Keep Saudi Beautiful!

April 19, 2008 at 4:44 pm (Saudi Arabia) (, , )

My childhood spanned the 1960s.

I am blessed with a pretty good memory, and I can remember JFK’s assassination (yes, I know where I was), hippies, psychedelia (no, not first-hand, though that would explain some things), cigarette commercials, the first anti-smoking commercials, Laugh-In, miniskirts (I liked miniskirts), micro-miniskirts (I really liked micro-miniskirts), and Chief Iron Eyes Cody.

If you don’t remember Chief Iron Eyes Cody, that is unfortunate, because he was emblematic of one of the better movements to arise in the 1960s and carry through to today. Although President Johnson’s wife Lady Bird took on the task of beautifying America, it was a series of commercials showing a montage of images highlighting the physical rot and decay and pollution located in various parts of the United States that really helped bring the issue home to a lot of Americans, especially impressionable young kids. At the end of each commercial, Chief Iron Eyes Cody stood on a vista overlooking the land, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He dramatized the hurt and disgust a lot of folks felt when they saw their polluted land. Chief Iron Eyes Cody died in 1999, but the pride most Americans feel in NOT polluting survives into the 21st Century - thanks in no small part to those commercials.

I’ve decided the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia needs to find a Chief Iron Eyes Cody. The other day, I saw a man throw a drink cup and a sandwich wrapper out the window as he drove down the street. I remember seeing that type of thing when I was a kid, and I am sure it still happens occasionally; but, I personally have not witnessed such blatant disregard in the U.S. in enough time that nothing specific comes to mind. Here, in KSA, it is common place.

The sides of roads are lined with garbage. The gutters of streets can look like a trash bin in the mornings, before the little brown people come along and sweep things up by hand. People go out at night and sit in the desert (we call them sandsitters) or in parks or in parking lots or along the sides of roads or streets and enjoy the cool of the evening with friends and family - leaving behind massive amounts of trash when they depart. For a nation that takes such pride in being proud, it is shocking how little the populace seems to care about the pollution of their streets, roads, parks, and deserts.

So, I have become convinced they need a Chief Iron Eyes Cody to stand in archetypal drama and shame them into picking up their litter - just as we Americans had to have done to us some 40 years ago. Can you see the commercial - a Bedouin sheikh sitting astride a camel, atop a sand dune, staring down at the trashed picnic area left behind by revelers from the night before - a single tear rolling down his windburned and wrinkled cheek?

It worked once. I don’t know why it couldn’t work again.

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The Dust In The Air

April 18, 2008 at 8:23 am (Expatriate, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia) (, , )

Today is dust day in Riyadh.

Imagine a day when you get up, and the world is shrouded in fog. Visibility is down to 1/4 mile, maybe 1/8 mile in some places. Imagine that the huge building located only about a mile away - the really imposing one that hogs the horizon for miles - is completely hidden.

If you can imagine that, then you can visualize what it is like today.

I went to Carrefour, the French version of Wal-Mart that occupies a large section of Granada mall on Riyadh’s northern side, and people on the streets and in the parking lot were walking around with masks over their noses and faces. Cars are covered with a layer of dust reminiscent of a dusting of snow on cars during winter. The haze is so thick it’s visible between the buildings and down the street toward the front gate. Last April, I wrote about a massive dust storm violently enhanced by a dramatic electrical storm. This dust storm is just as massive, but without the lightning and thunder…at least, so far.

This is not the worst dust storm I’ve ever seen. No, the one that covered the State of New Mexico in 2003 wins that award - followed closely by one in Texas back in 1973. The one in New Mexico, witnessed by my wife and niece, would be very difficult to top. Visibility literally was down to one hundred yards or so, and the wind was blowing steadily in the 40mph - 60mph range. That was truly the mother of all dust storms that I have witnessed personally.

I’ll go out when I finish this entry and see if I can get some pictures, which I will contrast with some I’ll take on a clear day. In particular, I want to get a photo of how obscure the SABIC building is in comparison to what it looks like on a clear day. That’s the massively imposing building to which I referred earlier.

So, it’ll be a day of indoor activity augmented by sinus medicine and a lot of water. Guess it’s a good time to clean the apartment. Yeah. Right.

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Comments - If You Wish

April 18, 2008 at 8:06 am (General Stuff, Saudi Arabia) (, , )

I just want to remind folks that comments - as long as they are non-pornographic and non-spam - whether positive or negative, are always welcome.

