Simon Taylor

I'm wearing the reason why we had to go back, an NZD20 Egyptian gellabaya. . . so for the shopping. . . but also the embrace of what at first was easy to reject, the kitsch, which is easy to dismiss as failed camp, camp not yet recognised to be, what is

0:00 /0:20 1× . . . off the plateau down to the desert floor. . . . . . unexpectedly but inevitably exactly a resort and a safari on horseback. . . see the green above, with natural misgivings about what we were walking into, across that green as we arrived came hurtling a galloping horse, stirrups swinging

firstly, some citysouk snaps. . . the cat under the bench, well, that's the bench where I ate my samosa. . . and a rare dog sighting in central Riyadh. . . preparations had begun for Noor Riyadh, the festival of light. . . and I saw cats, this boulder in a tree of unknown significance,

which we didn't, but many many Riyadhis did, with delicious smells of butterflied chicken and corncobs coming off the charcoal burners. . . we'd stopped at a potential spot and intrepid kiwis forded the river on foot, marveling at the heat of the water and the number of

on the way. . . there. . . on the way back. . .