The Wandering Williams
Pictures from trip
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The planning was done, the packing complete and it was 4 o'clock Friday morning. It was time to leave. Donna was up (in her dressing gown) making cups of tea and getting the sleepy girls ready. Were they all hyped up for the trip? Not a hope! They wanted to be left alone in bed. But they were looking forward to the trip. The drive to the Whaba Crater was uneventful. It is 700 km of 6 lane freeway, followed by 60 or 70 km of good quality bitumen road through beautiful scenery, followed by 20 km of rough and dusty track. As this is the 4th or 5th time I have been to the crater, I am quite confident finding my way around. We drove straight to the edge and looked at one of the most amazing views I personnaly have ever seen. I will never get used to how big the hole actually is. As I have said before, it is so big that the far side looks like a picture or wall paper or a movie. It is just so far away. It was now getting towards the time to set up camp, so we drove back to the last place we camped at the last time we were here (February last year). We set up camp and had an enjoyable but uneventful evening. The next day, after breakfast, packing up the camp and driving into the nearby village (this place stretches acceptance of the dictionary meaning for the word 'village') to top up with petrol and water (I had under-estimated our use of water), we drove back to the crater for some adventure. On the way we passed a tow truck, the occupants of which showed more than usual interest in us for some reason. When we stopped, they soon came driving up and got out to say hello. I still don't know why. These fellows (4 of them) were from Afghanistan and were very friendly indeed. They just wanted to say hello in whatever language it is that they speak. They didn't speak a word of English and I didn't have any idea what they were saying, but we had fun. They ended up down on all fours (keep in mind, 4 grown men driving a tow truck) picking up the pretty coloured stones that abound on the edge of the crater. They were almost obsessive. They collected more than ample and gave them to the girls, who were starting to stockpile in a plastic container. I could see that this was going to go on for ever, so I packed the backpack and began the long process of saying goodbye. It only took 20 minutes, so I got off pretty lightly. The girls and I headed down into the crater. It was now 10:30 in the morning and we wanted to spend a few hours exploring the crater. The girls now had diamonds in their eyes and wanted to go gem hunting. When we got to the bottom (this takes 45 minutes) we walked as far across the middle as we could before sinking too far into the salty mud. The bottom is covered with a thick, crusty layer of salt, but under this is soft (salty) mud that is not very good for walking boots. When we started sinking, we turned back and went to the edge. Now was the time to return to the top, so we headed back up the way we had come down (or so we thought. HA!). As we got higher, I got an increasing feeling that something wasn't quite right. By the time we got to the top, I knew what it was. We had come up a different way and were now standing at the base of what looked like an impenetrable cliff, surrounded by thick, almost impassable, thorny, scratchy undergrowth. We decided to go to the left, thinking that we were only a short way from where we had expected to be. A further 10 minutes of scratches proved that we weren't. What to do? We kept going. I was quite aware of the fact that we were down to less than a half a bottle of water between the 4 of us and we didn't actually know how we were going to get out of the crater. We found some open ground on an exposed knob of rock. We parked ourselves and collected our thoughts. We had 2 choices; either we could go back down the way we had come up and start again, or we could try to scale the cliff. I was learning that, not only do the girls thoroughly enjoy rock climbing, they are actually quite good at it. As the trip down was at least a half an hour, with another 30 to 45 minutes back up and less than a half a bottle of water between us, we decided to do the cliff thing. The girls stayed on the exposed rock while I crashed through the undergrowth to the bottom of the cliff and looked for a way up. I soon found it. It was a rather good little dry water course that didn't require very much difficult climbing. After getting to the top, I yelled down for Shauna to follow. As Carly is the youngest and the one who suffers most from lack of confidence, I thought it best to keep her in the middle. Emma could assist at the bottom. (One of the things I learned on the trip is that for a 10 year old, Emma makes a good 14 year old at times). Shauna is as nimble as a mountain goat and was up in no time. Next was Carly. She hesitated in a couple of spots but was soon up. Then came Emma. Before I knew it, they were at the top of the cliff beside me, all exclaiming about how easy it was. That was when I learned just how much they all like rock climbing. But the drama wasn't quite over. We each had a small swallow of water, leaving us with a good splash at the bottom of the bottle. But where was the car? As we had come up a different way, we were in a different location at the top. And I couldn't honestly say whether we should go left or right to find the car. The crater is round, but it is 2 km across at the top. For those with any maths ability, this meant that we potentially had a bit of a walk in front of us. I did not want 3 kids rebelling through lack of car, lack of water, lack of rest. Common sense told me that we needed to head to the left, so we started heading in that direction. At the top of the next rise, there still was no sign of the car. How could we have possibly moved so far from the car? We kept on going. Eventually we saw a dot on the horizon. We kept walking, the kids beginning to wilt. Finally I was able to state confidently that I could see the car, but it was so far away that I felt that I would be the victim of patricide before we made it. This was when years of parenting kicked in. Either that or the fear of the consequences of not coming up with a brain wave caused me to ask 'How many metres do you girls think it is to the car?' Three different answers. 