Dubai Airport...or any airport, I suppose...

....is full of tired, cranky, sweaty-arm pitted, smelly, noisy people and I despise them both (people and the airport). But before I get ahead of myself...

We left Shit Towne International more than a half hour later than scheduled (no surprise there) under notice from the skipper that the plane had arrived late and they had turned it around as soon as they could have. Great...the fuckin' tin bird has just got in and now they're going to throw it back in the air again, without much of a rest. Ah well, the China Airlines plane went up in smoke earlier so that was the burnt offering for the day, so our karma was good for the day.

I was pleasantly surprised and shocked all in the space of seconds when I boarded the Emirates EK766 Boeing 777-300. Surprised to see that I had been pre-booked into an aisle seat with some leg-room in front of it, shocked to see that my three companions were rugrats....aarrgghhh!! On top of which, their mum's arms were covered in henna tattoos and she stank like an unwashed hoor (I assumed).

Luckily for me, the plane wasn't full and, doing the Good Samaritan thing, I moved over to an empty row, without the leg space, but with a window view so that I could stretch out and gallantly let the Pong family have the extra seat. As usual, I couldn't get much sleep, but there were a couple of good movies on, including Wild Hogs, which turned out to be better than I expected. A bit of a feel-good movie, but it was quite funny at points.

We landed at Dubai International Airport at 08h35, local time, and walked out the door into an oven.

The heat was overbearing, oppressive, and dry as a good martini. A movement to the left and Clint Eastwood, along with sombrero and ceegar, gets up from his spot under a cactus and takes a pot shot at some cowboy dressed in the obligatory evil black jeans, shirt and hat. Oops...wrong movie, but this wasn't a movie. It was real heat...

Unlike any heat I'd ever felt before, it bore down on me, my scalp pleading to be taken back into the coolness of the air-conditioned plane. Quickly down a flight of stairs, we boarded a bus, expecting a short ride to the terminal. Twenty minutes later, after seeing and smelling a load of smelly armpits from the people hanging onto the overhead straps, we pulled to a stop. Another quick dash into the terminal through the heat and the famous Dubai Duty Free opened up before me.

It really is as fantastic as people say it is, with enough of just about everything you could ever want to take home from abroad. You can even take out a raffle ticket for a Harley Davidson or a BMW 735i which, regardless of where you stay in the world, if you win it they will ship it to your door at no extra charge. There is gold to buy by the ounce. There is booze to buy by the litre. There is electronic stuff to buy by the box load. One thing I did find though, is that I can buy CD's cheaper at home, which although it annoyed me, saved me a few bucks.

I wandered around the place for a good hour and a half, before I decided I needed a rest...and a beer. This is the last stop that I'll get a beer before Riyadh as they don't even have them on the plane going over Saudi air space. I found a nice little comfy chair in the "19 litre" pub and ordered my one and only Kronenburg 1664 pint. It was my one and only as, when I got the bill, noticed that it had just cost me ZAR70!! Fuck that, I'm not that desperate. Maybe in three weeks time I will be, but not yet. Anyway, it was good and I savoured every last drop in the glass. I read my book for a while, watched the people go past, and found myself dozing off as I was relaxing.

I remembered seeing a "Quiet Lounge" on the second level, so I wandered off there to see how quiet it really was. At the top of the escalator was a sign that read "Free lunch for Emirates passengers with a stopover of more than four hours". Hello...I was in that category, so I went in, showed them my boarding pass and had a reasonable lunch for buggerall. After that, I found the Quiet Lounge, found myself a lounger, lay down and within minutes had dropped off to sleep for an hour or so.

I awoke feeling a little chilly due to the air-conditioning and went for a walk to warm up a bit. By then, the gate number for my flight was on the Departures board and I went off to Gate 22 to wait the last hour or so before my connecting flight to Riyadh. Still not fully rested after my overnight flight, I found my head nodding downward, urging me to find somewhere soft to stretch out and sleep. Only once I was in the hotel in Riyadh would I be able to do that though.

