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John got the call as we were packing up and getting ready to catch our flight to Tabuk. There were no details as of yet, only that there had been “an incident” in Tabuk and that said incident could thoroughly mess up our next site investigation. All we knew for certain was that we would no longer have local transportation provided for us. We were on our own.
Once on the ground, I needed to get a car – something big and fast would be my first choice. We were learning more about the incident itself, and the phrase “revenge squads” kept coming up in conversation. My choice was the fastest car on the lot, a Lexus ES 350. It had an annoying turbo lag, but seemed quick enough and stout enough to get us out of trouble with alacrity. It was also a shiny black Lexus, which made us look like big shots, and hopefully, the big shots weren’t going to get harassed.
The incident, as it was eventually revealed, was a traffic accident between an American in a large SUV and an unhelmeted Saudi motorcyclist. The motorcyclist didn’t survive the encounter. Enshallah.
On occasion, this sort of incident can get the people riled. Just imagine that you’re the mob, and one of your own has just been offed by an infidel. Would you accept the decision of your god to take this pilgrim’s life, or would you thrash out at anyone who believes differently than you? From my point of view, this was a matter of expecting the best, but planning for the worst.
Ultimately, there were no incidental issues, and we got to tool around Tabuk in a flash car for a couple of days. There were other issues, of course. There are always other issues.
Typically, expatriates in Saudi Arabia are housed in western compounds, where we have a lesser chance of subverting the pious. In the north, this was a group of single story villas within three perimeters and also within the base perimeter – they really didn’t want us sullying the people there. The villas were constructed by the Corps of Engineers in the 1960s to house their people while constructing the adjacent Military City, and it showed. Each villa was equivalent – an old, dirt colored concrete building with fifty year old dirty finishes on dirt lots barren of practically all vegetation. The neighborhood looked like those fake cities that the Department of Energy set up to test nuclear weapons – the empty towns with scattered toys and clotheslines. Sort of depressing, but we did get local fare within a few miles, so we ate well.
In Tabuk, I think the villa complex was originally built by Aramco. It was encircled by a couple of four meter concrete and razor wire walls. Here we had a nice two story villa with regular internet access and irrigated, fruited grounds. The problem was the camp restaurant. Not that the food was bad, but the service sure was. Our last night there, one of us ordered the special, baked lasagna. Now, you’d think that serving the special lasagna would be a matter of spatula-ing a hunk out of the pan, tossing it on a plate with the vegetable du jour and bringing it to the table, but you’d be wrong.
Who knows what they were doing, but they eventually served a stone cold corner section, and only after our other two diners had finished their meals entirely. We swore we’d never return which, in all likelihood, is exactly what will not happen. Not much of a threat since the project doesn’t require we come back.
Back in Riyadh, we’ve been staying at Eskan Village, a very large complex of single and two story villas with multistory, multifamily structures at one end of the compound. There’s room for a few thousand residents. Back in the middle of the last century, the Saudi government thought that they should bring the camel herding nomads in from the desert and set them up all civilized like. It didn’t stick. The American armed forces (and flunkies, sycophants, and hangers on), however, seem to like it here, and for good reason. The villas are nice.
Ours have been single storied, three bedroom places, with modern kitchens and baths. The entire roof is accessible and under shade (a nice spot for one of the Cuban cigars they sell at the haji store). There’s cable TV and daily towel service. Plus, the restaurant has well trained servers, a varied and fresh menu, and they serve bacon. Tasty, tasty bacon. Upstairs, they serve beer. Tasty, tasty beer. It’s not like I’m an addict, but when someone tells me that their god arbitrarily says I can’t have something, I want that something.
We haven’t tried the pool, or the driving range, the spa or the gym, but I’m sure they’re very nice, too.
We’ll hit the final western compound for my last couple of nights in country. Word is that it’s the best one of all.
Read More......
2013-11-29
Curses!!!
When I woke up this morning in Tabuk, I was only eight flights from home. I hadn’t been so far away since I found myself in remote northern Afghanistan. No helicopter rides will be required to facilitate my return, but it will take six different airlines – seven if you count United Express, and eight overall. Add to that seven cities in two countries, ten different beds and four different rental cars over four or five weeks, and it’s no wonder my brain is hanging upside down.
So far, so fun, though, except for our reentry into Riyadh a week ago. We had spent a few days in a rundown western compound within a large Saudi military –industrial complex in the north and needed to head back to the capital to drop off most of the traveling circus and to spend a couple days to catch up with the work before heading into the field again. Our client was driving the lead vehicle, our US Army major had the second, and I took the rear.
The drive was scheduled to take five or six hours, and would have, but we tended to stop every hour or so at a truck stop for snacks and biologics. This slowed us down, as did the sometimes heavy rain, so we had only made it to the outskirts of the city in five and a half hours, with the sun close to set and afternoon traffic in full swing.
