25 – Interruption

Now that I have your attention -- and because I've spent a good bit of time rearranging photos -- I'm going to put in some from this past winter's ski trip to Big Sky.

It's a little different from KAEC.

.....................................................................................................................................................................

Jimmy D has a buddy who owns a cabin in Spanish Peaks, a real estate development sandwiched between the Big Sky resort and the Yellowstone Club.  He rents it, along with a Chevy Suburban that you drive for five minutes along a private, dirt road through the woods to a private parking area at the bottom of Big Sky's Southern Comfort lift.  Almost like ski-in, ski-out.  Five bedrooms, professionally decorated, with a Viking/Sub Zero kitchen and a hot tub.

We got the hookup of the decade.  Judge for yourselves.



The horsehide chair was the bomb!



Covered hot tub, looking over the (first? fourth?) fairway when the golf course is visible.



My private porch on the side of the house, looking at our next-door neighbor.




Waiting in Rice Bowl's powder looking
at Jimmy D's snowboard track. 

Scoping the rest of the line on a
run accessed from the Dakota lift.

Jimmy D and I ski pretty hard, (he snowboards) and there's little that we won't attempt.  Parts of Big Sky, however, gave us pause.  Our host arrived for the last three days, and told us we could indeed ride the tram to the top of Lone Mountain and descend without serious risk.

He was right, of course, and his local knowledge put us on a very steep but clear slope, with good snow.  And the memory of riding the tram will stick with me for a very long time.

For the last 30 seconds of the ride, the tram is within -- it seems like -- 6 inches of the mountain face.  You can't see anything except bare rock and icicles, and it's so close you could touch it out the window.  Makes you think a little about the consequences of what you're about to undertake.

Lots of slope, and very little of it difficult.

Top O' the Tram.  Buzz on my helmet.

The top was very windy, something I believe is common for the summit of ski mountains, and I wasn't sure if the chill up my spine was created only by the wind.  Our host tip-toed us to the backside precipice, and suggested we could make a run that way.  "Not without a parachute," I replied.

"OK," he shouted against the wind.  Without hesitation, he turned to the front side of the mountain, pushed hard with his poles, and went flying off the little shelf that was supporting us.  I looked at Jim, who hesitated for just a moment, then burst into his fabulous laugh -- a mixture of equal parts cackle and guffaw -- and hucked himself off, too.  What was I to do, except the same?

(It looked a lot scarier than it really was.)

On a different day, the two of us found Buffalo Jump, which I SWEAR did not exist the last time I visited.  Maybe they've just thinned out the trees a whole lot.  Once you get out of the trees, it's pretty tame.

Altitude makes me breathe heavy, and I had just

finished coming down the same run.

 

Back to our first day.

I had rented the car, and we'd agreed to save money by not signing on Jim as an extra driver.  We're cheapskates.  We found our way to the cabin, and decided to drive up the road to the ski lift.  All was fine until we came to a protracted incline, and the rental just couldn't do it.  Our forward momentum slowed, slowed a little more, and stopped.  Our backward momentum started, then picked up a little, and, WHOOMP, the back end hit the snowplow bank, and WHOOMP, the front end slid around until it, too was buried in the opposite snowplow bank.  (The bank is usually soft and doesn't damage anything.  Thank goodness.)

Looking good, Chrysler!

I've been in this situation before, in Idaho, and it wasn't my driving those times.  How do you get out?  Shovel a little so the back end is no longer buried, situate yourself well, and simply push the back end into the middle of the road.  The car's on ice and snow, so the back end slides around pretty easily.  When the back end gets clear, the car slides downhill until it either hits the snowbank again, or comes to a stop in the middle of the road.  Shovel and repeat until the car is free.

Then BACK UP CAREFULLY until you can turn around.

Which is precisely what we did.  We drove back to the cabin, got the Suburban, drove effortlessly to the private parking lot, and went skiing.

It's cold in Montana, but they make their own whiskey to help you stay warm.

