can Be Arsed”.

Think about it. Why would God be willing to do anything for an infidel atheist like me? If it was really “God Willing” then nothing would ever get done for me in Saudi. Hmm… on second thoughts….

More Leering and the Curse of the Angry Ninja

Over the weekend I went to a supermarket late one night to do some shopping.

As I walked down one aisle I passed what I assume was a mother and daughter out together. The mother was in full ninja attire whilst the daughter was more “Lawrence of Arabia” as she’d covered her hair and pulled a scarf about her lower face.

As I passed them the daughter stared at me. Wondering if she’d look away, I stared back. She didn’t and because her face was covered I have no idea what her expression was and what the stare was meant to indicate. It could have been flirtatious, it could have been disgust. I don’t know.

Later I was deciding what to get from the deli counter when a movement caught my eye and I looked over to find the same girl re-covering her face after trying some food. She immediately nudged her mother and said something whilst pointing at me.

Her mum fixed me with some sort of ninja death stare. I was transfixed. I felt like I was an innocent man being accused of something terrible (leering, I assume?!)

I felt like staring back at her would prove me a leering scoundrel, whilst looking away would prove I had a guilty conscience.

In retrospect winking at her was probably not the most sensible reaction. To be fair I was at a total loss about what to do. I knew she couldn’t talk to me, hence her reliance on the death stare. I didn’t feel like I could talk to her either. So a stupid misunderstanding became this surreal silent staring contest that no one could win.

I don’t know why the girl insisted on creating the situation but it upset me because I was obviously being accused of some cardinal sin and I had no way to resolve it.

Had we been in a Saudi Mall, I’m sure the mother would have involved the Muttawa and asked them to beat me up a bit with their sticks.

Perhaps the lesson to learn is not to stare in case people think you are leering, but staring and leering seem to be the national pastime and don’t think its just restricted to the men.

I am not a handsome man. Ladies do not stop me in the street to comment on how I “look like Brad Pitt, only cuter.” But the women here leer at me. I am not joking, I’ve seen them, staring out from behind their veils.

Last week at the cinema a girl who had not covered her face gave me such a “come hither” look I was completely taken aback. She was probably only 14 or 15 years old.

I am not saying that the women here are promiscuous. I wouldn’t know either way, but I seriously seriously doubt it. But perhaps all this covering up makes them suffer in exactly the same way as the men.

The men here are the champions of leering. Who can blame them? They have so few outlets.

I went to a garden centre with my secretary this week to buy some plants for the office. My secretary wore her abaya as usual, but she didn’t wear long pants. I caught two men leering at her ankles. Her ankles!

Not being able to casually glance at the opposite sex makes you behave in the oddest ways.

Riyadh's Best Named Drink?

Before I left Riyadh in July, one of my fellow compound inmates took me to a great Indian restaurant called Bliss House.

The food was fantastic and cheap, about SR 20 each (that’s less than £3).

I was however somewhat surprised to find that they served a drink called a Hitler!

Amazed to find a restaurant that thought calling a drink after a 1940's dictator was a winning sales tactic, I enquired further with the waiter. Did the drink come with a little swastika flag? was a fake mustache attached to the glass? Why call it a Hitler?

The waiter was at a loss to explain the drinks unusual name, indeed I dont think he knew who Hitler was.

It turned out the drink was just a combination of fruit juices and coconut milk and was served in a massive glass. Being Saudi Arabia, it was of course not served with any alcohol content.

I was informed by my collegue that the drink was originally concocted by a westerner who found that it went very well when mixed with home made Sidiqui spirit. He went onto explain that the restaurant had obtained some notoriety with westerners who would often try and smuggle in some illegal sidiqui into the resteraunt to mix with their Hitler!

I guess the risk of being caught with alcohol by the police and thrown into jail for 3 months gave a sense of exitement to this otherwise ordinary culinary expidition.

Aparently alerted by drunken patrons leaving the restaurant, the Saudi Police have raided the building several times, but had never found any booze.

I couldn't handle a large one, so I ordered myself a "Little Hitler".

Only in the Middle East!!

As this photo demonstrates, unfortuanatly some extremists in the Middle East are still big fans of Mr " One Testicle!!"

Saudi Arabia’s Most Aptly Named Clothes Shop

My memories of shopping at malls in the UK are of gangs of surly teenagers, packed shops and poor service. It might not be fair but that’s how I remember it.

I love the malls here in Saudi Arabia. As a man they actually make shopping almost bearable. They’re always clean, they’re rarely busy, I’ve never seen any surly teenagers and generally the service is pretty good.

It can also be a slightly surreal experience for a foreigner. One of the first things I saw was a ninja (a lady in a full abaya with either her face totally covered or just a slit to see out of) buying make up at Debenhams. Obviously she couldn’t try it on and the (male) staff could not see her skin tone to help her pick the right colours. It just struck me as odd. Because their eyes are often the only thing you see, women here wear a lot of eye make up. I wonder if they also do up the rest of their faces when they go out shopping.

You see a lot of ladies here carrying Louis Vuitton hand bags. I always thought a large part of the appeal was that people can see you carrying something considered expensive and desirable. But if no one knows who you are or can see your face it suddenly doesn't seem to make as much sense.

Barring a few exceptions (e.g. nurses, ladies' toilet cleaners, shop assistants in ladies' malls) women are not allowed to work, so you see guys doing things here that they would not be seen dead doing anywhere else in the world. Dressing mannequins in clothes shops (and boy can you tell!), selling make up and perfume and (most bizarre of all) selling ladies lingerie.

In a country as conservative as this, it seems odd to me that ladies buy their lingerie from men. I wonder how many people apply for the job when they have a vacancy.

