During my two decades as a long-haul airline pilot, I’ve had opportunities to explore many places I might never have otherwise visited. Jeddah, for example, on Saudi Arabia’s Red Sea coast, is a city I visit almost monthly. I’m drawn to its narrow lanes — Jeddah’s graceful old town is one of the best preserved in the Gulf States — and to a fabled history that long predates the region’s oil wealth. On my layovers, I’ve been struck by the growing number of tourists I find exploring the port city that nearly 14 centuries of Mecca-bound pilgrims have come to know well.
First Stop: Hotel
At 10 on a recent night, we lifted off from London, flew over Venice, Athens and Alexandria, Egypt, then followed the glowing settlements that line the Nile, before crossing the Red Sea and touching down in Jeddah at sunrise. By 8 a.m., I had reached our crew hotel, where I donned my eyeshades and crawled into bed.
Awakened by my 11 a.m. alarm, I swept open the floor-to-ceiling curtains of my room. Guided by the arrow-shaped “qibla” marker on the desk that indicated the direction of Mecca, I looked across Jeddah’s tawny cityscape to the hills that cradle Islam’s holiest city, about 45 miles east. Then I showered, packed my phone, sunscreen and water, and went downstairs.
Second Stop: Caffeine, Arabian-style
So intense is my love of coffee that my career as a pilot, like the life of T.S. Eliot’s Prufrock, might best be measured out in coffee spoons. Coffee — from the Arabic word qahwa — has deep roots here. Poured from the pot known as a dallah and served with dates or sweets, it is the hallmark welcome to a Saudi home. In modern Jeddah, countless sleek venues are renewing one of the world’s oldest coffee cultures for the age of latte art and Instagram.
I started at the Sari Road branch of Brew92° — the name reflects their preferred brewing temperature, in Celsius — founded in Jeddah in 2016. Inside, the exposed concrete and electrical conduits were softened by wooden grilles over the windows and marvelously warm service. I opted for the brew of the day, Hacienda Copey, from Costa Rica. Then I put down my magazine to watch an ordinary lunch hour unfold, as women and men in every combination of Saudi and Western garb stepped in from the noonday sun to join meetings around laptops, or for takeout such as couscous-based salads. Immersed in the sensation I call place lag, I couldn’t believe that only 14 hours had passed since I had wheeled my suitcase to a London bus stop in the rain.
Third Stop: The Town
Around 1 p.m., I reached Jeddah’s historic core, Al Balad, or the Town. In the seventh century, Uthman ibn Affan, a companion and son-in-law of Muhammad, chose Jeddah as the port for Mecca. As Islam spread to distant lands, the honor — and the business — of welcoming pilgrims propelled Jeddah’s growth and fame.
In the 20th century, oil wealth transformed the city into a sprawling, car-friendly metropolis; its ancient walls were taken down in 1947. Thankfully, Al Balad’s maze of shaded, narrow streets lined with mosques, traditional homes and coffeehouses survived. Today it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site.
I stepped out of my Uber at the Al Furdah gate — Jeddah’s walls may be gone, but its gates remain landmarks — and plunged into the thrilling confusion of lanes. I passed gold merchants, a shop selling ornamental birdcages, public cat-food dispensers and “roshan” tower houses — named for the latticework, often teak, that extends bay windows over the street, admitting light and ventilation while preserving privacy.
Soon I reached a bench in the square that’s home to a famous tree: a neem, a variety of mahogany, that grows in the shadow of Beit Nassif, a grand old home that’s now a museum and cultural center. Its staircases were built wide enough for camels carrying goods to ascend. There’s an old Jeddah story about a pilgrim who was once given food by this house’s owner. Later, the pilgrim wished to thank the owner for such kindness, but he didn’t know the address. So he posted his letter to “The House Near the Tree, Jeddah,” and it duly arrived; in the age before irrigation transformed Jeddah’s stark desert setting, there was no other house it could be.
Fourth Stop: Date City
Keen to buy dates to share with my colleagues on the flight home, I walked next to Suq Bab Makkah. This market is named for the Mecca Gate, on Jeddah’s inland side; from here travelers who had arrived by sea would exit the walled city to continue their pilgrimage. I chose sukkari dates, a sweet, gold-colored cultivar recommended to me by a guide, Ayat Alsharif, during a tour of Al Balad. Ms. Alsharif also advised me to dip them in tahini, a delicious combination.
I concluded my visit to the old city at Minaa, a jewel of a cafe, for a panini filled with fuul, the Egyptian fava bean stew that’s a tasty breakfast staple across the Middle East. I ate on a bench outside as I listened to the whirring lathes at a nearby workshop where the skills to make the city’s latticework windows are safeguarded. After lunch I bought a five-inch-wide, flat, star-shaped wooden sample, its intricate geometric pattern formed without nails or glue — the perfect coaster for my morning coffee back home.
Fifth Stop: Hitting the Beach
At around 5 p.m., I headed to the city’s miles-long corniche, or beachfront road. Recently redeveloped, it’s lined with brightly painted cycling paths, palm trees, piers, green spaces and wheelchair-accessible public beaches luxuriously outfitted with lounge chairs, umbrellas and wood-slat cabanas.
I started just inland, along the Prince Faisal bin Fahad Walkway, a sculpture-lined green corridor that parallels the beach. Reaching the waterfront, I stood at a railing and gazed down at the wind-whipped swells.
Jeddah’s corniche may resemble waterfront Los Angeles or Cape Town, but differences remain. Take the Al Rahma mosque, built out over the Red Sea and stunning at dusk when it appears to float on the shining waters, or the low, horizontal cylinders along the seafront paths, from which rolled-up rugs can be pulled for prayer.
Two more differences: Large, multigenerational groups are the beachfront norm here. A typical gathering includes older people and a half-dozen young parents — siblings or cousins, perhaps — sprawling on blankets, chatting and eating, as laughing children zip to and fro like orbiting electrons. And beach life is more nocturnal, especially in the summer, when evening is the most sensible time to relax outdoors.
As the sun dipped behind the rippling sea, the Maghrib, or sunset, prayer calls rang out. With an early flight the next day, I started to think about dinner. A hundred yards down the waterfront stood a branch of Al Baik, a Jeddah-born fast-food chain with a spicy chicken sandwich that can’t be beat. But I decided instead to join my colleagues at an Egyptian restaurant near our hotel. We shared flatbreads and lahma bil basal, or beef stew, and talked about how each of us had spent our day.
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