In Riyadh, afternoon traffic is hardly distinguishable from morning, noontime, or evening traffic. It’s awful. It’s crowded. It’s manic. Now, it would be one thing to simply drive through town to our hotel, have the valet park the cars, and retire to a nice Japanese meal at the Radisson. Yeah, that would be nice. In reality, we drove to the city center, then down some minor avenue to the Sheraton, where we dropped off three of our crew. They needed to be downtown to facilitate some meetings the next day.
I would have liked to have made a left turn out of the hotel and headed back to the highway. Yeah, I would have liked that, too. Left turns at the time were not going to happen. The four lane road was hosting six lanes, and none of them had any gaps in the traffic large enough to fit three large left turning SUVs. So we turned right, into the heart of it. Somehow, the traffic got thicker, so it quickly became a chore to keep behind the leading vehicle, then it became a struggle to keep only a single local car between our convoy components, and then I turned on the offensive.
Being a nice driver would have been a recipe for disaster. One local car slipping between us would have turned to two, three, or ten, and before you know it, the lead vehicle would have been out of sight. Maybe this wouldn’t have been so bad, except that it was dark, sort of raining, we had no maps or GPS, and we really weren’t sure where we were headed. Our lead car did, sort of, know where we were going, but he had never got there from the Sheraton, so dead reckoning was the call.
We found the Sheraton after crawling for an hour. We found our intended accommodations at Eskan Village three and a half hours later, a distance of no more than 16 crow flying kilometers. It didn’t help that numerous highway underpasses were flooded and/or closed. It didn’t help that our Major driver was an Army aviator, who was more used to flying over obstacles than driving through them.
At one point, the lead vehicle was making another u-turn, and the trailing two vehicles were forced to make the maneuver after the signal turned red, scoring us a couple of flashes from the traffic control cameras (I’ll include my 500 Riyal ticket on my expense report). At one of the underpasses, floodwaters were over the floorboards, and we had to pass through that one twice. At another point, it was very dark, still raining, and I swear we were driving through a landfill.
I eventually lost interest in the task, and was about ten minutes from taking charge when we finally reached our destination, where we spent an hour getting through security and finding our hooches.
Totally worth it.
The final hour, I mean, not the three and half that preceded it. I’m not particularly subject to flashbacks, but the endless drive around Riyadh reminded me too much of crossing the wire in the sandbox, except for the lack of weapons. Driving a single vehicle would have been no problem, but keeping the convoy together when there was an unclear plan of attack was no less than stressful.
Someone said that Mark Twain said that "I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them." When I first heard this, I didn’t know if the subject was people in general, like you would travel with on a plane or shared highway, or people in specific, like those you would have in your vehicle or tour group.
Now, I’m pretty sure he meant both.
Read More......
So far, so fun, though, except for our reentry into Riyadh a week ago. We had spent a few days in a rundown western compound within a large Saudi military –industrial complex in the north and needed to head back to the capital to drop off most of the traveling circus and to spend a couple days to catch up with the work before heading into the field again. Our client was driving the lead vehicle, our US Army major had the second, and I took the rear.
The drive was scheduled to take five or six hours, and would have, but we tended to stop every hour or so at a truck stop for snacks and biologics. This slowed us down, as did the sometimes heavy rain, so we had only made it to the outskirts of the city in five and a half hours, with the sun close to set and afternoon traffic in full swing.
In Riyadh, afternoon traffic is hardly distinguishable from morning, noontime, or evening traffic. It’s awful. It’s crowded. It’s manic. Now, it would be one thing to simply drive through town to our hotel, have the valet park the cars, and retire to a nice Japanese meal at the Radisson. Yeah, that would be nice. In reality, we drove to the city center, then down some minor avenue to the Sheraton, where we dropped off three of our crew. They needed to be downtown to facilitate some meetings the next day.
I would have liked to have made a left turn out of the hotel and headed back to the highway. Yeah, I would have liked that, too. Left turns at the time were not going to happen. The four lane road was hosting six lanes, and none of them had any gaps in the traffic large enough to fit three large left turning SUVs. So we turned right, into the heart of it. Somehow, the traffic got thicker, so it quickly became a chore to keep behind the leading vehicle, then it became a struggle to keep only a single local car between our convoy components, and then I turned on the offensive.
Being a nice driver would have been a recipe for disaster. One local car slipping between us would have turned to two, three, or ten, and before you know it, the lead vehicle would have been out of sight. Maybe this wouldn’t have been so bad, except that it was dark, sort of raining, we had no maps or GPS, and we really weren’t sure where we were headed. Our lead car did, sort of, know where we were going, but he had never got there from the Sheraton, so dead reckoning was the call.
We found the Sheraton after crawling for an hour. We found our intended accommodations at Eskan Village three and a half hours later, a distance of no more than 16 crow flying kilometers. It didn’t help that numerous highway underpasses were flooded and/or closed. It didn’t help that our Major driver was an Army aviator, who was more used to flying over obstacles than driving through them.
At one point, the lead vehicle was making another u-turn, and the trailing two vehicles were forced to make the maneuver after the signal turned red, scoring us a couple of flashes from the traffic control cameras (I’ll include my 500 Riyal ticket on my expense report). At one of the underpasses, floodwaters were over the floorboards, and we had to pass through that one twice. At another point, it was very dark, still raining, and I swear we were driving through a landfill.