Women are not allowed to try their clothes on and there are no female changing rooms. Refuse any offer to use the store room to try clothes on. A western woman accepted such an offer at Granada mall and was attacked by one of the staff. Fortunately she was unharmed.

This means that when a woman sees an item of clothing she likes, she has to hope it will suit her, estimate the correct size, buy the clothes, take them home and try them there. Then return the ones that do not fit.

Saudi’s most aptly named clothes shop?.........

.....Guess.

Creepy Crawlies

When I received the Saudi job offer I stayed open minded and did my research. I bought the Lonely Planet (did the authors ever live here, I wonder?), I went to all the Web sites and bulletin boards and I spoke to people that were either former or current residents of the Kingdom.

Whilst I was mulling over the comparatively minor issues of giving up alcohol, pork and my illusions of safety, I was also having to contemplate how the move would affect my relationships with all my family and friends back in the UK.

In truth my desire to see the country and the region made the decision easier than many would expect. That is, until I saw pictures and videos of the camel spider!

Religious persecution and unbearable temperatures are one thing, but I'll be damned if I'm living with these monsters! That's it! The move's off!

When I read that "camel spiders prefer the shade" I had images of me standing under the sun in 48C heat because I didn't dare share the shade with an army of angry camel spiders.

I read a story by an American in Riyadh that used to see them regularly in airplane hangers and he described them as the most aggressive creatures he'd ever seen.

I also read that as the Camel Spider charges it's hapless human victim, that it emits a screaching noice known as the Camel Spider Scream! I am reliably informed by ex-pats in Saudi who have had the dubious pleasure of seeing a Camel Spider, that when they attack there is a lot of screaming....but this is usually attributed to the human frantically running away, rather than the spider.

As I have yet to see one in 6 months I've calmed down and I no longer jump every time I hear a rustle in the bushes or see a shape in the shadows.

I now see similarities between Saudis and the camel spider. No, really! They're shy, elusive desert dwellers. They both prefer the shade and only come out at night.

I'm happy to add that unlike the spiders, most Saudi's I’ve met aren't aggressive. So far I haven't been bitten once…

Missed Universe

Well done Miss Turkey for winning Miss Universe. I missed the show, but I'm sure your suggestion to bring about world peace was a sound one.

I wish that just once a contestant would answer the token question with honesty:

Interviewer: If you're crowned Miss Universe, how will you forward the cause for women worldwide during your tenure?

Contestant: Do I look like Hillary Clinton? I didn't just strut around in a bikini to forward the cause for women worldwide. I did it to make lots of money and become very famous. Why don't you forward the cause for men worldwide by talking to my face instead of to my cleavage?

It's natural for men to cast admiring glances at women, I know this and am big enough to admit that, on occasion, I also partake in this male pastime.

Over here in Saudi Arabia however, the sport is practiced on an entirely different level. I catch Saudi men leering unsubtley at western women in the malls all the time.

In Saudi, in spite of all attempts to subvert it, human nature is still human nature and Saudi (and expat) men are still men. But because there are so few outlets, there seem to be fewer admiring glances and many more leers.

Recently I was at Debenhams when I observed a man opposite me go through a typical leering manoeuvre. As the lady walked towards him he stared at her head, and then let his glance travel down her body with a pause to ogle idly at her chest. As she walked past his leer followed her, with his ogle this time being slightly lower down.

Like all leers this was rude, but it was amusing because the lady was completely covered from head to toe by her abaya. In this country the men must have fantastic imaginations!

In Saudi we don't have Miss Universe, but we do have Miss Automobile. Last week I went to the car souk in Al Khobar. When I arrived I noticed an unusually large number of Saudi guys all standing by the road waving frantically. I wondered why all these men were trying to hail taxis. Had prayer time just ended? Had there been an accident? I slowed down.

The men started to swarm towards my car shaking their fists at me! What the hell?! Have I stumbled accidentally into the annual meeting of the Osama Bin Laden Appreciation Society? Lock the doors! Get the hell out of here!

As I sped around the corner it became apparent that the men weren't angry honkey haters, they just wanted to buy my car.

This is a part of town where men drive their cars up and down in the hopes that someone will buy it. All men are welcome to come and watch the show. You can glance at the ones you can afford and you can leer at the ones out of your reach.

No angry husband will hit you for leering at the cars. Just don't restrict your inspection to its cleavage........

....... and don't expect it to have a plan for ending world poverty!

Brown underwear Day # 2

Regular readers of this Blog will no doubt recall my encounter with armed customs officers not long after I arrived in the Magic Kingdom.

Last month I had another bad day in the line of duty and although things turned out alright, I wasn’t so sure of that at the time.

The eventful day began with me flying to a remote city called Al Jouf in the North of Saudi Arabia, near to the Iraq border. Before I flew I had been warned that this region was particularly anti-American and had a reputation of being the home to many Al Qaeda training camps and hardliners. As you can imagine therefore, I was really looking forward going there.

I arranged for the company I was meeting to send a driver to pick me up from the airport. I even let my beard grow for a week before I flew especially as I had been told by many Arabs that with a tan and sporting a beard, I looked like I was a Jordanian Arab! This, I hoped, would prevent any potential kidnappers or “white boy haters” from noticing me.

Problems started with the flights. The only available flight from Riyadh to Al Jouf departed at 6am. Even worse, the only available flight back left Al Jouf at 11pm. So I was prepared for a long long day.



Al Jouf has a small airport located in the middle of the desert approximately 20 miles from Al Jouf city. When I arrived, I was glad to see the driver waiting for me (he was holding a placard saying Mr Austin Steward Boy– MYI !!!!!) and we made the drive into Al Jouf where I met with a very pleasant Saudi regarding a defective American car which had crashed, killing the driver.