  

Almost 7 am and chilly outdoors.  A great day to ski!

It was rather good.



24 – Plants

Went for a long exploratory hike this past Thursday.  (Thursday is our last day in the workweek, as you recall.)  It started when we blew out of the office really early at 3:30 pm.

Since it was quite a while before sunset, I changed into my swim trunks, a T-shirt, and sunglasses, and headed out to swim in the Red Sea.

Short story: waded at least 50 yards off the beach, and was still in knee-deep water.  That's a pretty long distance from land, especially when no one else is in sight and no one knows where I am or what I'm doing -- which is what you do to keep it low key and fulfill Rule Number One.  So I decided my efforts qualified as "swimming in the Red Sea" and crossed it off the list.

If another opportunity comes along to really swim in the Red Sea, I'll take it.

So .......... there I was, at the beautiful Sales Center, slightly disappointed and with at least 2 hours of daylight remaining.

What to do?  Well, there were some fascinating plants in the landscaping, and Mom likes plants.  So do I.  Here are the most interesting ones.  (click on the photos for slightly larger images.)



Golf course grass, interesting only in that it's growing in an irrigated desert.
(Toes are shaded by the deep grass, not discolored from swimming in the Red Sea.) 

And I know this succulent ground cover ... a misnamed "rose" something or other.



Pretty pink flowering shrub.  Anybody know what this is?

Comes in white, too.



Wicked thorns on such a pretty thing.

 


Flintstone-looking little tree.

The Saudi national symbol incorporates
a stately palm like this one.





A row of palmettos that would make Charleston proud.

And a nice bed of Sago palms.



Small example of a "fern tree" we also have in South Carolina, although I can't think of its name to save my life.




Larger example of a "fern tree".  This one has the familiar seed pods.  (See comments.)



This surely looks like a fruit tree, but there's no fruit.

Now, Saudi Arabia is a desert -- at least outside the irrigated areas.  Deserts have a variety of cactus species, and the landscape designers here did not disappoint.  Names for each type are completely products of my imagination.



Cannonball cactus

 



Crazy mutant sculptural cactus





Another Schizo Cactus

Schizo Cactus












Cucumber cactus under another Flintstone little tree

..................................................................................................................................................................

I had another chat with my colleague who thinks Saudi Arabia is a sad and lonely place, and told him that I haven't seen any animals and almost no plants in the natural landscape here.

We both agreed this is a hostile place for all living things.  While I also agreed that this seems to be a sad and lonely place, I think he needs a vacation.

23 – It's a new era

One of my boys was in San Francisco last weekend and called me about going to see an America's Cup sailboat race.  I had forgotten that it would be held during my exile.

If you haven't been following it (and why should you?) it's really worth a few minutes to see something that's both historical and new; something that's a quasi-sport; and something that is so exclusive even the 1%ers can no longer afford it alone.

The America's Cup used to be a sailboat race between the richest men in the world.  Sir Thomas Lipton (I drink his tea almost every day), Marcel Bich (do you use his pens?), Harold Vanderbilt (as in University), and Ted Turner (my main man from the big ATL, who's TV network brings us Archer), have all skippered boats in this race.

The boats used to be speedsters that married graceful lines with acres of sail area.  And the European boats had to be sailed across the Atlantic to compete in Newport, Rhode Island.  Things have changed, but the boats are definitely still built for speed and not for comfort.



Columbia, 220 tons of speed, sailed for the US in 1871




12 meter yachts competed in the 1970s when Ted Turner skippered Courageous to victory



Oracle Racing, the US defender in 2013, flying both hulls -- as she was designed to do

It's a quasi-sport, since I cannot believe physical abilities are terribly important.  The event has become so expensive (the 2013 campaigns have cost $65 to $100 billion each) that 1%er Oracle database billionaire Larry Ellison had to team up with Puma and TAG Heuer.

I'm not complaining here; in fact, I am sorry the US Yacht Racing Union (the sport's governing body) changed it's name to US Sailing.  Say what you want, this here is yacht racing, ladies and gentlemen -- there sure isn't any other use for these boats.