Also, if you have questions about life in Saudi Arabia, as an expatriate, or about Riyadh, I’ll do my best to answer any such questions that are posted.

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Oh…and a VERY Happy Birthday to my Mom!!

April 12, 2008 at 5:32 pm (General Stuff)

She is 85-years-old today!!

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Soiree

April 12, 2008 at 3:49 pm (Saudi Arabia) (, , )

A few months ago I asked where the women in KSA wore also those hot and chic clothes I see for sale in the windows of stores in the malls. I now know where a large number of them are worn: parties at the American Embassy.

The Marine Detachment at the Embassy host parties about once a month here, but it’s not easy to get an invite. You have to know somebody who knows someone who knows somebody else. Then, you can get on an email list where you may or may not get an invite to buy a ticket for whatever themed party is going on in that specific month. If you can bring a female guest, you will usually get an invite. If you can bring two females, you will always get invited.

I didn’t realize so many Western women worked in Riyadh until Thursday night. But, they do. And, given their abaya requirements on the outside, they apparently love to dress to the nines when they get invited to these get-togethers. High-heels, short skirts, tight tops…or…tight tops, skin-tight jeans, high-heels. Though some dressed a tad more modestly, there was an awful lot of thigh and decolletage in attendance. Turns out most of them work at King Faisal Specialty Hospital, where the Royals go, and where common folk like me have to once again have a special invite and referral to gain treatment.

I guess you really can’t call it a get-together, either. By the time they issued last call (a REAL last call, btw), there were between 300 and 400 people in attendance. A long buffet table provided enough food to feed that many people easily, and there were a couple of custom cook stations available, too. Beef Wellington, a couple of prawn dishes, various types of chicken, many different kinds of salad, shwarma sandwiches, Arabic fare - the only way to go hungry was not come to the Embassy that night.

A DJ played a good mix of pop music from various decades; although, despite being billed as Western Night, there was a very limited offering of Country music. I watched one young woman dance with a guy in a white shirt for most of the night. From their accomplished moves and steps, I would guess they were Swing dancers. At one point, her partner held her as she did an in-place backflip, perfectly choreographed to the music.

For a while, they were the only two on the dance floor, but around 9pm, the DJ put a couple of Arabic songs on, and the dance floor filled to capacity. Another couple of of Arabic songs, and the dance party was underway. Rock & Roll, 1970s Disco (people still like The Bee Gees and K.C. & The Sunshine Band, it turns out), and modern dance music kept 200 or so people dancing at any given time. It’s fun watching people cut loose and have fun.

My friend (who got me the ticket) and I left about 12am and returned to a foreign land once more. Sure had a good time while I was elsewhere, though.

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Three Moments In Time

April 8, 2008 at 6:39 am (Saudi Arabia) (, , )

Moment 1

Friday in KSA is like Sunday in the U.S. - slow, lazy, sometimes boring.

Bibliophile that I am, I find it quite enjoyable to wander through the maze of shelves in a bookstore, even if I don’t buy a thing. Pick up an interesting title. Read the cover, the flyleaf, maybe the preface/introduction. Put it back on the shelf and look for something else that is interesting. Friday afternoons and bibliophilia seem to go together, and I often find myself in one of the many Jarir Bookstores on those days.

A couple of Fridays ago, true to form, I got in the car and drove to a nearby Jarir. I found my place of solace and comfort in turmoil, however. As many stores do these days, they were in the midst of moving items from one spot and putting them in another spot. Theoretically, it’s to force customers to walk through new parts of the store they might not have ventured through previously. Realistically, it’s a royal pain in the rear that seldom results in me doing anything more than cursing the marketing consultant who made this advisory and the high-up-mukiteemucks who bought into the scheme. This time I did have a new experience.

As I looked to see what the store folks had moved where, I noticed an Arab guy, wearing a thoub, but sans gutra, kept looking at me. He was looking at dictionaries, English dictionaries, and he finally stopped me. “Sir, can I bother you for a moment?”

“Sure,” I replied.

“You are American, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I am always reticent when that question is asked, and I make sure I know where all the exits are.

“Can you recommend for me a good English dictionary? I am an English teacher, though I am Syrian, at a school here in Riyadh, and I am trying to find a good dictionary.” He smiled. He was clearly trying to be friendly, and it seemed to me the dictionary was a pretext to initiate a conversation in English. This is not uncommon in Riyadh.

