Sober Saudi

Walla!  Saudi Arabia in January is unbelievable.

Cool breezes replace the sticky humidity, the desert takes on a green hue, and keeping on par with last semester, KAUST decided to give us a four week extended vacation.  It’s borderline scary how used to this lifestyle I’m becoming.

Upon returning to KAUST after the winter holidays, the students have jumped straight into a 4-week “winter enrichment period” (aka. The WEP) during which specialty short-courses and lectures are being offered by visiting faculty from around the world.  Classes ranging from “Finding Science in Finding Nemo” to a Technology & Entrepreneurship have served to give new life to the students by allowing them to study subjects they might not otherwise be exposed to.

In one of the more shocking (and impressive) moves in my tenure at KAUST, we had a LIVE concert on campus as part of the WEP program.  American-Palestinian musician Simone Shaheen graced us with one of the more impressive musical displays I’ve ever seen; only to be outshone by the audience.  What?  Yes.

It’s ironic that we spent the last four months at KAUST with a “no public music” policy considering how much Saudis love to engage themselves with the music they hear (which is great, don’t get me wrong folks).

In what turned out to be just another cultural learning experience, I had to get used to the fact that if Shaheen held a rhythm for more than 8 counts, the entire audience was going to be clapping along to the beat.  It’s one of those give and take situations where if live music is going to consistently resemble a karaoke bar, I’ll learn to take it over NO music at all.

I half-jokingly spoke of “concert etiquette” with our assistant provost the next day while recalling the crowd’s enthusiasm, only for her to respond quizzically, “Concert etiquette?  I’m not familiar with that.”  That explains it.

Music is still one of those gray areas with me in context with Islam.  Some classmates tell me it’s forbidden, others tell me it’s a matter of interpretation.  All I know is that the door’s open and Qusai’s interested.  You play odd-makers.

In other publishable news, I attended a Saudi Entrepreneur panel discussion last week and met the “2009 Saudi Entrepreneur of the Year.”  An employee at Remal IT, this young man developed software that allows companies to track the “efficiency” of their employees by tracking the time they spend on specific projects.

To ensure a market for the software, he proceeded to develop the most complete (and popular) Belote* online gaming experience on the internet that detracts a good 30,000 Saudis from their work, daily.  (Warning: “dad joke” ahead)  Talk about playing his cards right!

…now back to the enrichment.

*You can bet if I learn to play this, I’m going to write about it.
Game info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belote .
His site:  http://www.kammelna.com/

If there is one way to justify spending half of my KAUST stipend on traveling during my first semester, it’s that I got invaluable experience getting on to an airplane departing for “Saudi Arabia;” a mental accomplishment in itself every time (if you’ve done it, you know what I’m talking about).

I don’t know if it’s intentional or just a coincidence, but the departure gates for Saudi Arabia are always in the weirdest, most aloof parts of the airport… take a look the next time you’re in an airport and let me know if I’m just dreaming.

After spending four fabulous weeks back in Heaven doing my fair share of things that are not permitted here in the Kingdom (a hug anyone?), I was surprisingly ready to get back to the swing of things in the desert.  I don’t know if it had to do with the celebrity status I now hold at John R. Williams elementary school, the added attention that I got from the ladies with the stories I had to tell (“…yes ladies, I own an oil company called KAUST…”), or the fact that I knew what I was getting into this time around.

Back in California, in-between sipping Shirley Temples, catching up on the newest words in the Dictionary (to google; a verb!), and watching plenty of Jeopardy with friends and family; I was actually able to do some serious story-telling.  I spoke to a rotary group (excuse me, it was “Kiwanis”), two different companies, a few high school classes, and my Mom’s elementary school.  Besides getting a taste of the “motivational speaker” lifestyle, it was truly eye-opening to learn just how little my native Californians know about Saudi Arabia (but who’s to blame them, really?).

A few entertaining questions included, “Can girls play soccer?”, “Is the Red Sea red?”, “What language do Saudis speaks?” or “Do people there ride camels?”  As an Arab reader, you might chuckle at these questions as I did, but the sincerity in which they were asked was encouraging to say the least.

Even more entertaining were the responses to some of the facts that I brought up to the listeners, like “There’s no alcohol in the Kingdom” or “Women can’t drive” (although, when I told a group of sixth grade girls that women had personal chauffeurs they were quite pleased with the alternative).

One of the unspoken perks of living in Saudi Arabia (besides being recently added to the official “airport pat-down list”) is that we really are ambassadors when we return to our homes.  It’s especially true of the few Americans at KAUST, seeing as how “involved” our country is in this part of the world, and how little our country actually knows about it.  It’s a job that I truly enjoy.

