بوليفارد وورلد

may sound more like "boolyfaood wooorild" but is a transliteration of Boulevard World. . .

I was tempted to go into the pyramids and either shoot things if not quite understanding what. Then, isn't that always the way? . . . also of note, a demonic personage and a huge banana! . . . or escape:

. . . of note, the huge blue banana! . . .

Each nation, along with being represented by Big Things, in NZ you might say, Big Iconic Things, was also provided with a commercial district. Stopping in Egypt, I bought a ثَوْب, thobe or thawb, for @NZD20, though but a steal for more a jellabiya really. . .

good taste is after all the enemy of art, Oscar Wilde did not say. He did say, or write, with which, apart from the universal masculine, it's difficult to disagree:

People sometimes inquire what form of government is most suitable for an artist to live under. To this question there is only one answer. The form of government that is most suitable to the artist is no government at all. Authority over him and his art is ridiculous. It has been stated that under despotisms artists have produced lovely work. This is not quite so. Artists have visited despots, not as subjects to be tyrannized over, but as wandering wonder-makers, as fascinating vagrant personalities, to be entertained and charmed and suffered to be at peace, and allowed to create. There is this to be said in favor of the despot, that he, being an individual, may have culture, while the mob, being a monster, has none. One who is an Emperor and King may stoop down to pick up a brush for a painter, but when the democracy stoops down it is merely to throw mud. And yet the democracy have not so far to stoop as the emperor. In fact, when they want to throw mud they have not to stoop at all. But there is no necessity to separate the monarch from the mob; all authority is equally bad.

we had hoped to take the cablecar from Boulevard City over the boulevard to Boulevard World, it would have saved us the parking madness, which felt like being ushered (yes there were the usual North African ushers here) down a plughole, or in an automotive conga-line, which felt like we were being led into the carpark only to be led out again onto the boulevard. . . and repeat. We had hoped to, but discovered it cost. Of course it cost!

anywhere else in the world (or on the boulevard) the mood would have been frenetic, hectic! here in the enchanted kingdom, the dry and enchanted kingdom, the prayerful and hospitable enchanted kingdom, the hard-to-say-if-it's-on-the-comedown-from-its-god-intoxication-or-on-the-lookout-for-other-forms-of-enchantment enchanted kingdom, the vibrations are languid, a languor that is not wholly heat-induced, and all is calm, and, anywhere else in the world (on any boulevard) the calm would feel depressive, as if the hectic pace demanded sedation. Music break~

~before we got there, we were in Italy, home of the ancient Ramones. . . which continues, as above, so below

. . . and this revelation!

whereupon, M_______, and the dancing, led by ruby-red slippers, started. . .

some powerful oud smells advertise their psychoactive properties:

(whereas I was previously only familiar with oud as a stringed instrument~

~oud, as it sounds, wood, agarwood or that of the Aquilaria tree, moreover, the scent produced by the presence of a parastic fungus, a type of Phaeoacremonium mold, in the resin of this tree, is everywhere in the world of the Boulevard and in souks, samples waved at you, stoppers pressed to your wrist as you pass, smoking from charcoal Bakhor burners outside shops where the wood is sold, piled up in heaps, beside frankincense and myrrh. . . a sign in our room prohibiting burning it and smoking shisha. . . really the smell of Saudi. . . )

. . . it was not the oud but our eyes toasting in the neon and having walked around the world we still hadn't eaten. . . out through China, past the hoops

chasing some dream of food and, landing on Greece to provide it,

smiling at the view but . . . the waiter passed by yelling out and looking at what he held we said, No. That can't be it! . . . another waiter came by with cardboard boxes of fries and a shawarma the size of a cigar and fries, and the first came back with our souvlaki platter which we couldn't see for the fries, which we ate with fries, and washed down with pepsi. . . whereupon another waiter descended and, thinking we hadn't received our entire order, we couldn't see it for the fries, he deposited two more boxes of fries on our table. . . we were disappointed that the fries were second-rate.

what to say about this? but you know you're not in Disneyland.

We carried on around the world, followed the Amazon, a flying carpet overhead, and arriving at the main gate found ourselves in Saudi Arabia. Entering the provinces, were given another go at fries

but there was music, a fishermen's dance:

it's as catchy as fries:

. . . or flies . . .

. . . or toasted frogs' eyes

which I have included

for the music lover. . . To France!

these days most of Paris is a video wall:

while what you are witnessing in this next clip is the set-up–

Holly took the icecream. And then she was asked to pay for it. Türkiyed.

The universal substance of the world is fries.

And the universal experience is a house (or in this case Mayan pyramid) of horrors. . .

And so, just as South America leads to Iran, India passing in a blur, bypassing the loop of a towering rollercoaster, we made our exit through a giant samovar.

love from Riyadh,

حب من الرياض

Simon