
Hockey Night in Riyadh
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, January 2014
“What were those guards searching for?” I asked.
“Bombs or weapons. The security is really tight in all of the compounds,” Dustin replied.
We made our way from the visitor’s parking lot to the ball hockey court. It was a balmy forty-degree Celsius afternoon, the grounds were covered in sand and dust, and the air was dry and arid. But, there was no mistaking the rectangular shape, waist high boards, and metal framed nets. Albeit a bit crude, a rink is a rink, whether it be in a temperature cooled arena, or smack-dab in the middle of the desert in Saudi Arabia.
Dustin introduced me to his friends who lived inside the compound, a mix of young professionals and young parents, mostly from Canada, but with various ethnic backgrounds and reasons for currently living in the Kingdom. Though everyone referred to facilities like this one as a ‘compound’, it was more like a mini community, with apartments, row-homes, a café, swimming pool, and recreational areas. Not the most homely of spaces, but by no means a prison.
“I know this is probably not what you’re used to, but when you’ve been away for as long as some of us have, you start to appreciate any chance you get to play a little puck,” Ryan said to me, handing me a hockey stick.
We all threw our sticks into the middle of the court, and one of the organizers blindly tossed them to either side, until the group had been split into two random teams. Like most pickup games, the skill level ranged from casual to experienced, but it didn’t take long for the effort to set-in and the pace to quicken. We played with an orange hardball, wooden sticks, and shoes, kicking up dust as we ran across the box passing, shooting, and throwing back and forth some friendly trash talk. To be honest, the familiar light whack to the back of my legs, from a wily older man playing defense, felt more nostalgic than annoying.
About a half an hour in, I finished the two large bottles of water I had brought with me and ran off to refill them with a garden hose. I was drenched in sweat and out of breath. After gathering myself, I hopped back into the game and immediately received a pass up the right-side boards. I jogged down the wing, exchanged a quick give-and-go at the hash-marks, and snapped home a wrist shot, low glove-side, past the goalie. I couldn’t say that it was one of the flashiest goals I had ever scored or the stiffest competition I had ever faced, but as my first in the Arabian, it was memorable nonetheless.
After another hour of energetic scrimmaging, bright smiles, and high-fives, we called an end to the game. Everyone had reached the point of satisfied exhaustion, and we had stopped keeping score halfway through, so there was nothing left to play for.
“How often do you guys get together?” I asked Dustin.
“Every couple of weeks, at least once a month. Everyone’s busy with work, and most of the people have families, but the expat community here is smaller than you’d think, so we see each other somewhat often. Whether it’s playing hockey or at company functions, and stuff like that. It can be tough as a foreigner here sometimes, so it’s nice to have some friends who are in the same boat as you.”
“So, will we be seeing you around regularly now?” Tanya asked me.
I laughed, “Probably not. I’m only here for a few months, for a short assignment.”
“Well, you’re welcome to join us whenever you want while you’re here,” Rob, Tanya’s husband, chimed in. “You boys want to come with us for a couple of beers over at the clubhouse?”
“Beers?” I asked quizzically.
The Kingdom had a strict ban on alcohol, though non-alcoholic beer could be purchased. Not that I ever understood the appeal of non-alcoholic beer.
“I’m not talking Molson Canadian or Kokanee, but we have our own home brew which I think you’ll appreciate,” Rob winked.
Thousands of kilometers away from home, some things never change.
