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FALCONRY IN THE DESERT
Hunting with the Saudis
I've come to understand that the people of Saudi Arabia view the American military presence in their country as a necessary evil at best. Indeed, much is being made in the news lately of the United States' policy and presence in the Middle East, especially in the wake of recent military attacks on Baghdad. Many of my colleagues have become frustrated by the restrictions the Saudi government places on our military operations. These professional frustrations sometimes lead, in turn, to an overall distrust of the Saudi people and culture. While some of these frustrations may be justified, I still feel compelled to experience at least something of the Saudi culture during the short time that I'm here.
The cultural recreation office on our base sponsors occasional trips into Riyadh and the surrounding area. Ever since I arrived in Saudi Arabia, I've kept a close eye on the schedule of trips, hoping that I could participate in at least one. Finally, I booked myself on a trip that looked interesting, a chance to head into the desert to watch a falconry exhibition. I know a little bit about falconry, at least that it's a favorite sport of the royal and the wealthy in this part of the world. I once ran into the bodyguards of one of the Emir's of the United Arab Emirates (it was an amicable meeting, I swear). Some of the guards armed themselves with machine guns, the rest with falcons. So I was eager to see one of these beautiful birds hunt (as long as I wasn't the prey).
Our tour group, only ten or so strong, set off in a caravan of four-wheel drive trucks speeding along the outskirts of Riyadh. There are few rules on the highways of Saudi Arabia and traffic resembles a rugby scrum. After the third or fourth near-collision, I decided to close my eyes and hope for the best. Once we were about seventy-five kilometers outside the city, the lead truck suddenly darted off the highway and began careening through the desert. The driver of our truck followed, crossing three lanes of traffic, nearly missing a lumbering truck filled with gravel, chasing after the lead truck's dust cloud.
As near as I could tell, we weren't following any sort of road. Instead, our driver merely tried to avoid the varied ditches and gullies that crisscrossed the desert floor, occasionally driving right through large patches of waist-high scrub. Often, the driver couldn't maneuver around a gully. Instead of slowing down to sanely negotiate these obstacles, our driver sped up, presumably trying to jump over them. He usually failed, and the truck would assume a ridiculously uncomfortable nose-down angle as it plunged into the gully. Thankfully, we always made it back up the other side. I made a mental note to never enter the race from Paris to Dakar.
After thirty minutes of molar-jarring travel, the caravan finally stopped at a small group of Bedouin tents. I stepped out of the truck, looked around, and felt like I was at the edge of the earth. Besides the small grouping of tents, the desert sprawled vast and empty in every direction. Not a tree, power line, shrub, or building stood to break up the completely flat expanse of sand. Near one of the tents stood a man wearing a traditional Saudi headdress, an absolutely beautiful hooded falcon perched on his gloved hand. This was Mr. Saif Al Bader, our guide for the morning. He beckoned hello with his free hand and ushered us into the tent where he invited us to sit on the plush carpets and cushions that lined the tent's floor, giving us a chance to rest from the journey. One of Mr. Al Bader's helpers served us sweet tea and dates, which did wonders for our frazzled nerves. The tent also offered welcome shelter from the stiff, hot wind that blew unchecked across the desert. I knew we were here to watch the falcons hunt. But what prey could there possibly be out in this wasteland?
After a while, Mr. Al Bader returned and, with little explanation, asked us to follow him. With his falcon still perched on his gloved hand and a skinny dog in tow, we hurried after Mr. Al Bader and began to trudge across the sand on foot, wondering how far we'd have to go. After a kilometer or so, we stopped on the edge of a wide patch of scrub brush. So far, our guide had been fairly tight-lipped about what we were going to see. Then Mr. Al Bader unhooded the falcon, a sure sign that the hunt was on.
With a frenzied yelp, the skinny dog plunged into the brush. Within moments, a fat little bird rose up from the brush and desperately flapped its way low across the sand. We watched as Mr. Al Bader gently raised his arm as his falcon spread its wings and took flight. The falcon soared skyward, circled once to judged its prey, then tucked its wings and dove towards the ground. The falcon caught the bird with its talons and nearly tore it in two, letting the pieces fall to the ground. Then it circled once more and gracefully landed next to its kill and started to eat.
The whole hunt had lasted maybe sixty seconds. Mr. Al Bader motioned for us to follow and we walked to where the falcon was eating. Our guide approached the falcon and smoothed its feathers affectionately as a sign of congratulations. We watched the falcon use its sharp curved beak to pick apart its prey. The scene of the falcon methodically eating its prey in the middle of the desert was gruesome but fascinating, and in way, strangely satisfying. We watched two more hunts, then walked back across the open desert and returned to the tents.
Mr. Al Bader's helpers again served us sweet tea and dates. This time, Mr. Al Bader sat with us and gave us an hour-long talk, in excellent English, about what we had just seen. He explained that hunting with falcons had been part of the Bedouin culture for a thousand years, but the cost of a trained hunting falcon (anywhere from $150,000 to several million) now made it an activity reserved almost exclusively for the Saudi royalty. In fact, we were only a few kilometers away from the crown prince's private hunting preserve and the game we had caught was overflow from the preserve. Since Mr. Al Bader trained many of the prince's personal falcons, he was allowed to hunt this game for himself. His lecture was about more than falconry, detailing many of the Saudi customs that had originated from Bedouin roots. At the end of the talk, Mr. Al Bader let us each put on his heavy glove, showing us how to hold his bird. As the falcon perched on my hand, it felt confident, powerful, and a little aloof.
After the talk, we were served a traditional Saudi lunch. Mr. Al Bader's helpers entered the tent with huge platters of fruit, flatbread, hummus, yoghurt, and chicken (well, at least it looked like chicken). For dessert, we had glasses of warm camel's milk, a staple of the Bedouin diet. The milk tasted thick and sweet and was enough to induce a welcome nap during the harrowing trip across the desert back to Riyadh.
The falconry trip was the first time I had seen friendly Saudi faces during my time in this country. Indeed, it was the first time I had been allowed to interact with the Saudi people at all. I was impressed with Mr. Al Bader's hospitality and his desire to share his culture. Mr. Al Bader also took great pains to explain that the sport of falconry, particularly its Bedouin antecedents, was one way of dealing with the stark existence of making living in the desert. So my trip brought much-needed insight into the Saudi way of life, at least in terms of how their cultures and customs have grown out of the often bleak landscape of the Saudi desert.
Why is this insight so important? Again, Saudis and Americans exist in uncomfortable proximity when it comes to the U.S. military presence here. I can't comment on the merits of our military presence and how that presence plays itself out on the diplomatic stage. Instead, I can only offer the idea that getting to know my hosts a little better helps me put my job here in a clearer context. I understand why the Saudis are skeptical of the Americans in their backyard. And every day I experience first-hand how that skepticism affects our efforts here. But my falcon hunting trip in the desert showed me that I share this in common with my Saudi hosts: we are each trying to construct an existence amidst stark, often challenging, surroundings.
--Jeremy Neuner is on assignment in Saudi Arabia.
By Jeremy Neuner
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