Postcard from Riyadh

Last week KA sent me as an emissary of the school to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, to meet with prospective families in the capital of this oil-rich, money-rich nation. For these couple of days I relished the privilege of seeing how the business class treats itself, complete with posh hotel room, expense account, and money for tips. It was an enriching trip from start to finish.

When I landed in Riyadh after the two-hour flight, I could not believe the beauty of the Passport Control area and Baggage Claim—wait, have you ever heard anyone say those words before??! But indeed, the entire receiving area boasted marble floors cradling beautiful Islamic floral designs, and gorgeous fountains. This, this was a lovely first impression of Saudi Arabia!

They were very polite as I passed inspection with my visa and passport (although I still did like that on the back of my passport the Saudia Arabian embassy had affixed a sticker bearing the word, “Target.” It might make you uneasy too!). On the passport form it asked you to claim your religion, a query I don’t believe I have ever had before.

By the time I gathered my bag and went out to the hot, desert sun (at least 15 degrees warmer than in Amman) to wait for my colleague Fatina and her husband to pick me up, I had already noticed what would be my overwhelming constant visual in Riyadh—every single woman I saw was dressed all in black, and all the Saudi men were all in white. By the time I had moved out to the pick-up area, this sartorial mandate had become quite obvious to me. Minutes later when Fatina and hubby arrived (as a reminder, Fatina and I are history department colleagues at KA, her husband is an engineer still living and working in Riyadh, and Fatina is a delightful friend, resplendent every day in bright colors—except when she is back in her previous hometown of Riyadh) and they whisked me off to our hotel, the Intercontinental, where we would meet with these families in a few hours.

On the way into the heart of Riyadh, the newness of all the buildings mesmerized me. While not as busy with new construction projects as Dubai, I couldn’t see anything that looked older than 1970. Where were the shabby-chic-cute souks where merchants who looked like Sydney Greenstreet in Casablanca hawked their wares of ancient carpets, antique silverware, and, I don’t know, magic potions? Block after block contained the shiny, silvery, sacred mountains to commerce and progress and fiduciary largesse. Fatina pointed to the tallest building in town, maybe 80-90 stories or so, built by the 5th richest person in the world. This metallic rectangle looked like it had an ice cream scoop taken right out of the middle of the building! A couple blocks away sat a building, the august Department of Interior, whose design resembled an alien ship that had landed right on this plot of desert land. It is about a 40 minute drive to the hotel, and one of the things I have noticed in these explorations of the modern Middle East megalopolis—they are trying so hard to show the world how modern they are; nay, not just modern, downright futuristic. Successful cities in contemporary America can hardly claim such architectural audacity! If you know the work of architects Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid—imagine their cool, radical, shape-shifting buildings block after block of each other, interspersed with American fast food franchises and ritzy stores.

A couple of hours later, Fatina and I (accompanied by her husband as chaperone—more on this later) await any prospective families for our info session. I learned from her that KA is not allowed to advertise in any print media to solicit potential families. The Ministry of Virtue and Vice (again, more on that later) has deemed that our school in Jordan will corrupt the youth, especially girls, so the school has to spread the word rather clandestinely. The sign in the hotel lobby lists the travel agency handling our travel affairs so that the name KA does not appear publicly. Fatina will take any women interested in our spiel up to her suite, since we are not allowed to convene men and women together.

A handful of people soon arrive, and I take the men to the meeting room, show the DVD, and begin talking about the school. It seems they are not terribly interested in the curriculum of the school, but very keen to know about the co-educational mores, discipline, and how students are punished. “Girls and boys are forbidden in the opposite gender’s dorms,” I reassured them, and explained that depending on the infraction, there are demerits, suspensions, or expulsions. One father asked me, “Do you beat the children?” and for a moment, I thought he was kidding. I don’t think there is much kidding in Saudi for some reason. No wonder our school seems so radical in this world! I enjoyed talking to the small gathering—who are we kidding? I love talking!