By 11am we had concluded our business, but the Saudi was generous to let me stay in the office until it closed at 5pm. He actually took me out for a great lunch at a fabulous traditional Arab restaurant (sitting on floor eating with our hands….).

When the office closed at 5pm, the Saudi offered to drive me to a local hotel so that I could relax before getting a taxi to the airport. Foolishly, I decided against this. I requested that he drive me to the airport where I would just sit and wait until my flight at 11pm. I explained that I had a good book to read and would at least be able to get something to eat and drink at the airport.

At 5.30pm we arrived at the front of the airport building and said our goodbyes in the car. As the very pleasant Saudi gentleman drove away, I waved goodbye and reflected that my day in Al Jouf had been very pleasant and without incident…….little did I know!

I walked to the front entrance of the airport….and it was locked shut! I peered inside, not a soul was to be seen. The lights were on but definitely no-one was at home!

Oh shit! I thought. Peering into the departure lounge I could see the departure/arrivals board. Only 2 planes were scheduled to depart or arrive all day…and they were both my flights!!!

It slowly dawned on me…… this was a small airfield in the middle of the dessert with only 2 planes arriving or departing a day. Therefore, everyone buggered off home between the flights and the airport was closed.

So, I surmised, my situation was thus:

1) I am in the middle of the dessert out side a closed airport which probably wont open for another 4 ½ hrs!

2) Its 50 degrees celsius and the sun won’t set for another hour and a half when the temperature will maybe drop to 40 degrees!!

3) I’m wearing a suit and have no food or water!!!

4) I’m in the middle of a region known for Al Qaeda camps. No one is about and I could be abducted/shot/beaten up (take your choice) and no one would be any the wise!!!!

5) My mobile phone did not have a signal, so I couldn’t call my Saudi friend or even a taxi to take me back to a hotel!!!!!

6) Oh shit, bollocks, arseholes!!!!!!!

Hmm… I thought, trying to subdue the rising panic, perhaps today is going to go tits up after all!

Realising there was nothing I could do, I removed my jacket and tie and sat on the pavement keeping in as much shade as possible. I took out my book (an Arthur C Clarke novel) and began to read, already sweating profusely.

…..And there I stayed for the next 3 hours. Christ it was hot! Christ I needed some water!...... but the book was good.

At 8.30pm there were at last some developments. A military police vehicle drove past, but didn’t stop. 10 minutes later it drove past again without stopping. 10 minutes later in cam back once again and decided to stop.

Two Saudi Royal Air force Security officer got out of the car and approached me. I stood up and began to walk over to them. Worryingly, I noticed both were carrying AK47 assault rifle. One of the soldiers shouted at me in Arabic..

Oh bollocks…its Jubail customs all over again.

I tried to explain using a mixture of hand signals and gestures that I was waiting for a flight at 11pm, but the airport was closed. The soldiers seemed very cross, but eventually one of them seemed to realise I was waiting for a flight. The soldiers talked to each other for a minute, went back to their car and drove off!! I was so surprised I forgot to ask if they had any water I could drink.

I sat back down and got back to my book.

Ten minutes later and the soldiers were back. In broken English one said “ Go, go. You no allowed here!!” I got the gist and again tried to explain I had no where to go. They then shouted something in Arabic again, but I couldn’t understand. I apologised for being so stupid.

One of the soldiers made a call on his phone and after a few minutes handed the phone to me. “Speak. Captain!”

I took the phone… “Hello??” I ventured.

I was answered by a Saudi who spoke perfect English. He explained he was the soldiers Captain in the Saudi Royal Air force. I explained my situation and he was very understanding. He was delighted when he realised I was from England as he had learned to fly at RAF Cranwell. I explained that my father had been in the RAF and had also trained at RAF Cranwell. This delighted him even more and we ended up having a good chinwag. Eventually he explained that the Saudi Royal Air force were responsible for patrolling the airport.

He said it was very dangerous for me to be waiting in the open. He also explained that the airport would not open until 10pm (another hour). I advised that I would just wait outside as I had nowhere else to go. He wasn’t happy and said he would see what he could do. And I passed the phone back to the soldiers who got back in their car and rove off again.

I sat back down. Oh well only another hour to go I thought. Back to the book.

5 minutes later, the soldiers were back with an annoyed looking airport employee. He opened the entrance door to the airport and let me into the air conditioned paradise that was the departure lounge…Bliss. Grumpily, he explained that the Air Force Captain had insisted that he open up the entire airport an hour early to let me in. He even gave me 2 bottles of water to quench my thirst.

I thanked him and the 2 soldiers profusely and sat down to wait another 2 hours for my flight.

Sadly things didn’t end happily as the flight was delayed by an hour and the pilot did his best to try and crash the plane when landing at Riyadh. I eventually crawled into bed at 3am knowing I had to get up at 6am to go back to work.

NAS air - Don't fly with these cowboys!!

At least, I reflected the next day, I hadn’t died of dehydration, been abducted, killed or arrested by the police…close call though!

A Strange Day at Work

I had a very strange day at work last week when I became an honoury member of the Saudi Civil Defence Force.

I was visiting a paper recycling plant in Khobar Industrial city to inspect damage caused by a fire 3 days before. As I arrived it became apparent that the fire was still burning 3 days on and had caused substantial damage. At least 3 warehouses had been totally gutted along with an employee accommodation block. In addition a large quantity of raw material had gone up in flames.

As you can probably guess, there is no such thing as health and safety or safe working practices here in the Magic Kingdom and consequently, the paper company thought nothing of storing flamable paper out in the sun and next to items of hot machinery.