He was holding the Oxford English Dictionary. I pointed to it and said, “The OED is hard to beat. It’s the one I’d pick.”

He arched his eyebrows a bit. “You are an American, yet you would recommend the OED?”

“The best is the best.”

He smiled again, and we began to exchange some pleasantries as he asked me about myself and volunteered some more information about himself. He was especially interested in how his English usage and accent came across to me. He was very good, I assured him. Our conversation, a very enjoyable one, went on for maybe 10 minutes, before I finally excused myself, suggesting that if we ran into each other again, we should share some coffee (there’s a Starbucks next door). He thought that was a good idea.

As I started to leave, I stuck out my hand, and he took it and shook it. Then, he looked me straight in the eyes, a wistful expression on his face, and told me, “I wish our two countries had better relations.”

“So do I.”

Moment 2

Starbucks.

Huge profit gouging corporation preying on innocent coffee farmers or responsible corporate citizen working to save the environment and ensure a working wage for coffee farmers the world around?

I don’t know. For me, they’re a touch of home, and I often pay a lot more for an Iced Venti Americano inside a Starbucks store than what it would cost me to make the same drink back in my apartment. Sometimes I just need that tenuous emotional connection to back home. As a result, the baristas in two of the stores know me by sight, as I do them. The familiarity is comforting.

One morning not so long ago, I found myself to be the only customer early on a very, very slow Thursday morning (read Saturday). The young man behind the counter asked me where I was from, and I told him America. The U.S. or the United States, as a response, is too detailed (though many like to say, “USA,” as a clarifying phrase). There is only one America as far as most of these guys are concerned. His face lit up, and he smiled. In turn, I asked him where his home was.

“Nepal,” he told me. A wistful tone colored his voice, and a not quite smile/not quite frown took his mouth.

“I’d like to visit Nepal,” I answered.

He offered a real smile this time. “It is such a beautiful place. I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.”

I smiled back. He handed me my Americano. I thanked him, and I left.

I haven’t seen him since. I hope he’s in Nepal.

Moment 3

The two cars in front of us vied for the same position in traffic. The cab held the advantage, sitting on the inside lane. The non-descript Nissan trying to punch in front of the cab twitched aggressively toward the front fender of the cab. Normally, I don’t pay much attention to this sort of behavior; it’s all too common. This time, though, the aggression didn’t seem limited to vehicle versus vehicle.

A young guy, late teens early twenties leaned out the back window of the Nissan and gesticulated with his left hand toward the cab. In the back of the cab, two very slender young women in abayas and hajib - but lacking veils - watched the verbal and somatic onslaught. The young woman on the left just turned away and faced the other direction. But, the girl on the right, lifted her right hand and uncurled her middle finger, offering a non-verbal response recognized around the world…repeatedly.

With conviction.

Another first for me in the Kingdom.

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The World’s Worst Dictators

February 28, 2008 at 5:03 pm (Saudi Arabia)

Parade Magazine, a weekly insert in millions of Sunday newspapers across the United States, has declared that King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia is the fourth worst dictator in the world. Here is a link to the article.

I am sorry, but I have to call bullshit. Most Saudi Arabians would be rather perplexed by Parade’s assessment. I am going to hazard a guess that David Wallechinsky, the author of the piece has never been to Saudi Arabia.

The article cites as its primary evidence to King Abdullah’s guilt the fact that the most oppressed women in the world reside in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I am certainly not going to defend the rules and laws surrounding the movement and actions of women within Saudi Arabia. Women have a difficult time moving into the workforce. They cannot drive. They do (as the article highlights) have to have permission of a male guardian to gain medical treatment and even to travel from one place to another. They must wear abayas, keep their heads covered, and wear veils across their faces - though many do not always wear the veil and several thousand women do work. All of that is true.

Wallechinsky also cites the fact that teens can be sentenced to death and prisoners may be tortured. He then goes on to cite facts that have little to do with whether KSA is a horrid dictatorship or not.

Given the facts cited one could, indeed, come to the conclusion that this is a horrid land in which to reside - especially if one has already made up their mind that Saudi Arabia is an enemy of the American people.

The thing is - it’s a massive oversimplification of an exceptionally complex situation. I know I am going to come off as an apologist for the Saudis, but there has to be some intellectual integrity raised here. While everything the writer calls out is true, the tone of the article does not reflect the true nature of the place, nor does it bring to the reader’s attention the changes stirring within the currents just beneath the surface.

