ARLEN GARGAGLIANO
Photo taken by Harriet Stiles
Welcome back! says the Riyadh airport customs worker as he hands me my now-stamped passport, once he’s reviewed my health declaration, recorded my fingerprint, and seen my visa. Due to my face mask, he can’t see the grin in my mouth, but I’m sure he can see my smiling eyes—as I can see his.
“Shukran,” I say as I carefully replace my passport, muqeem form, and PCR documents and head towards the luggage area. I look around and despite all being mask-clad, the scene feels so comfortable.
This is my first time back in the Kingdom since I left for my New York home at the onset of the pandemic. I left on March 15, 2020, on the last flight to New York prior to the lockdown. I had exited quickly, without many of my belongings, and with the idea that I’d be able to return to Riyadh within a couple of months, once COVID-19 ended and all was better.
But, as we know, that’s not how it happened. So here we are, 16 months later, and I am feeling the excitement of actually being back here after much anticipation—the starts and stops due to the pandemic restrictions, not to mention vaccinations, and numerous WhatsApp messages.
The luggage begins traveling around the circle looking for its owners. I see some women in niqabs and hijabs, holding their exhausted babies whose schedules have been thrown way off due to time changes and the 12-hour flight. I know exactly how they feel, only the thrill of being back in Saudi gives me the adrenaline rush I need to stay awake—and delighted. Well, that and the fact that having a plane ride that was only just over 50% full gave me the chance to lie down and sleep—in between watching one of my most comforting classic movies, “Casablanca.” Yes, they’ll always have Paris. And, I’ll always have Riyadh.
Luggage in hand, I whisk all through the “nothing to declare” archway and immediately exit to find the driver who’s holding my name on a sign board. He takes my two suitcases, and leads me outside. The hot air, once described to me as that of a hair dryer, greets me with a warm spicy hug.
Aywa—Riyadh, and aywa, it is summertime, and aywa—YES– marra har!
The trip from the airport to the Diplomatic Quarter had me glued to the window. The driver—seeing my awe and interest—allowed me the space to ponder the differences in what I was seeing now compared to the Riyadh I left behind. We get to the DQ guards, and as the driver lowers the window, I proudly declare, “I’m going home!” and am subsequently waved right in.
Once in my room, I find my belongings—ranging from toothpaste to clothes I’ve been looking for months—books, notes, almost an archeological dig reminding me of “where I was” 16 months ago.
As I’m exploring, I hear the muezzin—and close my eyes to take it in. Yes, I’m home.
A first day’s breakfast has me at Oud Square, where I feast on Bateel treats like a date and avocado smoothie, Shakshuka—a dish whose varieties I always love, and whose versions I still work to recreate, and more. Right then, everything looks brighter, tastes better, smells that much more fragrant than what I remembered.
Fast forward to the next day: I’m with two dear friends on my first road trip to AlUla. The ten-hour plus car trip is punctuated by coffee and bathroom stops. Camels ignore us as we drive by. Their dinosaur-like beings dot the desert backdrop.
Arlen with Ariane Bernard and Harriet Stiles.
The other-planet-like views intensify as we get closer to our destination. The sun-kissed golden sandstone structures—despite their foreboding enormity—are welcoming. We can’t help but consider that humans have been seeing this same scene for centuries.
AlUla—not unlike this whole return to Riyadh—is a dream come true. Tasty to the eye and the palate, we feast on multiple versions of Mutabbaq, devour the dates, enjoy jareesh, sips of Arabic coffee, and more.
At darkness, the night sky—spotted with sparkling white stars and planets—also invites. Dogs sing in a chorus reminiscent of the 101 Dalmatians twilight bark. The sound interrupts the tremendous stillness and peace as they announce, “We’re all here together.”
Life’s adventure continues.
