The Train to Dammam

Why is it that whenever you need sleep the most, you find you can’t fall asleep?  I wasn't yet readjusted to the time zones, finding myself suddenly wide awake at 1 or 2am and sleeping until noon.  This was fine while I had nowhere to be, and frankly, nowhere to go even if I wanted to.  But tomorrow, I was finally taking the train to Dammam.  I needed to be in the Lobby at 8:30am, so I resolved to go to bed early.  I tried everything, counting backwards from 300 by 3s, reading, lullabies, even a glass of warm milk.  Nothing helped.  I finally gave up all together and hoped that lying in bed staring at the ceiling would be restful enough for the day ahead, and hoped I could sleep on the train.

The driver was in the Lobby waiting for me at 8:20 when I came down with my bag.  We loaded up, and I sat in the second row of seats, knowing we would pick up Leila on the way, since she and I were both heading to Dammam.  Only we didn’t.  The driver took a ring road to the highway instead of going through town, and I realized I would be alone on the train after all.  I wondered what had happened.  Had something opened up for her in Riyadh?  Had she decided to go home instead?  Was she coming later on a different train?  I sincerely hoped I would see her again. (another choose your own ending?)

The drive to the train station seemed to take forever, and I began noticing strange things about the roads and driving.  For one thing, there is the main road, and then there is an equally wide side road, separated by a concrete barrier with occasional breaks for switching over.  I thought perhaps this was to separate through traffic from local traffic, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to when my driver chose to use these side roads, so it was hard to tell.  He (and all the other driver’s as well) also seemed to have a hard time understanding the idea of lanes.  Often people drove in the middle of two lanes, or several feet over the line in either direction.  Sometimes this seemed to be for the purposes of cutting over to another lane, but just as often it seemed to  be merely for pleasure.  We passed a sign for ”Industrial City #2” and there were tall buildings in the distance with a beautifully manicured terraced hill of half dead palm trees with what would likely soon be a statue or a fountain in the middle.   There was even green, green, grass, freshly planted, looking so strange in this otherwise beige world.  We took an exit, a turn down a back alley, another turn into a construction zone, and a U-turn, and I was beginning to wonder about just where exactly the driver was taking me, when suddenly we were there.  The train station was a huge building with immense guilded chandeliers hanging overhead and shiny marble underfoot.

 Chandelier in the Riyadh Rail Station

The driver helped me with my bag and took me inside.  Then he pointed to a tiny rectangular shaped trashcan.  He said, “Bag, inside” and pointed to the container.  Sure enough, the outside of it showed pictures of small bags with check marks, and then larger bags with enormous “X”s over them.  I wondered just how long the driver had known that the train did not allow large bags.  When he was loading mine into the back of the van?  I wondered too, if the men in the office who had enthusiastically recommended the train over air travel in the office had known.  He told me to wait and went to the counter with my ticket.  There was much discussion and pointing. Finally, he came back and said, “change, 1:30pm.”  I pointed to my back and asked, “Can I take my bag at 1:30?” knowing it would not magically shrink on its own between now and then.  He shook his head, then called for a Filipino looking man to come over and help translate.  “Yes,” he said, “luggage ok.”  Reassured, my driver led me to the ladies waiting room.  “Wait here?” he asked, “or go home.”  I asked what time it was.  It was 9am.  Four hours seemed like a long time, still, it seemed silly to leave, knowing we should be back at least 2 hours before the train departed, and given that it was at least a half hour drive both ways… I told him I would stay.  He said okay.  He slowly walked away around the corner.  A few seconds later he came back, and asked again.  I took this as a sign he did not feel comfortable leaving me here, so I agreed to “go home.” 

When we got to the hotel, the driver made a copy of my new ticket and I assumed he would pass on the change to them men in the office.  They gave me the key to my old room back, and I settled in to take a two hour nap before we would have to leave again. 

