Arrival

November 21, 2024

At Athens Airport, I keep a vigilant eye on my luggage. After all, I’m traveling to a country where drug smuggling carries the death penalty. Not that I’m carrying anything illegal, but I want to make sure no one slips something into my bags. While waiting at the gate, I notice that, apart from two Germans, I seem to be the only Western non-Muslim. Almost all the women around me are fully veiled. Where did they all come from? Earlier, I hadn’t noticed anyone wearing veils, and now they’re suddenly everywhere.

On the plane, I sit next to a young couple. He is 28, and she is 22, wearing a niqab. They tell me they’ve just returned from their honeymoon in Albania. Since she speaks better English than he does, she takes the lead in the conversation. I learn that they are cousins, which is a common marriage arrangement in Saudi Arabia.

A passenger in the row ahead gestures for us to lower our voices, clearly irritated by our conversation. We joke that he’s probably “hangry” and hope the in-flight meal improves his mood. The man next to me, Saud, works at passport control at Jeddah Airport. This reassures me somewhat, as I’ve been worried about whether my medications will be allowed into the country. I wasn’t entirely sure they complied with local regulations. Saud generously offers me his car for the entire duration of my stay in Saudi Arabia, explaining that he can borrow one from a colleague. I politely decline, as I plan to travel by bicycle. Saud also invites me to visit his hometown, Ha’il, where he’ll be spending his next ten days off. I tell him I can’t promise to make it, as cycling there within ten days would be a challenge.

Shortly before landing, I get another glimpse into this culture: Loud prayers from several men erupt from the back of the plane. With so much divine support, I assume the landing will go smoothly. Hopefully, the runway is aligned with Mecca.

At passport control, I’m greeted from afar with a cheerful “Welcome!” I’m asked to provide fingerprints, but the process is quick and efficient. I don’t even need to show my visa. I’m not sure if Saud expedited the process for me, if the officers are too tired for thorough checks at 3 a.m., or if I just look harmless.

My luggage takes a while to arrive, giving me time to snap a photo with Saud.

When I politely ask if Amira would like to join, mindful of cultural sensitivities, they both decline, explaining that she’s too shy. Soon, they collect their luggage and tell me they’ll wait for me outside after customs.

Eventually, my bags and the bike box arrive, but when I step outside, Saud and Amira are nowhere to be found.

Instead, I’m greeted by an enormous aquarium with sharks gliding through the water.

I feel as though I’ve landed in a metaphorical shark tank, with several men - none of whom speak English - crowding around me and talking all at once.

One man finally steps in as a translator, explaining that they have a large taxi and can take me and my bike to the bus station. However, the price they quote - roughly 40 Swiss francs for a short ride - is far too high for my liking. When I counteroffer half that amount, they refuse.

The translator suddenly offers to take me himself, mentioning that he might be able to fit the bike box into his car if he folds down the back seats. He seems more trustworthy, and his English skills are definitely a plus. We don’t settle on a price, as we’re not even sure the bike box will fit. I quickly head to an ATM inside the airport, but it’s out of service. My driver suggests checking upstairs for more ATMs. Uneasy but with no other option, I leave all my luggage, including the bike box, with him. I simply can’t carry it all. Unfortunately, the ATMs upstairs are no help either - one is turned off, and the other rejects my card. We decide to drive into the city to find a working ATM. Hopefully, this one will work - otherwise, I won’t even be able to pay him. The bike box barely fits into his car, but we manage. Thankfully, the city ATM works, though I hadn’t expected the 500 riyals I withdrew to come out as a single large note. At a gas station, my driver exchanges it for smaller bills.

On the way, he pitches an idea: we should go into the chocolate business together. He’s convinced there must be Swiss chocolate brands that haven’t made it to Saudi Arabia yet.
A true entrepreneur!

I smile and tell him I’ll think about it. Beaming with pride, he shows me his enormous, flashy ring - it’s huge and gaudy, though I keep that opinion to myself.

We’re cruising down a massive five-lane road in each direction. He casually tells me I can pay him whatever I think is fair for the ride. I hand him the equivalent of about 25 Swiss francs, which seems to satisfy him. At his request, we take a selfie together, and he gives me his phone number in case I need anything during my stay.

The bus station is massive, like so many things here - everything feels oversized. In the waiting area, men and women are separated, which is completely normal for the locals but feels unfamiliar and strange to me. I head toward the restroom but abruptly stop when I realize I’d have to walk through the women’s section to get there.

Is that allowed? It seems to be, but this place raises entirely new kinds of questions for me.

On the bus, I initially take a seat in the front row, but I’m quickly informed that these seats are reserved for women.

I move further back and settle in. Saud texts me, explaining that his colleague, who had given him a ride to his car, was in a hurry and couldn’t wait for me at the airport.

The 16-hour bus ride includes several stops with shopping and restroom facilities. I take advantage of every opportunity to stretch my legs, but each time I’m anxious about missing the bus’s departure.

Everywhere I go, I attract attention. Communication relies on a mix of broken English, hand gestures, and a lot of guesswork. Some fellow passengers ask to take photos with me, while others request my phone number. Later, one of them sends me a picture of a plate of rice with tiny ducks on it - not exactly appetizing to me, though he seems proud of it. He must be a bird enthusiast, as he had already shown me photos of his pet falcons earlier.

After a total of 36 hours of travel, I finally arrive at my hotel in Tabuk. What a journey!

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