bbq on the wadi. . .

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 fish crossing in the several centimetres of water running over the ford. On the far side no others were to be seen, intrepid kiwis seeking isolation and exclusivity, soon put in mind of the stray dogs we'd seen on that same far side of the river and soon imagining awakening from afternoon naps to find ourselves surrounded by packs of fleabitten mutts. . . we crossed back over the ford, little fish around our toes, in search of safety in numbers, in fact, just like little fish, which we soon discovered, discovering we were early to arrive and soon every carpark along the riverbank was full. . . and when we decided to leave, we were stuck in a jam on the wadi.