one sunset after another supermarket

(but before that, another day:)

. . . this one spent on the hunt for a simcard. . . in vain; that evening I ended up purchasing a Maya esim; a fraction of the cost for the same network, Zain, of Airalo, it seems more native to these parts. . .

. . . keeping with the theme, I must have ventured at sundown out to the local supermarket, because that's where the scissors is at, or perhaps I went further, yes, that's it, because the scissors are on the main boulevard, to the Farm Market, which is not yet Lulu, to follow . . . (this morning I noticed that the wall with the hole in it, pictured above, has gone; replaced by a hole in the ground, the footing, destined for another empty building, 90% of the buildings in this area are empty.) . . .

Lulu:

the fish section:

Halve the prices for an approximation to NZD, from which you can see that the sushi is expensive and that this little fish above is very appealing. We ended up with a piece of raw rich red salmon, direct from Norway. And, in the meat section, eschewed the NZ and Brazilian steaks (tried it, tasted water-injected) for sossies, not the camel ones however, NZ beef; on being cooked they shrank to little boys.

Here we are on the way to the movies at Vox cinemas. . . In the Kingdom Centre. . . not—

. . .yes, it's all about the angle you hold your head in—from a certain angle, our movie would've been on at the Kingdom Centre, which seemed a long walk, I know it was, I've done it before, from Alinma Bank metro station, and there we arrived to find it a work in progress, with barely any people. We were directed by a stall-holder upstairs, in good time, went to buy our tickets and saw our session was booked out. Asking, were told another session was about to begin, settled on that, chose our seats from a seating plan showing, strangely, about a dozen seats, we were about to pay SAR300 (halve it for @NZD), when. . . hang on a minute!

Is this the only Vox cinema aroundabouts showing the P.T. Anderson? because Jo's phone said. . . O, it's five minutes away, said the attendant happily—five minutes by car perhaps. Turns out the Kingdom Centre boasts VIP cinemas, we wanted entry level. . .

Into the street, with 23 minutes showing on maps to get there, but even then, 4 minutes late. We, as Jo says, boosted it. 36° and no shade and no getting over the 4-lane-a-side highway, the median strip a metre-high barrier, into view hove the overbridge,

over it, into the shade of an arcade, up a level. . . sweat-soaked, were told a quarter-hour of ads. Phewff. Time to order soft-serves.

The cinema cool, several Saudi couples, us, that's all; the seats reclinable with footrests. Too cool, halfway into the 3 hours Jo was wrapping herself in her scarf and I was doing my top buttons up but finding the fabric too breathable and goose-bumpling with every waft of the thankfully intermittent—relief, a wave of cold air, relief—air-con.

bang bang pow, whoop whoop, wooo-hOOooooooo, WOOO-hoooooOOOO, that's my review. (. . .apart from saying, exceptional performances; P.T. working that edge where, just a fraction further, and he'd be O.T.T.P.T.—yes, loved it, and that edge can as well be said for the degree of contrivedness: so many contrived and brilliant shots. It's the nice thing about his work, the conceits and symbols, the devices, are hidden as bones are in the flesh.) . . .that, and 3 hours only seemed long for the shivery air-con conditions.

We are in the area, so why not a sunset experience?

. . .after all, it's 4.15pm when we get out of the movies. . .

experiences don't come cheap; experiences = expense, in other words, perhaps why it's a trigger for me: Are you here for the experience? . . .yes. O, OK, it was cheaper last time I came. . . There has been a price increase. I see.

Then:

we saw.

and felt . . . the warm simoom. . .

I skipped lunch for movie, had eaten by sundown two pieces of toast and an apple. . . Jo led, her old stomping ground when domiciled at the Roche on Olaya, down food street, she called it, and we passed food after food after another food, after sunset, after supermarket, after one after another, some with misters on sticks keeping punters cool enough to eat on the street (yes, the cool of the evening is not a Riyadhi concept), some with the football playing, some brash American style, some with whole families fitted up to shisha, his and hers, the kids of course on cellphones (the kids out on display at night, boys pimped up in waistcoats and bowties, girls in tutus and sparkly shoes), . . .Just a bit further! . . . (it's making me hungry thinking about it. . .) . . .Are we there yet! ! !? . . . Hmmm, it's further than I thought. . . HERE:

menu only by QR code. I was not feeling app-y. What do I want?! What do I want?! I WANT A GLASS OF WATER.

Ever patient, Jo ordered. WHERE IS MY GLASS OF WATER!

. . . she faltered. Go and ask, then! NO. I JUST WANT A GLASS OF WATER. you'd think with the technology to place an order by cellphone they could, they would produce a glass of water AT ONCE!

meanwhile the waiter produced a hatstand for those and for handbags . . . I went inside, where there was this installation, and, shown beside it our meal, shortly preceded by a glass of water, the meal itself (hummus fatteh and moussaka—not so much you say, but under-ordering almost impossible hereabouts—then, accepted as common practice, all the restaurants seem to be prepared for it, to doggy-bag and doggy-bag in style, wrapped and bagged with cutlery to go, the excess) accompanied by minty-something juice for Jo and pomegranate juice for me.

with love from Riyadh,

Simon

PS: