Rayatona

Mohammad put me up for the night in Rayatona, which was actually the place I stayed at when I first arrived in Saudi back in April.  I was a little disappointed not to be back in the nice hotel, but any place is better than no place so I couldn't complain.  The room they had available was on the forth floor.  It had two twin beds, and was a lot smaller than than the room I had before.  The receptionist showed it to me and asked if it was ok.  He looked dubious.  I got the feeling that this was the worst room, and that usually people say it is too small and ask for something else.  Ever the optimist, I was hoping it would be my only night here, so I didn't mind.  In at least one way it was better than the nicer hotel because the internet connection was really strong.

I asked if there were any small shops within walking distance.  I wanted to buy some food for dinner.  He told me there was nothing, but that I could go on the shopping trip at 7:30.  It was only 4pm now.  I was feeling sick and tired, but more than anything I was hungry.  I didn't want to bother going on the shopping trip, but I knew I needed some food for tonight and in the morning.  So I settled in and wrote some emails letting my old company know I was going to be stuck here another night.  I had planned to take a small nap, but I don't know what happens to the time when you have good internet. The next thing I knew it was 7:25 and I raced down to the lobby so as not to miss the bus.  There were only three of us on the shopping trip that night.  There was a guy who was really talkative, and when he found out I was here for my final exit, he was full of ideas for other places I could get jobs.  I wished I could just tell him that I was all set already, but the less anyone else knows the better, the walls have ears apparently and I just nodded politely.   Most people covet spots at PNU, but I was not interested. He seemed shocked when I told him that I wouldn't want to live in Riyadh.  I knew I was lucky to have been sent to Dammam. Maybe everyone just settles in and enjoys wherever they have been sent.  Maybe I would have liked Riyadh as much as I liked Dammam, but I kind of doubt it. The girl on the bus was a math teacher, and she didn't speak much English, but he tried to help her too.  He wanted to give her an algebra book his daughter didn't need anymore.  I will say one thing, most people I have met here have been really helpful and generous.

As we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, I saw a shwarma shop.  I was tempted to ask to be let off the bus, get a shwarma and just go home, but I wasn't sure if it was a men only shop, and we were already on our way.  Still, I was mad that the receptionist guy hadn't mentioned this place which was only a block away when I asked about shops to get food nearby.  There is such a culture of not walking and driving everywhere in this country, especially for women, I guess he just assumed I wouldn't want to walk anywhere.

When we got to the mall it was prayer time.  Luckily the big grocery store was still open, you just couldn't check out until after prayer.  I took as long as I could in the store.  The bus wouldn't pick us up until 9:30 so I had plenty of time to kill.  Still, when you are only buying three or four things, it really doesn't take long no matter how much you muck about.  I bought three oranges, an onion, some pasta, tomato paste, chicken stock, powdered soup mix, salt (this would be my forth giant thing of salt- good thing it costs less than 50 cents) a tin of canned lunch meat, and as I was checking out I spotted some throat lozenges that would save me a trip to the pharmacy. I hoped I wouldn't be here beyond tomorrow, but if I was, these things could easily last me at least 4-6 meals.  I didn't want to have to go on another one of these shopping trips if I could help it.

Having killed as much time as I felt it was possible to kill, I walked back to the pick up spot.  It was only 8:30 and we still had an hour before we left.  I found our driver laying out on a tiny patch of grass on a little island in the middle of the parking lot.  I asked him to let me onto the bus.  He went to turn the whole bus on to have the AC running, but I didn't want the AC to run for a whole hour, and besides, it wasn't that hot out today, maybe low 90s, ans since the sun had gone down, it wasn't bad at all.  So I went to the very back of the bus and laid down to "read" but was asleep probably within 5 minutes.  I woke up when the bus was turned on and started to move, and I heard the two people I had come with get on the bus.  The driver was pulling out and the woman asked the man about me, if they should wait.  Obviously they hadn't seen me laying down in the back of the bus. " Nah," he said, "she knew the bus left at 9:30, she will get a taxi back."  Good to know, I thought.  In Dammam, the bus would have at least waited 5 or 10 minutes past 9:30.  I thought about it and realized that if I had been left behind, I had absolutely no idea where the hotel I was staying at was, and wouldn't have known how to tell the driver to get there.  I would be sure to ask when I got back.

