Flexibility

November 24, 2024

It’s finally time to head into the desert.

I start quite late, as it takes some effort to get moving. In a roundabout, a massive Saudi flag flutters in the wind. I’m not sure if it’s the sheer size, the sword depicted on it, or something else, but it feels intimidating. The plan is to cover about 85 kilometers to reach a canyon, which is also near the colossal "The Line" megaproject. This new city will accommodate up to 9 million people, designed as a 170-kilometer-long mirrored structure stretching from the sea deep into the desert. I’ve been told construction is ongoing, day and night.

However, my route doesn’t follow a straight "line" but instead winds in a serpentine path due to the roads and traffic. The three-lane highway offers very little space for me on the side. When I reach a bridge, there’s no space left at all, and the road feels more like a freeway. It’s too dangerous, so I turn right. But soon, I find myself on another major road. How am I supposed to get out of Tabuk this way? And I hadn’t accounted for the extra time either.

Without really knowing how it happened, I find myself sitting at a restaurant with a plate of rice and chicken, facing a stranger.

But let’s start from the beginning: A friendly face in a pickup asks if I’m okay. I try to explain my situation, but he seems to think I’m just lost and suggests I follow him. He drives me back to the large bridge I had just crossed. Clearly, he can't imagine what it's like to be on a bicycle on this road.

When he asks if I’ve had lunch and I say no, he immediately takes me to a restaurant and invites me in. I can leave my bike with all my gear in the pickup. Bender, my lunch companion, notices I’m a bit uneasy about it and asks the lady at the counter to keep an eye on it.

In the upstairs dining area, I face the now-familiar scene of eating with my hands, this time without gloves. After the meal, we head back downstairs, and though the lady at the counter is gone, my belongings are thankfully still safe in the pickup. Bender drives me further out of the city to a shop - his own mixed-goods store, where you can find everything from food to cat trees to drills.

He makes me a perfume as a gift and gives me a Subha, a prayer bead chain. Many people here carry one in their hands. I had hoped he might take me a bit further out of town, as the road here still isn’t great. He seems to notice my discomfort but explains that he can’t take me any further because he has to pick up his six children from school. I thank him warmly, and once again, I’m on my own.

Without really knowing how it happened, I soon find myself sitting on a horse instead of my bicycle.

But let’s rewind: It’s already late, and I realize I won’t reach my destination today. I search online for a budget hotel near the city’s edge and find one. However, to get there, I’d have to cross to the other side of the street - a nearly impossible task.

In a busy, almond-shaped four-way roundabout, I’d have to navigate two traffic circles to get across. Feeling lost, I sit by the side of the road.

Soon, I’m approached by someone in a pickup.

I ask if he can help me get to the other side, and he lets me hop in. Shortly after, he shows me pictures of a German cyclist he hosted about a year ago. Together, they had visited the very canyon I had planned to reach that day.

When I mention this, he tells me that he doesn’t have time to take me there today, but tomorrow would be possible. It turns out he’s not just offering to help me cross the street but also inviting me to his place to meet his horses - and to stay overnight, with a trip to the canyon the next day. On a whim, I agree. Perhaps it’s not such a bad idea to experience the desert from a car for once.

He buys us both coffee. Salah, as he’s called, speaks very little English, but with Google Translate and plenty of hand gestures, we manage to communicate.

He shows me his seven horses, and soon I’m riding one.

During a short ride through the sand, I come across several animal carcasses - a horse, a sheep... It seems the animals are simply left to decay here. It feels a bit eerie.

One of his horses is named “Ros.” “It must be a Swiss horse,” I joke with Salah and explain why. After the brief ride, we sit around the fire with his workers, drinking tea and coffee. I assume Salah lives here and that I’ll be staying for the night, but once again, things take an unexpected turn.

He drives me to a restaurant, where he treats me to dinner. Afterward, he takes me to his actual home, where he lives with his brother, his family, and likely other relatives.

We sit in a large room covered in carpets, and people come and go.

It’s hard to keep track of who lives here, who’s visiting, who’s family, and who’s a friend.

Only men are allowed in this room. The sons are also present, listening attentively to the adults’ conversations, hanging on every word. Salah’s brother continuously sips on the shisha. And this is where I’m supposed to sleep.

The next morning, I’m woken early by Salah’s brother, who wants to quickly smoke shisha - right next to me.

“Sleep on,” he says. And so, I must remain flexible even in my sleep, drifting back off to the bubbling sound of the shisha.

Salah

Different