Ancient civilisations, sandscapes, and secrets in Saudi Arabia

Saudi Arabia was not a country I imagined visiting. Until just five years ago, it wasn’t even an option—the country was not open to tourists. Cinemas and concerts were banned, and restaurants enforced gender segregation. Women did not have the right to drive, apply for passports, or hold the same jobs as men. In a few short years, under the reforms of the new Crown Prince, much of that has changed, bringing an influx of foreign investment and curious travelers. So when a business opportunity arose earlier this year, I decided to go with an open mind and experience the country firsthand.

Most visitors arrive in either Riyadh, the capital and largest city, or Jeddah, the second-largest city and Red Sea port. I had applied for an eVisa online a week prior, and immigration was a breeze. I then took a domestic flight to AlUla, a desert oasis on the ancient Nabataean Spice and Incense Route, in the northwest of the country. 

Caravan AlUla

Two hours later, I was driving my Budget rental car across vast sandstone landscapes, snacks from a local supermarket in hand, on my way to Caravan AlUla by Our Habitas. (Note: I strongly recommend downloading an offline map of the area on Google Maps before travelling, as signal strength can come and go.)

After checking into my sleek airstream trailer set in a desert “campground” featuring an open-air tent with breakfast in the mornings, food trucks in the evenings, and an open-air cinema projecting films nightly onto the surrounding cliffs, I drove a few minutes to the main area of the hotel, Our Habitas (caravan guests have full access to the facilities). From there, golf carts take guests to all areas of the grounds, including the stunning infinity pool framed by red-hued mountains. Baking for thousands of years in this unforgiving desert climate, these mountains stand as silent witnesses to the rise and fall of centuries of civilisations, and they will remain long after we are gone. Floating there as the sun began to set, I reflected on just how small we are in the sweep of history. 

The infinity pool at Our Habitas, AlUla

An art installation at Our Habitas, AlUla

The grounds are also dotted with art installations, including a series of trampolines nestled in the sand between a pair of cliffs. My inner child joyfully emerged as I bounced and bounced, higher and higher. At night, under a dome of stars, the place felt almost otherworldly. Daily exercise classes and evening sound baths added to the sense of calm.

A tomb at Hegra, AlUla

A tomb at Hegra

A tomb at Hegra

The next morning, I explored Hegra, Saudi Arabia’s first UNESCO World Heritage site. Hundreds of towering Nabataean tombs carved into the sandstone stand as echoes of the kingdom that once thrived there. Visits are only via guided tours (in both English and Arabic) and must be booked in advance online. Nearby, the archaeological sites of Dadan and Jabal Ikmah feature centuries of ancient inscriptions etched into the rock, while the mirrored facade of the newly built event space Maraya appears as a mirage in the desert landscape. 

Elephant Rock, AlUla at sunset

View of AlUla and surrounds from Harrat viewpoint

For sunset, a popular spot is Elephant Rock, a natural arch with a few food trucks and ample seating. Afterwards, I headed to AlUla’s Old Town, a beautifully restored maze of narrow alleys winding among centuries-old mudbrick dwellings. The main market street cuts straight through the town, lined with cafes, boutiques, and cultural spaces. String lights give the streets a magical glow bridging past and present, and I watched both domestic and foreign visitors stroll past while enjoying a hearty local meal at Grandma Recipe. I marveled that this entire experience has only become possible in the last few years.

Mural in AlUla Old Town

AlUla Old Town

Enjoying a non-local bite in AlUla Old Town

AlUla Old Town at night

In contrast, Riyadh is all about scale and ambition. With a population of eight million (about the same as New York City), the city buzzes with construction cranes, symbols of its rapid modernization. Projects like Boulevard World—which will feature miniatures of global landmarks—and Bujairi Terrace blend Saudi traditions with modern flair. At the stylish Flamingo Room, we lingered over dinner as a sudden sandstorm swept through, savoring tea and desserts until the skies cleared enough to leave. Air quality is a frequent issue in the city. 

Riyadh

Riyadh

My final stop was Jeddah, smaller and more relaxed, with a distinct cuisine and culture. Breakfast at Tofereya introduced me to the city’s flavours, and wandering Al-Balad, its UNESCO-listed old town, felt like stepping back in time. Traditional coral-stone houses with ornate wooden balconies overlooked souks brimming with everything from textiles to trinkets, and local men socialised over shisha and dominoes.

Al-Balad, Jeddah

Al-Balad, Jeddah

On my last evening, we feasted on smoky grilled meats at the popular 7 Ribs. Afterwards, we headed for a sunset stroll to the Jeddah Promenade, which stretches for miles along the Red Sea. Families, couples, and groups of friends gathered along the waterfront, the refreshing breeze carrying conversation and laughter. It was in these daily moments of connection that Saudi Arabia revealed itself most fully: a place of true hospitality, warmth, and astonishing transformation. 

I left with the sense that I’d only skimmed the surface of this vast country (the world’s twelfth-largest) but also with deep gratitude for the openness with which it welcomed me. Saudi Arabia is changing with dizzying speed, and for travelers willing to come with curiosity and respect, it offers a truly unique experience. 

Al-Balad, Jeddah

Where to eat

Tama at Habitas, AlUla

Grandma Recipe, AlUla

Okto at Harrat Viewpoint, AlUla

Flamingo Room, Riyadh

Tofereya, Jeddah

7 Ribs, Jeddah

Where to stay

Caravan by Our Habitas, AlUla

Dar Tantora, AlUla

Novotel Sahafa, Riyadh

The allure of islands

“We live—as we dream—alone…” - Joseph Conrad

These words of Conrad’s resonated with me when I first read them in Heart of Darkness years ago. In many ways, we live independently, never truly knowing the depths of others. For years, I’ve been drawn to remote islands when I travel, and since travel isn’t quite possible right now, I’ve taken some time to reflect on why. Islands are solitary, independent, stoic—they don’t care whether you tend to them or not; they can fend for themselves. They’re the perfect escape, and yet, they are also inescapable. The next ship or flight out may not be for a few days, and until that time, you’re committed. 

