Saudi Arabia – the worst country in the world?
The distinct clash of cultures between the West and Middle-East means that a trip there may be challenging, but is always ultimately fruitful
Cath Urquhart | Issue 95 | 95 april-may 2008
"May I take your picture?” the young man asked me politely, as my companions and I explored the exquisite tombs of Madain Saleh. I looked hesitantly at our guide, Mazin Al Juwaid, trying to interpret this unexpected request. He politely declined on my behalf and the young man and his pals moved on.
Mazin grinned as he explained the young man’s interest. Along with the other two women in our tour group I had shed my abaya – the long, black gown that all women must wear in Saudi Arabia – to explore Madain Saleh. It was nearing 40°C, there were few other people around, and I reckoned clambering up and down rickety metal ladders to reach tombs 10m off the ground in a floor-length cloak was potentially dangerous.
But although we were all wearing long, loose tops and trousers, covering arms and legs, Mazin explained that the sight of women without their abaya and hijab (headscarf) was terribly exciting to young, unmarried men who never saw any women, except their mother and sisters, without them.
A week spent touring Saudi Arabia was fascinating – not least because the culture disjoint between East and West is here, along with Iran, at its most exaggerated. The country has breathtaking sights, superb food (typically mezzes and grilled meat) and offers a warm Arabian welcome, but visitors are never allowed to forget that tourism is conducted along the uncompromising lines dictated by Saudi society.
It may now be a little easier to get a visa but tourists must accept local customs – for example, you cannot drink alcohol, and women must wear the abaya at all times in public.
Tombs and gorges
The country’s most breathtaking sight is the deserted city of Madain Saleh, in the north of the country; in my view this makes Saudi Arabia worth an abaya-clad week of anyone’s time. Although the city’s houses have disappeared under the sand (and await excavation), there remain more than 130 tombs cut into the wind-blasted sandstone hills, a stunning reminder of the power of this forgotten civilisation.
The city was built by the Nabataeans some 2,000 years ago, soon after Petra, the ‘Rose-Red City’ in neighbouring Jordan, and was a key stop on the trade route that ran south from Petra down the Red Sea coast. It covers a vast area, and I was blown away: I’ve visited Leptis Magna, Angkor and Machu Picchu, and Madain Saleh is up there with the best. Our guide tried to hurry us through it in a morning; we insisted on a day’s exploration – and two or three would still be rewarding.
We explored many tombs – some no more than cubbyholes, others the size of a large room, and all with loculi (niches) cut into the walls and floor to hold bodies. Above the entrance to many is an inscription explaining which family owned it, and raining down curses on anyone who tried to claim it illegally.
As at Petra, there’s a siq (narrow gorge), albeit just 30m long compared with Petra’s half-mile, leading to a dazzling plateau ringed by twisted, wind-blown sandstone hills.
The most spectacular tomb, which we reached just as the setting sun turned it aflame, is Qasr Farid, a gigantic tomb hewn out of a massive block of sandstone standing alone on the plain. But as we approached it over the dunes, our bus driver and our police escort (one accompanies every tour group) parked either side of it, ruining our shot. After frantic waving they moved, but the fact that they parked there in the first place told us plenty about the novelty of tourism here.
The nature of tourism
My week in Saudi threw up other highlights: the bustling old souq in Jeddah, selling spices, incense and prayer mats; the cool mountains of the Asir region, popular in summer when the desert is baking; and the astonishing modern architecture of Riyadh, where two space-age skyscrapers dominate the low-rise desert capital. But equally fascinating was the glimpse we got of a culture far removed from ours.
The scene was set on my first morning in Riyadh, when I went to the Supreme Commission of Tourism (SCT) offices to find out why they now wish tourists to visit. Majed Al Sheddi, of the media department, made it clear that tourism is strictly on Saudi terms: “The country has its own flavour and we will never change that just to suit tourists,” he said as we sipped the local brew, cardamom-flavoured coffee.
He pointed out that the country already receives many visitors from nearby Gulf states, as well as some five million Muslims each year on pilgrimages to Mecca and Medina. “We’re not looking for numbers; we’re looking for special-interest groups who would love to come to Saudi Arabia.” He cited culture, mountain climbing, water sports (Saudi’s Red Sea reef offers superb scuba diving) and desert driving as key attractions. He could have added ‘temperance tourism’, though the country’s strict alcohol ban never bothered me – it was so hot.
No, for me real the cultural divide relates to the Saudi attitude to women. They are almost invisible: we saw very few on the streets, and the 20 women (out of 800 staff) who work at the SCT do so behind frosted glass and locked doors, their only contact with male counterparts via email. Women are not allowed to drive, nor to visit internet cafés or some restaurants. I could not head off to explore by myself without attracting unwanted attention – I had to be accompanied by a man.
As for exercise, forget it. A woman out jogging would incite a riot, and my requests to use hotel swimming pools provoked panic at the concierge desk – followed by a refusal. As someone who swims regularly, I found the enforced lack of exercise, combined with the delicious Arab buffets, made me feel lethargic and overweight.
Breaking barriers
It was a good job the shapeless abaya hid those extra pounds, I guess. At least wearing one meant I blended in. Apart from an incident in Riyadh when a man insulted me for not covering my hair, I received respectful treatment from local men – no hassle at all, even in the souq.
I chatted to a woman journalist, Somayya Jabarti, a senior editor of Jeddah-based Arab News (which has a mixed-sex office), who explained that wearing the abaya was about modesty rather than religion. “Some women find it an exciting experience to wear it when they visit,” she said. “After all, when I go abroad, I like to ‘go native’.”
Ultimately my visit made me question my credentials as a responsible tourist. I like to think that I try to avoid causing offence when I travel – should we as tourists rebel against a local custom because we find it onerous, or challenging to our Western cultural norms?
I came away concluding that we should not: part of visiting a country such as Saudi Arabia is learning about a culture far removed from our own, and having our values challenged. The wonderful sights certainly justify taking the trouble. And on a bigger scale, dialogue between two such different countries may help to break down barriers that have recently created such discord between Muslims and non-Muslims.