I know that New Year’s resolutions are made to be broken, but one of my humbler resolutions is to get a deeper appreciation for the people of Saudi Arabia while I’m still here; both old and new, hijab and hijab-less.

I know, good luck Eric.

Sober shout out to all of my friends and family who I saw back home and commented on their enjoyment of this blog.  Look for entries to get back up on a weekly basis (Insha’Allah).

*Wikipedia has a number of reasons for where the Red Sea got its name, my favorite being, “The name of the sea may signify the seasonal blooms of the red-coloured Trichodesmium erythraeum near the water’s surface.”  I’ll make sure someone else gets a pic when the season comes.

When you’ve seen a cab driver use a belt as a whip, dined in Hezbolland, drank in a bomb shelter, worshipped a wine God (Baccheus), partied with a “Penguin”, and somehow managed to scratch off a “superficial layer” on your cornea in less than a week’s time; it’s hard to decide what story is worth elaborating in this limited 500 word post below.  So, here goes nothing…

If you’ve never been to Lebanon, you’ve never been graced by the millions of political posters gracing its walls, light posts, billboards, taxis, and t-shirts like confetti.   Extremely amusing (although often confusing), these posters showcase every well-fed parliamentary, religious, and otherwise famous figurehead in the Middle East.  Often distinct only by mustache style or an expensive pair of sunglasses, some of these posters don’t even have words or political party symbols to accompany them.  Needless to say, I’ve got a poster or two drawn up in my head for the next time I visit the country to establish my celebrity status… (“California Love”)

These political posters didn’t have any influence on us tourists whatsoever; until our third evening.  After a day spent touring the Druze part of the country and one of the smaller cedar forests, our taxi driver/guide decided he was going to “make things easy for us” and have us over for dinner.  Unsure of how to turn down the offer, as this cab driver surely didn’t invite all of his passengers over for dinner, we went along with the kind gesture.  Pulling off the highway in South Beirut, our driver began to share a little more about his neighborhood… 

Largely inhabited by Lebanese, Syrians and Palestinians, this tightly compacted community of high-rise apartment complexes was probably taller than it was wide.  It also happened to be a former Hezbollah governed community (before the unity government was agreed upon just recently), and our driver was quick to point this out to us whenever possible (“this building was bombed in 2006,” “this police officer is a Hezbollah member,” “I don’t associate with anyone in this neighborhood,” etc). 

I don’t know if he was working the awe factor, trying to intimidate us, or knew that we’d seen one too many terror-related movies, but his references to the hostile surroundings did nothing less than suggest I shouldn’t speak English while walking on the streets.

Walking to the apartment as inconspicuously as three Irish and one American can in a community bustling with young boys showing off on their mopeds, old men smoking hookah, and women bargaining at the open-air markets; we diligently followed our host to his 7^th floor flat.  Half-way up the stairs, the power went out, and I’m fairly sure that our certainty of the situation went right with it. 

After fidgeting for ten minutes, making small talk, exchanging nervous smiles, and raising eyebrows of suspicion to one another, we had no idea of what would soon unveil itself; literally.  Then, just as quickly as we had found ourselves in the empty room, a charming young lady entered with a huge smile, perfect English, and in standard Lebanese style, very fashionably attire.   

The daughter of our cab driver, this young lady’s presence immediately eased the tension in the room and for the next hour and a half, we were able to speak, dine, and drink coffee with this lovely family (father, son, and two daughters; mom was sleeping).  Learning more about their lives in the neighborhood, their struggles to afford college, their determination to succeed through hard work, and their perfect acceptance of their lives was nothing short of humbling.  It was also the first such intimate family experience any of us had had since moving to the Middle East; and hopefully not the last.

Leaving the flat, we were all a little more grateful for our lives, and a little better versed on the true Beirut; it’s not all Bliss Street.

I want to preface this post by mentioning that I went to the first “KAUST Wellness” meeting this past week, in which seven somber students sat and shared (no alliteration intended) their struggles to transition to life at KAUST; not necessarily life in Saudi Arabia (since they’re apples and oranges).  In one of the more meaningful meetings I’ve sat in on, moderated by the official KAUST psychologist, we were able to comfortably lay out the challenges that we face on a daily basis and discuss how we can deal with them more optimistically.  This is not to imply that I was “depressed” before attending this meeting, but rather looking for an “attitude adjustment” (we all need one of these every so often).  Needless to say, the timing couldn’t have been better because the past 24 hours at KAUST have been nothing short of a good laugh…

I remember about a month ago when friends and family were posting on their Facebook statuses that it was “raining cats and dogs” throughout California, and how the day of those first storms coincided with our first such storm, a sand storm.  As sand and dust are nothing to talk about in this part of the world, we hardly notice how people’s lives here have naturally evolved to deal with these nuisances without a second thought.  What we learned at KAUST today was that a rainstorm in Saudi is a whole new ballgame, or maybe nightmare.