Once again on the road to the airport, I sat on the opposite window side, hoping for a different view.  I was lucky.  I saw not one, but two brightly painted campy looking theme parks, right next to each other.  I thought how strange it would be to be surrounded by rainbow painted rides and candy, with all the women still in black.  None of the roller-coasters were working as I drove past, but I imagined a car full of black clad figures white arms sticking up awkwardly as hijabs flew behind them in the rush of wind as they raced down a steep incline.  I made a mental note to try to go to Al Hassan’s Theme Park before I left the country.

This time, the train station was full of people, many with children, and reassuringly, lots of large bags.  The driver deposited me once again in the Ladies waiting area and pointed to the boarding gate, saying “1:30”.  I thanked him, and settled in to wait the hour and a half before boarding.  I was worried about food.  I had no food left, other than a tin of Quaker Oats, and half of a red onion, but those were in my large suitcase, which was now “checked” and waiting to be loaded onto the train.  I wish I had thought to dig them out while I was waiting for my two hours at the hotel and cook some, but at the time, sleeping had been my priority.  A shop opened up in the lobby area, and I walked over to see if there was any food available for purchase.  It was full of dolls and toys for children, and a few newspapers.  There was no food.  Not even any gum. 

When it was time to board, everyone rushed the gate, headless of lines, in typical Saudi Fashion.  There were two lines, one for women and children, and one for men.  After we passed our bags through an X-ray machine, we walked through a secluded little maze where a woman with a wand casually waved it in front of each woman as she passed by.  Finally cleared, we were now in yet another waiting area, this one marked, singles only.  I started to sit down here, then realized that there were only males sitting down, and proceeded to the Family waiting room instead, where all the women were.  I remembered then that Saudi women were not free to travel without the permission of their husband or another male relative, most often this consent was in the form of his escorting presence. The company would be acting as my “male relative” and all travelling I wish to do while I am here, either domestically, or internationally, must be first approved by them.

Two Camels, can you find both?

I chose a seat by the window and settled in.  At first, I was glued to the scenery, but found quickly there was not much to see.  The windows were clouded with a dusty film to begin with, and as we traveled the wind blew more sand past, often causing a complete white out, so that I could see nothing out the window.  There were occasionally rock formations and low cliffs, but mostly it was sand.  I saw camels several times in the distance, and was surprised to find that they were black.  I have never seen black camels before.  I slept off and on, and luckily woke as a snack cart passed and bought a “hamburger”, which I imagined would be hot in its tin foil wrapper, but was actually cold, nearly frozen in fact, and actually not a hamburger at all but a chicken patty with cheese on a bun.  I ate around the outside, avoiding the coldest part in the middle, then wrapped up the rest to eat later and dozed off again.

Dammam at Sunset

When we finally reached Dammam, the sun was low on the horizon, and looked beautiful against the outlines of the city that would be my home.  The station here was similar to the one in Riyadh, but with an interesting modern looking block design on the outside.  I was getting a little braver about taking pictures, and grabbed a quick one of everyone getting off the train, since everyone was turned the other way and no one was looking at me.  I went outside and looked for my company’s van.  I didn’t see it, but the train was about 10 minutes early so I wasn’t worried and went to collect my luggage from the carousel.  I waited

Dammam  Rail Station

outside for another 20 minutes before realizing that probably no one knew I was coming, since I was meant to be on the morning train.  I cursed myself for assuming the driver would pass this news on, wishing I had thought to send an email when we returned to the hotel.   I had no phone, but I did have a phone number.  I asked a woman next to me if I could borrow her phone to call, but she shook her head and moved away.  I tried someone else, and they too looked confused.  Finally, a third person allowed me to call, but there was no answer.  I was beginning to get worried.  I didn’t know where I was supposed to be staying, so I could not get a taxi.  Finally, I thought on a whim, to try the internet.  I pulled out my tablet and hoped for a Wi-Fi signal.  I was in luck.  I sent an email explaining what had happened and that I was at the Dammam train station with no phone.   Within 5 minutes, they sent an email reply, saying a driver would arrive in 30 minutes.  Relieved, I sat down to wait.  Never had I been more appreciative of technology in my life.  Thank you, Saudi Arabian Railways.