Anyway, this year has seen a sea change (appropriate cliché!) in the event.  For the first time ever, the races will be held such that spectators can actually spectate.  Trying to include us 99%er regular folks.

Races are just off the waterfront in downtown San Francisco, and regular folks can wander down to the Embarcadero and watch without tickets or binoculars.  (Mr. Ellison's syndicate won last time, so he picks the venue.)  Races and features are broadcast on TV and on YouTube, and therefore available to regular folks, say, hanging out in Saudi Arabia at 3 am.


T-shirt from the last campaign.  Where
is the Audi sponsored team?

TV has instituted many little things to help non-sailors understand the racing, too.  Similar to the "Fox Box" and the superimposed first-down line on football broadcasts, America's Cup broadcasts show boat speed, wind direction, race course boundaries, and lines to assess which boat is ahead and by what margin.

And the boats are fast as lightning.  The New Zealand challenger goes 40 knots -- over 46 mph.  That's scary fast for a 72-foot sailboat that is designed to lift itself out of the water: there's just not a lot of control surfaces left in the water, if you get my drift.  This year, helmets and life jackets are mandatory, and the helmets have radios so the crew can communicate across the spread of carbon fiber and trampoline.

The term "sailboat" may not be completely accurate, either: Oracle Racing's main source of propulsion is a 3-dimensional wing made of mylar film, as a replacement for Columbia's sails made of Egyptian cotton.

While I will never sail on one of these screaming meanies, watching them enhances my enjoyment of an afternoon on Boston Harbor (or rounding Fort Sumter) powered only by the wind and my wits.  Or helps me fantasize about landfalls on a pristine deserted beach in the Caribbean.  Or dream about sailing with double-stationed iceberg lookouts as we cruise up the Labrador coast to latitude 60 degrees North.

There's this famous sailboat saying: "fast is fun".  Seems to me that also applies to cars, skiing, and motorcycles.  It most definitely applies to this year's crop of America's Cup yachts.

22 – Surprise!

supposed to be a camel

Before you visit a tattoo artist, you should really check out the "artist" part.

21 – Philosophical

WARNING: NO PHOTOS.
 

A colleague and I were alone in the car for fifteen minutes yesterday, driving back from the office to the apartments.  The distance is quite far, fully 20 km (12 miles); a fitting distance between a residential area and a seaport.

“Tell me, Taylor, how long have you been here now?”

“Two weeks or so.”

“How do you find Saudi Arabia?”

Given that he’s been here a long time and is part of the Beirut Mafia running this show, my paranoia was aroused immediately.

Answering honestly, but not fully: “It is an adjustment, of course, because things are so different than in the US.”

“But how do you mean?  Can you share some examples?”

There was still ten minutes left in our journey, so I decided to share a little more – not much more, only a little more.

“Well, the small things make me constantly aware that I am a stranger here: light switches push down to turn on.  Saudis measure in kilometers and Celsius.  I am constantly dividing money by four to convert to US dollars.  Arabic writing is a mystery; perhaps in six months I could speak enough Arabic to go grocery shopping alone, but I doubt if I could learn to read your language in all my remaining life.”

There was silence for a few moments, and it was my turn to ask.  “You have been here for several years.  How do you find Saudi Arabia?”

“I find it lonely and sad.”

A lightning bolt went through my head, and the silence reflected my effort to understand what he meant – not what he said, what he meant.

How do I respond to this?  In the US, guys don’t really open up like that.  With brothers, sons, and very close friends … maybe.  With men you met two weeks ago?  Not a chance.

We drove for a short eternity, tires whining on the pavement and that damned 120 kph alarm beeping every two seconds.

“I understand what you mean, I think,” I replied at last.  "The horizon is always there, across miles of unbroken desert.  The sand and dust and heat are always there, too.  The emptiness of this place is one of the characteristics that also requires adjustment.”