I managed to get onto the roof of a nearby building to view as much of the damage as possible as the Civil Defence (fire brigade) were still tackling the fire and wouldn’t let me near to the damage.

A "fireman" tries to put out a fire by weeing on it!!

The Civil Defence are not what you could call a professional fire fighting service. Their equipment is basic and at least 20 years old. They always take at least 30 mins to arrive and often longer. I recently went to a foam factory situated 5 mins drive from Al Khobars central fire station. However, it still took the Civil Defence 40 mins to arrive and then they decided not to tackle the fire and let the whole facotry burn down!!!


They dont even wear fire protective gear. As you may have noticed from the photograph they wear police uniforms! Indeed, the civil defence are part of the Police in Saudi Arabia. They are the only fire fighters I have seen who like to have a smoke while tackling a fire.

As I was standing on the roof taking down details and breathing in copious amounts of smoke and ash, I noticed smoke rising behind me from a completely different section of the plant. I pointed this out to the general manager of the plant who was up on the roof with me.

He shouted “Fire fire!!!” and went a bit berserk as it slowly dawned on me that a new fire had started near to the main plant. From that point on everything was a bit of a blur. The company management and employees were running around like headless chickens. The Civil defence who were already on site, were in the usual Saudi fashion, in no hurry to move their fire trucks from the first fire to help tackle the second.

This was followed by a mad dash in a company lorry driven by the general manager to the site of the new fire, during which he almost crashed twice and actually skidded around 180' once.......in a lorry! As you can imagine, I was holding on for dear life and preaching caution to no avail!

Once we arrived at the site of the new fire, it was obvious that bails of recycled paper had caught fire and the flames were quickly spreading.

To cut a long story short, I ended up being drafted into a fire safety team and manned a hose directing water on to the burning paper until the civil defence arrived about 20 minutes later.




It was all very exciting. I even had to suggest to the on site fire safety officer that he try to isolated the burning paper by removing the bails of paper surround those that were burning. After explaining the logic of this several time he seemed to get the idea and dispatched several fork lift trucks and a bulldozer.

I left about an hour later. The fire was isolated but still burning merrily. As I left, I reflected that it had been a strange sort of a morning.

Unfortunately as I left site, a fire truck went through a road flooded with the water used to fight the fire. The fire truck splashed me from head to foot in a dirty combination of water mixed with ash and paper pulp. Nice!

This was the damage inside one warehouse when I went back 2 days later...oh dear total loss. Notice the buckled steel frame...of course I was able to wander freely about this dangerous structure which could collapse at any time....Saudi H&S...whats H&S???

A Strange day in Saudi Arabia

If you haven't lived here this won't sound strange at all.

I went to Rashid mall today. My congratulations go to Khobar’s newest mall for also being Khobar’s nicest. It also appears to be trying to push the boundaries of what is acceptable in Saudi Arabia. I'd wager that Panda supermarket's current prayer time arrangements will not last. Time will tell.

Anyway, whilst in Panda the following all happened in quick succession:

- I accidentally walked out in front of a Saudi chap's shopping trolley and he said "excuse me" even though it was my fault.

- I was trying to get some cooked food from the deli counter and a Saudi gentleman offered to help me order. When the staff were painfully slow he turned to me and commented "just between you and me, these guys are complete wankers!"

- Another Arab man arrived at the deli counter just after me and when the staff member asked him what he wanted he told the staff that I was first.

- When I went to pay a Saudi chap let me move in front of him in the queue because I only had one item, rather than his full trolley.

These sorts of courtesies are very uncommon here in my experience. I'm not saying that all Saudis are rude, there are cultural differences and of course I do not speak the language.

Behaviour always makes a bigger impact when it is unexpected so these four gentlemen really made my day. Thanks guys!

Construction and More Toilet Humour

The amount of construction going on in Bahrain and Saudi Arabia is astonishing.

New offices, apartments and shopping malls are shooting up everywhere and the government are spending huge wedges of cash building roads, infrastructure, power plants, desalinisation plants and oil refineries. I’ve been told that 75% of the world’s cranes are presently in the Middle East!

I know things back in the UK are not so good economically and that the country is on the verge of recession, but quite the opposite is true out here. The high oil price means that the Middle East has staggering amounts of money to spend and the present boom is expected to last for another 10 years.

Consider for a moment the Bahrain Royal Family. Now Bahrain is a small country, just 30m long by about 10m wide and has a population of just 500,000. However, the King and his 2 sons have a personal wealth of US$ 900 Billion between them!

So the Arabs are investing very heavily in their infrastructure. The Arab News announced today that the value of construction projects commissioned within the Middle East in 2008 is expected to total over US$ 2 Trillion!!! (That’s right folks…that’s Billion spelt with a T!!) When you consider that the total government spending in the UK is about £600 Billion a year it kind of puts things in perspective.

When I see the amount of construction going on I can’t help but think that It's amazing what you can get done with slave labour these days.

Slave labour? Well there's plenty of anecdotal evidence of actual slavery going on in remote parts of Saudi Arabia. But generally the immigrant construction workers get a pretty raw deal. Most are Pilipino, Indian, Pakistani or Nigerian. If they are lucky they earn US$ 60 a month, and for that they have to work 12 hours a day 6 days a week out in the sun.

Now I know what you are thinking, even at US$ 60 a month they are earning three times what they could in their own country….and you would be correct. However, the workers have to live in appalling conditions and are treated terribly by their employers. Most only get 2 weeks holiday a year and sometimes don’t get paid for weeks on end. To cap things off, their Passports are kept by their employer so they cannot leave the country unless their employer agrees.

Last year in Dubai construction workers attempted to strike because they weren't being paid. Some were so desperate they walked out into the crazy traffic so that their suicide would look like an accident. Families only receive compensation for accidental deaths.