I eventually lost interest in the task, and was about ten minutes from taking charge when we finally reached our destination, where we spent an hour getting through security and finding our hooches.
Totally worth it.
The final hour, I mean, not the three and half that preceded it. I’m not particularly subject to flashbacks, but the endless drive around Riyadh reminded me too much of crossing the wire in the sandbox, except for the lack of weapons. Driving a single vehicle would have been no problem, but keeping the convoy together when there was an unclear plan of attack was no less than stressful.
Someone said that Mark Twain said that "I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them." When I first heard this, I didn’t know if the subject was people in general, like you would travel with on a plane or shared highway, or people in specific, like those you would have in your vehicle or tour group.
Now, I’m pretty sure he meant both.
Read More......
2013-11-21
Chiller
The display on the Expedition’s dash says that it’s 24 degrees outside, but I don’t believe it. I wouldn’t go any higher then 17, although I do think it’s rising. Regardless, it’s even colder in the facility we’re working on and in, and I’d already spent a couple hours outside on the windy and overcast tarmac in my shirtsleeves, so I came out to the vehicle to run the heater for a bit. I didn’t exactly plan for sweater weather when I packed my kit for this trip, but there you are, or rather, here I am, freezing my proverbial nads off on a fine desert afternoon.
Well, not really fine. The thunder woke me up at 0300 or so, and rain was still falling when I first stuck my head out the door around 0600. Our planned very early start was delayed and the rain had stopped by 0700, so I left the raincoat on a chair, shrugged off the leather coat I was saving for my December arrival in the Middle West, and headed to work.
There was only one general at our inbrief, and only a brigadier at that. I was sorely disappointed, but only sort of. He had fabulous snacks – bowls of dates dipped in dhibs, small platters of pastries, assorted nuts, bottled water, and the tea boy brought small cups of some piping hot ginger-clove tea. Steve and I made sure to try each of the varieties of tiny pastries so that we could circle back on the best ones – scientific methodologists to the end.
At a later meeting with one of the contractors working here, I only got a cup of weak, sweet coffee, but no snacks. Most of the other scheduled meetings have had tea served, sometimes strong and black, sometime strong and a little sweet, but always really hot. The best beverage so far was some ginger and herb infusion that followed the first round of tea. I couldn’t tell you where or when at this point. There’s been a lot of meetings, and an awful lot of tea.
The best snacks, though, were at the date factory.
We had a relatively slack day on Saturday, manufactured by our decision to stay at Al Qassim for the weekend instead of driving back to Riyadh. Either way, we would have to head to our current site eventually, so sticking around meant less driving overall, and there’s still a lot of driving remaining. We really didn’t mind the two hours down to Al Koht, where we called Mr.Dilham, who sent his driver to escort us from the giant tea pot at the interchange to his facilities.
The area was unlike any part of Saudi I had seen up until then. We dropped through a steep cut in a high mesa to town, and then followed a fertile valley upstream, through palm farm after palm farm, until we arrived at a large collection of structures backed up against a shear wall of sedimentary rock. This was the signature facility of the Al Fakhra Date Company, although I had only known them through one of their retail outlets, this one in Abu Dhabi, called Bateel. It became evident that it was one in the same once we sat down in their well appointed conference room and I recognized the stuffed dates we were served as those I had found in their shop last year sometime.
We had dates stuffed with orange, dates stuffed with walnuts, date cookies, and some type of sparkling faux wine with some type of date based fortification. And tea, and coffee, and water. It was only after we had sat for most of an hour snacking, watching the corporate video, and chatting with our host did we finally start the plant tour. We walked through the receiving and sorting warehouses, to the huge refrigerated storage building, then to the factory floor, where the dates were sorted, cleaned, and sorted again prior to packaging and further processing. Some of the premium dates went to be stuffed. Many of the less than premium rejects went to the dhibs process, where something akin to honey was pressed out of them.
Then it was back to the conference room for more tea and more talk. Soon enough, we toured their offices and then headed to a rooftop for a small snack of fried chicken, eggrolls and hummus, then back to the conference room for one more round of talk, another round of tea, and presentation of a couple of kilos of dates to each of the eight of us as we made our extended goodbyes. Out hosts for the rest of this tour are going to have to step it up a notch.
Throughout the outing, the plant manager graciously answered all of our questions about productivity and processes, but what he really wanted to talk about was how well he was managing his staff. He painted himself as their benevolent father. Calm but firm. Kind and disciplined. Eager to teach them about how to behave in a modern business, and how to behave in a western restaurant – sitting in chairs, using forks – that sort of thing. Feed them cake, show the love, but never forget the iron fist of leadership. Be vague about assignments, yet micromanage.
Honestly, it made me a little dizzy. Still, it was a plant tour, so I’ll claim a couple of hours of continuing education credits for my next license renewal.