Another short eternity went by and I added, “This may become an issue for me as well, in a few weeks.”

We arrived at the apartment building and wove our way through the convoluted parking garage to his favorite spot.  The same path we’ve taken a dozen times or more.

I did not offer to continue the conversation.  “See you tomorrow,” I quipped, as we rode up the elevator together.

=============================================================

The distance between the apartment building and the port site is fully 20 km (12 miles).  The distance from the apartment to the front gate, the outside world,  is at least 10 km (6 miles).  The distance from KAEC to Jeddah is 80 km (50 miles), and easily one hour’s drive with the rampant congestion in the city.  Rabigh, a full-bore “wild west” version of a third world town, is 30 minutes at the national speed limit of 120 kmh.

The visual distance to the horizon is always present.  Almost always, there is nothing between your face and the horizon but sun and sand.  Sometimes there’s dust from a strong breeze.  Occasionally there’s a small patch of scrub grass or bushes, surviving in a slight depression that must hold water from the rain that almost never falls; pity-inducing scrub grass and bushes, existing on the very edge of dehydration and death.

Don’t get me wrong; there's always been aloneness in my life, and I often seek it out.  A week backpacking the Appalachian Trail, quiet evenings on the balcony at the Home in the Sky, solo camping trips in the north Georgia mountains, and snowy nights in Charlestown.  

That’s different – it’s my choice, humanity is always within reach, and Miss Pallas Athena, good and faithful dog, provides someone to talk to.

I reflected on this conversation.  My solitary time in the US also includes trees, grass, cars, insects, other examples of life.  

And then it struck me: there’s no life here.  This climate, this topography, this soil, this place, is blatantly inhospitable to life.

Perhaps that’s what makes Arab culture such a powerful thing.  Arabs have survived in this godforsaken part of the Earth for generations, and their heritage includes an indescribable life force bordering on survivalism.  

It’s reflected in the sword on their national flag; the crossed swords on their national seal; the ceremonial knives that were brandished at a recent community celebration; and their difficult life may indeed be the basis for fasting during Ramadan.

This will require further research as I float in the pool at midnight.

==================================================

This morning, my colleague and I rode in together.  “What are your plans for this weekend?” I asked.

“I have no plans,” he replied.  Interesting, since he is one of the few with car keys.

“Shall we have dinner together tonight?” I asked.

“That sounds good.”

20 – A model and the beach

(Sorry, not the Christie Brinkley kind of model.)

First let’s identify the model.  It’s a model of King Abdullah Economic City in 15 years, after it has been built to the first planning level.  It’s in a gorgeous Sales Center, constructed with appropriate Arabian architecture and fabulous materials.  Will KAEC grow to the expected 2 million residents?  I think it will, especially after ships start calling regularly at the seaport.

The model is 15 feet from to end, a little larger than Ms. Brinkley.

My apartment is center right; between the beach and the "park".  Haven't seen any boats yet.

KAEC is an ambitious project, with high rise residential center left, and REALLY tall towers in the financial district, dead center on the bay.  The seaport is at the left margin.  By the way, all of these bodies of water will be man-made. 

Why do I think it will grow quickly?  Saudis have money, and they want to buy stuff.  KAEC has a seaport to import lots of stuff, an Industrial Valley with several operating factories that are making stuff, and the promise of slightly relaxed Muslim life.  Burkas are not required.  Women can drive.  Children are a big focus with education and family life strongly emphasized.  (The national alcohol ban is expected to be enforced here, however.)

So, Saudis will buy stuff made in or imported through KAEC, boosting local businesses and enticing their employees to live close to work.  Other Saudis -- and Muslims from elsewhere -- will be tempted to buy second homes here or vacation at KAEC, with its golf courses, marinas, beaches, and restaurants.  And some may be willing to live here, enjoy the eased Muslim rules, and make the hour-long commute to Jeddah.

Here’s our seaport.

It doesn't look like this today!

