Saudi Arabia today

Abstract

The invitation to dinner was made in the morning in the minister’s office. A car would come to the hotel to pick me up around about nine. We drove through Riyadh at breakneck speed, bumping along the dusty city roads, then came out on a straight, wide highway, which went directly into the desert. On either side square plots of sand were marked out ready to be bought, sold, or built upon. The real-estate boom was just getting under way. The minister greeted us at the front gate. A high wall surrounded the building, keeping the desert sand at bay and preserving the privacy of his home. We passed through the hallway and into a huge reception room, the floor thick with the best carpets money can buy, deep plush armchairs lining three of the four walls—the fourth wall was a separating screen from what turned out to be the dining room. Introductions were made—two other ministers were arriving, there were two other British journalists, a Canadian banker, an American newspaper publisher, and a diplomat. All men. We sat down, ranged around the edges of the room with dark-skinned Yemeni servants pouring scented Cardomom coffee into small cups with incredible accuracy. There would be five cups in one hand, each piled on top of the other.