First of all, the way women are treated here is more cultural than anything else. Women, children, camels, goats - they are all property, and this approach dates back centuries, long before the Saud family consolidated its power over Al Jazeera (the Arabian Peninsula) in 1932. Certainly, not even all men in today’s Saudi Arabia subscribe to this view of their wives and children. But, the primary purpose of a marriage remains to create children - preferably sons. Saudi fathers (Head of Household is the technical term - a designation some women also hold) are required by law to keep a Family Book, which provides details of which child was birthed by which mother and fathered by themselves. It’s all very reminiscent of the legendary pedigrees maintained for high quality Arabian horses. While this is all institutionalized under current law, these practices precede the monarchy.

As I’ve stated before, women are allowed to own property, just as men are. Women retain the right to inheritance, and their personal property can NOT be taken over by any husband; it is their own to pass to their children. Women own and run businesses, and they attend school. Though I don’t have the exact number, I read recently where the literacy rate among Saudi females is roughly 75% - 80%.

Would I want my wife or daughter to live under these rules? Nope. But neither do I want them beaten or raped, which occurs in every country in the world.

King Abdullah is actually viewed as a benevolent king. He has opened economic markets and raised the general standard of living of Saudis since taking over first as a caretaker for his brother’s throne, then as King in his own right. He has expended massive amounts of political capital in trying to reform laws for women. The current expectation is that women will be allowed to drive before the end of this year, and last week’s Arab News carried an article where King Abdullah is quoted as saying the job market has to be opened up for women to join the workforce.

I find the accusations regarding the legal system here sadly amusing when it comes to the implementation of torture and capital punishment. I can only shake my head because it seems the pot calling the kettle black. In recent years, the US has had to go to the Supreme Court to determine if mentally incompetent people could be executed. US courts regularly try older teenagers as adults so they can seek the death penalty in murder cases. This doesn’t even get into whether or not there is significant racial bias present in the implementation of US death penalty cases, as alleged by many opponents of capital punishment; nor does it highlight the increasing numbers of death row inmates proven innocent via DNA testing over the last several years. At Guantanimo Bay, there is a boy for whom the US Government wants to seek the death penalty, despite the fact he was twelve at the time of his shooting of an American soldier.

The treatment of prisoners at Guantanimo Bay, and the overall use of torture by Americans in their attempts to gain intelligence from accused terrorists is a black mark that compromises any effort to pressure countries like Saudi Arabia to reform their judicial systems, especially when the US has been accused of turning over specific individuals to countries known to use torture, specifically for that purpose, KSA included.

Last year was a hallmark year for KSA when it comes to executions, no doubt, with over 100 individuals beheaded. The year before, however, saw less than 50 executed. I avoid even getting close to the area of town where executions are carried out on Fridays, the traditional day for such activities. Once a strong proponent of the death penalty, I have come, over the last several years, to where I oppose the death penalty anywhere in the world, including the United States. I certainly do not condone the executions, but I do find it convenient to call them out for executing teens while ignoring our own ignoble history on the subject. We must hold ourselves to the same standards to which we hold others - at the very least.

Not mentioned in the Parade piece is the limitation of Freedom of Speech. Perhaps that is because crackdowns on dissident writers is done with a wink and a nod. The teen (19) writer of one of the most popular dissident commentaries on Saudi society (forgive me for forgetting the name of his blog) has been arrested and seen his blog blocked on more than one occasion. Oddly, though, each time he is shutdown, the Arab News interviews him, and his words find an audience through this English-language daily - acknowledged by many to be an unofficial mouthpiece of King Abdullah - and which often publishes editorials calling for liberalization of various aspects of Saudi society.

Under the monarchy of King Abdullah, business ventures have blossomed. There is a steadily growing middle class, and more and more common citizens are finding economic success for themselves and their families. The majority of teenagers here, that I observe, are more interested in playing computer games or illicitly texting flirtatious messages to members of the opposite sex. However, as with any nation undergoing capitalist growth, there is a growing gap between the haves and the have nots. It is within this population of Saudis, the disaffected poor, that groups like Al-Qaeda gain their soldiers. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain in terms of Al-Qaeda promises and support for their families.

