One year ago I was in Saudi Arabia. The memories, the smells, the gritty feeling beneath my feet are still fresh in my mind. I'm picturing walking in front of Riyadh's Chop Chop Square, the slight breeze ruffling my silky hijab against my cheeks. I can feel the weight of my loaner abaya around my legs as I stride with jeans on, the weight of the abaya on my shoulders. I can feel the relief, literally the weight off my shoulders, that I felt when I went out with the abaya I had bought myself. I can still feel the grittiness under my feet as I walk, the irritating grains of sand and particles of dirt that made their way onto the top of my sandals that I had to wash off each night. I remember some of the thoughts that ran through my head at the time. Who has tread on this ground? How old is this sand? What men of importance walked in this spot before me? This land is ancient, beyond Biblical times. It's striking that probably little has changed since then.
The colors and smells of the spices and fruits tempt my nose and tastebuds. My stomach grumbles as I'm called closer to them. Beautifully stacked pyramids of yellows, oranges, and reds - saffron, cardamom, and cumin. They resist the temptation to fall as patrons scoop what they need. Piles upon piles of dates, ranging from light brown to purple to black - the swaths of color amaze my eyes. The vendor offers me a black one to taste in the hopes that I'll buy his wares. The date is huge and sticky and sweet. It takes two bites. It sticks to the inside of my mouth. It's delicious. I buy a bagful and walk away licking my fingers clean.
The heavy scents surround me. The perfumed oils of men and women who can afford this luxury make me heady. The body odors of the men even more so. The cramped aisles of the market make these smells even more oppressive as people pass, even though I keep my distance from the men. They do the same. The fabrics of the pashminas that every vendor hawks smell new and old at the same time. Their thick, wooly polyester scents do not lend well to my wanting fresh light and airy aromas around me. Still, I take it all in because I know this is fleeting. I relish these new experiences.
The incense vendors, with chunks of brown bark in overflowing bins, entice you to smell the essence. It's incredible. Bin upon bin of slightly different colored brown, all meant to be burned. This is the home of frankencense. This is the home of gold and myrrh.I want to do it again.
