“Do you like horror movies?” The eyes of the princess danced as she asked the question of the exhausted foreigner. It had been a long, long day but there was no easy answer to the follow up question as the clock neared midnight. She continued, “I love them, shall we go and watch one now?”
Every international officer has a story about days without limits, meals without end and questions without answers. There is something about jet lag which makes you feel you can stay awake forever while being so tired that your brain is pleading for sleep. Fixed eye stares and a ghostly pale pallor were the hallmarks of any overseas trip where time was tight and ambitions exceeded hours in the day.
I was usually fortunate to travel with people who knew the country as well as being looked after by in-country agents intent on showing the best it had to offer. Apart from leaving me in a burning hotel in Mexico and under military inspection on the wrong side of passport control in Vietnam, the international office teams I worked with usually seemed keen to bring me home in one piece. So, in July 2008, a one-week sprint through Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Qatar and Dubai with Craig Smitherman seemed a reasonable idea.
Road to Riyadh
It all began with a 4.30am start to catch a Lufthansa flight from Heathrow to Riyadh via Frankfurt. My first and only time on the German flag carrier, which had all the efficiency and charm expected by an Englishman of a certain age. I could find no evidence that I was travelling on an ex-Interflug aircraft but wrote in my journal that “..now I see how they found a use for the mothballed bomber fleet after the war – not comfortable.”
Two days jammed with meetings in Riyadh included a visit to one agent who offered us a lift back to the hotel rather than getting a taxi. A feature of country visits was to smile and say yes, which was all well and good until we stood in the car park in 44 degrees of sunshine and the agent revealed that his car’s air conditioning had broken. We smiled again and said, “No problem.”
I don’t know how the chicken feels when it goes in the oven but I do know that it is not wearing a suit, tie and lace up, leather shoes. Perhaps as well it wasn’t a t-shirt and shorts because the seat felt hot enough to sear skin. Having the windows down made absolutely no difference, while the screech of brakes, honking horns and frequent curses was a reminder that one commentator has written about Riyadh’s “cruel traffic.”
Eating for England
Flying Riyadh to Jeddah for a single day of end-to-end meetings made good use of time but led to an ad hoc breakfast meeting before the early morning flight next day. From Jeddah to Dammam on the other side of Saudi is only two hours but this was day four and after another 4am start fatigue was setting in. There was a long drive awaiting as we set off through the desert for a session with Saudi Aramco.
Two hours after landing we had driven past a lot of sand and were entering the company’s compound. Driving into the entrance required passing under the business end of a tank and multiple armed guards which were both signs that we were a long way from home. But winning further investment for activity with the university was a reminder that time spent getting face to face in remote outposts almost always paid off.
Then there was lunch. Stomachs still heavy with breakfast we gamely ploughed on through several courses until it became apparent they would keep on coming until we gave up. We did not come, see and conquer as much as chew, nibble and eventually beg for mercy.
The Princess and the Pasta
Beyond replete we went over the bridge to Bahrain and landed in Doha at 7.30 in the evening. Our turnaround in the hotel was 15 minutes and we entered the land cruiser to be met by the agent and a companion she introduced as her cousin. The agent wore a hijab while the cousin wore a niqab.
The first destination of the evening was a shopping mall where Craig and I followed our hosts at a respectful distance. Shops full of jewellery, fabric, ceramics and clothes were perused without purchase. There seemed a certain irony to us trailing several paces behind the women.
Almost inevitably there came time when food was mentioned. Bellies loaded with Jeddah breakfast and Dammam lunch groaned in protest but our faces smiled and our mouths said yes as, 17 hours into the day, we sat down to eat – again. Polite conversation was made and we learnt that the cousin was related to the royal family and was a poet of wide renown in the country who gave readings for the Emir.
It had reached the stage of brain fog where nothing came as a particular surprise. Why wouldn’t we be trying to stuff down the third major meal of the day, in a shopping mall, at eleven o’clock at night, in a foreign country in the company of a poet-princess? All in the good cause of recruiting international students.
Things Of the Night
But the subject turned to films and the princess was expressing her love of old black and white horror movies like Dracula and Frankenstein. Incautiously, I indicated that I was not much for current horror movies but had fond memories of the old Hammer films . I may even have ventured opinions about the various merits of Vincent Price over Christopher Lee.
Seconds later the invitation to go and watch a movie was made. My slightly hazy brain turned over the idea of being in a Qatar cinema at 1am in the morning with a princess by my side as Van Helsing drove a stake through a vampire’s heart. My slightly addled brain was saying that it would be polite to accept the invitation, while something I like to think of as common sense was screeching that this was the worst idea of the day.
I think the offer was real but it’s possible I was being teased. My stuttering apology of early meetings next morning and it having been a very long day were graciously accepted. It’s a regret that I didn’t say yes and I am sure my reluctance was a sign I was not cut from the cloth that makes the best international officers.