William and Kate Plus Two-Billion

I'm waiting to watch the Royal Wedding live on Dubai One and I just wish I was back in Westminster Abby wearing taffeta or chiffon in one of those hats. It is so nice to celebrate love in the midst of uncertainty in the world.

Khobar

I took a short trip to the Eastern Province of Saudi--Khobar, Dammam, and Dharan and it was such a nice change. The sea alone is lovely and the humid air felt nice after months of dry Riyadh heat. We stayed in a nice, modern hotel in Khobar called Park Inn, which was a five minute drive away from the corniche.

The people there seemed to be more open and laid back. The men didn't always have a shmagh on their heads (the red checkered scarf), which is a big faux pas in Riyadh. It is seen as immodest in Riyadh (from what I'm told it's the equivalent of a Saudi woman not covering her face). I saw that piece of cloth as a metaphor for the general attitude of the men there (it was a school vacation, so there were many Riyadh residents in Khobar). The Riyadh boys wore theirs high on their heads, in a proud, uptight manner. The pattern of the scarf was intricate and busy. The Eastern boys wore it loosely around their shoulders, which symbolized their laid back, relaxed dispositions. The cloth was usually all white, the pattern modern and minimal.

A school bus filled with high school girls and a black sports car drifting between cars/ switching lanes in hopes of catching their attention. Finally, he sticks his hand out of the window with a large paper with his number written across it. Is that paper always stored in the glove compartment, waiting on stand by for a bus full of tweens or an SUV filled with hopeless romantics or something of the like? They giggled and stared. I just shook my head, I guess. This is what they do. We drove past palaces and a few girls called out, this one's mine! We took them bowling; energy drinks for the young and restless (sorry, I had to). Tomorrow is a new day.

Desert dryness and clouds of dust

The air is becoming drier and the dust grows thicker and I haven't been feeling like myself these days. Spring is a time of renewal and fresh blooms, but being in Riyadh has dried up the artistic spirit that was once thriving inside of me. There are no plays to attend, no poetry slams that push boundaries and no art galleries that publish human bodies and faces that fill something inside of you. I miss looking at photographs, I miss taking pictures of people and places without causing someone great offense or without someone thinking I have motives besides the sheer beauty of it all. I miss walking in the street with my camera around my neck. I miss walking. I miss fashion magazines and editorials without black leggings edited into the picture. I miss male models who wear cardigans and carry satchels while standing confidently in the shot, their arms gently wrapped around a woman who isn't very pretty but whose eyebrows and hair is something you can't stop gazing at. I miss minimalism. Clean cut lines and white sheets and flowers everywhere. No rhinestones, no chandeliers, and certainly no gold. I miss the romanticism of the spring, the ruffles in shirts, the grazing skirts, the mild sun hiding behind the clouds. In Riyadh there are no clouds, just sun and dust and a dryness that leaves you thirsty for more.