We could have stayed longer, and would have probably been invited to dinner, but dark was fast approaching and we wanted to get back to Al Qassim in daylight. It was raining lightly as we got in our vehicles and worked our way towards the highway. There are plenty of dangerous road conditions here. Driving after dark is definitely one of them, but light rain might be the worst. The roads here are mostly asphalt, and they’re built well, so they last a long while. The trouble with road longevity is that the pavement abrasiveness tends to decrease over time, so the roads get slick. Add a layer of motor oil and heavy dust and they get more slick. Now add a little rain and traction becomes seriously compromised.
As I pointed the Excursion down the on ramp, there was a jack-knifed semi on the mainline just before the merge, and cars sliding into the median and shoulders from both sides. We crept with the trucks down a long steep hill at about 40 kph, while the opposing traffic was jammed solid as they inched uphill. Of course, the wipers sucked and we ran out of fluid, but we did make it back at dusk, just in time to head out for more shwarma.
Read More......
Well, not really fine. The thunder woke me up at 0300 or so, and rain was still falling when I first stuck my head out the door around 0600. Our planned very early start was delayed and the rain had stopped by 0700, so I left the raincoat on a chair, shrugged off the leather coat I was saving for my December arrival in the Middle West, and headed to work.
There was only one general at our inbrief, and only a brigadier at that. I was sorely disappointed, but only sort of. He had fabulous snacks – bowls of dates dipped in dhibs, small platters of pastries, assorted nuts, bottled water, and the tea boy brought small cups of some piping hot ginger-clove tea. Steve and I made sure to try each of the varieties of tiny pastries so that we could circle back on the best ones – scientific methodologists to the end.
At a later meeting with one of the contractors working here, I only got a cup of weak, sweet coffee, but no snacks. Most of the other scheduled meetings have had tea served, sometimes strong and black, sometime strong and a little sweet, but always really hot. The best beverage so far was some ginger and herb infusion that followed the first round of tea. I couldn’t tell you where or when at this point. There’s been a lot of meetings, and an awful lot of tea.
The best snacks, though, were at the date factory.
We had a relatively slack day on Saturday, manufactured by our decision to stay at Al Qassim for the weekend instead of driving back to Riyadh. Either way, we would have to head to our current site eventually, so sticking around meant less driving overall, and there’s still a lot of driving remaining. We really didn’t mind the two hours down to Al Koht, where we called Mr.Dilham, who sent his driver to escort us from the giant tea pot at the interchange to his facilities.
The area was unlike any part of Saudi I had seen up until then. We dropped through a steep cut in a high mesa to town, and then followed a fertile valley upstream, through palm farm after palm farm, until we arrived at a large collection of structures backed up against a shear wall of sedimentary rock. This was the signature facility of the Al Fakhra Date Company, although I had only known them through one of their retail outlets, this one in Abu Dhabi, called Bateel. It became evident that it was one in the same once we sat down in their well appointed conference room and I recognized the stuffed dates we were served as those I had found in their shop last year sometime.
We had dates stuffed with orange, dates stuffed with walnuts, date cookies, and some type of sparkling faux wine with some type of date based fortification. And tea, and coffee, and water. It was only after we had sat for most of an hour snacking, watching the corporate video, and chatting with our host did we finally start the plant tour. We walked through the receiving and sorting warehouses, to the huge refrigerated storage building, then to the factory floor, where the dates were sorted, cleaned, and sorted again prior to packaging and further processing. Some of the premium dates went to be stuffed. Many of the less than premium rejects went to the dhibs process, where something akin to honey was pressed out of them.
Then it was back to the conference room for more tea and more talk. Soon enough, we toured their offices and then headed to a rooftop for a small snack of fried chicken, eggrolls and hummus, then back to the conference room for one more round of talk, another round of tea, and presentation of a couple of kilos of dates to each of the eight of us as we made our extended goodbyes. Out hosts for the rest of this tour are going to have to step it up a notch.
Throughout the outing, the plant manager graciously answered all of our questions about productivity and processes, but what he really wanted to talk about was how well he was managing his staff. He painted himself as their benevolent father. Calm but firm. Kind and disciplined. Eager to teach them about how to behave in a modern business, and how to behave in a western restaurant – sitting in chairs, using forks – that sort of thing. Feed them cake, show the love, but never forget the iron fist of leadership. Be vague about assignments, yet micromanage.
Honestly, it made me a little dizzy. Still, it was a plant tour, so I’ll claim a couple of hours of continuing education credits for my next license renewal.
We could have stayed longer, and would have probably been invited to dinner, but dark was fast approaching and we wanted to get back to Al Qassim in daylight. It was raining lightly as we got in our vehicles and worked our way towards the highway. There are plenty of dangerous road conditions here. Driving after dark is definitely one of them, but light rain might be the worst. The roads here are mostly asphalt, and they’re built well, so they last a long while. The trouble with road longevity is that the pavement abrasiveness tends to decrease over time, so the roads get slick. Add a layer of motor oil and heavy dust and they get more slick. Now add a little rain and traction becomes seriously compromised.
