JEDDAH, 23 May 2004 — Thursday afternoons have become the day for dune bashing, not just for the Western expatriate community but also for an increasing number of Jeddah’s young men.
About half an hour’s drive east along the Makkah highway and a couple of kilometers into the crumpled basalt hills lie steep sand dunes veined with tire tracks. Mid-afternoon sees the arrival of a scattering of two- and four-wheel-drive vehicles filled with clusters of spectators anticipating the afternoon’s events. Those who are not driving climb nearby rocks and perch like white doves against the black volcanic rock.
As the heat of the day subsides, a low rumble interspersed with the characteristic “blatt” sound of a highly tuned engine rolls over the desert.
The “shabab” pour into a natural amphitheater in the hills, and immediately some head for the dunes while others corral on center stage. A cheerful chaos reigns with cars circling around on the sand, missing each other by centimeters, and never a horn honked.
After the initial entrance of the gladiators, a semblance of order descends on the gathering and vehicles line up to charge the dunes.
By no means all are customized four-wheelers. A roar of approval goes up as a derelict Caprice held together by fading paint and several kilometers of string almost makes it to the top of a dune. The driver waves his acknowledgement and slides sideways to the bottom with a huge grin across his face.
Some of the machines are deceptive — 20-year-old Land Cruisers, suspiciously well preserved, roar into life, leaving the unique smell of mineral racing oil hanging in the air from the twin 10-centimeter exhausts barely visible behind balloon tires. Their huge nitro-fueled engines propel them up the slopes effortlessly; the drivers steering with one hand while casually flicking the ash off the end of a cigarette held in the other.
Family four-wheel drives, SUV’s and a variety of saloons all seem welcome and are roundly cheered as they attempt the climb. Some surprising vehicles get to the top of the slopes. Low-powered toys driven with determination and a knowledge of desert conditions frequently succeed where large off-roaders perch embarrassingly astride an unseen crest, waiting for laughing and joking spectators to pull them off. The skill level among the drivers varies widely but no one minds: It is not really about skill; it’s about fun.
And the fun is infectious — everyone with a vehicle joins in. From a nearby sheep farm, a worker in a truly antique Land Cruiser, with tractor tires on the front wheels and bald ones on the rear, appears at the top of a dune to see what all the fuss is about. After taking in the scene while sucking reflectively on an extinguished cigarette, he adjusts his ghoutra wrapped turban-like round his head. Then, with great majesty, he drives straight over the edge, down the precipitous dune with a skill born of long practice and continues in stately process toward the distant highway, scattering the roaring jeeps like goats before him.
A portly middle-aged gentleman in a huge people carrier tries repeatedly to climb the dune — until he lets a lad less than a third his age clamber in and drive to the top, demonstrating how to do it with insouciant ease. The gentleman, concentrating fiercely through large spectacles, has another go, succeeds and thereby initiates a wild outburst of cheering and leaping about on the hillsides.
As the light fades, carpets and flasks of tea appear and invitations to join the picnickers are made. On the dunes, some of the vehicles turn on powerful driving lights and from a distance look like fireflies as they plow over the surrounding desert in search for other challenges.
This dune-bashing event happens every weekend, but nothing is organized. It spontaneously takes on a life of its own as the crowd builds through the afternoon. The sense of common purpose and the desire for simple fun generate an intensely happy atmosphere in which everyone present is everyone else’s friend for the afternoon.