One quirk, when it comes to terrorism is that there seems to be a larger number of educated professionals entering the ranks of the Al-Qaeda network. Disaffected by the changes they’ve seen in their society as the influence of Western business entities compromise (in their eyes) their Islamic principles, these individuals turn to fighting against what they see as a threat to their traditional way of life. I remember hearing that Marx once said that the soldiers of the revolution would be the poor, while the leaders would be the children of the bourgoisie. I don’t know if that is a true quote or not, but it is apropo of this situation. Still, it is not an attitude retained by the majority of Saudi citizens - at least in the cities.

King Abdullah must wage a very careful reform battle. He must balance the changes he wants to make with the power wielded by the Wahabists and that of the more conservative members of his own family. This means that reform does not happen as quickly as it could or should. If he oversteps his pace, and is toppled, there will be no reforms at all.

I almost didn’t write this blog entry, knowing that someone somewhere is going to blast me for being, as I said before, a Saudi apologist. I am not. But, I do try to be intellectually honest. There are many, many things in Saudi Arabia that bother me, not the least of which is the legalized indentured servitude of thousands of South Asians and Africans under the guise of work sponsorship. However, to say that this is the fourth worst dictatorship in the world is a load of cow patooey. Certainly, Syria and Uzbekhistan must compete for that place.

For me, the real measure is in what I observe among the people as they walk about unaware of my observation of them. There is an ease of movement that belies a sense of oppression. Though wary of the muttawa, people in general move about without looking over their shoulders. They laugh. They tease each other, and children play even in public. Kids scream and parents express the same frustration parents express back home. They are often gregarious, and the men will often greet you with a smile. These are not the images one expects of people living under a horribly oppressive regime. They certainly don’t fit the images I remember of Russians under the Communists, the Chinese under Mao, or the North Koreans under their current dictatorship. The faces of those people reflected a lack of hope. Most Saudis retain hope.

I will not defend the things I find wrong, but neither will I hide the things that I find right.

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Do You Feel Safe?

January 24, 2008 at 10:08 am (Saudi Arabia) ()

Do you feel safe?

When I am talking to people about living and working in Saudi Arabia, that is the question I get asked more than any other. Questions about how women are treated here come in a close second; but it’s the question of safety that tends to predominate all initial conversations on the subject.

Much to the surprise of nearly everyone, I have to respond, “Yes. I feel safe.”

Now, it is true Westerners can be the target of anti-Western elements in the Middle East. Just last February, four Frenchmen were murdered in the northwestern part of the country - despite the fact they’d recently converted to Islam. These guys resided in the same compound where most of the Western employees of our company live, and several of the guys I work with knew the men. In 2003, Al-Qaeda elements launched rocket attacks against three of the residential compounds with deadly results. And, in that same year, an American contractor working for Lockheed Martin (for whom I also worked at the time) was kidnapped and beheaded. A British worker was shot and killed at a stoplight on his way home that same year, and another Westerner was killed at another stoplight in a random act of murder.

Such facts certainly are relevant when considering one’s safety in a foreign land. However, there are mitigating factors, which lessen the day-to-day concern. As a result of the 2003 compound attacks, the Kingdom of Saudia Arabia instituted a series of sweeps wherein they arrested hundreds, perhaps thousands (the real number is unknown) of known and suspected terrorists - primarily Al Qaeda members. The Kingdom also ordered concrete barricades and fences be placed around compounds, hotels, governmental and diplomatic buildings. Car searches were also implemented. It’s nearly impossible to get into one of the aforementioned facilities without having to pop the hood and the trunk so security guards or soldiers can look for bombs. “Shunta,” is a word everyone who drives into work knows, and we all dutifully pop our trunk. In most places, k-wall (movable concrete barricades) have been placed so that cars must negotiate a serpentine drive into these places, a tactic meant to slow car bombs and armed vehicles.

Failure to obey commands can (and have for a couple of folks I have known) result in several rifles, handguns, or machine guns bearing down on oneself. So, it is important to pay attention to what is being said. In cases of unclear instructions, it is best to ask again until they are understood or the guards get tired of repeating their words in broken English and simply give up, allowing the passage of the person or vehicle. Any place where a soldier is posted there are many, many guns. Usually, they carry Russian rifles or .45 handguns; however, in almost all cases, there is at least one machine gun mounted on an armored personnel carrier or within a camouflaged nest. There are several machine guns guarding the entrance to my residential compound. The guns are loaded.

