THE UNIQUE EXPERIENCE: PART I
"Looking for a unique experience? Saudi Arabia for the first time offers the possibility to participate in unconventional summer trips on the Red Sea. Sheik Ali Zaq searches trained and muscular young men to row his boats in a challenging competitive setting. Ages 18 to 30. Skilled English-speaking crew to direct the oarsmen. Food, drink, special uniform and sleeping accommodations included. Meet like-minded people from all over the world. A chance of a lifetime you will never be able to forget!"
My eyes only by accident catched the short advertisement in the American magazine for gay athletes that Spring, but afterwards I read it over and over again. The text intrigued me, and also after I had set aside the magazine it stuck with me. As a twenty-two year old guy, I was already bored with the Dutch sport camps I had almost automatically joined during previous summers.
I knew their programs by heart now, there was nothing unexpected any more. I knew the sites and their possibilities. I knew the other participants (as they mostly returned each year too), their strengths and weaknesses, their tricks during the games, their behavior in general, their jokes and stories. I could see it all in my head and because I could see it all I in my head, it didn't excite me any longer.
In fact I was looking for something new, for something more adventurous and unusual next Summer. Indeed looking for a unique experience, if for my part you want to describe it like that.
Rowing a boat on the lakes in the northern Netherlands: I had done that already so often, whether alone, in a rowboat for two, for four, for eight, with or without a helmsman, just for my pleasure and also in several contests. I could call myself both a trained athlete and a trained rower. I had earned my stripes and at least now was in for a different environment from the one I knew all too well.
So rowing the Red Sea - well, it never would have occurred to me if this ad hadn't started me thinking about that possibility. The North Sea, yes, the big lakes of Switzerland, the French or Italian coast of the Mediterranean: the idea about that would have risen spontaneously as a possible alternative. But not a place so strange to me and so far away.
The Red Sea, Saudi Arabia: I had never been there, never been in any other part of the Arab world either, but the exoticism of it appealed to me. Rowing across the Red Sea: none of my vacation buddies over the last few years had done that ever before, so far as I knew. After such a trip at least I would have something new to tell the others. And the weather would always be fine, sure: full sun every day, no rain at all, as we had day after day the previous cold Summer on that windy Dutch lake.
Therefore, the small advertisement in the sports magazine stuck in my head. As I said, I would never have organized a vacation rowing trip on the Red Sea by myself: too far away and too foreign. I didn't speak Arabic (although now I definitely understand at least the few words I better have to!), so how the hell would I be able to organize it, even if I had wanted to?
But now that such a special trip was organized and offered, for the first time in history even as it was announced, that made a big difference. And they did speak English on board, that was indeed an advantage too. And I wouldn't have to take care of my food, drink and sleeping arrangements - a kind of all-inclusive resort was offered here, so to speak, this time only not on the beach but on the sea.
I just wondered a little bit about the uniform, what was meant by that - but in a competition it wasn't strange that the boat owner wanted all his rowers to be dressed the same, to have them easily recognizable. Well: my body was properly trained and I did dare to call myself muscular, thanks to all that training. I understood very well that trained and muscular men were needed: crossing the Red Sea requires more from a rowing crew than just crossing the Dutch IJssellake.
So after some hesitation I decided to send an email to the address given at the bottom of the ad to get more information. Response came quickly, and thus a short correspondence began. Of course I had a lot of questions, and perhaps not all were answered as clearly as I wished, but I liked the idea of a nice, serious, but at the same time very special, sporting enterprise. The boats were much, much bigger than at European rowing contests, for example, and so was our assigned crew.
The sheik who owned those boats was a very pious Muslim and a real idealist, as I understood from the emails. He wished to "bring young men from all over the world together in a unique setting, bonding them as comrades for life." His great desire was to "revive old Arabic cultural traditions that went back to the Middle Ages." To increase the attractiveness for foreigners, he wanted to recreate "an original Eastern setting and atmosphere on board."
What exactly was meant by that, I couldn't weasel out of my contact. He introduced himself to me as Mohamed Morsadi, 26 years old. The whole event should be a surprise (he explained as I asked for more details), so he couldn't blab much about it, only telling me that our uniform was very special and based on old Arab traditions. It indeed sounded very attractive, so eventually I said yes.
Of course I had to organize a lot after that, to travel really to Saudi Arabia, as it is not very easy for Europeans to get into. And I had to give Mohamed some personal information to make this possible, about my health (good), my height (6'5"), and my weight (185 pounds), so that he could consider the best arrangement of all the incoming athletes, to get the most out of our combined physical strength.
Working out the best arrangement was quite a puzzle for him that took some time. But a few emails later he already could tell me my assigned seat number, 46 Indeed, it must be a really big boat we would have to row. The competition, he stressed, would be a a vigorous one, requiring a lot from all participants, and therefore he needed to be sure that the rowers he enrolled were quite muscular and strong men.
