Читать книгу Behind Palace Walls - Cay Garcia - Страница 10

FORTY MINUTES later, to my relief, we pull up outside a three-storey flat complex with very high walls. I am to share an apartment with Mona. She works for the same family – and was my interrogator during the telephonic interview. The driver helps me to the gate with my luggage, and shares one snippet of information with me as he wipes his face with a drenched hanky: ‘Madam, is 45 degrees.”

Three of Saudi Arabia’s largest and most barren deserts border Riyadh. Summers are intensely hot, especially in the city where daytime temperatures sometimes reach over 49°C. The heat is constant. The only thing that makes it half bearable is that it is a dry heat.

He hands me a white box. The abaya.

I ring for Mona on the panel of numbers on the side of the gate. The heat beats down – and I’m still overdressed in my boots and winter gear. As we wait, I look round my new suburb. Cats lie under cars with their tongues swollen and protruding. They are listless and in terrible condition. I love cats, so I foresee a serious problem.

A full thirty five minutes later Mona opens the gate. I am melting in the heat. I ask her if she was sleeping. She wasn’t. Thirty five minutes? Even the driver is clucking as he has had to wait with me.

Through the majestic wrought iron gate, there’s a cluster of sand-coloured buildings. Most suburban buildings are painted shades of yellow to minimise cleaning – sand clings to everything. There is a sparkling pool with tables and chairs round it, and an undercover coffee station.

I later discover that at night this area is alive with music, animated chatter and laughter as residents drink coffee and smoke shisha pipes. In most compounds, there is a corner where people socialise until the early hours. At midday during the week, though, it is forlorn.

Lebanese bankers, interior designers, architects, American medics and English teachers make up this expat compound. Downtown housing tends to be taken by lower-salaried employees, both Saudi and expat. The compounds, depending on the owners and the cultural make-up of their residents, are much more liberal.

The bigger ones have restaurants, supermarkets, gyms, hairdressers and, of course, very active social clubs. Here, life is Western; you can walk around in shorts and a tank top if you wish. Some compounds are for Westerners only, with no Arabs allowed.

The flat is basic, nicely furnished and spacious. Cool air blasts off the walls. A couple of pictures and a pot plant or two will make it more homely. The fridge is stocked for my arrival and my flat mate is welcoming. I would soon find that sharing accommodation with a stranger for the first time since boarding school will stretch my creativity in keeping the peace. I excuse myself to take a quick shower.

Afterwards, I hang up my damp towels. Mona comes into the bathroom after me and straightens them so that they all meet point to point. Though I feel slightly disgruntled, I decide to let it go for now.

Mona is waiting with coffee as I join her at the kitchen table. She briefs me on protocol and hands me a four-page list of instructions to remember. I’m not taking in much – I’m exhausted and hot. Even though the interior is cool, it takes a while to shake the heat from outside. With a proud, smug smile, Mona confesses to being obsessive-compulsive. So that explains her need to straighten my towels.

The princess wants to meet me at six this evening. I need sleep to string a sentence together. I eventually crash for two hours.

My eyes are bloodshot. I shower again. Even in the coolness of my bedroom, the abaya feels stifling and far too long. Only the tips of my fingers stick out and so much fabric is gathered round my feet, it is sure to invite a fall.

The driver who collected me at the airport meets us at the compound gate. Mona has been instructed to accompany me. It is dusk, and Riyadh looks almost magical. Most of the buildings are lit with coloured lights. I feel as if I am looking in on someone else’s life, like I’ve shaken a kaleidoscope to find new sounds, sights and smells.

The landscape is completely flat. At home, mountains or hills help with one’s bearings. Here, the drivers take different routes to and from work each day, so it takes weeks before some areas become familiar. Mona tells me it is done deliberately for security reasons. I still can’t fathom why they feel this is necessary.

On the way to the palace, Mona gives me last-minute instructions on how to stand when addressing royalty. I am not to sit before the princess does and when I walk out, I am not to turn my back on her. I make a mental note to lift my abaya off the floor and wish I’d had time to practice walking backwards.

I scan the protocol list again in the hope of remembering at least half of it before meeting the Princess.