Living Life on the Edge: Visiting the Dentist in Riyadh

The King’s Dentist lives down the road from us. His other title, so my early morning walking friends tell me, is the Royal Flosser. His job is to accompany the King on all his trips so that he’s on hand should there be a sudden royal dental crisis. On one hand, it sounds exotic, but I’m guessing it’s also pretty boring. A pack-a-good-book sort of job.

And talking of crises and dentists, I’ve my own story to tell, but there’s no royal dentist in my narrative. Actually, it’s really a story in three parts, or if you like three separate dental crises spread over several years.

Crisis One

To sort my first crisis out, I visited a dentist recommended by a medical clinic near where I worked. I’ll call him Mr Grumpy Scottish Dentist. I had misgivings from the moment I walked into his clinic. Firstly, the place was undeniably grubby. There was a thin sheen of dust over every surface. I could have written my name along the window sill. Minutes later, when I was prostrate in the chair, his nurse dropped an instrument on the floor, then picked it up and handed it across to him. (He was left-handed and this seemed to complicate matters enormously.) At this point, Mr Grumpy Scottish Dentist tore strips off her. It was unpleasant and unprofessional. I left soon afterwards with absolutely no intention of returning.

Just a Poem

Just a poem. Spotted on the wall of my son's classroom.

It's Lauris Edmond and I've long loved her poems, so how could I not be drawn to it and stopping in front of it, read to the very end? 

I'm as far from this Wellington harbour outlook as you could imagine, but in essence this is me. Traveller and observer.

Riyadh, Roller Coasters and One Small London Backyard

There’s a roller coaster thundering above our heads and children shrieking as it dips and dives.

No, we’re not in Disneyland, but you’d be forgiven for thinking so. This is Panorama Mall, or more precisely the food court on a Thursday night where we sit to eat before doing our weekly grocery shop. And in fact it’s not just one roller coaster that confronts us as we eat, it’s a whole line up of fun park rides.

There’s a reason for this strange juxtaposition. In other countries, malls commonly have an area reserved for cinemas. In Saudi however, public movie viewing is banned, and so malls often find themselves with an area of potentially empty space. It's a problem, but there is a solution. Firstly Saudis typically have very large families. They always visit malls and shop together. This is because Saudi women are unable to drive and so have to do pretty much everything in tandem with both husband and children. Secondly these same children cannot play outside for most of the year. It’s simply too hot and often too sandy.

Coffee Tables, the Cuteness of Being Pink and Cultural Sensitivity

There’s a pig on our coffee table. It’s no ordinary pig because it has wings, but then any pig in Saudi Arabia is extraordinary.

You see in this country pigs are haram or forbidden.  Their meat is considered impure and so no one eats pork or any pork derivative. Not surprisingly, images and references to pigs are also absent in wider social settings. For instance we walked through Hamley’s toy shop not so long ago, and saw children’s kitty banks, froggy banks, and cow banks. Piggy banks were notable by their absence.

A Story in Two Parts or the World of Difference Between Daffodils and Marigolds

As a teacher in New Zealand, I'd sometimes ask my children to retell a familiar story as a fortunately/unfortunately story. Here's an example of what I mean. 

Fortunately the first little pig built himself a lovely house of straw.

Unfortunately the big bad wolf came along.

Fortunately the little pig just had time to rush in and lock the door.

You get the idea? Well I’ve a story to tell about the four weeks I’ve just spent in New Zealand overseeing the start of earthquake repairs on our Christchurch home, and I’m going to tell it in a similar way.