This is not an isolated incident either. In Bahrain, there are regular strikes and protests by workers. Generally the police go in with guns and sticks and end up killing a few of the disgruntled workers.

Last night I was withdrawing money from an ATM in one of Bahrain’s many fabulous malls and two foreign national guys (Pilipino) came up and stood right next to me. Their close proximity was breaking an unwritten ATM rule so as I was completing my transaction I turned to give them the patented Boydell scowl.

When I'd finished one of them made a gesture with his card so I nodded my head and waved him towards the ATM. But he then shook his head and handed his ATM card to me. I realised this wasn't a gift, he didn’t understand English or Arabic (the only two languages the ATM offered) and so he needed my help.

So I ended up entering his pin number, showing him his balance and then helping him withdraw all of his money. After an embarrassed thank you he went immediately to the post office next door to (presumably) wire his money back home.

This is one of the many subtle ways in which people can end up feeling trapped and alienated.
Here is another example. Imagine you speak neither English nor Arabic, you're in the mall and you need the toilet. You live in Saudi Arabia, a country where almost all men wear ghutras (the "tea towel", if you're western and you need a hint) and women cover their faces. You look at this picture on the toilet door and wonder "is this for men or for women?"

Did you get it right or would you have been running for your life from the Muttawa?

The only uncovered woman in Saudi Arabia and she's on the door of a toilet. It's a funny old world.

Is it just me, or does she look like she's in excruciating pain? Is she suffering from constipation or from the Muttawa, I wonder?

Wouldn't it be less confusing to just use the following sign?

Ramadam

As some of you may know, September is the holy month of Ramadam this year.

Ramadam is a religious festival for all muslims and lasts an entire month at the end of which everyone gets a week off work.

However, as a westerner, living through Ramadam is a bit like Purgatory!

During Ramadam, all Muslims are expected to fast in the hours of daylight. Specifically, they are forbidden to eat, drink, smoke or indeed let anything pass their lips between the hours of 4am and 6.30pm....and they have to keep this up for a whole month!

Unfortunately, this being Saudi Arabia, fasting is compulsory for all including westerners.

Ok so at home I can eat and drink as much as I like, but not in public and not at work. You may be thinking that westerners are given a little leeway by the police…..and you would be absolutely wrong.

Last year, a British teacher was seen taking a sip of water from a bottle as he left his school. He was arrested, jailed for 3 months and received 10 lashes in “Chop Chop Square” before being deported. Trust me these guys take it very seriously! I can only imagine that all Diabetics must leave Saudi Arabia during Ramadam!

So what are the results of all this fasting you may wonder? Well, for the Arabs it means getting up at 3.30 am to have a large meal, drink a bucket of water and chain smoke a packet of 20 in quick succession before going back to bed.

As you can imagine during the day, things are very subdued. The Arab work ethic of doing as little as possible becomes even more pronounced as the Saudis struggle to cope with low sugar levels and dehydration. The roads are empty and the normal day to day work routine comes to a virtual standstill. Many Arabs take time off work for the entire period of Ramadam and those that stay only work 3 hrs a day.

Personally, I sneak a sandwich into my laptop bag and about midday I enjoy my lunch locked away in the toilet. I’m sure my Muslim work colleagues know this but they seem to be turning a blind eye!

At 6.30pm things go crazy as starving Muslims begin scoffing bars of chocolate and experience an immediate sugar rush. Must Saudi’s, relieved at getting through the day, then party until about 1am in the morning, knowing that they will only get a few hours sleep before they have to get up again.

Although the roads are virtually empty, I have noticed that the standards of driving ability have reached new and more dangerous lows. Again I can only put this down to the driver suffering from a combination of lack of sleep and dehydration. Indeed in the Arab News today is an article about how the number of road deaths increases by over 20% during Ramadam.

Another big downside in Bahrain is that all the bars, brothels and off-licences close during Ramadam. For some reason I cannot fathom, the causeway is almost entirely devoid of traffic. Could it be that the multitude of Saudi’s that normally cross over into Bahrain every weekend, only come over for the Booze and the chicks…….surely not!!! I would wash my mouth out, but as its daylight this is of course Harram!!

Growing Old in Geant

Last night on my way home from work I popped into my local hypermarket, known as Geant getting some shopping. Geant is a French owned company and their hypermarkets are very popular with westerners in the middle east.

There was probably twice as many staff than customers. This is not unusual with labour costing so little out here. Usually there are at least 4 staff on each till, the cashier, a packer, a supervisor and the cashiers friends to whom all the other staff are talking to, completely ignoring their customers.

As the shop was so empty, it was a very pleasant shopping experience.Until, that is, I went to pay. I was immediately annoyed because the cashier tore the barcode label on the oranges that I had carefully picked out. So the cashier sent the foreign worker chap that does the packing to get a replacement pack of oranges.

The Geant hypermarket is vast. It’s so big that a Saudi prince could safely store his 747’s in it and still have room left over for a handful of Bentleys. Our cashier was at one end of the store and the oranges (and trifles) were on the distant horizon, right at the other end.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… tectonic plates shifted…

Finally the packer returned. Tired from his long journey he had simply picked the first oranges he could find. Rather than the plump, juicy, bright oranges I had picked I now had oranges suffering from scurvy!

I’d also picked two small trifles as a 5 SAR treat. The cashier picked them up and saw that there were no barcode labels on either of them. His English was as good as my Arabic so my attempts to explain that none of the other trifles had labels on either were in vain.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… acorns grew into oak trees…

Occasionally I would look at the cashier and he would look at me. I couldn't use humour to diffuse the situation and assure him that the wait was no problem because we couldn't communicate with each other. We stood in silence.

