The Riad

الرياض

Breath in the silence…

Complete and utter silence.

It is dead quiet inside the Riad—tranquil.

An early morning blueish hue still hangs over the rectangular courtyard, casting a sleepy gloom over its surrounding columns, with their tall horseshoe arches, and the shadowy rooms behind.

Each of the tall arches that line the courtyard is adorned with intricate girih-patterned arabesques and ornate cedar wood carvings of Islamic calligraphy. The columns are of white tadelakt. At their base colourful geometric zellige tilework connects them to the black and white chequered marble floor.

Judging by the size of the four orange trees and the eight banana plants growing inside the courtyard, this Riad must be quite old. The large leaves of the banana plants form a towering green canopy over the courtyard.

A large cedar door, adorned with delicate metal work and colourful geometric carvings, leads to a darkened reading room—its rugs, divans and enclosed chandeliers are barely visible in the murky light that filters through two immense bougainvillea, whose long vines creep up the columns. Long light-grey wooden tentacles reaching up to disperse their impressive bouquets of white flowers into the leafy latticework of the canopy above.

Little droplets of morning dew still cling to the heart-shaped leaves of these rising plants. Fallen flower pedals silently float on the mirror-like surface of the blue-tiled pool in the centre of the courtyard.

As the morning sun climbs higher and filters through the canopy, a shimmering green hue descends upon the courtyard and all of its nooks and crannies.

Buzzing bees start serenading the smaller plants and flowers that grow abound beneath the banana plants and fruit trees. Small finches fly in and out of the lush canopy. A pigeon coos. Wings flutter. Leaves swirl down slowly from above, landing inaudibly onto the marble tiles below.

Whispers.

Whispers from deep inside darkened rooms.

Teaspoons stir inside glass cups. A radio is turned on—crackling tunes echo softly.

The click of a lighter. Cigarette smoke rises into shafts of sunlight. Coughing.

Conversations pick up. Loud tourists call their even louder families on full-volume speakerphone. Floorboards start creaking. Rusty morning voices in foreign tongues overthrow the last remaining vestiges of that sweet sweet tranquillity.

Time to head for the mountains…