That evening we three went out to dinner, to an Indian restaurant nearby. Simply out of curiosity I asked, “How far away are we by plane from India (not quite sure how far east I had flown today)?” “Oh, about two hours I guess by plane, “said Fatina’s husband. Wow…this is a long way from my Midwestern roots. When we arrived I saw the handiwork of the Ministry of Virtue and Vice. There was a section for single men, and a section for families. Unmarried men and women may not go out to restaurants together. Thank goodness Fatina’s husband was in town, so we comprised a family. You are seated in the family section in a cubicle of your own—everyone is—and then curtains are drawn. No one can see you as you eat, and sadly for the voyeurs amongst us, you cannot see anyone else either. You have a buzzer in your isolation booth and that is how you command the waiter to your table.

By the end of that first evening, I looked back on those first few hours, and I made a mental note—still every single woman I saw, totally all in black, and almost half of them totally covered, eyes included, gloves on hands, protected from the gaze of any man. And again, the men, long white robe (called a thobe) crowned with the towel-like head garb (called a ghudra) topped with the black coil to keep it in place. No individuality expressed in their wardrobe!

It was fun to gather some more information about life in this seemingly contradictory city—a city with such radical, futuristic buildings, conjoined with what seems to me a conservative, repressed, social structure. “Riyadh” means “garden” in Arabic, and long-ago it was an important stop, an “oasis town,” on the fabled desert caravan routes. As we drove around town I was reminded that it is illegal for women to drive a car.

I learned the following day practically nothing was open on Friday in this city of 5 million people until prayers had been completed at 4 P.M. So I worked on my grades for class and went to the fitness center at the hotel. Of course, women do not have a fitness center option, and even in the men’s area it was totally about modesty. The changing rooms and showers were not just private, they were like individual meat lockers, floor to ceiling enclosed and no possible way to intrude on personal space. Almost like you were vacuum-sealed. Anyway, the steam room was great.

We visited the National Museum of Saudi Arabia, and again, I was humbled by my lack of knowledge about the history of the country. It is a shrewdly designed museum, definitely a museum designed to awe the viewer about the history of the Saudis. The museum is divided into areas—pre-Islamic, and then slowly up the escalator, psychologically taking you to the heights of the Islamic presence and grandeur. Let us not forget that the King of Saudi Arabia is the guardian of the two most important mosques in all of the Islamic world (Mecca and Medina for those of you eager to learn). Speaking of the King, according to Fatina, King Abdullah (not the same one as in Jordan) is in the Guinness Book of World Records for having squired the largest royal family currently in power (something like 4 dozen children, borne by oh, well, many wives—who knows how many!! The children range in age from 10 to their 40s). The wives of the King are not as public and busy as Queen Rania in Jordan—no doubt, due to the dictum that women must not be seen, heard, etc. The museum was great—first time in a museum since my farewell visit to the Met in New York in late June—sigh.

How can you go to a contemporary city and not visit a Mall????? A sumptuous commercial palace it was too—and sociologically another stunning opportunity to see Saudi culture in full bloom. Stores close during the time of evening prayers, but one can stroll, heathens all of us, and take in the sights. I could not escape the stark opposites of the men in white, successful hands cupping their generous stomachs, trailed by their black cones of wives and daughters. As stores re-opened, I spied the Food Court—always a welcome sight! At the McDonald’s they followed the rules too—there were two lines for ordering food—one for men and one for “ladies” complete with a partition (laden with ads, natch!) dividing the lines and genders. I was reminded of an editorial I read recently in Time that quoted an old adage: in the West people make love in public and pray in private; in the East, it is the opposite.

I considered it an honor to be asked by the school to represent them as they hoped to spread the word of our brand-new school. I did give up an exciting event however—back in Amman my new friends were all getting decked out at that moment in formal attire to enjoy the Marine Corps ball sponsored by the American Embassy—fancy clothes, communal fellowship, lots of dancing, schmoozing, and who knows…but I got a peek into a very unusual world—obvious money, luxurious hotels, good food, ultra-Jetsons like architectural tableaux, and the medieval social practices of the Saudi Arabians.

That evening I settled onto the hotel bed with all the fancy pillows, grabbed the remote, and after a moment or two of channel surfing, guess what I saw on the TV—Desperate Housewives. Honest! Wow…