'OK. Let's check by counting.' So for the next 803 steps, we counted every one, and I mean every one. That means that we had emerged from the crater one and a half to two kilometers from where we had gone in. Strange things can happen. It was now time to find a camping spot for night number 2. I had already planned that we would take the track that we had accidently found ourselves on last year. We set off up this track with a full tank of petrol and plenty of water, following the compass and a close eye on the map. If we followed the track marked in the map, it was 130 km until we reached the bitumen. However, there are many many tracks in the desert, all heading in seemingly different directions. The track we were on was the most formed of the tracks, having been graded sometime in the last 10 years or so. But there were also other graded tracks that crossed at various angles. It was important to stay on the track we wanted or else we could face not 130 km, but up to 250 km of desert with impenetrable lava mountains at the other side. Amazingly, we came across a village 50 km along the track. This village was a collection of houses surrounded by walls (all houses have walls in KSA). What was not behind a wall was considered to be a road, because the cars (all 3 of them) drove wherever they wanted. This village was not marked on the map, the direction of the track was a good 20 degrees off what it should have been and I really could not say with confidence that I knew exactly where we were. However (and very importantly), I could say where we had been, so there was no problem in back tracking. As I drove into the village (no electricity, population anywhere between 18 and 43, no bitumen for at least 70 km) I spied a gaggle of gentlemen gathered around the modern camel, a Toyota one tonner. Now was not the time to be coy, so I drove up to ask for directions. Luckily for me (and I am not being facitious here), at least one of them could read. I showed them the map and pointed to the town on the bitumen that we were heading for. There was much babble and waving of hands and then they could see that this simpleton (me) was not following their directions. So they indicated for me to follow them, jumped in their car and led me out of town. With the Jeep pointing defiantly desertwood and with the well wishes of the bethobed gentle fellows (and no, I am not being clever or smart-arsed. The desert people are friendly, helpful, charming people), we headed out of the un-named village and into the yonder. Twenty kilometers later we decided it was time to stop for the night, in a beautiful sandy valley with a scattering of fire wood for the girls. The next morning was as before. We were packed and ready to go by 09:30. Two hundred metres down the track I realized that we had a flat tyre. I soon had it changed, but it did raise the thought in my mind that we were something like 40 or 50 km from the bitumen (according to the fellows the day before) and I no longer had a spare tyre. I had everything required to fix a flat, such as tubes, pumps etc, but I did not relish the idea of having to do this. As we drove along, the desert changed into a huge, almost featureless flood plain. Apart from the ghost of mountains on the western and southern horizons, there was nothing to be seen except evidence of flooding sometime in the past decade and occassional low scrub. We continued across this in a straight line for another 20 km. Gradually, signs of humanity started to return; a shed over there, a wrecked car body off the side of the track. Slowly the number of buildings visible increased. Then suddenly we were at the bitumen. It is strange because, as you travel along the tracks, it is usually difficult or impossible to see the highways until you are actually on them. So we were back at the bitumen and civilization. But where was the welcoming committee? Where was the red carpet? Where was the podium for all of the speaches that were to be made? And where was the brass band? Of course, not only were we back to civilization, but we were back to reality. As it was, we had emerged onto the road at exactly the place that we had been aiming for, regardless of the fact that the compass was consistantly showing about 20 degrees off what the map said it should, there was no right-hand turn in the track where the map said there was, the village that gave us the confidence to continue wasn't on the map. What I learned from this is that the map can be used only as a guide; a suggestion. Nothing replaces facts and common sense. Where we were was 9 km from Mahed Al Dhabab. Go on! I dare you to try to find that in any reference you care to check. We turned left in the direction of Makka and Jeddah. The countryside here was predominantly black lava rock and medium hills. But in the distance to the west could be seen dramatic, craggy mountains similar to what we had already seen last year between Najran and Taif. As we weren't in any great hurry, we found a nice spot under a tree to stop and cook lunch. Another 100 km down this road, we joined the freeway that runs from Makka to Madina. As is common in KSA, this is a 6 lane freeway that has been carved through the countryside. It also runs along 20 km inland from the mountain range that runs down the western side of the Arabian peninsular. As the conditions were almost ceaseless black boulders, it was going to be interesting finding a place to camp for the night. Eventually we found a place 6 km off the freeway, at the base of a cone shaped hill. Carly will proudly tell you that this was a volcanic plug. I have a photo but there is no way that it will do the hill justice. It wasn't all that big, but its shape was a perfect cone. We found a