Traversing a mountain slope at the crack of dawn.
You know.
Prior to our visit to Bahrain I had very limited knowledge about the kingdom — in fact all my prior knowledge was related to Formula 1 and the history of the circuit. I vividly remember that the Grand Prix was cancelled in 2011 because of the unrest and uprising that blossomed in the wake of the Arabic spring. But at least I knew of something.
I am just a stupid western tourist with western prejudice spoon-fed since the 1980s with western culture. My eyes deceived me when we looked up visas on the government website, I could have sworn the kings guard that posed so proudly on the website were mounted on camels. At a second glance I could clearly see that it was horses... In my head it was just desert, camels (or horses), a race track and the capital city, Manama.
"Move along, Rasmus, there's nothing else to see here" and looking at Google Street View confirmed my suspicions. We searched for the address of the hotel we were staying at and sure enough there was only desert visible from the roof-mounted Street View camera.
"The hotel has to be just past that dune over there" we told ourselves. Oh, well...
The essentials. Watch. Passport. Tobacco.
Copenhagen
We were due to arrive fifteen minutes past midnight after a long journey just shy of twelve hours that took off back in Copenhagen. One or two beers at the airport, stuff our face with a burger then board. Five hours on a flight then a three hour transfer window in Istanbul — one or two beers and another burger later it was time to board yet again. A couple of sleep deprived hours (although I desperately tried to get some shut-eye) later we could spot a bright, neon-lit metropolitan area through the airplane windows.
"Please fasten your seatbelts, we will arrive shortly. Local time is 00:15 and air temperature is 37°C."
Our hosts in Bahrain — the Racing Force Group, a conglomerate that consists of Bell Racing Helmets and OMP Racing — had offered to book us a transfer that would take us straight to the hotel. Any sane person would have accepted that offer but we weren't there to experience a five-star hotel with an air-conditioned room — and our sanity? The jury is still out. We had other plans.
We had a rental car booked, a sturdy Kia by the looks of what we had been automatically allocated to us by Hertz, and our plan was to explore the dunes, rocks, oil refineries and whatever else the Kingdom of Bahrain might put in our path.
Three moths earlier our mailboxes chimed simultaneously when the invitation from Racing Force Group dropped in. In my peripheral vision I could glance the subject line from the notification pop-up and I immediately turned over and locked eyes with my colleague from across the room.
The e-mail read: "We invite you to the Racing Force Group World Meeting at the Bahrain International F1 Circuit [..] along with a guided tour of the Bell Racing Helmet Factory"
We responded to the RSVP before we even read the entire message. We were going.
There were two planned stops for the night and first up was the Tree of Life which according to legend is situated at the heart of what once was the Garden of Eden — in other words we should be on the lookout for treacherous snakes offering fruit as we got there. Turning pages from "Legends" to "Science" no-one has been able to find an answer to how the tree can survive the harsh environments and without an obvious water source it is a perplexing question.
Since we had planned an all-night excursion I decided that I wouldn't go to bed the night prior to our departure. So I had stayed up; eyes glued to the television with Xbox Controller in hand kicking ass playing DOOM. It would have been a perfect plan if I had actually managed to get some sleep on the airplane to Bahrain, but you know how it goes. I stocked up on a seemingly boring podcasts about Aztec Warriors and old generals from the American Civil War but I couldn't find it in me to relax.
On the upside I am very familiar with Aztec warfare these days.
After we got through the security checkpoints we stocked up on energy drinks, snacks and most importantly WATER and headed towards the car rental company. The incredibly bright airport was neatly tiled and was probably cleaned and polished once every few hours by an army of immigrant workers. Not a speck of dust anywhere and I could make out my facial features in the marble and it was not a sight for sore eyes at this point of the journey.
