Snow or Desert, Love or Career
I packed for snow and stars. I ended up in sand, sun, and situations my winter coat was never designed for. It was 1980, and I had planned the most beautiful sky vacation ...
10/13/20253 min read
I packed for snow and stars. I ended up in sand, sun, and situations my winter coat was never designed for.
It was 1980, and I had planned the most beautiful sky vacation a human soul could imagine.
Austria was waiting for me with White Mountains, silent forests, crisp winter air, and a group of friends who were expecting me. But the deeper reason was a beautiful Austrian nurse I had met earlier in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. We had taken every risk to see each other in a country where such things were absolutely forbidden. When her contract ended, she returned to Austria. I had to travel to Germany first to finish work at the company’s main office, but once my duties were completed, we planned to reunite in Austria for a long-awaited vacation.
I began to pack like a man determined to impress destiny itself. I packed as if I were heading for the North Pole. Thick sweaters, heavy boots, wool scarves, thermal socks. My telescope was polished until it shone like a jewel. My binoculars were cleaned with the delicate precision of a surgeon preparing for an operation. I even packed star charts, imagining us sitting in a mountain cabin, discussing constellations over hot chocolate and laughter.
I finally managed to close my suitcase with effort but with pride. Then the phone rang.
“Emergency,” my company said.
“All our employees in Saudi Arabia quit their jobs. Every single one. You must go immediately and complete the contract. We need one week to hire replacements. Do not worry, you will receive a first-class ticket back to Austria and five nights in a luxury hotel.”
One week. The most innocent lie in the entire history of business.
In an instant, my snowy Austrian dream evaporated and turned into a plane ticket to Jeddah. I stepped off the aircraft with my winter coat draped over my arm and my telescope in my hand. Even the airport air conditioning felt hotter than a crowded sauna in Vienna during Christmas. Then came customs. The officer stared at the X ray screen without moving a muscle. He leaned closer. His eyebrows began to rise slowly, like two desert cobras waking from a long prayer. He pointed. Another officer came. A third followed.
Soon, three men stood before the screen, whispering like ancient scholars who had discovered a forbidden relic from another world. Finally, one of them asked in a somber tone,
“Sir, is this long object something you use to launch things into the sky”
I answered confidently, “No. It is a telescope for watching stars.”
He blinked twice, slowly.
“Sir, we already have stars here—very bright ones. You can see them with your eye. You do not need this long pipe.”
Then he lifted my winter coat between two fingers.
“Sir, this is suitable for minus ten degrees. We do not have minus ten. Here we have plus forty- five. You will melt like butter on hot bread.”
I attempted to explain Austria, winter, snow, and mountains.
He listened, nodded politely, and said, “So you came to the desert with the clothes of an Eskimo and the equipment of an astronaut.”
For twenty minutes, they debated whether I was a scientist, a spy, or simply a man who had completely misunderstood the geography of his vacation plans. Finally, they stamped my passport, exchanged suspicious glances, and waved me through.
I arrived at the job site ready for one week. But the truth hit me harder than a sandstorm.
The employees had not just quit. They had vanished from the surface of the earth. No workers, no technicians, no drivers, no support team. The contract required someone to remain until every detail was completed.
That someone was me. One week became two. Two weeks transformed into one month. One month stretched into three long months under a sun so merciless it felt like it had a personal disagreement with me.
Every night, I looked up, hoping to catch even a small memory of the Austrian sky. Instead, the Saudi night shone with a stubborn, calm brightness that whispered, “You are not leaving any time soon.” The camels studied me every morning with great curiosity. I am convinced they laughed. One even shook its head slowly as if saying,
“My friend, you packed for the South Pole and landed in the Desert.”
When the work was finally completed, and I returned home to Germany, Austria no longer had snow. The mountains were green, and a beautiful girl found her destiny, but not with me. I never used my winter clothing in Austria. But I came home wiser. The desert taught me a lesson no book ever could.
When your company says “only one week,” pack a toothbrush, pack courage, pack patience, andwhisper a small prayer. Because you never know where you will end up or how long you will remain there.
We plan our lives, but destiny chooses the road.