As I pointed the Excursion down the on ramp, there was a jack-knifed semi on the mainline just before the merge, and cars sliding into the median and shoulders from both sides. We crept with the trucks down a long steep hill at about 40 kph, while the opposing traffic was jammed solid as they inched uphill. Of course, the wipers sucked and we ran out of fluid, but we did make it back at dusk, just in time to head out for more shwarma.
Read More......
2013-11-16
Poppe Wanted a Turkish Coffee.
Poppe wanted a Turkish coffee, so we walked to the Bon Café drive through on the way back from lunch. It’s open 24/7/365, except for prayer time five times a day. Even now, I’m not sure what to think of my cappuccino, as the thought of a Turkish coffee so close to Turkey had me wary. It was hotter than blazes, thick, and immensely powerful. I probably won’t need another dose until tomorrow. And silt. Lots and lots of silt.
Fortunately, it only cost me 10 Riyals – cheap anywhere for a froo froo coffee. On the whole, this seems the right cost. I bought lunch for four of us for 65 Riyals, about 17 bucks, and we were stuffed – hence, the need for strong coffee. It’s been worse, costwise. The lunch buffet at the Radisson in Riyadh was 208 Riyals (you do the math). Expensive, but the lamb was mighty tasty.
Riyadh was another huge middle eastern capital city. Not quite as chrome and glass as Abu Dhabi or Dubai, but still expansive, crowded, and dusty. Traffic was horrible. Not as crowded as Cairo, but the drivers are worse and they tend to drive large American cars and SUVs. No shit, I think the most popular car here is the Crown Victoria, followed closely by the Grand Marquis. It’s like a step into the past, except that they all look to be of fairly recent vintage. Of course, if could be that the arid desert climate keeps them pristine, but if that was the case, we should be seeing more thirty year old Tatas.
[Actually, I have no clue if Indian cars were ever imported into “The Kingdom”, or if it was even an automobile manufactory thirty years ago, it’s just that women are very rarely on the street, and those that are are very well hidden – so it’s just Freudian.]
I eventually choked down the coffee, but fluidization is paramount here, so I’m now enjoying (if that’s the word) a Green Apple Flavored Budweiser Non Alcoholic Malt Beverage. Perhaps one day, centuries from now, real beer will be available here, but I’m not counting on any change very soon. The cultural restrictions here are too deeply ingrained. Meanwhile, the GAFBNAMB isn’t horrible, probably better than the Tang they serve for breakfast, so I’ll likely have another. There are small shops scattered generously around the hotel, so a new supply of beverages is easy to obtain, along with some tasty local dates and, as has become the norm on these excursions, ice cream after dinner.
The ice cream selection isn’t nearly as good as in Japan, but ice cream is, usually, ice cream. I say “usually” because Jim and I stopped at a small shop in Riyadh while walking around last week and what they scooped and served to us looked like the real deal, but must have had something extra to prevent melting. Perhaps it was latex, I can’t be sure, but it was sort of rubbery, and I broke the little spoon.
With the free time we have today, a group of us will head south from Al Qassim to Al Koht, where we are scheduled to tour a date plantation and factory, and perhaps check out a heritage village. It’s sure to beat spending another day in a crowded conference room. Besides, we leave Al Qassim tomorrow for points north, and I’ll probably never have another chance to see the sites of this district.
This tour started in Riyadh, the seat of government and, for my purposes, the seat of the Ministry of Defense and its assorted acronymic agencies. Over the next few weeks, we’ll visit four more sites and do our thing. I’m not entirely sure how the Saudi Land Forces are organized, but our meetings thus far have been a little top heavy, with three generals attending the first and two more generals attending the last. Fortunately, as aviators, they all speak pretty good English, so it’s easier to get various points across. “No problem” is a common phrase, but I think that’s just them trying to sound accommodating – some things are a real bono fide and actual problem, which is why they hired us.
But we solve problems like these all the time, so logistics have been the biggest problem. There are twelve of us on this traveling squad, so our ability to modify plans on the fly is severely curtailed. It also means a three vehicle convoy (we’re driving borrowed USG Expeditions) and an hour to check in and out of each hotel, which means slow going most of the time. No problem. After the second week, the bulk of the group will head home, and we should be down to a more manageably sized contingent.
Word of advice – avoid the restaurant at the Al Qassim Ramada. There is a line of schwarma shops just down the street who do a fine job. Visit them instead.
Read More......
Fortunately, it only cost me 10 Riyals – cheap anywhere for a froo froo coffee. On the whole, this seems the right cost. I bought lunch for four of us for 65 Riyals, about 17 bucks, and we were stuffed – hence, the need for strong coffee. It’s been worse, costwise. The lunch buffet at the Radisson in Riyadh was 208 Riyals (you do the math). Expensive, but the lamb was mighty tasty.
Riyadh was another huge middle eastern capital city. Not quite as chrome and glass as Abu Dhabi or Dubai, but still expansive, crowded, and dusty. Traffic was horrible. Not as crowded as Cairo, but the drivers are worse and they tend to drive large American cars and SUVs. No shit, I think the most popular car here is the Crown Victoria, followed closely by the Grand Marquis. It’s like a step into the past, except that they all look to be of fairly recent vintage. Of course, if could be that the arid desert climate keeps them pristine, but if that was the case, we should be seeing more thirty year old Tatas.
[Actually, I have no clue if Indian cars were ever imported into “The Kingdom”, or if it was even an automobile manufactory thirty years ago, it’s just that women are very rarely on the street, and those that are are very well hidden – so it’s just Freudian.]
I eventually choked down the coffee, but fluidization is paramount here, so I’m now enjoying (if that’s the word) a Green Apple Flavored Budweiser Non Alcoholic Malt Beverage. Perhaps one day, centuries from now, real beer will be available here, but I’m not counting on any change very soon. The cultural restrictions here are too deeply ingrained. Meanwhile, the GAFBNAMB isn’t horrible, probably better than the Tang they serve for breakfast, so I’ll likely have another. There are small shops scattered generously around the hotel, so a new supply of beverages is easy to obtain, along with some tasty local dates and, as has become the norm on these excursions, ice cream after dinner.
The ice cream selection isn’t nearly as good as in Japan, but ice cream is, usually, ice cream. I say “usually” because Jim and I stopped at a small shop in Riyadh while walking around last week and what they scooped and served to us looked like the real deal, but must have had something extra to prevent melting. Perhaps it was latex, I can’t be sure, but it was sort of rubbery, and I broke the little spoon.
With the free time we have today, a group of us will head south from Al Qassim to Al Koht, where we are scheduled to tour a date plantation and factory, and perhaps check out a heritage village. It’s sure to beat spending another day in a crowded conference room. Besides, we leave Al Qassim tomorrow for points north, and I’ll probably never have another chance to see the sites of this district.
This tour started in Riyadh, the seat of government and, for my purposes, the seat of the Ministry of Defense and its assorted acronymic agencies. Over the next few weeks, we’ll visit four more sites and do our thing. I’m not entirely sure how the Saudi Land Forces are organized, but our meetings thus far have been a little top heavy, with three generals attending the first and two more generals attending the last. Fortunately, as aviators, they all speak pretty good English, so it’s easier to get various points across. “No problem” is a common phrase, but I think that’s just them trying to sound accommodating – some things are a real bono fide and actual problem, which is why they hired us.
But we solve problems like these all the time, so logistics have been the biggest problem. There are twelve of us on this traveling squad, so our ability to modify plans on the fly is severely curtailed. It also means a three vehicle convoy (we’re driving borrowed USG Expeditions) and an hour to check in and out of each hotel, which means slow going most of the time. No problem. After the second week, the bulk of the group will head home, and we should be down to a more manageably sized contingent.
Word of advice – avoid the restaurant at the Al Qassim Ramada. There is a line of schwarma shops just down the street who do a fine job. Visit them instead.
Read More......
2013-06-07
Exhaust
Outside of Osan Air Base is one of the endless suburbs of Seoul. Immediately outside the gate is a system of narrow streets and alleys, chock a block with shops and food stands and bars, many of which are prominently labeled inside the base as being off limits to military personnel. The neighborhood is colorful and loud, and has been morphing into its current form since 1950. Prostitutes are evident along this street, but I think they target the younger service men more so than the middle aged married guys.
Except for a comparatively much older woman, somewhere between fifty and sixty it seemed, who looked, as they say, rode hard and put away wet. “You want sex?” she asked. “Huh?” “You want sex?” “Uh, no thanks.” I like married women, anyway, and it helps if they’re married to me.
Later on Guam, I related the story to an USAF enlisted guy who had served at Osan a decade or more ago. His reaction was, “Is Old Sadie still working?”
Notorious, she is.
There’s a fine line between what I can comfortably accomplish in any given week, and what feel like ragged, sloppy output. Granted, I’m not a perfectionist, professionally. Not even close, but I make it up with conservatism, making me generally comfortable with the results. There’s a line, though, and these weeks I’m approaching it. After 15 hour days in the R-O-K stacked atop a 14 hour time shift and air travel, I was ready to take a break after the first week. But then I flew to Guam and continued the process.
I had a few hours Saturday and a few more on Sunday not working, but not to myself. Saturday, I accompanied a couple of Company folks who just relocated here. They were trying to find a house to rent and I thought I’d offer my services as Tropical Island Relocation Consultant, offering the wisdom obtained when I first started writing these missives. Local hint – there are a lot of places with multiple chickens as neighbors. If you’re not a cock-a-doodle-dooer, you’ll need to look longer for suitable digs. I spent the rest of the day writing notes for the meetings last week, and getting ready for the meetings this week.
Sunday morning, I started by wading into the ocean to watch the sun rise over the hotel (they have bright blue starfish here), and then I went on a circle tour of Guam to see some of the military history sights. This was really kind of cool. Even though the island is just 30 miles long, it was pivotal during WWII. The evening was spent preparing for the charrette.