spot in a sandy creek bed with plenty of vegetation. This was both a bonus and a drawback, the bonus being wood for a fire for the girls and the drawback being the amount of small moths that bothered us during the evening. The next day, day number 4, found us on the outskirts of Medina by 11 o'clock in the morning. Medina is a large city but is closed to non-muslims. There is a ring road for us. We were running low on fresh food so I was keen to find a shop to stock up. In an unknown city in which we were restricted to the outskirts, this wasn't as easy as it might have been. We did eventually find a shop that had a fellow from Pakistan who had a small amount of English. There we were able to get the essentials and some unsolicitored opinion on everything to do with cricket as soon as he found out we were from Australia. The Pakistanis seem fanatical about their cricket. A few oohs and ahhs in the right places kept him happy. All stocked up and ready to roll, all we needed now was some lunch. That was easier said than done. We almost became trapped by prayer time, which occurs earlier the further west you travel. There is none of this new fangled 'time zone' rubbish. Prayer begins at the precise moment, depending on where you are on the planet. I have no idea how they work it out but it seems to be 10 or 12 minutes earlier in Medina compared to Riyadh. Because of this, I was only able to grab a bag of almost cold chips before the shops all closed. This was lunch. After lunch, we continued on until it was time to stop and setup camp. It was at this time that I had to decide whether to do an extra day and travel north to a well known place called Madain / Saleh. We plan on going there in January and I now had an opportunity to check the place out. I looked at the map and determined that it was an extra 650 km in addition to what we already had to cover and that it wasn't fair on the girls to ask them to do this. So we headed directly from Medina to Buraihda. By the time we had covered 140 km, it was again time to stop for the night. There was no problem finding a suitable spot here because we had left all cities and major towns well behind. We were out in the desert again well and truly. I found a place 5 km from the road at the base of an interesting hill. We later found that this and many other hills in the area are made of slate (or shale. I'm not a geologist.) which the girls found interesting. We climbed up the hill and found some beautiful pieces of rock with a pearl-like colour. The evening here was most enjoyable and drama free. The next morning, day number 5, was the beginning of a very peaceful day. We didn't see any towns of more than a hundred people. We didn't have to get petrol for the car, because with the air-conditioner off (winter is coming) and ambling along at 100 kph, we were obtaining amazing fuel economy. We travelled the 400 or so km in peace and quiet. It was also beautiful country. The desert was now a series of small hills standing alone in a vast expanse of gently undulating, sandy country. The only sort of use made of this country appeared to be the odd camel. Not even goats were to be found here. By stopping time on day 5, we were 120 km from Buraihda. We turned off onto a road that took us into the desert outside a small town. We travelled down this for 5 km and the road then ended and turned into a miriad of tracks criss-crossing their way across small, gravel hills. It was something I haven't seen before. As far as you could see, there was gravel, just like in a car park. Only this gravel was quite natural. It had to be because who would bother to lay an even cover of gravel over an area that must have been over 30 km long and at least 10 km wide? The spot we chose to camp wasn't at all picturesque during daylight, but when the sun went down and the stars came out, it was beautiful. That night was standard, with no reportable drama. We saw shooting stars, satellites, more stars than you could imagine. I listened to the BBC on the shortwave, nearly burnt tea because I sat there too long because of exhaustion. The kids ran around and made far too much noise. As I said, a standard night. Day number 6 was also standard. This was the last day before getting home and we weren't in any rush. We were 520 km from home and had all day to do it. We set off at 09:30. The place we had stayed was at the beginning of a large area of agriculture. From that place until Buraihda was a constant stream of towns and villages, all with the primary concern of agriculture. One large town had a statue of a huge fist proudly holding a healthy looking stalk of wheat. This was there as you entered that town. Many towns had beautiful green parks and play areas for the kids and they wanted wanted to stop at them all. Amazingly, many of the towns had beautiful fountains, which were all flowing with huge amounts of water. To me this was meant to show pride with what they have achieved and considering that at this place they are 500 km from any sea or ocean, I think they have a right to be proud. We kept on driving until we got to Buraihda. This is a small city and very strict Muslim. I have been advised to turn the car radio off before entering this town because it has been known for Mutawa (religious police) to break off a car aerial if they see one. Don't ask me why. They just have a different view of the world. We bought some food and then headed out of town. There was a 6 lane freeway heading all the way from Buraihda to Riyadh, a distance of 390 km. This passed quickly, with Carly informing me every time we went past a sign with the distance to Riyadh, and these signs were placed every 5 km. Emma was keeping a sort of diary and was marking down the time and distance for every 5 km. This went on the whole way back to Riyadh. We arrived home at 5 o'clock Wednesday afternoon. Donna wasn't there as she was off teaching the princesses, but arrived home a half an hour later. Lots of hugs and kisses. The holiday was over.
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