The Saudi Arabian Highlands

Posted Monday, March 05, 2007, 6:29 PM by Lonely Planet

Frances Linzee Gordon has just completed an unprecedented research assignment in Saudi Arabia for Lonely Planet's forthcoming guide to the Arabian Peninsula. As the first person ever to be granted a visa to visit the Kingdom as an independent tourist, she kept a diary of her adventures. In the fourth of eight blog posts, Frances starts to feel at home...



As we turned into town, it began to drizzle. I rubbed rather dismally at the fogged-up car window.

'The Japanese, they don't like it' Abdullah said sadly, shaking his head. 'But we Saudis, we like it very much... Look - clouds!', he pointed excitedly at the murky miasma enveloping the town.



Arriving in Abha, perched 2200m above sea level, was truly a shock to the senses. Not only was it palpably cooler - or colder (both hail and ice aren't unheard of) - but it was the neat green lawns, marigolds, mountains and mist that made the greatest impression. I blinked; I could easily be back at home in Scotland.

Asir - the name of these mountains - means 'difficult' in Arabic, after the legendary difficulties involved in crossing the crags by camel. No such problems today crossing by car.

'The Bin Ladens, they build the road, you know.' Abdullah said, hoping to raise a reaction at last.

The family behind one of the largest construction companies in the country had crafted many of the Kingdom's highways. The road, beautifully built, took us through steep escarpments, patches of juniper forests, and valleys that dropped dramatically to the torrid, torpid lowlands beneath. It was stunning scenery, but impossible to believe it was 'Saudi'.

During the journey, we had passed one of the famous 'flower men' of Asir, so-named for the garlands they traditionally wear in their hair. After stopping to ask for a photo, I returned to the car for my notebook. Suddenly, a terrible commotion broke out: Abdullah and the flower man were having a row.




'What happened, Abdullah?' I asked alarmed, when he too soon returned to the car.

'What do you mean?' he asked perplexed.

'The man - he was very angry...'

'No!' Abdullah laughed. 'He was inviting us to eat! But I try to explain we have no time... but he not accept it... What can we do?'.

Merhaban alf - 'a thousand welcomes' is the traditional greeting of the Asiri people. It seemed to sum up supremely the hospitality of the people of that region.

During our days there, every man we met pressed us to eat with him; every meeting we had ended with a present; every parting, a fond farewell. It had happened at last: I was beginning to fall for this curious country.

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