In real life, the place is being transformed with lush green Bermuda grass, palm trees, flowering shrubbery, and plenty of walking areas.

Transformation is happening

Transformation has already happened here.

With this beautiful concept in mind, I went walking along the beach.

 


Gorgeous beach in front of the sales center.

Gorgeous beach in front of the apartments at night.  Sand as fine as baby powder.

   


The densely packed sand can form overhangs at the seashore. 

I really want to swim in the Red Sea, but signs like this have made me slip into ‘mischievous scofflaw stealth mode’.

 

Yes?  No?  Can I swim here?

You know what I mean, and don’t kid yourself.  Rule #1 in life is, “Taylor does not go to jail.”  Some of you will laugh about how I disappeared when the policemen came to investigate fireworks at Moore Junior High, but they never identified the culprit, did they?  Rule #1 continues to work well for me.

While this sign doesn’t actually say  No Swimming,  it kind of implies that this area is a no-swim site.  Also interesting is the implication that the Saudi Border Guard enforces 'no swim' sites.  

The Border Guard?  Sounds like the counterpart to Homeland Security or INS, and reminds me of US Coast Guard sailors on foot along Miami beaches looking for Cubans on rafts during the 1980s.

So, I continued walking around, soaking in the lovely KAEC surroundings, while looking for a good place to achieve the goal of swimming in the Red Sea that still complies with Rule #1.

The beach is littered with all manner of stuff.  Fishing line.  Plastic bottles.  Paper.  Seaweed.  Sections of fiberglass as big as serving trays.  (From a shipwrecked sailing yacht, perhaps?)  A big rope, known to mariners as a hawser.  Somewhere, a poor deck hand got lashed for allowing the ship’s mooring line to slide over the side. 

Big as my shoe

I round a corner, and hundreds of little shadowy things dart just outside the edge of my vision.  A huge colony of crabs!

As they build their holes, they pile the excavated sand into adjacent pyramids.  These pyramids are quite large, 6 to 8 inches tall, and the crabs are the size of my iPhone.  What if the wind topples one of those cones of sand directly into their hole?  They'll be tunneling like the guys in The Great Escape.  Or The Great Excape.  Whatever.

  

One day, KAEC will have as many human residents as crabs.  (Border Guard!  Come quickly!  I've spotted a swimmer!  A swimmer!  Get him!)

Mr. Paranoid half in/half out waiting to see what I'm going to do. He flips out
whenever I feint.  We had fun (OK, maybe just me) for a few minutes.

These crabs are devilishly difficult to photograph, because of their camouflage and their paranoia – they move so quickly and at the slightest provocation.  I did not attempt to dig one out of its home, having done that many times in life already; once to the great enjoyment of my boys.

It’s getting dark, and the pool is calling my name.

Just off the seaport’s revetment; that’s the place to conduct my mischievous scofflaw stealth swimming operation.  Keeping things on the down-low in the Kingdom; that’s how one stays out of jail.

[Editor's note:  I simply cannot get the *&$%!(^*  caption fonts to obey my commands.  Verrrrrrry frustrating that I can't get things uniform and tidy.]

19 – Several unrelated topics (and grouching)

Welcome to the King Abdullah Economic City!  We're glad you're here!  (If you can pass through security.)

first one



3 nice pools: seahorse, dolphin, and seats



Every evening this week, I’ve headed to the pool after I close the laptop around 2300.  The pool, like many things here, has the highest quality materials and concept, but the execution of the concept has been done clumsily.  The pool is actually three separate bodies of water located on the plaza level: a kiddie pool that is no more than knee deep, a regular pool that gets no more than shoulder deep, and a ‘social’ pool with about 20 islands (3 feet square) that are intended to be seats.



The kiddie pool is really warm around midnight, so I can’t imagine how warm it is during the heat of the day.

The first night, I sat on a couple of seats in the social pool.  I haven’t returned.  The pool is only shin-deep, and seems perfect for a bar, but this is the Kingdom and THERE shall be no bar.

 





seahorse in the kiddie pool; porpoise in the adult pool

So the regular pool – the adult pool – is my hangout.  It’s maybe 50 feet long by 15 feet wide, the size of a decent front yard, and absolutely deserted at midnight.  It’s made of thousands of tiny half-inch square, beautifully made, bathroom ceramic tiles.  There’s a nice pattern inlaid at the water line, and a six-foot dolphin mosaic in the floor.  It has five full-width steps at one end for graceful Hollywood entrances and exits.  It’s a really beautiful idea.

But here’s where the Saudi effect comes in: instead of injecting pool chemicals through the filtration system, they toss in chlorine tablets the size of hockey pucks.  Those hockey pucks are still there at midnight.

The tiles are beautiful, but the installation is abysmal.  There is no uniformity in the grout seams, several of which are as wide as the edge of my hand.  The seams are crooked, too, which makes for a dizzying visual effect.  (Perhaps that was intended, you know, to counteract the "no alcohol" thing.)

The pool deck has a glorious 24-inch marble border – which is as slick as snot when your feet are wet. Nobody thought about that?


Oh well.  I float around on my back, relaxing and humming rock and roll, watching my shadow slide across the bottom, dredging up pleasant memories from the 20th century, and wondering what new things will turn up tomorrow.

second one

In one of my floating reveries, I noticed there were no stars in the sky.  For the past three nights I have noticed no stars in the sky.  This research will continue.

It could be that the security spotlights are too bright.  It could be that the atmosphere is full of dust that occludes the weak star-shine.  I could be that … who knows?  This research will continue.

third one

The internet is truly essential to modern-day business.  This I have learned because the internet is not always available here.  No email, no ability to search for things like “gantry crane security system” or “temporary wireless antenna pole, 30 meters”, and no mechanism to post to your blog.

A great example of cellular and internet for business was the recent RTTM project in Boston: as we set the signs in place and turned them on, one of our field guys took a photo of the test message on each sign.  He emailed those photos from his phone, with the geo-tagged references, directly to our client as proof of successful operations.  Quick, easy, definitive, done.



Current office internet system.  Hey, it works.

As I mentioned in an email to a few family members, communications are crazy here.  There is no wired internet anywhere in the Economic City (KAEC).  Everything is wireless, which actually means cellular.  So we have a 4G cellular router in our office that is trying to accommodate 4 guys today – 8 guys when we're full.  Everyone has active email connections, some may have streaming media, some are researching over the internet ... the bandwidth goes quickly.  It goes especially quickly when STC (Saudi Telephone Company) hiccups, which happens at least once an hour.  In all fairness, the one  pictured is temporary until we can get a real internet access installed.  But it works, and it's what we rely on.

Even ‘wired’ connections in the Economic City end up on a microwave link between here and Jeddah.  It gets disrupted regularly due to sandstorms, and is not yet available in our apartment building.  My young engineer roommates have a 4G cellular hotspot that works just fine for us three guys.




Microwave link for our apartment building.  Cell antennas around the top, too.

 

Mobile cell tower -- see video below

mobile cell tower stars in its own movie!

fourth one

The King Abdullah Economic City is powered by diesel generators.  Let me repeat that.  The ENTIRE King Abdullah Economic City is powered by diesel generators.

Yes, boys and girls, this is absolutely true.  There are three for our office building, and twelve for our apartment complex.

Wireless internet and diesel generators.  Does that qualify as “off the grid”?

(One of my women friends suggested that I've overlooked the obvious, "Of course, Taylor!  This is instant infrastructure."  She's right, you know.)




Temporary power station.  Note the curb ramps for the fueling trucks.  Why not a legitimate driveway?



Didn't get closer, as there were two guys giving me the eye from this position and ... 
Rule #1: "Taylor does not go to jail."

LAST GROUCH

Gas costs US 12¢ per liter.    Water costs US $1.25 per liter.


That's crazy.        I mean, that's Crazy.


See you tomorrow ...