Time passed… my blood pressure continued its steady climb…

Finally I could see the packer meandering his way back. As he approached he held out his hand triumphantly… he had picked two completely different desserts! He’d seen that none of the trifles had price tags so he’d made an executive decision and changed my menu!

Much gesticulating and pointing followed.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… the dollar weakened… Geant was making me poorer and I hadn’t even paid the bill yet!

There was a conspicuous lack of packer on the horizon. I looked at the cashier. He looked at me. We both looked away.

Time passed… icebergs melted, continents slipped further into the sea…

Finally we could see the packer making his leisurely way back to us. He seemed somehow smaller than before. His miles of travelling were clearly taking their toll.He slowly handed over two trifles to the cashier.

Was that a bead of sweat on his forehead? I couldn’t believe it! One of the trifles had clearly gone off! Instead of nice fluffy whipped cream it looked like someone had spilled mustard on it!
Much gesticulating and pointing followed.

The cashier grumbled and looked at the packer. The packer looked imploringly at me. I looked at the cashier. Obviously someone needed to go and get another trifle.

Time passed… the universe expanded… the tides changed as the moon orbited the Earth…
I thought to myself "Bloody hell. No wonder the packer took so long. This IS a long walk!"

Muttawa

Anyone even remotely connected to Saudi Arabia knows about the Muttawa. For those that don’t they are the basically the religious policemen here. Most Westerners will experience them in shopping malls as they walk around asking the women to cover their hair and generally make sure they properly dressed in public places and ensuring that local business close whenever its Salat (prayer) time.

You can tell a Muttawa by the way they dress. Their throbes are shorter than normal by about 3 inches and only go down to their ankles. In addition they don’t wear an iqal (that’s the black round band that holds the ghutra (headscalf) in place). They also carry stick which they don’t mind using to tap or hit people they are shouting at.

There are some sinister stories about them and the way they treat Western women but in my first experience with one this week he was so polite I was actually unsure about whether he was Muttawa or just a fuss-pot. I went into the local Panda supermarket to get some bread and milk to take home to flat in Bahrain when the Muttawa came over to talk to me.

His English was reasonable and he explained politely that I couldn’t go into the supermarket because it was a time reserved for families only and therefore no single men were allowed. Had the Muttawa not been there, the supermarket would have let me in. I was struck by how polite he was. Normally the Muttawa just shout intimidatingly at their victims and get handy with their sticks!

One story I recently heard involved a group of western women who went to Bata to do some shopping. Sometimes Bata is not the sort of place that western women should go to alone. Whilst they were there a group of guys groped them.
The Muttawa witnessed what happened and stopped both the men and the women. They then gave the women their sticks and invited them to beat the men who groped them.

Unfortunately they didn’t avail themselves of the opportunity.

Another recent story I heard was that American women's society met over a restaurant in Riyadh. It was a women-only affair; they ate a little dinner and had a few stalls to buy trinkets from.

The Muttawa arrived and told the ladies that they all had to leave. Their reason? too many ladies together in one place!

The Muttawa are going through difficult times right now. In the past they were paid a salary by the government to go around ordering people about. In recent years though the government has stopped paying them, so now all Muttawa have to fund themselves. Consequently, I understand that the Muttawa are a much rarer sight on the streets than before. Is this evidence of the Kings desire to bring about change in the Kingdom?

They will be letting the women drive next!!!!!!

Justin Gets Traffic Violated

Last month a friend of mine, David was driving back from Bahrain to Riyadh. He drives a nice car. A very nice BMW in fact (he works as a cartographer and obviously has more generous employers than me). As his family was with him he was driving back carefully, below the 120 km/h speed limit and way below the apparently expected speed of around 180 km/h.

This perhaps was his gravest mistake.

A police car pulled up along side them at a set of traffic lights and the two cops inside stared at their nice car. They stared at their white skin. They gaped at their fair hair. They then pulled them over and tried to find an excuse to give them a ticket. They failed to find a valid reason, so they wrote them a speeding ticket. They gave them a speeding ticket whilst they weren't even moving!

This is the Police in the Magic Kingdom!

If you drive on Al Khobar’s main highways at night you see a large number of cars stopped by unmarked traffic police cars. You don't see a Mercedes or a Porsche stopped as the Police
presume these to be driven by a Prince or at least someone with influence. The majority of the cars pulled over are pick-up trucks or less expensive cars.

Sadly I'm driving the latter kind of car rather than the former.

So it had to happen eventually, didn't it?Very early this morning I drove to work for what I knew would be a long day. I was doing 115 km/h in the middle lane of the highway where the speed limit is 120 km/h when I noticed the car ahead being forced to brake by a weaver.

I changed lanes to avoid the danger and suddenly a silver car pulled right up behind me, tailgating me with barely a yard's gap. I decided to move back into the middle lane to avoid him but he followed me.

Suddenly police lights started flashing and I realised it was an unmarked police car so I moved into the slow lane to allow him to pass but he followed me….. I finally realised that I was being stopped by the police! Outrage and indignation swiftly arrived but were quickly beaten into submission by fear and resignation.

"What on Earth can he be pulling me over for?" I wondered to myself.

I pulled the car onto the verge by the side of the highway and he pulled in behind me. I should explain at this point that in most countries I've visited if you are stopped by the traffic police you never get out of your car (unless you want to be shouted at). You wait in your car for them to come to you.

It slips my mind that Saudi may be different.

I sat in my car and the policeman sat in his car. Time passed.

I frowned at him through my rear view mirror and I noticed he was fidgeting a bit. I wondered when the hell he was going to come and see me. He stared back at me. He was probably wondering when the hell I was going to go and see him. Time continued to pass.

