Arabian Night

Louise Laurie

It's just past midnight in downtown Jeddah and the locals are out to play. It's pitch black, hot and humid. The street lights are ablaze and there's the usual cacophony of car horns. Lolling in the back seat of a brown Buick, I survey the scene. The Oakridge Boys are blasting 'El Vira' from the CD player and I feel like dancing.

I assume there's a pretty good chance I may be dancing soon. I'm on my way to a wedding reception. Yes, I know it's the wee small hours - but I'm on my way to a wedding reception, no kidding. Samir (my Arabic friend) has allowed Catherine (his new American wife) and myself to be guests at the reception at some swanky five star hotel. Neither Catherine nor myself know the bride and groom nor what to expect when we arrive at The Sheraton. Samir chooses not to enlighten us. We are mere women, after all ... He, meantime, for some obsure reason is dressed in chocolate-coloured corduroy trousers and a green checked shirt. I think idly to myself that he wouldn't look out of place felling trees in deepest Canada. ... (continues)