You know how small, yappy dogs just make you want to kick them and send them sailing across the room? That’s how I sometimes find people from minor, unimportant countries. Most of the time I ignore them and their constant yapping, but a couple times I’ve had enough and enjoy watching them sail through the air after my foot finds their scrawny little bodies. Lucky for me, there aren’t a lot of the annoying lap dog types of people here. Lucky for them, my mom did her best to raise a sweet daughter who usually doesn’t resemble an attack dog.
At work one day, I met a Canadian who invited me to dinner with some of her friends. I usually like Canadians, and I always like dinner, so I accepted the offer. I hopped in a cab with her and her roommate from New Zealand, and we drove to Saudi Arabia’s version of Chili’s (I know, I was disappointed at the restaurant choice, too). Apparently American restaurants don’t play the gender-segregation game as rigorously as anywhere else in Riyadh, so we joined the Canadian’s boyfriend and two friends from his nerd herd. All the guys were from the States, and the four of us found ourselves under attack within the first fifteen minutes.
The only other person from New Zealand I've met here attacked the US a lot until I told her she was being rude, then made her look like a fool the next time she had anything to say about my country. I blew that girl off for trying too hard to be funny, but apparently she wasn't the outlier I thought she was. Seems like people in New Zealand have limited conversational skills, so they resort to putting down people from a country they don't even know except for what they see in the movies and on our tv programs because they can‘t produce enough of their own entertainment.
When this New Zealander flexed her lingual muscles and said her first anti-American comment, and the Canadian's boyfriend took her down. She said another, and I nailed her. The boyfriend, my new tag-team buddy, looked as annoyed at this yappy New Zealander as me, so we ignored her for awhile and made fun of New Zealand's insignificance in the world. We laughed about New Zealand's stupid holiday where they train sheep to do tricks, and how insecure people from little countries feel the need to take on countries much bigger and better than their own. The fun, cruel conversation with this nameless American guy made up for the ordinary food in an exotic country.
Funny enough, the New Zealanders I've met so far don't understand that what makes up a country is the people in it. Americans are fighters. We're the German shepherds of the world. Which country has more soldiers in more countries than the US? I don't need to answer that one. Not only that, but the people in my country know how to fight. Many of us try to avoid conflict, but you poke us enough, we'll beat the crap outta you, especially if the odds are in our favor like that. The boyfriend and I ridiculed every stupid thing that escaped her mouth until she finished yapping. For awhile I thought that maybe we went a little too far, then she nearly invited herself on my trip to Turkey. Bummer she had a trip to Oman planned that same time. I would have loved to have the equivalent of a rat terrier ruin my first trip outside of Saudi.
On the car ride home, she told me she was so glad we hung out, and that I have "an interesting sense of humor." Yeah, it's called Making Fun of Jerks. When you're ready for your next beating, come on over and make fun of my country again. It's kinda fun being mean to rude people.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Social Club
I feel like I stepped back thirteen years and am repeating my freshman year of college. It’s awesome!!!
Seriously, this couldn’t be more freshman-like. I’m surrounded with bubbly, funny, laughing girls who know they have a brain in their head and aren‘t afraid to flaunt it. Everyone ventured out of the comforts of their own time zone alone, except for the friends they packed in their laptop. Everyone has their own area of expertise but, like college students playing Musical Majors, some already plan on switching when the opportunity arises. No one has a car, no one brought kids, everyone eats like no parent is in sight, glutes get toned by climbing several flights of stairs to reach apartments, everyone wants an adventure and hopes to get a little money out of it. Like college, everyone hurries to make friends and tries to explore as much as possible.
In a way, this is better than being a freshman. First of all, no one is 18. Huge plus! Insecurities hide under abayas and relative anonymity, and emotional baggage comes with a carry-on limit. Everyone brought their sense of independence and a distinct personality with them. Sometimes the personalities are a bit too large for this country filled with quiet, shadow-like women, but it only adds to the fun.
Going out in public with a group of us impresses the locals. We’re constantly gawked at by everyone, and who can blame them? With all the talking and laughing, we’re definitely not their norm. Saying that we stick out is like saying that summer temperatures of 140 are a little warm. There’s a strong possibility that we’re being blatantly stared at because we don’t cover our faces, and female skin is a rarity here. The funny thing is, even if we wore the entire getup, we still stand out for being six inches taller than the tallest Saudi woman and three inches taller than most Saudi men.
No need to worry, I’m having a great time here in a land famous for capital punishment, covert relationships and hidden debauchery. Like my freshman year of college, I feel an intense metamorphosis coming soon. This place guarantees a year packed full of the same frustrations I’ve cursed Allah for over the past month, but even so, at this point everything is even better than I hoped it would be.
Seriously, this couldn’t be more freshman-like. I’m surrounded with bubbly, funny, laughing girls who know they have a brain in their head and aren‘t afraid to flaunt it. Everyone ventured out of the comforts of their own time zone alone, except for the friends they packed in their laptop. Everyone has their own area of expertise but, like college students playing Musical Majors, some already plan on switching when the opportunity arises. No one has a car, no one brought kids, everyone eats like no parent is in sight, glutes get toned by climbing several flights of stairs to reach apartments, everyone wants an adventure and hopes to get a little money out of it. Like college, everyone hurries to make friends and tries to explore as much as possible.
In a way, this is better than being a freshman. First of all, no one is 18. Huge plus! Insecurities hide under abayas and relative anonymity, and emotional baggage comes with a carry-on limit. Everyone brought their sense of independence and a distinct personality with them. Sometimes the personalities are a bit too large for this country filled with quiet, shadow-like women, but it only adds to the fun.
Going out in public with a group of us impresses the locals. We’re constantly gawked at by everyone, and who can blame them? With all the talking and laughing, we’re definitely not their norm. Saying that we stick out is like saying that summer temperatures of 140 are a little warm. There’s a strong possibility that we’re being blatantly stared at because we don’t cover our faces, and female skin is a rarity here. The funny thing is, even if we wore the entire getup, we still stand out for being six inches taller than the tallest Saudi woman and three inches taller than most Saudi men.
No need to worry, I’m having a great time here in a land famous for capital punishment, covert relationships and hidden debauchery. Like my freshman year of college, I feel an intense metamorphosis coming soon. This place guarantees a year packed full of the same frustrations I’ve cursed Allah for over the past month, but even so, at this point everything is even better than I hoped it would be.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Girls Will Be Girls
Saudi Arabia took the Little Black Dress, put a tent-like spin on it, and made it their own. It’s all the rage here! All the women go crazy for it. Black monopolizes the closets of all adult Saudi females, who go above and beyond to match their gigantic Little Black Dress. Black, black, black. Black shoes poke out from under black robes, black gloves cover brown hands, black scarves hide hair, and black eyes peer through black face shields, unless they’re covered by a black veil. Pure black. The slimming, monochromatic, heat-trapping color of the Saudi female.
Although Riyadh lacks the ever-changing haute couture of most capital cities, fashion is exceptionally important here. Fashion faux pas are treated very seriously here. Where else could you get beat up by the police for committing a crime of fashion? Even still, occasionally a trace of color slips through the blackness, usually on a younger woman. Every now and then the click, click, click of high heels alerts everyone within earshot to look around and sneak a peak at a cute pair of shoes. I love that! More often than not, I get a glimpse of a brightly colored heel belonging to a girl talking on a red cell phone, wearing only an abaya and head scarf. Once I got really lucky, and the lady’s head scarf and abaya had colorful embroidery that matched her purse and shoes! Any prep school teacher would be proud!
Even within the confines of a burka (that black thing some people wrap around their faces so only their eyes show), women doll up as much as they can. Eyeliner, designer glasses, glittery eye shadow, gobs of mascara…these girls don’t escape vanity! Perhaps they primp to claim the individuality that their limited, lifeless wardrobe strips from them. Perhaps they happily don their daily religious garb to escape the ubiquitous question of what to wear. Whatever the answer is, despite all social and religious pressures to hide physical beauty, girls will be girls.
Although Riyadh lacks the ever-changing haute couture of most capital cities, fashion is exceptionally important here. Fashion faux pas are treated very seriously here. Where else could you get beat up by the police for committing a crime of fashion? Even still, occasionally a trace of color slips through the blackness, usually on a younger woman. Every now and then the click, click, click of high heels alerts everyone within earshot to look around and sneak a peak at a cute pair of shoes. I love that! More often than not, I get a glimpse of a brightly colored heel belonging to a girl talking on a red cell phone, wearing only an abaya and head scarf. Once I got really lucky, and the lady’s head scarf and abaya had colorful embroidery that matched her purse and shoes! Any prep school teacher would be proud!
Even within the confines of a burka (that black thing some people wrap around their faces so only their eyes show), women doll up as much as they can. Eyeliner, designer glasses, glittery eye shadow, gobs of mascara…these girls don’t escape vanity! Perhaps they primp to claim the individuality that their limited, lifeless wardrobe strips from them. Perhaps they happily don their daily religious garb to escape the ubiquitous question of what to wear. Whatever the answer is, despite all social and religious pressures to hide physical beauty, girls will be girls.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Larry of Arabia
Larry of Arabia
I arrived in Saudi Arabia 50 hours ago and already I dodged a trip to the Big House. Like every other female from the US, I’ve imagined plenty of horrible situations where being with a creepy man could get me hurt and land him in jail, but I’ve never imagined a situation where simply being with a male friend in a grocery store could land us both in jail. So far, the Saudi Arabian culture puzzles me, particularly when it comes to anything relating to men. Part of me hopes to crack their code, and another part knows that trying is useless.
My first encounter with Saudi Arabians was, not surprisingly, at the airport. My nursing company helped supply my first uncomfortable Saudi experience by informing me that an abaya is not necessary for a western woman upon arrival to the Kingdom. True, you don’t need one, but you feel like a self-conscious high school senior who shows up at graduation without their gown. I wore my favorite traveling clothes that seemed appropriate for entering a country with a strict “nothing sexy” dress code. A long sleeve, purple knit shirt and some roomy cargo pants that I found in the young men’s section of Old Navy have served me well on many traveling occasions, so I stuck with those. Nothing sexy going on there, for sure! As we boarded the plane, I noticed a whole bunch of women wearing their abayas. As we exited the plane, I noticed that just one other woman wasn’t wearing an abaya. Turns out, we were both nurses who work for the same company. We did our best to hide and blend in, but we knew we stuck out like streakers at a church picnic.
We approached customs, and met our first herd of what I like to call “Larrys.” They are the adult male Arabians, a modern day Lawrence of Arabia. They’re a variation on a theme, all going for the “twinner” white nightgown/moustache/red head-scarf look, and all staring at the two most colorfully dressed girls in the country. That uncomfortable feeling turned to curiosity when I began staring back. Apparently affection among men here isn’t what it is back in the US. The kissing and hand holding rivaled any Gay Pride, and for a strictly heterosexual kingdom, they sure act openly gay by my definition. Strange beasts, these Larrys.
My next Larry sighting took place at the Hyper Panda Grocery Store. This also begins innocently, but the ending to the Hyper Panda outing could have been a disastrous welcome to the Magic Kingdom. I met a couple guys in my first day of orientation, and we all needed groceries. A group of people went to the Hyper Panda, but we didn’t know all the details so we missed them. Crap. Anyway, my new friend, Badis, knew the way, so the three of us walked together off the compound into the big scary world where testosterone overflows from every driver, sidewalks are sketchy at best, and occasionally a concrete barricade protects the pedestrian from the eight lanes of 70 mph SUV’s.
When we got to Hyper Panda, the other guy had to take care of cell phone related business. Badis and I shared a grocery cart, dumping in lentils and pita bread while the store closed down for a prayer. We bumped into some other people from our orientation, and the lady who chaperoned the excursion asked us if we were a married couple. Nope! Not even close. Not now, not ever. He’s a nice guy, but we mostly just wanted a friend to go grocery shopping with on our first day here. The lady told us that we needed to stay far apart from each other. Uh, that was kinda hard since we were sharing a cart, but we were almost done. I grabbed a hair comb down one aisle while he got some tomato paste down another, then met up at the cash register where we split up our groceries. I think I went to the Men Only cash register, but I didn’t notice until I realized that the four people behind us were all men, and all the women were in another line. I automatically head for the shortest line at the grocery store, but I guess it’s like bathrooms where the men always walk right in and the women usually wait.
Badis and I waited outside for the rest of the group, who were going back in a compound bus. We had no idea where to meet them, so we just hung out in front of the store. We got stared at by everyone whose eyes weren‘t covered by a veil, and I’m sure those ladies probably stared at us more than anyone else. As I checked out all the Larrys checking out
Badis and me, I couldn’t help but wonder what the big deal was about us sharing a grocery cart. Obviously we completed an essential task in a public place with as little combined effort as possible that involved no physical contact, so why did that chaperone freak out? If the Hyper Panda would have been a date, it wasn’t guaranteed to end in fireworks.
We finally saw the others and loaded onto the bus. The chaperone told me that I should never, ever do that again. We could have been thrown in jail by the Religious Police. She told me that I could be charged with prostitution for merely being with him. I still haven’t figured out which grocery store aisle would promote public copulation but, given that it’s an alcohol-free country, my best guess is near the chocolate section. I’m sure even a simple grocery store run could turn into a heated passion, given the right circumstances. I went to sleep last night wondering why the Larrys would impose such tight restrictions, but I‘m in their country, living by their stringent sexual code of ethics.
Like I said, those Larrys puzzle me. I don’t get them. I don’t know if I ever will, but I’ve got a year to find out.
