Saudi Arabia > To Saudi Arabia

The sun is shining as I close the front door behind me. I stroll leisurely to Maarten and Monique. My travel bag rolls behind me. When I arrive, we still have time for a cup of coffee. Around eleven o’clock, Dave, the taxi driver, arrives. “Where are you headed?” he asks with interest while loading the suitcases into the taxi. Saudi Arabia! As we get in, Dave mentions he has driven many travelers to many destinations at Schiphol, but never anyone going to Saudi Arabia. Tourism in Saudi Arabia is still in its infancy. Only since early 2019 has the Saudi government been issuing visas for Western tourists. Then came Corona. Only now can people travel again to the Arab country. Tourism has hardly developed yet and not all attractions will be open. Although Dave himself isn’t a big traveler, he has a lot of interest in discovering countries online. On the way, he talks enthusiastically about his favorite destinations. Before we know it, we have arrived at the airport. We don’t see the dreaded queues outside the terminal building. In recent weeks, Saturdays have been so busy that lines stretched outside. “Last week the queue was enormous,” Dave sighs. “I haven’t seen lines that long all summer.” Because of possible crowds, we left well in advance. We’re actually too early to officially enter the departure hall, which is only allowed four hours before departure. There is no check. We can already drop off our luggage at the self-service drop-off machines. Several hundred travelers are waiting in line for the security check. We join the end of the queue. The line moves slowly forward. Only four baggage scanning lanes are open today. Probably there isn’t enough staff to open more. After about three-quarters of an hour, it’s our turn for security. My bag gets an extra inspection. What could be the matter? The security guard looks at the scan but sees nothing suspicious. “The assessment probably took too long,” he explains. “Then bags always go for manual inspection.” I continue on to customs. The procedures are done and we still have three hours before departure. We enter the premium lounge. Maarten and Monique both have access, and I can come as their guest. Comfortable chairs and a buffet await. A perfect place for lunch and to wait for the flight. Around 3:00 PM at gate G7, the KLM plane is already ready. We booked our tickets through Saudia Airlines, but the flight is operated in cooperation with the Dutch airline. The plane first flies to Riyadh, then on to Dubai. When boarding, some passengers for the Emirates flight to Dubai stand in our line—one gate over. Without delay, flight SV 6319 takes off towards Saudi Arabia. Next to me on the plane sits a Dutchman who works on the Riyadh metro line. The metro line should have been completed already, he says, but it’s years delayed. He has been to Riyadh several times and shares some tips. When he hears about our travel plans, he realizes he has hardly seen anything outside Riyadh in Saudi Arabia. Dinner is served. I order a glass of wine with it—probably the last alcoholic drink for the next two weeks. Upon entering Saudi airspace, it is announced that the bar will close. All alcoholic drinks, including empty containers, are collected. Nothing may be visible when the plane lands in Riyadh. Not even a bottle cap. Just before eleven at night, the plane begins its descent. Only passengers for Riyadh disembark. Travelers bound for Dubai can stay seated. At the end of the pier, my passport and boarding pass are checked. An extra control to ensure no Dubai passengers disembarked.

Saudi Arabia - The view over the modern skyscrapers of Riyadh

Then I join the customs line. There is one line for newcomers and one for travelers who have visited Saudi Arabia before. The newcomers’ line is much shorter, so we are quickly processed. The customs officer takes fingerprints and photographs me. At the baggage claim, we wait for our suitcases. We see more and more passengers leaving with their luggage. Is everything okay with ours? Our bags arrive near the end. Luckily. In the arrival hall, we first exchange euros for riyals. The exchange rate seems reasonable. With Saudi riyals in hand, we look for the car rental. It is already midnight and the new day has started. The car rental company has two branches: one at the international terminal and one at the domestic terminal. When booking online, there was much more choice and options at the local terminal. During the past week, we inquired if we could also pick up the car at the international terminal. This was no problem. When we arrive at the small Yelo car rental desk, the employee does not recognize the booking. There is nothing in the computer. He calls. “Your car is at terminal 5,” he explains. We have to go back into the terminal building and look for the shuttle to the other terminal. We are lucky. The shuttle bus is just about to leave. We quickly get on. Ten minutes later, we get off at the other terminal. Here we look again for the car rental. Things go better, though the man behind the counter looks worried. From his expression, it seems something is wrong with every step. Strangely enough, he suddenly shows the printed contract with which we can pick up the car in the garage. A dark gray Changan CS75, a large Chinese SUV, is ready. We set the navigation to our hotel in downtown Riyadh. We drive into the darkness. There is surprisingly heavy traffic on the road. On the three and sometimes four lanes into the city, traffic is relatively heavy. Because the lane markings are faded, you have to watch carefully where the lanes exactly are. Every speed sign warns about fines. But the speed limits are only written in Arabic. How fast can we drive? The license plates on the cars in front show the numbers both in Arabic and Latin script. This allows us to quickly figure out the speed limit is 110 km/h—a speed impossible on this road. We enter Riyadh via the wide King Fahd Road. This is the city’s main traffic artery. Along the road stand several tall skyscrapers. Around half past one in the night, we take the exit toward the hotel. When we turn into the street, we do not immediately see the hotel. The signs on the facades are in Arabic. Just to be sure, we printed images of the hotels. Just when we think we’ve passed it, we see a hotel that looks like the one in the picture. The Arabic name also seems to match. We park the car near the hotel. The receptionist looks at our booking confirmation skeptically. “You’re at the wrong hotel,” he concludes. “Have you already paid?” he asks. He also has rooms available. We walk a little back to the hotel that, to us, has the same name and looks the same. Funny that many of the surrounding fast-food shops are still open at two in the morning. We enter the hotel. “Who is Maarten?” the receptionist asks as soon as we walk in. He is expecting us. Quickly, we are led to our apartment: two bedrooms and a kitchenette on the fourth floor. There are no towels and no toilet paper. The towels are brought, but the toilet paper is out of stock, the hotel employee apologizes. “Maybe tomorrow.” Luckily, we brought some ourselves. I quickly go to bed.