The connecting flight was just over an hour and a half long, and we didn't even get to experience the heat deplaning, as we were ushered into one of those tunnels that affix themselves to the aircraft to allow ease of boarding. Customs was painless, except for the ten minute wait in line to see the disinterested soldier who was checking passports. Perhaps he didn't hassle me as my title on my visa said "Marketing Director" rather than "Consultant". The reason for that is that as soon as you're listed as a consultant, you are seen as a technical resource and there is a whole different, lengthy, visa process to be followed. I was just hoping they weren't going to ask me for a business card.

On the carousel, the luggage was already coming out the hole in the ground and making its way round and round, waiting in anticipation for its owner to snatch it off the dizzying merry-go-round. Some of the luggage had been there a while, as it had already started throwing up from motion sickness. Either that, or someone was bringing in liquids in broken bottles. Eventually my case came out of the hole and, before it too got dizzy, I snatched it off and made my way to the x-ray machines where it was scanned to see that I hadn't brought in any booze.

Through the sliding door I went in search of Mustafa, who would be my driver to the hotel. I was expecting some big, robed, Arab but Mustafa was a slightly-built Indian fella who could scarcely see above the crowd to wave my name card in my direction. He introduced himself and grabbed the handle of my suitcase, dragging it off at speed to the car in the basement parking. On entering the parkade, you could feel the heat which, at 8h30pm was still at 36degC. Thank fuck for air-conditioning.

There's a thing for you...if the green fingers crowd wants to moan and protest at anyone who drives big cars that spew loads of carbon monoxide into the air, then they need to visit Saudi Arabia. The Middle East, as I was told in Charleston a couple of weeks ago, is where the Yanks send all their old cars for resale rather than scrap them. Obviously there's more money to be made that way. Mustafa is driving a big V6 Chevy and you can feel the engine growl its way along the highway to town. Everywhere you look, there's big SUV's, Chevy’s, Beamer X5's, Mitsubishi Prado's, Landrovers and Jeeps. Now and then you even see the occasional Hummer.

We get to the hotel after about a half hour ride and Mustafa literally drops me off and disappears into the dust. I get checked in painlessly (I find out later that the Intercontinental Hotel is 5-star rated) and make my way up to the third floor, luggage-man showing me the way. He briefly shows me the lighting system and I say thanks and goodnight. I couldn't tip him as I didn't have any of the local currency yet. After a look around the room, I unpack my case, discovering that due to having had to unpack my case on Thursday when I was supposed to fly out, I'd put my jackets into the cupboard and never packed them again on Monday. After this rigmarole I feel like dropping into bed, but I have a quick, cold, shower (only cos there was no hot water). The cold water is actually lukewarm, so it doesn't really matter.

A quick phone call home to tell Steph I've arrived, but the phone goes to voice as she's out at her Tuesday cooking class. It beats me why that woman wants to do more cooking classes as she's a brilliant cook already and could probably teach the teachers a thing or two. I leave a short message and then send her a text message as we don't always check the voicemail when we get home.

That done, I climb into bed as it's already after 11pm, turn on the TV to see what's on but don't last long before I start nodding off. I decide to rather turn it off and get some sleep.

Up at 7am, I get showered (turns out the hot and cold pipes are switched around compared to back home, but the hot water takes 10mins to come out anyway) and shaved, have breakfast and head back to my room to grab my laptop and bag. Just in time, as my host (let's call him "CC") arrives to pick me up and take me into the office. CC, too, is a Scotsman and has been in and around the Middle East for many years, working for various companies. He actually reminds me of my dad as he's almost as old and has similar habits.

In the office, CC introduces me to a couple of guys, then shuts us in a small interview room where he proceeds to tell me the do's and don’ts of Saudi living. He also gives me a document, written by another British ex-pat, which gives me a run-down of Riyadh. Some of it is quite funny and is written tongue-in-cheek. Riyadh is full of people from all over the place, mainly India, the Philippines and Korea. They are immediately distinguishable from the Saudis as it is only the Saudis that are allowed to wear the national dress and rag on the head (held on with an old fan belt, as per the ex-pat document). The local women are all covered up, with only the eyes showing, and western women are expected to at least cover their arms and legs. In Dubai airport, I saw one local woman wearing her veil over her eyes, but she had her glasses perched on the outside of the veil, making her look like something out of a kiddies TV program.

