“And life is sweet when you’re with me…” the gravelly voice and funky beats of Saudi rapper DJ Mubarak blared around our car as we sped through the Riyadh night. It was very, very, very late, and I was driving around the capital with a small group of new colleagues-turned-friends: two Saudis, an Italian, and myself, a Londoner.
It was my first-ever visit to Saudi, and quite frankly, the nightlife was blowing my mind.
Night after night that week, we’d been bouncing around the city, having fun from sunset until the small hours. We’d browsed vintage posters and dusty antiques as dusk fell at Souk Al Zal. We’d checked out contemporary arts centre Misk, where thought-provoking works by David Hockney, Saudi painter Ziad Kaki, and others explored the theme of the digital age. We’d clapped along with a raucous crowd at live music venue The Warehouse, as a cover band played Arab hits and bantered with the audience between songs. We’d swung through 24/7 coffee drive-throughs, smoked double apple shisha on a breezy terrace, taken selfies in front of giant street art murals, picked up records in a vinyl store, and sipped karak chai by fire pits in the mud-brick district of AlSamhania.
Between each stop, we’d piled back in the car and battled Riyadh’s traffic with increasingly loud playlists of Arab hip-hop, Dublin punk, and classic Saudi love songs.
We certainly hadn’t gone hungry on our adventures, pausing every few hours to refuel anywhere from street stalls to swanky restaurants.
Sharing sushi and technicolour mocktails on the fabulous patio of Japanese Peruvian hotspot Chotto Matte was a real highlight, and so was devouring slow-cooked lamb haneeth in Saudi fine-dining restaurant Suhail. Late one night, we’d even found an Italian food truck called The60pasta and gorged on pasta from sauce-soaked bread bowls while lazing on cushions in a nearby lamplit park. The zero-alcohol, late-night culture was a totally new experience for me, and I found the difference it made both eye-opening and liberating. The usual night out trajectory followed in other cities was further from the case here.
The capital comes into its own after dark, alive with light from neon skyscrapers and giant LED screens, illuminated fountains and fairy-light-strewn terraces. Almost all “daytime” activities – cafes, playgrounds, malls, sports centres, and so on – remain open, and families often stay out late too, adding to the warm, relaxed energy. It’s normal to see young kids out past midnight, playing games, snacking, and running around in parks.
There’s little tolerance for street harassment of women, with hefty fines and jail time for those convicted. In fact, there’s a low crime rate generally. For me, the difference between the nightlife in Riyadh and other cities was most evident at the food truck we’d visited. It was parked in a quiet part of town, on the edge of a very secluded, dimly lit park. But clusters of girls were happily enjoying their post-midnight pasta picnics there, clearly at ease and confident of their safety – I couldn’t think of any other city where that wouldn’t feel risky.
On this particular night, my group and I were headed to a branch of Mama Noura, the undisputed best fast-food chain in Riyadh. It was almost 3am, but the bright, noisy canteen was still packed tight with diners and the smell of meat roasting on spits was dizzying. I practically fell on my shawarma when it arrived, and sinking my teeth into the warm wrap of chicken, French fries, sour pickles, and creamy garlic sauce was nothing short of transcendent. As I washed it down with a fresh pomegranate juice, some local boys who had overheard us speaking English politely leaned over to ask if we were enjoying our visit to Saudi.
Completely wiped out, it was time for me to head home, but my Riyadh friends showed no signs of slowing, with plans to get more coffee and play board games at another late-night cafe. On the drive back to my hotel, the highways were still busy, streets and cafe terraces lively, and open malls still gleaming in the distance.
Once I’d got the hang of doing as the locals seem to, and switching sleep for giant coffees, my days in the capital turned out to be as packed as the nights. My absolute favourite place for a caffeine fix was Wathba Coffee & Book, a stunning library-bookshop-cafe hybrid in Al Narjis district. It’s the brainchild of Munira Al Tuwaim, whose passion for reading can be seen everywhere from the floor-to-ceiling bookcases to novel-themed coasters. Over a cup of excellent coffee, Munira and I chatted about travel, art, interior design, and antiques – she had sourced the cafe’s elegant prints and accessories from countries as far-flung as France, Scotland, and Egypt. It was inspiring to hear how she’d made her vision of a welcoming, home-from-home haven for literature lovers become a reality.
Naturally, I couldn’t leave Saudi without heading into the desert, so on my last day, we took an Uber right out to Red Sands, 45 minutes away from Riyadh. This is a spectacular dunescape that’s become something of a playground for adrenaline-pumping sand sports, including dune bashing, camel riding, and quad biking.
We bundled into a 4x4, fastened our seatbelts, and gave our driver the nod to go for it. Before we knew it, we were roaring up steep sandy slopes, spinning and sliding on the plummeting descents, and screaming as sand sprayed hard against the windscreen and through the windows. We hopped out of the car in a blissfully remote spot amid the dunes, where we could see nothing except deep golden sand stretching to the horizon in every direction. I climbed to the top of a dune, pulled my shoes off, and dug my bare feet into the warm, pristine sand, feeling exhausted and dazzled in equal measure – a perfectly fitting end to a Riyadh trip I’d loved every minute of.
Photos by Arwa Alghamdi
Words by @helenelfer