Eventually he blasted his police siren and realisation dawned on me. I got out of my car and walked over to him. He wound down his window and I decided to shake his hand.

Me: Salaam!
PO: Salaam!
Me: Err, is there a mushkilla officer? (I apologise to all Arabic speakers for my casual butchering of their language. Mushkilla means "problem"....I think)
PO: Istemarah!
Me: Oh… right… umm…

I walked back to my car, retrieved my passport (which I assumed was my Istemarah, but who knows) and my driver's license and walked back to the police car. The lights were still flashing almost blinding me.

Me: Here you are.
PO: (pointing at my car) Car!
Me: Yes, err, it’s a car. I assume he wants my help to check his English vocabulary.
PO: Car! Car!
Me: Yes, it's my car. Well, it’s a leased vehicle actually…..
PO: CAR! CAR!!We looked at each other.
Me: Ohhhh! You want me to go back to my car! Right… well… goodbye then.

I walked back to my car with hunched shoulders and sat down. I called the office to let them know I might be a bit (or perhaps a day) late and squirmed impatiently. I made sure the policeman could see that I was using my mobile in the hope that he might get worried about who I was calling. I hoped he was sitting in his car wondering if I have powerful Wastah (a Mr fix-it/ a man of influence) I sat in my car looking at my phone, and wondered if I did have powerful Wastah...... Damn it, I didnt!

I began to wonder what the arrest sheet would say."Boydell. Pompous git. Arrested for driving a cheap car under the speed limit. Given extra time for bad hair."More time passed. (Note to self: keep a book in the car for just such emergencies!!)

I looked in my rear view mirror. The policeman was chatting on his mobile phone! I wondered who he was talking to. Was he calling his mum to find out when dinner was going to be ready or was he arranging to have a whitey-hating psychopathic prisoner moved to my jail cell?

Time passed. The moon orbited the Earth! Or maybe it's the other way around…. normal laws no longer seemed to apply. I’d been waiting like a dipstick in my car for almost 30 minutes by now!

Next to me on the highway tailgaters, weavers, swervers, sliders and crazies continued to speed on their merry way completely ignored by the policeman.

More time passed and I slowly began to realise that my chances of waiting this long only to be told that I could go free were very slim indeed. I wondered whether I should have behaved differently. Perhaps deference was a bad decision and maybe belligerence might have worked.
Or it might have put me straight into the back of his car in a pair of shiny new handcuffs.

I looked back at him again and my mouth dropped open. He was lighting a cigarette! This was unbelievable! He was sitting there without a care in the world! Was this a post-coital cigarette after royally screwing me? Was it good for him? It wasn't good for me! I wondered whether he'd notice if I just drove back to my flat.

Enough of this I thought and I got out of my car and walked back to him.

Me: So... is there a mushkilla, mate?
PO: Car, car! …one minute.
Me: Ohh… only one more minute? Ok...

I walked back to my car once again and drifted away. I imagined I was a Muslim chap in England with a long beard and that I’d been stopped by the traffic police because I'm a Muslim chap in England with a long beard. The real me commiserated the imaginary me. The imaginary me grinned back and told me to get lost!

I began to fret about what the conditions in the traffic police jail would be like and I realised to my horror that I needed the toilet. I needed a number two! My imagination started to conjure up images of the worst police toilets in the world. The sights! The sounds! Oh god, the smell!! I crossed my legs and began to pray for salvation.

Suddenly behind me he blasted his siren. I looked in my rear view mirror and he looked back at me. His lights were blinding. I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to make contact or just having a laugh so I got back to worrying about the toilet.

He blasted his siren again. I tried to look at him through the rear view mirror but by now his lights had killed my vision. I opened my door and leaned out to see if I could see him. I couldn’t.
I wondered if the police toilet would have a lock on the door. Would there be toilet paper? Why hadn’t I learned how to use that damn hose they have out here next to each toilet?

He blasted his siren again and finally I got out of my car to see if he was trying to get my attention. He was because he was now gesticulating angrily. I'm obviously the most stupid person he has ever stopped. At least now he'd have a story to tell at dinner parties.

I walked back to his car and he handed me a small piece of paper which I looked at dubiously.

PO: Ok!

My passport is nowhere to be seen and the red mist began its inevitable descent. Angrily I opened the piece of paper. The policeman has carefully and neatly folded it around my passport and It struck me as the most considerate and sweet thing anyone had ever done and engendered immediate feelings of warmth towards him. However the feelings didn’t last long because the piece of paper was a traffic violation!

He looked up at me, yanked his seat belt and said "Seat belt!"

I wouldn't even sit in my car in Saudi Arabia without my seat belt on! I value my life too much! I couldn’t believe he was going to fine me for something I blatantly didn't do and something he blatantly could not have seen from behind me anyway!

Me (outraged): Of course I was wearing my seat belt!
PO (sarcastically): Ohh… "of course"!
Me: Yes, of course!
PO: Ok. Bye bye! And he waved me off.

In a daze I walked back to my car, put on my seat belt in the most theatrical manner possible, turned on the engine, indicated and slowly crawled away.

The fine was only SAR 200.00 (about £20) and I have to pay it at a police station today otherwise I wouldn’t be allowed out of the country back to Bahrain.

I think it's time to get a nicer car!!!!

Al Harram

Haram: Not permitted, not allowed, sinful…

In Saudi a lot of things are haram. Alcohol is haram. Pork is haram. Being alone with a member of the opposite sex who is not a close relative is haram. Some people say smoking is also haram… which is probably why women are forbidden to smoke.

In Al Khobar they actually have a chain of superstores called “Al Haram”. I drove past one a few weeks ago and it was absolutely packed.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it’s the store where I can pick up some beer and bacon, but somehow I doubt it….