However, when we got back, we walked into a shouting match between one of the women and one of the security guards that made me forget all about directions.  "Stop spying on us!" she was shouting.  The general desk manager rushed in from his smoking break at the same time we came in.  He asked her what the problem was, and as I skirted around them in the lobby and headed up the stairs I could hear her saying that this man was always watching them, seeing when they came in and out and with whom and would knock on their doors at all times of the day and night just to see if they were in.  She was very upset, but the guard she was accusing, a very small young man, seemed unfazed.  I'm sure he felt he was doing his job, but I'm also sure he was doing it with more gusto and attention than was strictly necessary.

When I got to the room, I set down the groceries and started looking in the cabinets to prepare to cook.  I wish I had looked sooner.  There was one pot with no handle, and about half a dozen glasses, a cheese grater, electric kettle and two small tea saucers.  That was it.  There was no silverware, no frying pan, nothing.  I figured I could make do with just the pot, but at the very least, I would need a spoon.  Sighing, but grateful I hadn't yet taken my abaya off, I went back downstairs.  The girl was still upset and the general manager was trying to calm her down, saying they had security for safety reasons.  She countered, "Safety?  Who is going to keep us safe from him?  He is a pervert.  He isn't trying to protect us he is stalking us.  Anyway, I don't need protecting.  I don't need this mattawa want to be, judging everything I do!"  I hated to interrupt, but I really just wanted the spoon so I could cook my dinner and go to bed.  I tried to ask one of the guys in the crowd that had by now gathered around.  He called another guy over who ran off somewhere, presumably to get a spoon.  The general manager guy, who was clearly uncomfortable and looking for a way out of the situation spotted me out of the corner of his eye and took his chance.  "What do you need?  Can I help you?"  I explained that someone was already helping me, and he looked absolutely crestfallen.  Reluctantly he turned back to the girl who was so deep in her rant she had barely noticed he had turned away.  The guy returned with the spoon, and very thoughtfully, he had also brought me some forks and a knife, which was good thinking since I didn't have those either.

The great Spam disaster.  Notice How the fork is now horribly bent?

I went back upstairs and settled in to begin cooking.  I had bought the chicken "spam" on a whim, and because I thought fried spam would taste really good at the moment.  I knew it would be harder without a frying pan, but I figured the bottom of the pot could work too.  So I went about opening the can, which was kind of like a sardine can crossed with a pack of gum in terms of opening devices.  There was a little handle thing attached to a strip of metal that would in theory easily roll up and leave the top open to pull away.  The thing is, they had attached it at a really weird angle because of the handle at the end of this metal stick, it was really hard to get a good angle and after only one and a half turns, the metal broke off.  I was so frustrated.  At this point, I probably should have given up and made chicken soup instead with the noodles and chicken broth I brought.  But, stubborn girl that I am, I would not give up.  I declared war on this lousy can of tinned meat.  I attacked it vigorously with a knife and after 10 minutes or so (it was a very dull knife) I managed to pry loose another tiny section of the tin strip that supposedly easily peeled away.  It occurred to me at this point that it was possible I could use this new piece and thread it through the handle again and try my luck at rolling it open again.  I thought it was a genius move.  It was, except that it made me realize that earlier, I had mad a stupid move.  The handle is facing the inside of the tin for packing and shipping purposes, but when you go to open it, you should remove it, turn it around, re-thread the needle, and then, wallah, there is free movement of the handle part so that the stick remains parallel to the can and can more easily wind up the strip around the top of the can.  I made it 3/4 of the way around before it broke.  At this point I was so hungry I didn't even care.  I grabbed the spoon and a fork and went to town, scooping out what I could in the limited opening I had made.  

I wish I could say that after all that effort, it was delicious.  Unfortunately, when I tried to cook it, it stuck miserably to the bottom of the pan and was somehow both burnt on the edges and cold in the middle.  I am the worst cook ever.  So in the end, I made the chicken soup after all.  But by the time I made it and ate it, it was well after 11pm.  So much for an early night.  At least with the throat lozenges, my sore throat felt a little better.  So I guess it wasn't a total waste of a shopping trip.