The late 1990s. Gosh, that makes me sound like I should be sitting in a rocking chair, reminiscing about the good old days when mobile phones were the size of house bricks and people still thought email was a passing fad. But back then, I was 24, fresh out of engineering school, and eager to see the world. And what better way to do it than to find a job somewhere exotic, knock out two birds with one stone, and rack up some international work experience?

So, off I went. To Saudi Arabia.

Now, let me tell you, stepping out of that airport was like stepping onto the surface of Mars. The air was thinner than my usual humid oxygen cocktail, and I was gasping like a goldfish that had just been unceremoniously dumped onto a kitchen counter. The guy who picked me up noticed my distress and, with all the warmth and compassion of a seasoned expat, gave me some life-saving advice: Breathe, man, breathe!

Fortunately, I’d landed a job with the Saudi Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which meant I was surrounded by people who actually spoke English. A relief, considering the alternative was attempting to decipher Arabic, a language that—if you don’t speak it—sounds like someone clearing their throat aggressively. But once I stepped outside the walls of the ministry, things got a bit… complicated.

I adapted, though. After a few months, I was going out, exploring, soaking up the, uh… desert charm. Which is a polite way of saying vast stretches of sand, the occasional patch of green thanks to some overworked irrigation system, and camels that look at you with the same expression of mild disapproval your mother gives when she finds out you’ve been eating junk food three nights in a row.

Riyadh itself was interesting. If you’ve ever been to Phoenix, Arizona, imagine that—but with fewer trees, more sand, and a distinct lack of pubs. It’s a city that feels like someone took an American suburb, plopped it in the middle of the desert, removed any and all alcohol, and then cranked the thermostat up to “hellfire.” The men walked around in pristine white robes, looking like they’d just stepped out of a Tide Plus advert, while the women floated by in all-black abayas, resembling the world’s most elegant collection of ninjas.

And then, of course, I had my first run-in with the religious police.

Apparently, having brown highlights in my otherwise dark hair was a problem. You see, according to them, only gay people do that, and in Saudi Arabia, well… let’s just say that being gay is about as legal as smuggling a truckload of whisky across the border. So, off I went to their station, where I was interrogated by men who did not speak English, and I, in turn, did not speak Arabic. It was less of a police interrogation and more of an elaborate staring contest. Eventually, they took my ID, called the ministry, and soon enough, a giggling ministry police captain arrived to collect me like a misplaced piece of luggage. He advised me to grow a beard. Sound advice, I suppose.

But that wasn’t my last tango with the morality brigade.

One day, I was driving through the city, reached a T-junction, and—like any rational driver—looked left to check for oncoming traffic. Big mistake. Because bam! Suddenly, I was arrested. Again. This time, for looking at women.

Except… I didn’t see any women.

Back in the car, my ministry police captain was in stitches. “You were looking at women!” he howled.

“But I didn’t see any!” I protested.

“Ah, but they were there,” he said, “you just missed them because it was dark.”

Now, this puzzled me. Because in Saudi Arabia, women wear black from head to toe, including a face covering with just a tiny slit to see the world. “But if they’re covered entirely in black… in the dark… how does one even know they’re there?” I asked.

He grinned. “You got caught looking, and that, my friend, is basically the local version of catcalling.”

And this is when it hit me. First, they arrested me because they thought I was gay. Now they were arresting me because I was looking at women. What’s next?! Arrested for not looking at women?

At this point, I realized Saudi Arabia is a land of contradictions. A place where you can be arrested for being too fashionable and for trying to drive safely. A land of sand, camels, endless golf-driving potential, and a legal system where looking at an empty road can land you in police custody.

But for all its strangeness, Saudi Arabia is still just a place where people live their lives like everyone else. They go to work, raise families, laugh, cry, and go through the motions of life just like the rest of us. It’s a strange country with a strange culture, but at the end of the day, people are still just people.

Good times.

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