Of course he also asked for a picture of me, to get an impression of my body and posture, and I sent him a very nice flattering one of myself throwing a discus, which did show off my arm muscles quite well. He considered their size, apparently (and understandably), important for a rower. He enjoyed my pic very much. Even as I convinced myself more and more that I did want to sign on, Mohamed showed that he wanted to take me on board, being convinced of my qualifications for his requirements.
He sent back a picture of himself also, so that we might recognize each other more easily at the airport, where he would meet me at my plane to drive me to the port where the rowers would assemble. The pic showed a well-built, attractive young Arab man - I guessed maybe thirty years old - with short black hair and a short black beard. He had a lot of sex appeal, I must confess, and perhaps this also advanced my decision in a positive direction a little further.
As time passed I was therefore looking forward more and more to the trip and the good fun I would have in showing the whole world my rowing capabilities.
Thus in that Summer three years ago, at the end of June, I flew to Saudi Arabia on the day agreed on with Mohamed, so that I would get there a few days before the special regatta would start. I must confess, I was a little bit excited about the trip I was going to make, and the nearer the plane came to Djeddah, the more excited I got.
After we landed at three o'clock in the afternoon, and I walked out of the plane and into the airport lobby, I immediately felt the desert heat, which at first is overwhelming for anyone not used to those extreme temperatures. But as it is a very dry kind of heat, not the damp tropical one I remembered from Java, after a while you get more adjusted to it. It must have been 40 degrees celsius in the shade outside. Of course, those are no circumstances for exerting yourself in sports, but on the Red Sea there would be some cooling wind and on the boat some protection - as it otherwise would be inhumane to organize the planned rowing trip.
Inside the airport terminal, it was much cooler of course. Passing through customs didn't take long, since I didn't bring much luggage, only a few personal belongings. In fact, Mohamed told me that I didn't need to bring anything with me, as the organization would provide me everything that I needed. So I came into the big hall of the terminal, with his printed photo in my hand, looking for Mohamed in the waiting crowd - a lot of men with beards, some women with burkas. I didn't detect him but at once a young man, in his mid-twenties, broke away from the crowd and walked up to me, also with a picture in his hand. He clearly wasn't Mohamed.
"Tom of Holland?" the guy, who like me wore only a t-shirt and jeans, asked gently, showing me the picture - it indeed showed me.
So I nodded, a little surprised (as I hadn't expected somebody else), whereupon he said: "Hello, I am Mustafa. Mohamed asked me to pick you up, as he had to pick up five guys from the States who landed forty-five minutes ago. So please follow me to my car, and I'll bring you to all the other athletes".
After some short hesitation - was this all okay? - I grabbed my luggage and followed him to the parking lot. Coming out of the air-conditioned lobby, I was again overwhelmed by the heat you couldn't escape. Well, it would be a unique experience to row with those temperatures indeed. But at sea there would be more wind luckily.
Mustafa walked to a big open convertible. After I tossed my luggage in the back seat, I jumped next to him and we left. We drove through the outskirts of Djeddah, then in the direction of the port. For me it was an amazing trip, all this being totally new to me, so I looked both left and right to catch as many glimpses of this strange country as I could. Meanwhile, we chatted about a lot of different things: Mustafa was curious after what kind of work I had done, what Holland looked like, et cetera.
After half an hour we apparently reached our destiny. We had driven to the far end of the harbor, leaving the more industrialized areas far behind, when Mustafa stopped in front of a huge isolated building made of dark-red brick, at least a hundred sixty feet wide and sixty feet high. It looked rather gloomy, having practically no windows at all, only on the top floor. A high concrete wall, continuing that of the building itself on both sides, separated the enclosure behind from the street. In front of it was a big parking lot, for the most part unoccupied; I only saw a few cars and a big truck there. It was totally silent outside, nobody here besides us. A row of palm trees bordered the property. To the right, where we came from, there were some rusty cranes but no other structures at all. To the left in the distance I already could make out the sea.
Mustafa gestured me to go out, and to bring my luggage with me: "We're there. Please follow me." Then we crossed the street and walked to what was apparently the only entrance. Mustafa rang a bell, then spoke some words in Arabic (that I of course couldn't understand) into some kind of microphone. After some seconds the door opened slowly. It was a thick and heavy door, as I saw when it opened to let us inside.
In front of us was a narrow and not very well lit corridor. Mustafa entered and I followed. The door closed automatically behind us. It was rather cool inside - or perhaps just the normal temperature I was used to in Holland, which in the meantime to me had become the same. After several paces there was a second door; Mustafa rang again. This time the door didn't open automatically; I heard somebody approaching from the other side, and then the turning of some keys and the pushing aside of two heavy bolts. I wondered a little bit about all this - two doors seemed to me a little bit superfluous as a safety measure.
In the meanwhile the second door opened, and a rather tall man - he would have been at least six foot six - about forty years old and dressed in a strange kind of uniform turned up. He looked a little bit like a Roman centurion, wearing a tunic underneath a black armor plate with a leather apron, short boots on his bare muscled legs, huge black leather wristbands on his bare muscled arms and a shining helmet with a big red plume on his head. I gazed at him with some amazement, and wondered about his dress, but then remembered the historical setting in which the whole regatta would take place. Apart from rowing, in a way it would be kind of a reenactment theatre, too. And I must confess, the guy looked really hot in his special outfit.