I arrived in Saudi Arabia 50 hours ago and already I dodged a trip to the Big House. Like every other female from the US, I’ve imagined plenty of horrible situations where being with a creepy man could get me hurt and land him in jail, but I’ve never imagined a situation where simply being with a male friend in a grocery store could land us both in jail. So far, the Saudi Arabian culture puzzles me, particularly when it comes to anything relating to men. Part of me hopes to crack their code, and another part knows that trying is useless.
My first encounter with Saudi Arabians was, not surprisingly, at the airport. My nursing company helped supply my first uncomfortable Saudi experience by informing me that an abaya is not necessary for a western woman upon arrival to the Kingdom. True, you don’t need one, but you feel like a self-conscious high school senior who shows up at graduation without their gown. I wore my favorite traveling clothes that seemed appropriate for entering a country with a strict “nothing sexy” dress code. A long sleeve, purple knit shirt and some roomy cargo pants that I found in the young men’s section of Old Navy have served me well on many traveling occasions, so I stuck with those. Nothing sexy going on there, for sure! As we boarded the plane, I noticed a whole bunch of women wearing their abayas. As we exited the plane, I noticed that just one other woman wasn’t wearing an abaya. Turns out, we were both nurses who work for the same company. We did our best to hide and blend in, but we knew we stuck out like streakers at a church picnic.
We approached customs, and met our first herd of what I like to call “Larrys.” They are the adult male Arabians, a modern day Lawrence of Arabia. They’re a variation on a theme, all going for the “twinner” white nightgown/moustache/red head-scarf look, and all staring at the two most colorfully dressed girls in the country. That uncomfortable feeling turned to curiosity when I began staring back. Apparently affection among men here isn’t what it is back in the US. The kissing and hand holding rivaled any Gay Pride, and for a strictly heterosexual kingdom, they sure act openly gay by my definition. Strange beasts, these Larrys.
My next Larry sighting took place at the Hyper Panda Grocery Store. This also begins innocently, but the ending to the Hyper Panda outing could have been a disastrous welcome to the Magic Kingdom. I met a couple guys in my first day of orientation, and we all needed groceries. A group of people went to the Hyper Panda, but we didn’t know all the details so we missed them. Crap. Anyway, my new friend, Badis, knew the way, so the three of us walked together off the compound into the big scary world where testosterone overflows from every driver, sidewalks are sketchy at best, and occasionally a concrete barricade protects the pedestrian from the eight lanes of 70 mph SUV’s.
When we got to Hyper Panda, the other guy had to take care of cell phone related business. Badis and I shared a grocery cart, dumping in lentils and pita bread while the store closed down for a prayer. We bumped into some other people from our orientation, and the lady who chaperoned the excursion asked us if we were a married couple. Nope! Not even close. Not now, not ever. He’s a nice guy, but we mostly just wanted a friend to go grocery shopping with on our first day here. The lady told us that we needed to stay far apart from each other. Uh, that was kinda hard since we were sharing a cart, but we were almost done. I grabbed a hair comb down one aisle while he got some tomato paste down another, then met up at the cash register where we split up our groceries. I think I went to the Men Only cash register, but I didn’t notice until I realized that the four people behind us were all men, and all the women were in another line. I automatically head for the shortest line at the grocery store, but I guess it’s like bathrooms where the men always walk right in and the women usually wait.
Badis and I waited outside for the rest of the group, who were going back in a compound bus. We had no idea where to meet them, so we just hung out in front of the store. We got stared at by everyone whose eyes weren‘t covered by a veil, and I’m sure those ladies probably stared at us more than anyone else. As I checked out all the Larrys checking out
Badis and me, I couldn’t help but wonder what the big deal was about us sharing a grocery cart. Obviously we completed an essential task in a public place with as little combined effort as possible that involved no physical contact, so why did that chaperone freak out? If the Hyper Panda would have been a date, it wasn’t guaranteed to end in fireworks.
We finally saw the others and loaded onto the bus. The chaperone told me that I should never, ever do that again. We could have been thrown in jail by the Religious Police. She told me that I could be charged with prostitution for merely being with him. I still haven’t figured out which grocery store aisle would promote public copulation but, given that it’s an alcohol-free country, my best guess is near the chocolate section. I’m sure even a simple grocery store run could turn into a heated passion, given the right circumstances. I went to sleep last night wondering why the Larrys would impose such tight restrictions, but I‘m in their country, living by their stringent sexual code of ethics.
Like I said, those Larrys puzzle me. I don’t get them. I don’t know if I ever will, but I’ve got a year to find out.
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