Monday, June 26, 2006

Saudi Report: Personal Update

Well, it’s been a few quiet weeks at home. My flight out here was a pain.

I trudged up to the counter to check-in my baggage, but like every year, I’m asked to accompany my bags to Inspection because my middle and last name coincide with that of a wanted terrorist. The fact that I’m a 5’3” black haired female, not a 6’0 brown haired afghani man doesn’t seem to be of any interest to anyone. No matter, I figure, nothing new there.. on my way back to the states, I’m constantly held up for hours in a New York customs office.

My bags are cleared, I check them in and drag my carry-on to the security check at the Gates entrance. The line is endless, while I wait I watch the instructions on the display: Remove all metals, shoes, place bags on the belt, random personal security checks may be conducted... etcetera.

Finally I get to the front, place my stuff on the belt, go through the metal detector without beeping, and hand my boarding pass to the attendant checking them. He lays one glance on my Saudi Air boarding pass and asks me to step into some sort of four-sided contraption with a low swinging gate and red X’s on all sides … an absolute fucking travesty. He swings the gate shut after me, “I need a female secured”. I stand there like a giant in a mousetrap while passengers pass by and eye me furtively, ten minutes later a stocky official opens one of the flimsy sides and has me step out. “I’m going to pat you down, have you done this before?” … ya, actually three times in a row… random my ass. Another official is ransacking my purse.

Finally I’m let go and I end up sprinting to my gate only to find that they haven’t even lined up to board. I grab a seat in an empty row and dig out my book. Just when Anna and Vronsky lay eyes on each other, I’m interrupted by a nudge. I look up to find a lady inviting herself to the seat next to me. She asks if I’m going to Saudi and whether I speak arabic, I say yes to both, and she goes off into a tirade about the virtues of a Hijab, appropriate dress, and the dangers of traveling alone without a “Mahram”. I couldn’t believe it... Already!

The plane boards, I walk down the aisle looking for my seat, finally I spot it… a window seat, while the middle and aisle seats are occupied by two men already ogling. Heelll no… Well.. actually hell yes. The flight attendant/jackass ignored my request to be moved. So I'm standing there and the two men wont move... they actually expected me to jump over them! I gave them the evil eye and humphed, because by now all forms of etiquette were out the window. They scrambled out of their seats.

So I settle in my seat, put my book down, and dig through my bag for my stash of pure Melatonin that should knock me out for 12 hours straight.. with any luck, they'll have to wheel my grumpy groggy ass out of here. I pop a couple, grab my book, and sit back to wait for the drugs to kick in. But of course, the man next to me turns and asks:

-"What are you reading?"-
- "Tolstoy"-
-"True story?"-
- "No, Tolstoy.."
-"TOY STORY??"-

Yes.. that's what I'm reading.. Toy fucking story. But he's nice and I feel bad for having asked to change my seat so we chat. Five minutes later though, a5ath waj'h: "Do you go to clubs?” he asks conspiratorially, whilst grinning foolishly. "No, just churches.. ". He's aghast. Apparently Churches fall well below clubs in his chastity scale. But whatever, it does the trick and he leaves me alone. I stuff my pillow in the window and sleep like the miserable baby I was by then.

Ten hours later, we arrive in jeddah. By some form of miracle, I find the gate in the zoo and board the plane with my new boarding pass. Seat 44 A. I pass by 36, then 38, across the kitchen.. then 50. Where the hell's 44?? That's right.. they gave me a seat that doesn't exist! So I'm standing there in a huff next to some Mutt waiting for someone to solve the mystery of our non-existent seats when I hear someone laughing quietly. I look down, and there sits a guy from my original plane. "heh.. they gave you a non-existent seat".. If looks could kill.. But he's a curly-haired cutie with a Time magazine I'm dying to read, he motions for me to sit next to him and wait while they solve my dilemma. I figure, hell.. it's a few steps up from Mr.Stinky ... before I can pick up my bag, the Mutt makes a dash for the seat and plops on it.

Alas... where hath chivalry gone?

2 hours later, grumpy.. frumpy.. tired.. and drugged, I'm in Riyadh. The sight of my grinning mother and squealing sister, who usually never come out to the airport, makes it worthwhile.

| 17 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Musings..

You’re out for a morning jog along the shore.

You walk down to the beach, lay your stuff down, kick off your trainers and socks… and under the morning sun, you start running.
It’s refreshing… the cool air rushing down into your lungs, the morning dew on your skin, and the coarse sand making its way between your toes with every step. How wonderful it is to be free.
And you run.

As the sun glides across the sky, you run. You run by kids splashing in the water, by their parents picnicking down the beach, by beach bums laying around and sunning their skin mercilessly…

You can feel the heat now, can’t you? Not just on your skin. You can feel the heat right there in your chest as your lungs expand more and more, eager for air... as your muscles burn their energy supply, as your heart pounds more and more blood. But you run, because this is the good part. You’re invincible now aren’t you? The heat’s your fuel, you can’t even feel the burn... only its power.
And you run.

As noon recedes, you’re still running. The dark sky shimmers with the light of the moon and stars. How beautiful.
But your chest is on fire, your legs are stiff, your heart’s pounding... pounding... and it hurts. But at this point, it would hurt more to stop anyway... might as well keep running. So your knees extend, you fling your arms back and forth…

All you hear is the sound of you feet on the sand, your labored breathing, and the deafening beats of your heart. Can you even see? Salty sweat is streaming down your eyes... it’s all a blur. And you run. It’s all you know now isn’t it? Fortunate fool.
The tide’s rising. With every few steps you feel the cool water washing over your feet...

Just when you think your legs will simply fall off if you take another step, the dark sky begins to brighten with the first threads of dawn. You’re still running. I told you, it’s all you know.
So with every breath and every sinew, with every last drop of effort, you sprint. As dawn asserts itself and nudges away the last obstinate traces of night, you slow down... and then you can stop. There you are, doubled over, trying to catch your breath and slow you heart…You straighten up and nostalgically look back, only to find that the tide has quietly and effortlessly washed away your embossed footprints.

Is it any wonder that dawn is called Mourning?

| 10 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|