This morning, after a rather romantic thunderstorm, all hell broke loose; along with a handful of houses.

(Since this story has to do with water, it’s important that you remember the problems many of the homes had during the initial move in period with leaky ceilings, collapsed ceilings, and black mold as a result of poor plumbing, insulation, and general design.  Not that this doubt should’ve crossed your mind either, but SURELY the roofs would be properly insulated to keep the water out, right?  Wrong.)

After blocking out the sirens and the impressive filing of emergency crew workers lining the streets I was able to soak in the damage of this otherwise harmless rain storm.  The roads were flooded two feet deep in water, the entire female population had been evacuated from their housing (sent to Jeddah for at least the next week), and ten male students were relocated because the conditions in their homes were “uninhabitable” (in other words, they didn’t just have leaks, they had entire ceilings collapse in the middle of the night as a result of water build up).  In short, KAUST had become a refugee camp in a matter of hours, and I was loving every second of it (these kind of events really bring the students together).

KAUST administration, quick on their feet sent out the following email before anyone could even think about attending classes:

“Good Morning Everyone,
Please note that due to the severe weather and flooding that we are currently experiencing here at KAUST, there will be no classes and all our schools (KAUST and ECC/K-12) will be closed, in conjunction with the offices.  We would request that you stay at home today.”

I’ve never been unlucky enough to live in a part of the world where “snow days” exist, and have surely never even dreamt of a “rain day” until today.

The timing of it all was very fortunate for the KAUST community as this next week marks the Eid holiday where most of the students are traveling outside of KAUST; but extremely unfortunate for the millions of pilgrims (and 62 KAUST students) embarking on the Hajj, just a stone’s throw distance from us.  The following article puts it all into perspective (and I encourage everyone to read it).

http://www.kuwaittimes.net/read_news.php?newsid=MTA4NDAzMDM3Mg==

Like every other challenge KAUST has faced, they’ll get over this one with one swift signature of a check.

Until then, I’d like to begrudgingly (ONLY because I’m a nice guy) open up the doors of my house for any wandering KAUST females to take refuge in.  Compulsory baking, laundry services, and occasional knitting would all be part of the live-in agreement; but those are merely details, ladies.

p.s. Happy Thanksgiving from:

(Contrary to popular belief as a result of the “Sober Saudi” hiatus, a lot has been taking place here at the KAUST Zoo over the past three weeks.  However, as a wise Mother of mine once said, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”  So I’m keeping the events of the past three weeks locked in a safe place and listening to Mom this time.)

It’s official.  I Love Beirut… and I almost bought the lousy t-shirt to prove it (except it was sun-stained and being worn by an old man when I saw it).

I don’t know if I’m going to embrace every multi-cultured city like this whenever I leave KAUST, but I’m worried that I might even be susceptible to falling in love with Stockton, CA when everything’s said and done… How could a school like KAUST represent over 70 countries and still leave someone feeling culturally empty? You’ll never know!

Needless to say, our small pilgrimage to the “Paris of the Middle East” was destined for success from the start.

Largely unfamiliar with the turmoil that is Lebanon’s past (and sometimes present), we ventured into this jewel of a country with high hopes and a natural buzz.  It wasn’t until we’d nearly died in a taxi, tasted the strong Lebanese coffee, and explored a cathedral, mosque, and nightclub all on the same block, that we could truly appreciate Beirut for daring to be different.

It is difficult to describe a city accurately with only three days exposure (two days if you count the aftermath of the Beirut nightlife) but two things were apparent; the Lebanese are a proud and fashionable people.  I don’t know how many places exist in this world where you can walk through a bullet-ridden neighborhood in which every passing citizen is dressed like they’re ready for a gala or a business meeting, but I was impressed.  Even the Lebanese soldiers lining the streets wore smiles as they provided directions with the nod of their rifles (smiles may have been because of the Brazilian girls with us, but that’s beside the point).

All extremities considered, the one thing that I will take away from Lebanon with admiration was how they live in a largely tolerant, respecting, and modern society.  I know it’s tough to make these conclusions based on the general lack of transparency in this part of the world, but it was very much encouraging to see Muslims and Christians (and some Druze I’m sure!) dining, shopping, and interacting all in perfect harmony.

I imagine Lebanon is the only place in the Middle East where I’d be welcome to visit a mosque donning a tank top and shorts by a smiling Imam.  It’s also probably the only place where I could walk through a university campus, see a girl in a pink cocktail dress asking people to “Vote PRETTY” (the name of her student political party), and proceed to vote “PRETTY” without asking any questions; although to say “PRETTY” would be a harsh understatement…

Is it possible to study abroad in graduate school?  If so, sign me up.

