At the end of the first day stuck, Martin stayed behind to camp with the truck, while Rosanna finally made her way to us in order to arrange for ride into Jeddah. I had thought it might be fun to hitchhike. I knew I wouldn’t have an ounce of trouble finding a ride considering everyone is so lovely… but no one was willing to accompany me. So that adventurous plan fizzled out quickly.
When I asked, I was met with comments such as, “Hitchhike? Are you f’in kidding me?” and “Why should I be expected to hitchhike?” and “That’s really dangerous.”
The adventure was gone…
I would hazard a guess that none of these people have ever experienced an ounce of real adventure in their lives.
The manager of the gas station arranged for a mini van to come pick us up. I think the van would have seated 10 comfortably… but beggars can’t be choosers, and all 16 of us squeezed inside. It was dirty, decrepit and reeked of cigarette smoke… but it’s all we had. For almost three hours, we were crammed in like sardines, with hardly any leg room or arm room or breathing space. It was a miserable ride… but we arrived in Jeddah in one piece.
We missed our truck.
Poor Marianne… sinking deeper and deeper as time ticked on…
Sue was still giving me the cold shoulder… apparently still upset that I hadn’t been more social in Jazan. You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t. At this point, it’s clear I need to try and let things roll off me… and avoid the people who are making me lose my mind. The trouble is… it’s almost all of them. My travel mental health is hanging by a thread… and I can’t let these petty & toxic dynamics get to me anymore.
So… what about my TikTok?
A lot of people laugh at me and my TikTok… but I love it… I consider it my very own travel vlog…
Anyway… slow and steadily… my call for help began to garner some attention. At first a few… then a few hundred… then a few thousand…
Everyone was doing one of four things.
They were telling us to call Enjad, a nonprofit organization that helps by using a well-equipped and experienced Saudi team to rescue vehicles stuck in the desert. So many people were tagging Enjad in their comments and sending me their details.
They were asking for our location and telling me they were on their way immediately.
They were making sure we were ok and had enough water & food with us.
They were assuring me that we would be ok because we were in the kingdom of Alah and the people of Saudi Arabia would help us.
In turn, I was sending all of this information to Martin… but I think he was too busy to do anything with it.
It didn’t matter… it all pretty much took care of itself.
Within 24 hours, my TikTok had over 100,000 views. ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND. Messages were flooding in faster than I could keep up. People were asking for our exact coordinates, but all I could give were guestimations.
They kept telling me that help was on its way… and it really was. It was surreal… like all of coastal Saudi Arabia had dropped what they were doing to come to our aid. It was heartwarming to see the outpouring of support.
On the second day, an entire convoy of people arrived… and kept on arriving. There were trucks, tractors, heavy duty equipment… everything Martin could have possibly needed to help him get out of the muck. The sheer number of volunteers was overwhelming.
Kinda like… if you build it, they will come… except more like, if you stuck it, they will come.
And they did.
By that evening, they managed to free the truck. These Saudi Arabians came together to help us… asking for nothing in return. It was one of the most incredible displays of kindness and community I’ve ever witnessed.
… even though I wasn’t really a witness. I was just the TikTok videographer.
I had been sending Martin some encouraging texts while he was out there, trying to save Marianna. In return, he sent a few photos, and told me that everyone there had seen my video.
What???
REALLY???
It was such an unbelievable feeling to hear that… words can’t even capture how good it made me feel to know that my little video had saved the day. I was euphoric. I promised him I’d make a “thank you” TikTok video when he got back… and of course, I did.
This was it…
Then…
The sad part…
The balloon burst…
Martin said nothing when he returned. He never shared any stories with me (or any of us, for that matter.) He never mentioned the Thank You video I’d made at all… hell, according to WhatsApp notifications, he didn’t even watch it. So many people wrote to me asking how Mr. Martin was… obviously people that had met him & helped him… and I responded to each and every single one of them… assuring them he was fine, exhausted and so very grateful for all their assistance.
Ya…
I didn’t receive one single acknowledgment or appreciation from him… for anything… at all. Nothing. He just went back to being crusty and rude… and visibly annoyed with all of us… all over again.
It was like nothing had even happened.
Even though… something really monumental had happened.
Right now… as I write this… and yes, a few days have passed… but these are the viewer counts for each video.
~ Call-for-help: 123.3k
~ Thank you: 40.6k
In total, I’ve received over 1000 messages of concern and offers of assistance.
When we arrived in Jeddah, all I wanted was a “me day.” Now that I’d had the taste of my own space, I was addicted… and I wasted no time in upgrading to ensure it. No guilt about taking time for myself and not being “social enough,” no awkwardness with crappy roommates… and… most importantly… no chance of being stuck with Persnickety Marilyn.
