Riyadh: a work in progress, a city in progress

For a succinct and accurate review of Saudi’s capital city you could do far worse than locate “tedious” in the Concise Oxford. Perhaps you might want to toss in “stultifying” to really underscore just how restrictive and dull life can be for those outsiders hapless enough to stumble into the “Magic” Kingdom. Stumble, actually, is hardly the most apt verb. There is no tourist visa and you must secure your stamp before arrival at King Khalid International. Even an exit visa, ludicrously and quite inexplicably, is mandatory. The results of a comprehensive Harley Street medical are scoffed at as if they were the unhinged musings of a Bangkok quack and a duplicate set of tests is required upon arrival.

Before coming to Riyadh I’d conjured up countless brain movies of somewhere exotic, curious, sui generis. The reality is a bland, sprawling metropolis on the LA model minus any of the diverse entertainment readily available in the California. There are clearly no bars or cinemas to pep up the desert landscape, three-quarters of all buildings are indistinguishable taupe blocks, the residents tricked out in identikit monochrome.

Vast four-lane highways teeming with the most reckless drivers I have ever encountered cut swathes through the city centre, colossal ring roads loop you around it at full clip. Neither lane discipline nor any notion of safe stopping distance exists on these maniacal freeways. The idea of giving way - or even checking your speed - at a roundabout is anathema. It is not so much gross speeding that is responsible for the significant number of serious traffic accidents you witness each day but a complete and demonstrable lack of ability behind the wheel. This is a particular problem since the automobile rules in Riyadh as absolutely as the monarchy. There is no effective public transport, fuel weighs in at less than 8p a litre and walking is simply not a realistic option in the remorseless mercury-melting torridness… Factor in the sheer sprawl and size of the city proper and there’s simply no viable recourse but to join the madness, fear the worst and hope for the best…

The influence of America is inescapable and everywhere overt. Endless chains of US coffee shops, gargantuan shopping malls, innumerable fast food outlets (and the staple Saudi breakfast favourite, Dunkin’ Donuts or Homer’s beloved Krispy Kreme) stud every street. The despicably tagged 911 Burger is beneath comment except to say that I was stunned to see Porsche endorsing this establishment. I am very well aware that they boast a 911 among their Teutonic stable but we all know that’s not the origin of the name in this instance. Most Saudi citizens prefer to learn American English and, due to their exposure to downloaded movies and the cinemas of Bahrain, find the US accent gentler on the ear than the British. Hulking GMC, Dodge and Hummer trucks with five litre engines are the most prevalent marques glutting those lethal roads. Apple’s reach assaults you as elsewhere globally and every other teenager sports Beats by Dr Dre headphones to partner their audio gadgetry. Converse and inverted baseball caps are jarringly coupled with the traditional flowing thobe.

The flip side of this flippant summary is that you are forced to make far more effort to penetrate the anodyne core than in most other cities. In Asia, by simply stalking the streets or slumping into the comfort of an air-conditioned coffee shop you are tripping over backpackers from around the globe eager to make your acquaintance. The locals, too, are more likely to strike up a conversation. Most Saudis, though, prefer the security of their own family and existing friends to branching out and meeting fresh blood. With a super-abundance of expat workers lured here by the attractive tax-free packages coupled with low living costs, few locals afford you a second glance. The bulk of these engineers or hospital staff being ensconced behind guarded compound gates, bumping into anyone save at the (French) supermarket is rare.

In touching four months, my effort to probe into anything that the KSA may have to offer has been practically nil. My teaching schedule of 2-10pm means that I rise at noon, zoom into the office taking my life, literally, in my hands before returning to eat, watch downloaded movies and retire some time around 2am. Weekends pass by in a blur of sleep, weight training and Web abuse.

Predictably, a series of catastrophic visa incidents have conspired to keep me safely tucked away in England for the past three months. Will I return?