Though we had only been out to sea for four days, by our final night it felt like we hadn’t stepped foot on land in weeks. The boat had become a home, and the people onboard—a mix of scientists, professional underwater photographers, as well as the team from Al-Haddad Scuba—felt like a family. Most of the crew were locals from Saudi Arabia, part of the Scuba Schools International (SSI) community, which only strengthened that sense of camaraderie. We dove together, ate together, swapped stories, and even slept side by side, with rough ocean conditions sending water spilling through the small portholes near our bunk beds during the night. Saying goodbye was never going to be easy with this group, especially when you’ve built bonds like this in such a short time.
Many on board now called Saudi Arabia their home—a fact fascinating to the team and I, given this place initially felt so distant from anything we’d ever experienced. After all, it wasn’t until 2019 that the Kingdom opened its borders to travelers outside of religious pilgrimages or business. Now, not only were we immersed in the culture of land, but we were also able to explore the underwater world of Saudi’s Red Sea. And this was a truly novel experience, as most who dive these waters head for Egypt’s side instead.
There’s no better word to describe my time on the OTHER side of the Red Sea, the Egyptian side, than “wild.” From the oceanic white tip reef sharks circling our dive team at the surface, to the relentless currents that stopped us in our tracks, to living out at sea for ten days under the blistering sun basking the Red Sea—I could share stories for days about what I experienced above and below the water there. But the Saudi side of the same sea offered a stark contrast to what we had expected. For the first time in a long while, our team had the space to truly take in what was happening around us, to slow down and absorb it all.
The science team onboard was part of a newly formed government organization. Their mission was to protect and restore coral reefs and marine turtle populations along the Red Sea, combining local knowledge with international expertise to safeguard these critical ecosystems. This crew had lived and worked everywhere, studying marine life across Australia, Africa, Europe and South America. Their stories and perspectives were enough to captivate you for hours—and that’s before we even got the chance to dive with them. They made us fall in love with the kinds of marine life we might have otherwise overlooked, pointing out sponges, the difference between bleached and healthy corals, juvenile fish, and even tiny macro life that would have gone completely unnoticed by an untrained eye.
One detail we couldn’t help but laugh at was the crew’s take on the water conditions—what they called “bad”, were as calm, clear, and serene as could be, from our perspective at least. The water never dipped below 31°C (88°F), there was no current to speak of, and even on the worst days, visibility was still reaching close to 25 meters (82 feet). The crew was disappointed we were seeing their home like this, but we were thrilled. We’d just come from the freezing, turbulent waters of Canada, Alaska, Iceland, and Scotland, where a “relaxing” dive meant hitting an eddy and getting a brief break from the icy currents ripping us from position. A successful dive in that great north entailed not dying of hypothermia. Here, it felt like we’d entered another realm. You could even say it felt like we were on, “vacation.” We found ourselves spending an unusual amount of time hovering in stillness, not even observing marine life—just soaking in that blissful suspension—as for us, it was a much needed underwater experience after what we’d recently been through.
Over the course of eight dives, each lasting between 60 to 90 minutes, we quietly cruised over vast fields of coral. Massive structures rose from the seabed, reaching nearly to the surface, bursting with colorful coral species and swarming with small to midsize tropical fish. Caverns and crevices were covered with life, reminding us that we were only seeing a small fraction of what else lies hidden out there. It made us feel small, and yet, incredibly thankful to have the opportunity to see this side of Saudi.
The amount of life also varied dramatically between sites. Some were seemingly thriving with healthy coral, while others were still clearly recovering from a major bleaching event last year. At certain spots, marine life was abundant; at others, not only was the megafauna missing, but even the macro life we’d grown accustomed to seemed absent. A hopeful moment came when a pod of 17 bottlenose dolphins curiously observed us, as if they’d never encountered humans before. But aside from that encounter, the absence of sharks or rays was impossible to ignore.