I was still wrestling with how to tell Rosanna that she could pair me with anyone… anyone… seriously ANYONE… except Persnickety.
Anyone…
All the people on the tour were challenging… in their own ways… and some more than others… but Persnickety Marilyn? She was in a league of her own. Nasty, judgmental and perpetually complaining, she was impossible to tolerate. No matter how much I tried… nope… no matter how how hard I tried to be kind and tolerant… three seconds in her company felt like an eternity of hell’s suffering and torment. The thought of sharing a room with her?
Inconceivable.
Even getting on the truck each morning was a strategic maneuver. I scan the seats for where she’s stashed her bag, then I deliberately choose the seat farthest from her. Survival required distance… and I’d already sacrificed enough of my sanity on this tour.
I needed to decompress, badly.
Weeks of camping and bus travel… combined with digging… had left my nails, my toes and my hair in a disgusting mess. My feet were rough with dead skin, my heels were cracking and my hands were raw and covered in cuts. Dirt was permanently embedded in my fingers… and despite countless washes, there was still sand in my hair.
I desperately needed some self-care and pampering.
I kept my plans quiet… as I knew the wrath of the inevitable judgment. So many people on this trip just didn’t understand the concept or the importance of pampering. When I casually suggested to Mickey that she join me for a pedicure, she confidently replied, “I’ve got my own kit.”
A kit?
Pardon me? So do I… but… that’s like saying you don’t go to the salon because you own scissors.
Karen wasn’t much better… she admitted she’d never had a pedicure in her life.
Heathens, the lot of them.
Here’s the thing: I can help dig a truck out of the mud all day long if I have to, but don’t deny me my pedicures and manicures. I’m allowed to treat myself. Some things, when needed, are non-negotiable.
First on the list of my self care was… sushi. Always sushi. I’d pinpointed a place on Google Maps that was only a nine-minute walk from our hotel. Visions of salmon rolls and sashimi danced in my head as I set off… only to discover that the restaurant was not only closed, but permanently boarded up.
Of course it was. I really should’ve known…
This is Saudi Arabia, where reliability can be a gamble. I was determined though. Once I have sushi in my head… it doesn’t leave my thoughts until my craving has been satisfied. I managed to find another sushi place 20 minutes away, summoned an Uber… crossed my fingers that this one would be open… and set off again.
Thankfully, it was.
While the sushi wasn’t spectacular, it did the trick. I would’ve killed for a glass of sparkling rosé, but I settled for an orange Fanta instead. After my lunch, I began my quest to find a salon. I hadn’t made any appointments… and just figured I’d wander into the first one I found. There were a few around… according to my Google Map… which isn’t always the most reliable, I’ve discovered.
My cunning plan worked.
With nothing much other than Google Translate, crazy hand gestures and my desperate smiles… I practically begged for the works: hair wash, blow-dry, manicure and pedicure. Honestly, if they’d tried, they could have upsold me on anything. I would have signed on the dotted line and paid any price.
I tried to explain that I’d been camping for two months, pulling out my phone to really drive my pampering necessities home. I showed them photos of the truck, my tent, me in my tent, the truck buried in mud, me digging it out… and… of course… my filthy hands.
I wanted to make sure they understood how down and out I really was.
Suddenly, one of the girls lit up. “Yes, yes!” she exclaimed, gushing wildly and pointing excitedly at my phone.
… she’d seen my TikTok.
NO WAY!!!!
Three of the salon employees had previously seen my video, which had pretty much gone viral in this area of Saudi Arabia. For the rest of my visit, they treated me like a celebrity, bringing me coffee and dates, taking selfies with me and making sure I was thoroughly taken care of. By the time I left, my nails were flawless, my feet were soft, my toes were painted pearly pink, my hair was silky and shiny… and I felt somewhat human again.
Next stop: the mall.
When I left the truck, I was meant to pack a day bag… and I did… but the trouble was… I didn’t pack anything I needed. I do not know what I was thinking and it was the dumbest packing job I’ve ever done in my entire life. Packed in my overnight bag were all my dirty, digging clothes… and little else.
What was I thinking?
So now… I was stuck wearing the same dress and the same underwear I had on since leaving the truck… and arriving at the hotel.
I needed essentials…
Desperately.
In addition to the essentials, I ended up walking out with a new shirt and a jacket that makes me look like Vicky Pollard from Little Britain. I didn’t realize it at the time, but now every time I wear it, all I can think is, “Yeah but no but yeah...”
I’m positive that everyone else is laughing at me too. Everyone from the UK, anyway…
When I returned to the hotel, I went straight to my room to savour some blissful solitude… and relish in my day’s indulgence. Having my own space was glorious… and I knew I needed to keep upgrading, whenever possible.
Financial ruin was well within reach… but I no longer cared.
My mental health was dependant on it.
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