70 Hours in Riyadh

When Prince Bandar bin Khalid Al-Faisal, chairman of the Jockey Club of Saudi Arabia, unveiled his plans for the world's richest horse race last summer in Saratoga, I duly covered the event for TDN. But it wasn't until months later that the idea started percolating in my head that maybe I would actually go see the race for myself. As a kid from New Jersey who loves to travel the world and grew up reading Black Stallion novels, there is something almost mystical about Saudi Arabia–a country that seemed as hidden and mysterious to me as its veil-covered women.

As a woman traveling alone into the country, I admit I had some trepidation. But from the moment I boarded a Saudi Air flight from Heathrow to Riyadh Wednesday night–best airline food ever, by the way–I was welcomed warmly and treated with respect. Well. There was that one guy at passport control–I'm looking at you man in charge of line 42–but everyone involved in organizing the Saudi Cup seemed intent on making sure everything and everyone was well taken care of.

My first impression of Saudi Arabia was a sort of dust-covered haze of the early morning. I was told the Tuesday morning flight landed in a dust storm and, while I didn't see anything that dramatic, there was a sense that despite all the trappings of modern life, the desert was a brooding presence looming in the background.

As the sun rose throughout the day, the haze dissipated, revealing a bustling metropolis. There seemed to be construction everywhere. And gravity-defying skyscrapers lit up at night in a panorama of undulating colors. And there is traffic. Wow. Is there traffic. Rush hour in Riyadh is not for the impatient.

My first stop Thursday morning was to King Abdulaziz Racetrack. Located near the airport and about 40 minutes from the city, the massive track rises suddenly into view like a Belmont Park-styled mirage in the desert. When I first arrived, locals and visitors were serenely mingling over breakfast while watching some of the most talented racehorses on the planet gallop by.

With champion Maximum Security on the track below, local trainer Abdulaziz Khalid, who would saddle three runners during Saturday's inaugural Saudi Cup card and whose grandfather trained for the royal family, beamed with obvious pride at what his countrymen had created.

The caution for women to wear outfits fully covering legs and arms seemed to me, quite frankly, like permission to walk on the dowdy side of the fashion highway, but Thursday's cocktail-less party unveiling the Saudi Cup trophy was populated by a dizzying array of sparkling, glitzy gowns which brilliantly reflected the mood lighting at the National Museum of Saudi Arabia Thursday night.

All the headliners were there: Bob Baffert and Bill Mott, two veterans of the early days of the Dubai World Cup; as was Jason Servis, a newcomer to the international racing scene; and Luis Carvajal, Jr., who was getting a new stamp in his passport thanks to the remarkable Imperial Hint.

Saudi Cup North American representative Nick Esler, whose tweets gave the first glimpse of international stars arriving for the races, talked about the long hours of the past three weeks and missing his 14-month-old daughter, but was a man obviously well satisfied by the team's efforts in bringing the massive project together.

Reed Ringler, who had plans to represent Fasig-Tipton in Dubai and Japan following the Saudi Cup, discussed travel travails in the era of the coronavirus, while the irrepressible veteran reporter Bob Kieckhefer made it his business to befriend everyone at the event, an endeavor which seemed largely dedicated to determining the geographic origin of the entire UK-based wait staff and, perhaps more tellingly, the striking models from the fashion show who were from as far afield as Ukraine and Syria, in case you were wondering.

There is no alcohol in Saudi Arabia. Which at first seemed like it would be a glaring absence from an international racing event. 'Healthy' was the word most bandied about when euphemistically describing the missing alcohol, but the crowd at the National Museum enjoyed a steady supply of refreshing fresh fruit juices and teas and coffees. Men in traditional dress offered Qahwa, mysteriously producing a seemingly endless supply of little white cups from their long sleeves and pouring the delectable coffee/tea hybrid infused with saffron elegantly from sterling silver teapots. And it was all complimented by food filled with tantalizing spices which tickled the taste buds.

And so what if a member of the Dubai journalist contingent coughed while talking about the quarantine that briefly threatened the travel plans of several of the expected jockeys before royal intervention? I grabbed another delicious fresh grapefruit juice from a waiter walking by and nodded and smiled–surely Vitamin C was just as effective as a royal decree in halting the spread of a virus?

Friday's card of racing featured an international jockeys challenge and included seven female riders–an inclusion which likely would have seemed impossible in the country just a few years ago. There are those who question the motives of these efforts, but I, for one, am a firm believer in the transcendental power of sports.

Lisa Allpress, who became the first woman to ride a winner in Saudi Arabia, downplayed the accomplishment.

“I've never felt like a female jockey,” she said. “I'm just a jockey that's out there being a jockey. And we compete against the males all the time. We can achieve as much as they can.”

Watching the three women exchanging high-fives and celebrating their accomplishments following the races, the moment felt full of promise.

Following a whirlwind two and a half days in Riyadh, it's time to head back across the Atlantic, back to the land of Springsteen, pork roll and highway exits. But I suspect the weekend will linger in my imagination for years to come.

Until next time, Riyadh.