Henny and I had an agreement in 2003 when we traveled together to Prague. We will send each other postcards every time we travel. But since I moved here to KSA, I have never received any postcards from her. Not her fault. It's simply because, we DON'T have ADDRESS here in KSA! Hah! Annoying isn't it?
The address are not clearly arranged around here. The buildings don't have definite number. My apartment number is 12, but the building doesn't have that. So, the mail system here uses post office box. We should rent a PO box in the post office. BUT, I rarely see a post office. I have only seen 2 of them while I'm here in Jeddah and 1 in Makkah! Post boxes are also not a thing here. I've spotted NONE.
When I needed to send important documents regarding our residence permit application from Amsterdam, I had written the address PLUS my hubby mobile number. There, FedEx agent called him to notify that he has a package. He could either pick the docs himself in a delivery point or explained the courier how to get to his office.
That's how it works here. You buy something and you wanted it to be delivered then you DRAW the map to your house and your phone, not the address. Then if they're close they'll call you to ask for direction.
The last incident was quite annoying for us -the hungry people- but rather amusing to Evas and Henny, my besties, when I told them about it.
Last weekend, we craved for pizza and since we didn't have our car, we'd like to have it delivered. Hubby phoned the restaurant and said that he'd like to put an order. Then, they asked whether we had ordered for delivery before and asked for a computer number (?!). They got no for answer. So, they said, we couldn't put an order. (QUE???!!!)
What they wanted us to do was: To COME to the restaurant, register our name and address (translation: draw a map), then we will get a computer number. After that we can order for a DELIVERY. (??!!!)
Hello... We want it DELIVER-ed, not pick it up by ourself. What's the point of DELIVERY then. Then, hubby rang them back and asked what's this computer number and they said maybe there's a sticker in the building's door. He went downstairs and asked the haris* about it. But he didn't know it either. At last, my poor hungry husband went back up and called them again. This time he gave them the direction to our place since he knew where the pizza parlor was, ignoring their question about the stupid number.
Duuuh... Of all places, this is the strangest place I have ever lived in.