Now, it’s a hot Friday afternoon already, and the AE JV team is working on the slides for our outbrief to the Brigadier. Well, some of the team is. Most of us are lounging as best as we can on the folding chairs available to us in this borrowed chapel classroom. We could have piled into the rental and ran over to the local beach, inaccessible by Guamanian locals, but easily reached by those already on Anderson Air Base.
But it’s even hotter outside than it is inside, so my team is dozing and waiting for the next session.
The week went well, by and large. The project is large, and has a mess of moving parts, but what makes it a mess is that it’s a Marine project on an Air Force base managed by the Navy. There’re plenty of toes to step on, so we step as lightly as possible. Also messy is the Joint Venture, a group of three small business architectural firms. Bear in mind that this is a major infrastructure project, and the only architecture is the design of a substation building, but that’s neither here nor there. The Company, on the other hand, has the bulk of the design, but are mere subconsultants to the JV. In fact, we are one of thirteen firms assembled by the architects to tackle the effort. We are, to use the vernacular, Team Gigantor.
I picture the tattoo as a thirteen headed Godzilla with three tails. The tails represent the three joint venture partners, and I’d be more than happy to lop one of them off and toss it into the ocean, but I’ve held my cool so far. There were times earlier in the week when I wasn’t so sure I could and our opinions of said tail dominate our 45 minute drive back to the hotel every evening.
We really shouldn’t be here still. My team had their 40 hours in by Wednesday evening, and we’ve covered everything that needs to be covered. After the client briefing this morning, we should have headed back to the hotel and got some pool time before flying out tomorrow morning. One of the tails, though, thought our time would best served waiting on the chapel for two hours, watching him direct the development of a power point presentation, so that we can sit in a room with the Brigadier who won’t ask any technical questions.
I dislike this tail.
Meanwhile, as with any military job, there’re new acronyms and catch phrases that dominate the discussions. We found a couple we liked and have been making fun of them consistently all week, going so far as to develop a drinking game around “Tiger Team”, “SME”, and “Hotwash”. If only the powers that be would let us drink en charrette.
We anticipate a couple of trips back here before the project is complete, and I’ll try to schedule additional days before or after. It doesn’t look like I’ll get any free time during under the current management, and especially this week.
The hotel’s nice, though, the food’s been good, and the team gets along, so I suppose I could call this a success. Just need to chop off a tail.
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Except for a comparatively much older woman, somewhere between fifty and sixty it seemed, who looked, as they say, rode hard and put away wet. “You want sex?” she asked. “Huh?” “You want sex?” “Uh, no thanks.” I like married women, anyway, and it helps if they’re married to me.
Later on Guam, I related the story to an USAF enlisted guy who had served at Osan a decade or more ago. His reaction was, “Is Old Sadie still working?”
Notorious, she is.
There’s a fine line between what I can comfortably accomplish in any given week, and what feel like ragged, sloppy output. Granted, I’m not a perfectionist, professionally. Not even close, but I make it up with conservatism, making me generally comfortable with the results. There’s a line, though, and these weeks I’m approaching it. After 15 hour days in the R-O-K stacked atop a 14 hour time shift and air travel, I was ready to take a break after the first week. But then I flew to Guam and continued the process.
I had a few hours Saturday and a few more on Sunday not working, but not to myself. Saturday, I accompanied a couple of Company folks who just relocated here. They were trying to find a house to rent and I thought I’d offer my services as Tropical Island Relocation Consultant, offering the wisdom obtained when I first started writing these missives. Local hint – there are a lot of places with multiple chickens as neighbors. If you’re not a cock-a-doodle-dooer, you’ll need to look longer for suitable digs. I spent the rest of the day writing notes for the meetings last week, and getting ready for the meetings this week.
Sunday morning, I started by wading into the ocean to watch the sun rise over the hotel (they have bright blue starfish here), and then I went on a circle tour of Guam to see some of the military history sights. This was really kind of cool. Even though the island is just 30 miles long, it was pivotal during WWII. The evening was spent preparing for the charrette.
Now, it’s a hot Friday afternoon already, and the AE JV team is working on the slides for our outbrief to the Brigadier. Well, some of the team is. Most of us are lounging as best as we can on the folding chairs available to us in this borrowed chapel classroom. We could have piled into the rental and ran over to the local beach, inaccessible by Guamanian locals, but easily reached by those already on Anderson Air Base.
But it’s even hotter outside than it is inside, so my team is dozing and waiting for the next session.
The week went well, by and large. The project is large, and has a mess of moving parts, but what makes it a mess is that it’s a Marine project on an Air Force base managed by the Navy. There’re plenty of toes to step on, so we step as lightly as possible. Also messy is the Joint Venture, a group of three small business architectural firms. Bear in mind that this is a major infrastructure project, and the only architecture is the design of a substation building, but that’s neither here nor there. The Company, on the other hand, has the bulk of the design, but are mere subconsultants to the JV. In fact, we are one of thirteen firms assembled by the architects to tackle the effort. We are, to use the vernacular, Team Gigantor.
