So my arrival in Yanbu begins with my departure from Istanbul. There was one other person in business class. And he sat right next to me. We talked and I found out he was going to work for Yasref in corporate planning. I had hoped to get a little sleep, but another multi-course meal, our conversation, and my excitement of being less than 3 hours from our new home put the idea, instead of me, to bed.
The dreaded immigration and customs time had arrived. Yanbu is a small airport, and our flight was the only one arriving that morning. There were less than 50 people on the flight, so I hoped any wait would be minimal.
We approached the immigration desk and he handed us a form to fill out. At least partially kinda sorta fill out. I was about 3/4 of the way through mine when he asked for it. He didn’t seem to care that it wasn’t completed. He entered things into his computer, seeming to get frustrated that the system was slow. I eventually was told to place my hands on the fingerprint scanner and step back for a picture. He wrote my border number in my passport, stamped it, and sent me on my way. I walked around the corner to claim my baggage, and found most of it already oh so gingerly placed on the ground. My guitar was the first item I found, and it was in good shape. All of my cheap hard-side luggage had survived the trip with no damage. I carefully stacked and tied and arranged the bags onto the large roller cases so I could make leaving the claim area a one man show.
Customs: The point where your 4 large bags must be unstacked and placed one-by-one in the x-ray machine, which happens to be 20 feet outside of baggage claim. I sent my bags through, was gently reminded that my laptop courier bag had to go through also, then started pulling the bags off again, stacking again, tying again, and arranging again. We then left customs and entered the airport. Total time from plane to airport lobby was about 20 minutes, so the arrival had started very well.
A Yasref rep was there to meet us. He took us out to his car and we walked up to a Crown Victoria. Hmm. My new coworker had two large bags and I had 2 large bags, 2 small bags, 1 carry on, one laptop bag, and 1 guitar. Guess who was the problem here. (Side note – there are approximately 73 Suburbans on site. Side side note to HR – just play it safe. Bring a Suburban).
We crammed 2 bags in the trunk, then everything else in the passenger side back seat. I took the front, which had been adjusted full knee crushingly forward. We left the airport and had a fairly uneventful trip to the village. My coworkers villa was not quite ready, so he brought his stuff to my place so he could get some rest.
The next few days were a mix of sleepiness, restlessness, eagerness to get out, and cobwebs from jet lag. We had discussed our report to work day as Sunday (Saudi has Friday-Saturday weekends), so I tried my best to make my body ready for that.
Ina. With Arabic subtitles. I’m going to learn Arabic just so I can 
understand what Jeffrey is saying. Every channel has Arabic subtitles which can’t be turned off. You get used to it. I watch “How It’s Made” a lot, and at the end of the show (in the States) they will start running credits. My mind has learned that the show is wrapping up and to automatically ignore them. Watching “How It’s Made” over here is an exercise in subconscious thought analysis. I think the show is wrapping up as soon as it comes on.
From Tennessee To Texas to Saudi Arabia 