Mustafa greeted him in Arabic, and then in English said to him, "Ahmed, here is our next man."
And to me: "Go with him to the reception room, he will do the whole processing. I have to go back to the airport to pick up another one of your future colleagues. See you later."
And off he went, opening the main door and disappearing through it.
Ahmed only said: "Please follow me."
We passed through several corridors, climbed several steps and changed direction several times, until we arrived at a third door - I guessed that we were now, after this whole odyssey through the middle of the building, close to the top floor. Ahmed knocked on the door and, after a voice inside said something I couldn't understand, we entered. Inside the room was a desk, with another man sitting behind it, dressed in the same great Roman centurion manner as Ahmed. They really arranged the whole thing in style!
The rest of the room, which was relatively big, was nearly empty. Ahmed pushed me forward to the man behind the desk, who seemed to me to be a little bit older than Ahmed, about mid-forties. He was introduced to me by Ahmed as Mohamed. It of course wasn't the Mohamed I had contact with, as he looked totally different, and indeed was much older.
Than Ahmed said to him: "Here is Rower 46, just arrived from the airport."
Mohamed: "Fine. We will start the registration then."
Thereupon I was asked some dates, to be sure that I was the right person. Mohamed wrote it all down on a form in a file folder on the desk. Ahmed in the meanwhile was measuring me, putting his measuring tape on a lot of places including my neck, wrists and ankles. They needed all those measurements - as Ahmed told me in passing when I questioned the reason for it - to get the right fit for my rowing uniform and for some special ornaments showing that I was a member of the sheik's rowing team. All were entered on the form. Ahmed went to a door at the other side of the room, opened it and called something out to a guy who apparently was in the room next door. Then he returned, whereupon Mohamed asked me a lot of questions concerning my health and habits.
Then he looked at me and said: "Well, we're finished with your registration for the moment. You will now receive your uniform and ornaments. They will brought in here in the next few minutes. Please undress."
Ahmed thereupon went again to the door and called again for something. Meanwhile, I started to undress, taking off my shoes, t-shirt and jeans - and then stopped.
Ahmed came back, and when he saw me still in my boxers, which were the only thing that separated me from total nudity, he said with a small smile: "No, all. Don't be so shy. You will get all your new things from us."
I hesitated, as I wasn't in for a total strip, but then I did what he told me and stood there totally naked. Well, at least I had nothing to be ashamed of, I really was proud of my muscled body, my strong arms, and my dick looked respectable as well. Was I wrong to discover some sign of satisfaction in the face of Mohamed, when he cast a quick glance at me?
Ahmed took a plastic bag from a chair in the corner, which was already numbered 46, and all my clothes went into it, shoes included. Having done this, he put it back on the chair. Then we had to wait for awhile.
After a few minutes I suddenly heard steps on the other side of the door, which then opened. A third man, dressed as a Roman warrior (as I thought of it being) entered, bearing a big burlap sack on his back, which apparently contained some load of considerable weight. I wondered about that, as I only needed some thin clothes, considering the fact that it would be over 30 degrees celsius on the Red Sea. To the contrary, the sack looked much heavier, as though it contained a lot more clothes than you would need even if the temperature dropped below minus 30 degrees celsius.
But I wondered even more when the third man dropped the sack in front of me and I heard a loud metallic clunk followed by some short clanking the moment the sack hit the floor.
I must have looked a little bit embarrassed when Ahmed said, now suddenly showing some strange grin I couldn't place: "Here is your new uniform. Just turn the sack upside down to get it out." Mohamed rose out of his chair behind the desk and approached me from the other side with the same kind of strange grin on his face.
I started to feel a bit uneasy but didn't know what else to do, as all three men in the room were standing rather close to me now. The situation suddenly seemed rather threatening to me. What the hell was this?! What was going on here? What by God was inside that damned sack???
To learn what was inside I had to pick it up and turn it upside down, as they had told me to do. So I did. What else could I do? Although I longed for my own clothes, as whatever was inside this sack seemed rather ominous to me, my jeans and t-shirt were out of reach in the plastic bag on the chair behind Ahmed. I really felt naked now - and vulnerable, which was what was intended.
So I took hold of the burlap sack with both hands - my God, indeed it was very heavy, even more than I already expected. There must have been stuff weighing over 20 pounds inside! What could it be? Was it the ornaments Ahmed had talked about that produced the sharp metallic clunk a moment ago? I hoisted the sack and turned it upside down and then, as the sack was not really closed but apparently only very loosely tied together by a cord that opened wide immediately under the pressure, the contents with a lot of rattling noise fell on the floor.
I was totally appalled: at my feet (as I realized after a few seconds of being flabbergasted at what I saw in front of me) apart from a big shapeless piece of greyish yellow raw cotton lay a set of three thick shackles connected by two heavy chains.