One of my favourite beaches on Ikaria

One of my first trips to an island was to Ikaria, which, according to Greek mythology, is formed from the remains of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun. Ikaria is a spectacular mix of dramatic, steep mountains inhabitable only by goats and stunning beach coves where the cliffs meet the sea. Though the island briefly gained some popularity following a New York Times article describing the island’s inhabitants’ longevity (many currently live well into their 90s or later), spurring a wave of dining on Mediterranean staples, it remains a calm and simple place. In a way, things here are much as they were 50 years ago, and perhaps even further back. There is no room for posturing on an island of this size, as everyone knows each other, and gossip remains a vital form of currency. With roots in Ikaria, Mihalis Kavouriaris has been running a language school high up on the northern side of the island, by the village of Arethousa, for over 20 years. Offering a range of relatively intensive courses in Greek language and culture, the school attracts students both young and old, with one thing in common: a sense of adventure. Reaching Ikaria involves a flight into Athens, followed by a transfer to the port of Piraeus, after which you board a ferry for the six hour ride to Evdilos or Agios Kirykos, the two port towns on Ikaria. You can also fly to Ikaria, bypassing some of the journey, but that feels a bit too easy. It was, after all, Odysseus who showed us that the journey is just as important as the destination. 

A beach on the eastern side of Ikaria

The port town of Evdilos on Ikaria

Once at the school, mornings and early afternoons are occupied with classes, but the sun of the midday and late afternoon are all yours. I spent many a scorching afternoon daydreaming at the small outdoor tables overlooking the Aegean (on a clear day, the island of Chios and mainland Turkey come into view), writing down my hopes and dreams for the future. For what I might become. Islands can push you to take a hard look inside yourself and reflect on what you are, and what you want to be, in a way that no other place can. Islands, after all, are focused on survival: what truly matters? What do we need to live? 

The Seychelles

A few years ago, I was lucky enough to travel to a much more remote set of four islands, the Aldabra Group in the Seychelles. Uninhabited save for a few researchers who receive supplies by ship several times a year, this group of atolls was spared destruction by humans because it has no source of fresh water. It is the only place in the world besides the Galápagos where the giant tortoise roams, and you feel very much a passing visitor to a foreign land. You can reach one of the islands, Assumption, by small plane, but you’ll need a ship to see anything else. We travelled there aboard the National Geographic Orion, setting sail from Dar es Salaam in Tanzania a few days prior. One evening, we came ashore from the ship via Zodiac and witnessed sea turtle hatchlings heading out to sea under the superbly clear southern sky. Never had I seen such a dizzying array of stars, so many that it seemed there was more light than darkness in the sky. With the warm Indian Ocean lapping at our feet, it was comforting to feel that we were the only humans around for miles, in a place inaccessible to others: that is also the magic of an island. 

A giant tortoise on Aldabra island

Much of the enchantment of islands is not immediately visible—you’ll need to go below the surface. Aldabra is a coral atoll, and with the tide, while scuba diving or snorkeling, you can drift into its inner lagoon, the current pushing you along its abundant reefs and wildlife in a crystal-clear reverie. Schools of snapper, aggregations of eagle rays, and solitary sea turtles pass by with the most imperceptible of nods. Just offshore, shivers of black-tipped reef sharks circle in the shallows, and you immediately feel a sense of wonder for these often-feared animals. These sharks have no interest in humans, preferring to explore the warm waters in search of fish and to play-fight among themselves. But they are curious: upon dipping a camera into the water, I quickly found a young shark investigating this novel intruder, nudging with its snout to test its boundaries. 

The Faroe Islands

Some islands have developed rich cultures that over centuries have thrived on their seclusion. The Faroe Islands, accessible by plane from Copenhagen, are a place I’ve often dreamed of during this quarantine. Due to the islands’ remoteness, the local people have developed a way of life drawing on their creativity and resourcefulness: food is often fermented to preserve its nutrients for harder times, and no piece of any animal is wasted. More remote villages have been connected via an intricate network of tunnels to ensure passage even during rough seas, resulting in a dispersed but also interdependent population. The islands’ beauty feels all the more striking due to their isolation: you recognise what a privilege it is to experience such a place, to hike for miles in the company of nature, without coming across another human being.

The Faroe Islands

Manhattan from above

And yet, the beauty of islands does not necessarily lie in their remoteness. Some are inhabited so densely that you might easily forget you’re on one. Manhattan is a perfect example: you could live your entire life without leaving, and its connections to the rest of New York City are so heavily trafficked as to feel permanent. Bridges, ferries, subways, buses, bikes are constantly buzzing, and the sense of scarcity here is defined more by the distance between the haves and the have nots. Yet each time I see the Manhattan skyline after some time away, I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of possibility: all humanity is here, and you can find anything you like, at any time of day or night. Authentic Colombian arepas? Just around the corner. Some of the best sushi in the world, flown in daily from Tsukiji fish market in Japan? A few blocks’ walk. A strong community of multi-generational Italians? A short subway ride. In the midst of so much activity, you feel that you are a part of something, that you belong. In the end, perhaps that’s what we live for: this sense of belonging. In many ways, islands group like-minded people, allowing us to share our feelings, plans, and dreams. They are reminders of what we really are.

What place do you dream of?

The most beautiful city in the world

For more island reading, check out this piece by scientist Vivien Cumming.