For the past four years I’ve successfully dodged invitations to climb Half Dome in Yosemite National Park under the stars with friends and family. A combination of fear, disinterest, and a few other good excuses (probably not that good) kept me from discovering the magic that comes with catching the sunrise from atop the world… until the past weekend, that is.

On a blitz weekend getaway from the Kingdom, a dozen students and I set out for the City of Peace: Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt. Located comfortably on the southern point of the Sinai Peninsula, this beachside resort town is famous for the number of international peace conferences it’s hosted, beautiful diving, and a vibrant nightlife. This being said, I will forever call Sharm “the Marbella of the Middle East” or simply “Sharm el Sheikh, USSR.”

Never in my life have I been more entertained by the Eastern European populace. I would go so far as saying that up to 90% of the tourists visiting Sharm were from somewhere in Eastern Europe (haircuts, miniskirts, and confused looks all dictated this inclination). Looking back, one of my only regrets from the trip was not getting into a political discussion with one of these visitors over a drink (possibly in the middle of one of the many foam parties) to learn exactly how Eastern Europeans came to dominate the Sinai scene. Needless to say, it’s on my to-do list the next time I’m in need of 48 hours of freedom.

As I alluded to in the opening paragraph, the real treat during our vacation to Sharm was scaling one of the most religiously significant peaks in the world; Mount Sinai (or Mount Moses). This mountain, where Moses received the Ten Commandments from God was nothing short of spectacular; although sometimes smelly.

After bargaining with local tour guides, fudging our way through six different security checkpoints (including one at the base of the mountain during which a dumbfounded security guard pulled out a Frisbee and a bottle of Havana Rum from one of my friends packs), and hiring a twenty year old to take us up the trail; we started our journey. It was close to 2:30 am.

I’m not sure if it was our delirious state or the pitch darkness, but the first ten minutes of the hike were surreal. The mountains rising up on either side of us, exploiting the brightness of the stars (the most that I’d seen since camping in Africa) and the echoes of our footsteps had us all at the mercy of nature. This peace of mind didn’t last long…

Ten minutes into the hike, we found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a regular Bedouin Wall Street. Cell phones, whistles, camel grunts and snippets of Italian (don’t ask why) started whirring around us like mad investors buying and selling stocks. Following the example of our un-deterred guide; we dodged camels, men asking for food, and offers to hire a camel with big eyes and a feeling of “awesomeness” (the only word that makes sense here).

Two and a half hours later, we found ourselves huddled in a tent just below the summit packed with beaten-up blankets, heavily-coated mountain men, and the smell of tea lingering in the thin air. Only when the first signs of light pierced the sky did we make the final push for the top.

Watching the sun rise into the sky at this holy site where Jews, Muslims, and Christians can congregate in peace was a memory that surely none of us on top of the mountain that morning will forget; just one of the few things we’ll choose not to forget on this short but memorable trip to Russia, I mean Sharm el Sheikh…

Yesterday I took my first (and hopefully last) ever flight from one desert to an even bigger desert… not something most people can boast having ever done.

Nestled inside the middle of the Rub ‘al Khali and a scene reminiscent of the late 1990’s, I had finally found the Saudi Arabia I was looking for:  Hummers, sand dunes, and black gold (only without the Hummers).

Watch the first few minutes of this video to see what I’m talking about: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJztP-Zy7zc

In this sand desert (larger than France, Belgium, and the Netherlands combined) sits the Saudi Aramco oil drilling site better known as Shaybah.  Pumping nearly 800,000 bpd of extra light crude oil (you can pump this stuff straight into the gas turbine) this well is responsible for about 10% of all of Saudi’s oil exports.

However, the real beauty of Shaybah is not necessarily the project site, but the surrounding landscapes.  Here on the west coast of the Kingdom, we’ve become accustomed to a desert similar to what you’ll see on the drive from LA to Vegas (KAUST, Vegas… all one big gamble); so when we were suddenly dropped into the middle of the type of desert you see only in the postcards, a real sense of awe overcame us all.

There’s something about lying on top of a thousand foot tall sand dune watching the sunset and listening to the call to prayer echo through the valley; knowing that a gracious reservoir a mile beneath you is pumping its gifts straight into your graduate education… and your mom’s 4Runner.

Contrary to the common belief among my peers that “I’d arrived in Saudi Arabia years too early” I was beginning to believe that maybe I’d showed up too late…

Did I mention that ALL of the sand used for the construction of Shaybah was imported from outside the Rub ‘al Khali?  It was the ‘90’s.