Riyadh is like any other big city. Anywhere 5 million people gather, they validate Malthus. So, on the whole, living in Riyadh is like living in Las Vegas. Actually, given the gang activity in Vegas, one is probably more likely to get shot there than in Riyadh. I feel very comfortable going to the store at night; but I always park where there is light. I tend toward crowds, and I try not to stop, alone, in an isolated area. When I mentioned one specific part of the city where Westerners are told not to go, one of the Saudi guys working for me laughed and said, “Mr. Greg, I don’t even go down there.”

The greatest hostility toward Westerners tends to be in the more isolated and rural areas of the country. It’s a good idea to have a Saudi host in those places. Or, at least someone who is Arabic. A couple of years ago, while out camping, several Western and Lebanese friends were camping together when a truck full of guys showed up. They began demanding whether any Americans were in the camp. Intelligently, the Westerners had made themselves scarce, and one of the Lebanese men assured the visitors that no Americans were around. After a couple of repetitions of that assurance, the truck full of men left. But, that is the exception to the rule. On the whole, the people are incredibly nice and polite (save on the road). Many will offer a smile and a courteous greeting. Those that
don’t simply ignore your existence.

I have had two instances of hostility directed toward me since I got here. On one occasion, a Saudi guy passing me spewed a mouthful of Arabic curses at me as I walked toward a mall entrance. The other was from a Pakistani or Bangladeshi guy who stared at me with an openly hostile gaze of loathing. The meaning behind his eyes were not lost on me. Truthfully, most of the areas where Westerners fear for their safety tends to be among the Pakistani and Bangladeshi areas of town. Not coincidentally, these are the poorest areas of town, where crime is more likely to occur.

Things are a lot worse in neighboring Yemen. I met a Canadian guy on my way back from Christmas vacation. He told me that they have to travel in armed convoys in order to go anywhere. Both Al-Qaeda and Hamas have recruiting offices in the city where he works - with the Hamas office being across the street from his place of work. Two Belgian women were killed their last week. I don’t plan to work there. Nope…give me the UAE or Qatar or Bahrain…all of which are considered quite safe.

Over all, I feel as safe in Riyadh as I do in most American cities - maybe a little safer in some instances. Of course, this could change tonight. If it does, I have no problem putting in my notice and returning home. One has to be wise, aware, and vigilant. But, that is true everywhere.

Copyright 2008 by Greg Hubbard

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The Wind Chill Factor

January 13, 2008 at 6:07 pm (Saudi Arabia) ()

The wind chill factor in Riyadh, currently, is 34 degrees Fahrenheit, the actual temperature being 41-F. There’s 100% humidity, and drizzle is falling from a charcoal grey sky as I write this. If I was home in Oregon, I’d be convinced snow would fall tonight. Given the first snowfall in Baghdad in 100 years only day before yesterday, I am not ruling out anything. Snow or no snow - this is truly a winter day in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

I saw snow in Oregon last month. Snow fell two days prior to Christmas Day and fell again the day following. Christmas Day at home was as dark and grey as today is here in Riyadh. Large raindrops fell as showers leisurely waltzed through the Coastal Range and made their way across the road to the Cascades, where they would dump several feet of snow before gliding over the flat, high desert area of eastern Oregon. The temperatures were too warm for snow to fall in the Willamette Valley.

Cristina cooked a turkey in her mother’s oven, forced to make stuffing with the barest dusting of sage - a near calamity in any house where I eat stuffing. Still, we suffered through our deprivation, and enjoyed a wonderful day surrounded by Cristina’s parents, our son, his fiancee, Ringo - their chihuahua/Jack Russell mix (a breeding mix that should send shivers down your spine), our granddaughter, and Skye (our Cairn Terrier). After spending last Christmas deep in the desert sands of KSA, this was like finding myself awakening in the Elysian Fields.

France’s President Sarkozy arrives in Riyadh this evening. On my way back to the compound, I saw maybe fifty police cars racing along East Ring Road, lights flashing but no sirens, peeling off two at a time to cover the exit or entry ramps. Once deployed, soldiers in their beige and brown desert fatigues took their posts and hefted their machine guns and waved the remaining traffic on down the road so they could close and clear this major freeway that runs alongside the airport where dignitaries arrive and are ferried to the Diplomatic Quarter. Today’s uniform enjoyed winter accessories - warm wool caps and thick scarves of the same material, thrown stylishly around their necks and across their shoulders. The forecast for tomorrow says that President Bush’s arrival in the capitol will be greeted with the same weather, the same traffic and security precautions, and the same attire on the soldiers.