I picture the tattoo as a thirteen headed Godzilla with three tails. The tails represent the three joint venture partners, and I’d be more than happy to lop one of them off and toss it into the ocean, but I’ve held my cool so far. There were times earlier in the week when I wasn’t so sure I could and our opinions of said tail dominate our 45 minute drive back to the hotel every evening.
We really shouldn’t be here still. My team had their 40 hours in by Wednesday evening, and we’ve covered everything that needs to be covered. After the client briefing this morning, we should have headed back to the hotel and got some pool time before flying out tomorrow morning. One of the tails, though, thought our time would best served waiting on the chapel for two hours, watching him direct the development of a power point presentation, so that we can sit in a room with the Brigadier who won’t ask any technical questions.
I dislike this tail.
Meanwhile, as with any military job, there’re new acronyms and catch phrases that dominate the discussions. We found a couple we liked and have been making fun of them consistently all week, going so far as to develop a drinking game around “Tiger Team”, “SME”, and “Hotwash”. If only the powers that be would let us drink en charrette.
We anticipate a couple of trips back here before the project is complete, and I’ll try to schedule additional days before or after. It doesn’t look like I’ll get any free time during under the current management, and especially this week.
The hotel’s nice, though, the food’s been good, and the team gets along, so I suppose I could call this a success. Just need to chop off a tail.
Read More......
2013-03-21
Yokohama and Yokosuka
I hadn’t noticed until this very moment that the town we’re staying in, Yokohama, shares half of its name with the town we’re working in, Yokosuka (the George Washington is berthed there this week). Perhaps that’s no different than working in St Cloud and commuting to St Paul, but I’m pretty sure than Yoko doesn’t mean Saint. Perhaps this is something I can research once I catch up on my sleep, scheduled to occur once I get back to my own bed.
This is the first trip I had since receiving my United Premier Executive Gold status, my reward for spending too many hours on aircraft. My perk over the old Silver status? Nothing. Maybe next time. Thanks for playing.
At the Hotel Plumm, there’s not a single perk, only the tiniest of rooms, with deep tan walls, charcoal grey carpet, and hot pink furniture. The staff put the six of us in six adjacent rooms. Strange, but efficient. The décor suggests that they host annual Hello Kitty conventions, but their literature suggests that they specialize in weddings. For fear of even greater confusion, I won’t turn on the television.
Okay. I turned on the television, but it’s only to pass the time until we start heading towards home. It’s the usual morning infotainment shows, hosted by three to five talking heads. Sadly, the baseball scores are in Japanese, so I don’t know how the Carp did last night. The ads, though, are worth the effort to watch them. As if the bright colors, seemingly foreign soundtracks, and unidentifiable products, weren’t enough, many are populated by mascots and cartoon characters that make one question the seriousness of the entire people.
In the last one, an increasingly haggard businesswoman was shown hustling through her day, hounded by a short girl in a chubby, plush costume with little wings, somewhere between an angel and a snowman. Eventually, the businesswoman consumed something that looked like an oversized stick of gum, and she was instantly revived. I couldn’t tell if the plush angel-snowman was responsible for any of this, or was just hanging out in the scene.
In another, a couple of kids dropped a small metal can into a cup of water, causing it to steam and foam. Seconds later, their bathroom is sparkling clean.
And they have wireless Rock’em Sock’em Robots. Totally cool.
We’ll leave the hotel soon, and take the train to check out some of the sights of the Yokohama waterfront. The cherries are in bloom. They’re early, but beautiful, nonetheless, and add a nice touch to the urban landscape.
Lots of train travel this week, starting with an express from the Tokyo/Narita airport to Yokohama. We couldn’t get rooms adjacent to the base in Yokosuka, so we’ve been commuting by train every morning and evening, about 75 minutes door to door (including a short base taxi ride to get us to and from the gate to our temporary offices). We thought ourselves lucky to even get to the base the first morning. Perhaps five rail companies share the facilities at the Yokohama station, and their trains head out in at least ten directions. We found the right tracks eventually, but found ourselves on a local train, which makes 17 additional stops between here and there. We thought we had it figured out on the second day, but it was the Equinox, so they used a holiday schedule.
Yesterday, though, limited expresses each way, all the way. And today we leave. By the time I return (whenever that may be), I’ll have forgotten.
However, I’ll never forget the Hello Kitty themed breakfast I had this morning, definite change of pace from the noodle shop I had been frequenting. I liked the noodle shop because they had a comprehensive picture menu, which is the best thing next to an English menu, but the latter is a rare thing indeed. Mostly, it’s hit and miss. Fortunately, a lot of Japanese restaurants are tapas (more or less), so the commitment to something awful will only affect a small portion of the meal. With little dishes, we need a lot to feed six Americans, and to slake our gargantuan thirsts. At the end of supper last night, we were presented with an bill that looked more like a grocery list, and nearly half a meter long, once everything was itemized.
The weather’s been nice, which brings out the bikes, reminding me that I need a new battery when I’m CONUS.
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