Brainwashed??

Last night while flicking through the TV channels I was intrigued by a Lebanese TV debate regarding women’s rights in Saudi Arabia.

The wonderfully articulate woman and the increasingly uncomfortable looking man make gratifying viewing. What was most interesting however was her claim that Saudis are brainwashed which got me thinking. My conclusion was that of course they are. The vast majority of Saudis are practically zombies. Automatons. Drones.

……But then so are the rest of us!

Us English are brainwashed into believing that Britain is "great", the British Empire was a good thing, that we are a tolerant and fair playing nation and that our soldiers and innocents in Iraq are dying to eradicate terrorism rather than to help the Americans to get hold of their oil. We are taught that we have a noble and heroic spirit. "Never has so much been owed by so many to so few"

Americans are probably the most brainwashed nation in the world in my view. They are brainwashed into believing that America is "beautiful", the American Empire is a good thing, God will bless America, That America is a democracy and not a virtual Police state, Christianity is the way, God is always on their side and that innocents in Iraq are dying for "democracy" rather than to make corporate America even richer. They also have a noble and heroic spirit. "Remember the Alamo"

This is all nonsense.

Our schools don't teach us how to think, they teach us one version of events as fact which most of us just accept. They want us to be patriotic, cause no trouble and pay our taxes. Free thinkers don't make good citizens nor good employees.

If you want to learn how to think for yourself you're on your own!

My personal view is that if you want your eye’s opened, travel the world and experience other countries and cultures for real. Get a different viewpoint and make make your own mind up. This is perhaps the UK’s potential lifeline. I think that most intelligent Brit’s do travel regularly and immerse themselves in other cultures enough to see when they are being brainwashed most of the time.

I do worry about the Americans though. When I watch their TV which is very unsubtly brainwashing them from birth I hold my head in my hands in despair. Is it any wonder that only 20% of Americans have a passport? I note that the nominee for the Republican vice president only obtained a passport 2 years ago and has never left North America!!!

How can she possibly have a foreign policy if she has never set foot outside her own country where she has been brainwashed since birth that America is the greatest nation in the world (I’ve been there and trust me on this…It is not….its not even in the top 10 in my view) and that everyone in the world want to be an American.

Brainwashed Saudis, brainwashed English, brainwashed everyone, I wish you luck.

Bugs

I've come to accept that as part of living in a new country, unusual illnesses will strike whilst my body is being introduced to all the local bugs.

In Saudi I don't get the familiar Western-style colds or flu, instead I get savaged by Arabic superbugs that take a perverse delight in attacking my ill-prepared European body.

I also beleive that the standards of cleanliness in restaurants is not up to the standard we would generally enjoy back home

When they strike I'm either bed-ridden or toilet-ridden or both and in classic male style I end up feeling very sorry for myself.

On one occasion when I first arrived here, I felt really ill and thought I would have to seek medical attention. "My God, I'll have to drive myself to the hospital! Can I drive whilst sitting on a potty?!"

Is this why the driving here is so crazy? Because lots of men with diarrhoea are rushing to their doctors?! Thankfully half a packet of Imodium sorted me out and I managed to avoid going to the hospital.
It's another consideration when pondering a move to Saudi, especially if you’re Western as the shock of the climate often makes new arrivals ill. Don't be surprised if you struggle for a while.

We do have 24 hour pharmacies here, but for me drugs are no substitute for having a medicinal brandy...

Ghutra's and Toilet Habits

The Ghutra is the headscarf that all Arab men where on their heads. Tea towel jokes aside, it is a dapper item of clothing (especially the red and white version) and looks good on the Arab men.

When I first arrived in Riyadh I accidentally dried my hands on one hanging in the toilet as I didn’t realise what it was. I’m glad its owner was too busy to notice and from a safe distance I now apologise.

These days I know a lot more about the ghutra and recently discovered yet another of its important functions.

Driving back from work in Khobar a couple of weeks ago I had to stop to use the toilet at the service station. Now I had been warned that the public toilets might not be the most salubrious but I was still dismayed by the strong aromas and explicit visuals that greeted me.

All the toilets were the hole-in-the-ground/stand-and-deliver style. There were three cubicles. The first toilet was flooded (not with water) and the second toilet was full to overflowing (not with liquid).

Generally when a westerner sees one of those squatting toilets their hearts sink. I’m no different. I know it’s meant to be healthier for you, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I don't get the physics. I am not sure which bit should go where or when or how. The custom here seems to be to squat and then use a hose (and then a paper towel) to clean yourself off. Fair enough, you probably come out a lot cleaner than those of us that use the western “scratch and sniff” approach.

But when the hose is used the floor ends up soaking wet and as a westerner a toilet with a wet floor only means one thing - someone has a bad aim. I know it’s not the case but I just can’t stop myself from tip-toeing into the toilet with dismay.

There’s one guy at work who always turns on the hand blow-dryer before he "drops the kids off at the pool." I guess he’s shy.

I think the oddest thing I’ve seen in the toilet so far is the chap who was holding his keyboard under a running tap in order to clean it. I didn’t have the heart to stop him. I have visions of him going back to his PC, plugging in his keyboard and thinking "hmm it’s still not working; it must still be dirty…"

Anyway, as I stood in the service station toilet, carefully considered my options, a chap came out of the third toilet wearing his ghutra tightly wrapped around his nose to block out the smell. I felt a twinge of jealousy and endeavoured to hold my breath as I did battle with the second cubicle.

Once I was done I stumbled out of the cubicle a lighter shade of blue and fled outside at high speed. The desert air has never tasted so sweet.

That’s the problem with the desert of course, no trees to hide behind whilst relieving yourself!