It felt both ancient and intact, yet you could almost trace the changes that had unfolded over time. Coral walls rose from the seabed to just a few meters below the surface, creating layers of shelves, caves, ridges, and channels that formed intricate underwater structures. In every nook and cranny, giant clams were placed perfectly, ranging from tiny to impressively large—big enough to remind you to keep your distance. Their color palettes were otherworldly, shifting from vibrant purples to yellows, blues, and greens, almost iridescent as the sunlight filtered through the water. In this slice of coral garden, the more closely you looked, the deeper you saw into the heart of the Red Sea.
One theory suggests that these formations exist because Saudi Arabia sits on the Arabian tectonic plate, one that is constantly shifting and spreading. According to the Saudi Geological Survey, this plate is bordered by divergent, convergent, and transform faults, marking distinct boundaries in the region. The Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden represent the divergent boundaries to the west and south, where the plate is expanding. To the east and north, the Arabian Plate collides with the Eurasian Plate, forming convergent boundaries like the Zagros, Makran, and Taurus Mountains. This tectonic movement causes expansion in the Red Sea and seismic activity along its edges. Coral reefs often form along these plate boundaries due to volcanic activity and tectonic interactions, which serve as potential explanations for the striking formations we were seeing beneath the surface.
After our dives had left us contemplating life on earth and the myriad of the ocean’s mysteries, we’d return to the liveaboard, strip off our scuba gear, and return to the perfect water—this time free of equipment. We couldn’t pull ourselves away from the Red Sea, always craving just a few more minutes to soak it all in, as if we might never have the chance to do so again. And maybe we wouldn’t. Every time we leave a place on expedition, we say we’ll be back. We don’t always know if that’s true, but it’s our way of coping with another goodbye—another departure from a family and place we’ve fallen in love with. We often wonder when our paths will cross again, who we’ll keep in touch with, and if we’ll remain friends. It’s been surprisingly easy to stay connected with those we meet on the edges. But the hard truth remains: even if we do return, these places may not feel or look the same, even just a year later, possibly ever again.
Take Saudi, for example—there’s a massive push to transform the country into a luxury tourism hub, pricing out many potential visitors with astronomical accommodation costs and exclusive tourism packages clearly aimed at the few. The “Red Sea Project,” for example, serves as a prime example of just this. And this shift was impossible to ignore when we reached the mainland of Jeddah. The moment we stepped off the boat at the Red Sea Marina, we were greeted by a quick drive to the towering presence of the Red Sea Mall—one of many mega malls in the area. We were overwhelmed by the sheer scale of consumerism, with endless luxury stores, stalls, and restaurants stretching as far as those coral gardens out to sea. Coming from the serene reefs and breathtaking sunrises to the neon lights and luxury shops, the contrast was staggering.
This tourism takeover is all part of Saudi’s multi-layered and grand “Vision 2030,” a strategy spearheaded by the Council of Economic and Development Affairs, chaired by Deputy Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. The vision rests on three key pillars: “a vibrant society, a thriving economy, and an ambitious nation,” each aimed at positioning Saudi as a progressive place to live, work, and visit. One notable goal is increasing gender equality in a country where women have historically been treated as second-class citizens—a complex topic we don’t feel fully equipped to delve into. On the bright side, the government is heavily investing in sustainability and science. But the push for growth, especially in tourism, raises its own questions. After touring the Red Sea Mall, we couldn’t help but ask what kind of future in tourism does the country truly seek?
We know this is possible as per exploring other parts of the world. But with Saudi aiming for 50 million tourists by 2030, it felt like we were of the rare few to see a side of the country that might not remain as is. This is why the work of ecotourism operators, alongside research and scientific teams in Saudi is more crucial than ever. They hold the delicate task of balancing the country’s ambitious and historical Vision 2030 with the preservation of its natural wonders.
Our final day at sea had us missing Saudi before we’d even left. Whether the late-night chats on the top deck, the top-notch meals served on board, the unforgettable dolphin encounters, the stories from such a diverse group that had truly seen so much, and all the inside jokes packed into those few short days, it was all an experience that I’ll certainly never forget.
Moving forward, we’d be watching Saudi from afar, following the changes in the country and the vital role our friends would play in shaping it. But we left feeling confident that the future of Saudi’s Red Sea was in the best possible hands. And maybe we’d be lucky enough to return one day, ready to dive into these perfect waters again.
To be continued …
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