| Kuwait 3.95 | ||
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My
friend Lucy invited me to stay with her in Kuwait where she was
teaching. I still feel indebted to her for giving me the chance
to visit a place that was as strange to me as the moon. Here are
some things that happened whilst I was there.
First things I had hassle at passport control. I was shaking. The man behind the desk didn't believe it was me in my passport picture. He took me over to his colleague. A group of them stood around me and stared for a few minutes. It was very intimidating. At first I was defiant and argued with them, then I closed down, looked at the round, looked as though I was going to cry. It worked and they let me in. Lucy picked me up and we flew along the coast past flaming oil rigs. Empty motorways. Sand, not soil. Dumb public sculpture. A man overtaking us in his car, his robes flying out of the window. Me laughing, amazed by everything. The towers Outside were banks of yellow flowers teeming with butterflies. We didn't have to pay to go in, for some reason. The lift stopped at a service floor by accident and we caught a glimpse of a weird man from UNCLE style bunker area. Heat It was so hot this afternoon. The plastic bottle of water that I had left in the car had heated up over an hour or so. It tasted like weak tea. Basil I was walking along the street when I started thinking how much I would like to eat a good pesto sauce. I looked down and there were bushes of wild basil growing by the pavement. The smell of it had insinuated itself into my subconscious! I picked a few leaves, and cooked with them later that night. Hassle When I was walking by long stretches of road there were lots of beeps. A couple of men in cars pulled over to me. One man in a van followed me a little way until I shouted at him to go away. It's annoying but I didn't feel scared like I would do in the UK. I don't think these men are up to much, they're kind of pathetic really. Car town People drive everywhere. Water is more expensive than petrol. You get in and out of your car all the time, nobody walks apart from the street sweepers. There are dual carrriageways all over the place, it's all wide open. Cars of choice are big and American: Buick, Oldsmobile, Chevrolet. I saw a toy in a shop called 'The Petrol Game'. At night the young rich kids go drag racing on the public street outside the Hardees burger place. There was a patch of oil or water and these kids were revving up and then skidding all over the place in their Mercedes. And this is a busy public road! You see car wrecks everywhere, flashy motors wrapped around lampposts, and there are pleas for blood donations tacked up on the central reservations. Souq I saw an amazing child dictator outfit. It included a mini beige army shirt with fake medals and epaulettes. I wanted to take a picture but it would have been too much trouble with the stallholders trying to sell it to me. Ex pat English people I speak to are embarrassed about having maids, even though their own lives are kind of idle. The woman on the plane said that she "did nothing" but she still had servants. It's normal. People do as everybody else does here, but there's a kind of defensiveness when talking to outsiders about it. I'm often told about things I can't or shouldn't do. Westerners cluck in a doom-laden "on your own head be it" way when I tell them my plans, like going to visit the bombed out national museum, or catching a bus by myself from the centre of town instead of allowing them to organise a taxi for me, or simply walking around and looking at things. It's irritating because for me these small moments of exploration and independence are the highlights of the trip. I don't want to be cosseted, and I don't care if I attract beeps and stares. This afternoon we stopped off at Messila Beach where the British Ladies Society are holding their annual bazaar. Hilarious. There were plant stalls, a tombola and cream teas, all melting in the heat at a time when anyone with sense would be indoors with the air conditioning on full. It was more England than England. Desert We drive north, hoping to see the Red Fort at Jahra. It's only open after four, so we have some time to kill. We head for Mutla Ridge, one of the only places in Kuwait that isn't flat. On top is the police station and checkpoint. My guidebook tells me that this is as far north as anyone is allowed to go. I imagine that there will be armed guards demanding to examine our papers, but there is nothing. We head onwards and outwards. Now we are really in the desert. The land is flat and barren. There are electricity pylons on the horizon and tents every mile or so. No road markings. W drive on and on, past three burning oil wells, past bloated dead sheep on the side of the road, past birds of prey circling, pylons and military vehicles. Eventually we come across piles of rubble, a couple of wrecked cars. I see some pools of oil from the war, big holes in the road from shelling. It's 50 degrees in the car. Even though I would love to go further, I get spooked after we see a sign that says 'No US personnel beyond this point'. There have been abductions in this area. We want to go onwards in this magnificent landscape, to never stop driving fast along an empty road of nothingness, but we know we have to turn back now, so we do. We get back to the Red Fort, banging on the gate and shouting for someone to let us in. A man called Mohammed comes out and gives us a guided tour around the place. By miming and breaking into English and Arabic we start to understand each other. The fort is impressive, big and labyrinthine. The rooms off the main courtyard are cool and dark, with small doorways embedded in the walls. Everyone stayed here, soldiers, the Emir, a harem had their own quarters, camels, an abattoir, and kitchens. There were some empty display cases. Mohammed told us that they were looted by the Iraqis. We saw some parrots flying overhead. Mohammed picked us a handful of bitter fruit from the trees growing at each corner of the courtyard. They were like hard, yellow cherries with a dry, almost apple-y texture. They were sweet in your mouth and made your saliva flow. I was touched by his generous gesture. Perfect moment We packed a picnic and caught the ferry to Failaka island this morning. It was an industrial boat, not intended for civilian foot passengers. There were no seats even, apart from in a cramped cabin. The other passengers were all military. We all settled down, some of the other passenegers played a board game that looked like Twister! The sea was flat. As we pulled away from he city I could see a grey ribbon of smog hanging in the air. We saw oil tankers, and passed a cargo ship loaded with freight containers. So we landed at Failaka, a place my ten years out of date tourist guide says is a haven of beach resorts, water-skiing, chalets and general merriment. It gets busy at the weekends. There are ruins. There is a museum. A soldier asked for our papers when we landed but I didn't have any. Expecting the worst Lucy showed him her civil id card and I spluttered "tourist", that worked okay and we were through. Well. There is no noise on the island apart from birdsong and the occasional rumble of a military vehicle. It's a burnt out, looted, bombed holiday island. The place that looks as though it was once a booking hall for the ferry service is locked up, dusty and empty. I see a restaurant that has collapsed and an overgrown terrace with deserted children's amusements bleached by the sun. I'm worried about landmines (we see a canister that looks like one). But the most shocking sight is the bombed out mosque, incredible given the strength of religious devotion in this area. Outside is an abandoned soldier's helmet sitting on a wall. We don't give up. We are on holiday. We walk to the beach. I get undressed under a broken beach umbrella. Two broken boats rest beside us. Empty chairs and building surround us. The water is cold and the sand sharp with broken shells. There's a small wading bird hopping about, and I see a mysterious balck shape disappear under the water in my peripheral vision, a seal maybe, a fish or a dolphin? We eat our picnic and roast in the sun. We dress and go back into town to catch the boat home. I notice more dereliction. The park is overgrown and studded with bullet holes. We head for the mosque, covering our heads but we never get inside because the muezzin begins his call. It's an incredible moment, his voice echoing around in the silence of that eerie place. The grand villas on the main road are all empty and looted. We walk through a shady garden covered in pink bougainvillea. The only things that remain inside are wall cabinets with smashed glass, a stray shoe, and a potato peeler in the kitchen. We visit the house next door which hosts much more rubble, a crashed chandelier, some plates, army jackets, toys, all abandoned. I have yet to see anything spookier than that place. We soon become looters ourselves, I take a chandelier crystal, an enamel bowl, and some photographs. I didn't want to hang around. |
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