CC takes me down to the client's offices and I'm appalled to see what sort of condition they house their computers in. If I had not known it was a computer room, I would have sworn it was a workshop. There is crap lying all over the place. Ah well, I'm only here to write a Disaster Recovery Plan for them, not to tell them how to run their data centres. I'd made the mistake of leaving my sunglasses in my laptop bag in the office and by the time we complete the 200m walk back to the car in the dazzling light and heat, I had a splitting headache which, mostly, went away when we turned the car aircon up full.

Back in the office, we chat a while more, swap some project documents I think will be useful and it's time to call it a day. On the road, CC asks me if I need anything to tide me over for the weekend (the Islamic calendar works on a Saturday to Wednesday work week, with Thursday and Friday being the weekend) and I decide to get some bottled water and munchies. He takes me into a store called Tamimi's, which is just like our Pick'n'Pay or Checkers back home. Everything you could need, except for pork products and booze, is on the shelves. There's also alcohol-free beer from Holstein, but I pass on that (what's the point?).

I spend a quiet evening in my hotel room, only coming out for supper, and end up watching some TV to send me off to sleep around 11pm.

On Thursday morning (Virtual Saturday), I wake up around 9am and figure out what I'm going to do for the day. I decide to do something daft...go to the gym. In the end, I spend about an hour on a spinning cycle and an orbital stroller, but at least I got some exercise and I feel better for it afterwards. The rest of the day is spent watching some TV and reading through the project documents I got from Chris, figuring out how much work needs to be done here. I don't believe I need to be here this long, but it all has to do with the strange hours the Saudis work. First prayer is at 4am, second prayer is at 7h30am, third prayer is at midday, fourth prayer is at sunset. And in between, they try and get some work done. The shops are also open at strange hours due to all the praying, sometimes even open until after midnight. The Saudis are night people, caused by the extreme heat during the day. It's still hot at night, rarely dropping below 30degC, except in winter where it might hit freezing point.

Thursday night in the hotel is Seafood Buffet night and I think it should be good. I also decide to try an alcohol-free beer and, while it's not too bad, is not the same. I think it'll be my last. While in Saudi, I get a daily allowance of 400 Saudi Riyals (about ZAR800) and I think it will be plenty. Ha...the bill for the seafood buffet comes to SR188 (almost R380) and I blow my daily allowance in one sitting. Next Thursday I'll go out to Pizza Hut or something to try and save a bit. The rest of the evening I spend in my room, reading a little and watching a movie. There's about 40 TV channels available, of which there are 8 sport (including Supersport 2, our cricket channel, and ESPN and Fox Sports), about 10 movie channels (all with Arabic subtitles), 8 news channels (including Sky News, CNN and Fox News) and about 20 purely Arabic channels (without English subtitles). I can always find something to watch, so flick through the channels without having Steph telling me to stop it. It's after midnight when I put off the light...

Awake just after 7am on Virtual Sunday (Friday), I lie around in bed for an hour or so before turning on Sky News, which I watch until just before 9am. CC has asked me to meet him and IC (Mrs CC) at the golf club for brunch. They're playing golf in this heat!!! Fuckin' loonies... I get to the nine-hole, par 27, golf club just before 10am and hang around until just before 11am, but they don't pitch up (no pun intended). I decide to go back to the hotel and get up to date on my writing, which is where I am right now, in the public lounge, having just had a club sandwich (ZAR80) for lunch. What the rest of the day holds in store for me, I', not sure, but I don't think it'll be very exciting.

Just some other information...Saudi Arabia is not a place you want to bring a western woman. Here, women are treated lower than camel shit (I kid you not) and are seen and not heard. They are all totally subservient to their men, fat bastards most of them, who strut around like they are the kings of all they see. They are not allowed to make eye contact with men and are expected to obey his commands, regardless of how daft they might be. Most royal men have multiple wives and it was told to me that the late King had 39 wives, of which he was allowed only four simultaneously so he was divorced 35 times. On top of that, by those wives, it is rumoured that he had more than 80 children, the youngest 2yrs old at the kings’ death, while the oldest was 61yrs old. Virility certainly seems to be a strongpoint of the Saudi man...

Stand by for Part 2...no time soon though, because I'm not going to be online much. The cost for one hour of wireless network time in the hotel is SR30 (ZAR60) and it eats chunks out of my allowance. CC is going to have to make a plan for me to get onto the company network...

Stay well, y'all...