The first day of December found me on a Lufthansa flight from Riyadh to Frankfurt (6.5 hours), a five hour layover, then a 10.5 hour flight from Frankfurt directly to Portland International. I caught a turbo-prop from Portland to Eugene and landed to find the air chill and damp. I’d worn a flannel shirt, jeans, and hiking boots home; so I was not only warm, but my garb blended so well with the local raiment that no one could have guessed I had just been in the deserts of Arabia. Cristina wrapped me in a hug so warm I found little need for a coat.

This is where blur begins. I had a solid month at home. The deep greens and faded yellows of Oregon’s forests provided the comforting backdrop for a jam-packed schedule of tasks, events, and meetings chaired by Cristina as part of the fight to prevent the Bush Administration from opening up over one million acres of public forest land to clear-cutting. There were few moments that didn’t require the accomplishment of something from a list of Christmas tasks, social requirements, or ticking off the list for our son’s and fiancee’s wedding scheduled for the 27th - only two days after Christmas. Yet, Cristina and I did manage a relaxing drive down Highway 101, skirting the frigid Oregon coast, even stopping to say, Hello, to her father, whose ashes were scattered just off Winchester Bay over twenty years ago.

Our granddaughter arrived on the 19th, and an already full calendar became even fuller. Ten-year-old girls require a lot of attention, and Julie is no exception. Despite a couple of days of sunshine, most of the days were cold and wet. A veteran of Utah winters, she simply tossed on her coat and accompanied us on our rounds. If for nothing else, her presence added some playful companionship for the two cats (Bear and Beatrice) and especially for Skye. She seemed especially to enjoy going with me to pick out the Christmas tree - a perfectly formed Noble Pine that stood about seven-feet tall.

James and Alisa arrived the weekend prior to Christmas, and it became necessary to coordinate conflicting schedules, resulting in more of a mix of Christmas with wedding, necessitating solo adventures by each of us, occasionally belying the concept of family togetherness at Holiday time. On the other hand, it felt good to venture forth alone, steering the pick-up along winding mountain roads slicked by rain and requiring me to do drive slower than normal. After nearly a year away, the beauty of the drive between town and our place reintroduced itself to me. A blend of mountains and narrow valleys, thick variegated forests and clear expanses of meadows, horses and donkeys and goats and llamas - I felt at home once again.

Christmas came and went. Cristina cooked her turkey and dressing at her parent’s, and I cooked in our huge kitchen, which I had come to miss intensely during my time away. Gifts were opened and thank yous were expressed and then it was the day after Christmas. Seemingly, just that fast.

All eyes and manner turned toward the wedding. Weddings are stressful. Anyone who has ever been involved with the planning and execution of one will attest to that fact. Couple that stress with the stress of the Holidays, and the potential for a perfect storm manifests itself. We made it through, though, mostly unscathed. A tiny, beautiful country church with clapboard siding surrounded by a stand of Douglas fir against a backdrop of a huge meadow provided the setting. Friends and family from San Diego, Arizona, Texas, and our little part of Oregon comprised the guest list. A gathering of maybe 20-25 in our forest protected home served as a warm haven for the reception. Hats off to Cristina for a magnificent job of planning and execution. I doubt she wants to do it again.

The next five days went by way too fast. Family left. Friends went home. Grandkids and kids returned from whence they came. Still Cristina and I had to fight for precious moments alone. They were difficult to find. Before we knew it, New Years Day arrived, and I had to leave. Thick, pea-soup fog enveloped us from home to the airport, almost as if I was being discouraged from boarding the plane and leaving. Unfortunately, modern technology allows for take-offs even when the visual range is nearly non-existent. So, I left the cold and wet of Oregon and returned to the cold and dry of Saudi Arabia - where the wind chill factor tonight makes me bundle up just like at home.

I sure the miss the warmth of Cristina’s embrace.

Copyright 2008 by Greg Hubbard

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Happy Thanksgiving!

November 22, 2007 at 1:20 pm (General Stuff)

I just finished making some stuffing, and I earlier made some stuffed celery. In about 40 minutes, I will go to my next door neighbor’s apartment, where he will have turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, and yams waiting. Both of us, way far from our families will be celebrating Thanksgiving in as traditional a manner as is possible.

If only I could get the Cowboys game while I ate.

Happy Thanksgiving to each of you! Enjoy your family and friends. Stay warm and stay safe!

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