JEDDAH – April 16, 2025. My husband Nat, my brother Hameed, Mama, and I arrived at Jeddah’s marina early for our 1 p.m. excursion. We came armed with cash (to avoid the mysterious “credit card fee”), two Iqamas (residence permits), two printed visas and still needed more WhatsApp conversations to figure out if this was all happening. The captain eventually materialized, nodding toward his vessel with the casual confidence of someone who may or may not have been expecting us. The saga of booking this trip deserves its own chapter, but that’s a story for another day.

Return to the Red Sea

Growing up in Jeddah, the Red Sea was simply part of daily life, the backdrop to countless weekends and the constant blue horizon to the west of our city. Twenty-five years later, I found myself back on its waters with Nat beside me, both of us about to discover a part of the Red Sea I never knew existed.

As we made our way onto the water, we passed through a maritime checkpoint, where coast guard officials inspected our papers. The WhatsApp conversation with no context requesting Hameed and Mama’s Iqamas and our tourist visas suddenly made sense. 

With the boat pushing forward, I was revisited by that familiar shift of leaving land behind, the same sensation I feel on sailing trips off Santa Cruz. But unlike the small beach town nestled against redwood-covered mountains, Jeddah’s skyline stretched on, a sprawling of high-rises and minarets, changed from the city of my youth. The thin layer of smog that often blankets Jeddah became more visible from a distance, a hazy dome over the city.

“Is this where you used to swim?” Nat asked. I shook my head. “I only ever swam at the beaches near the shore. Never out in the open sea like this.”

What followed was a nerve-wracking 40-minute journey into increasingly choppy waters. Our captain, speeding as if we were being chased, remained focused on navigation and offered no information. Without life jackets in sight, I found myself gripping the railing tighter with each wave. Every time we hit a particularly rough patch, my imagination conjured images of being thrown overboard, waving frantically as the boat disappeared into the distance. The captain’s silence only heightened my anxiety as I scanned the boat for safety equipment. Nat caught my eye, his expression mirroring my unspoken concerns as we continued rising and falling with the rhythm of the waves.

Island paradise or shallow sandbar?

Just when it seemed we might be heading to the middle of nowhere, large patches of aquamarine began to appear in the distance. Emerging from the vast blue expanse was what looked almost like a mirage. This wasn’t an island in the traditional sense but rather a stunning sandbar surrounded by the most impossibly turquoise water I’d ever seen.

“It looks like the Maldives,” Hameed said, echoing my own thoughts.

I watched in anxious amazement as our captain skillfully maneuvered our sizeable boat into incredibly shallow waters. The boat anchored where the sand glowed white beneath crystal clear water. The contrast between this luminous turquoise pool and the deep azure of the waters just around us was striking.

“How did I never know about this growing up?” I whispered to Mama, who shrugged with a similar sense of wonder.

We eagerly climbed down into the cool, shallow waters. Nat and I waded out, laughing as we realized the water barely reached our waists. The sensation was magical, like walking through a living postcard.

After splashing around for a while, it occurred to me to ask, “Isn’t this supposed to be a snorkeling trip? Do you have any snorkels we can use?”

The captain, still a man of few words, disappeared into a storage compartment and emerged with snorkeling equipment. It must have looked comical, Nat and I putting on masks in water so shallow we had to bend at the waist to get our faces underwater. But once I looked beneath the surface, I was transported to another world.

The clear water revealed a pristine seabed with patches of small sea grass and delicate marine plants swaying gently. Tiny, colorful fish darted between these small oases in the sand, including vibrant clownfish with their distinct orange bodies and white stripes. “Nemo fish!” I pointed excitedly. Small gobies and wrasses also flitted around, their miniature world a perfect match for the shallow, protected waters of this unique sandbar.

Underwater revelations

After about 45 minutes of exploring Bayadah’s shallow wonders, I realized our excursion lacked a structured program. What I had imagined would be a full day of planned activities seemed more like a brief visit to a single location.

“Your navigation skills are incredible,” I said to the captain, hoping the polite appeal to his ego might win us more adventure. “I’d love to see more of what you know about the Red Sea. Are there coral reefs we could visit for proper snorkeling?” My approach worked; he nodded and began preparing the boat for departure.

Soon we found ourselves anchored at a hidden spot he knew well, a diving spot with a marker. The water here was choppy and looked ominously deep and dark compared to the turquoise shallows we’d just left. For a moment, I considered heading back to shore. My heart raced as I peered over the edge of the boat, but having come all this way, I took a deep breath and jumped in behind Nat despite my fear.

Slipping into the water with our gear was like entering another dimension. The initial shock of cool water against sun-warmed skin gave way to weightless freedom mixed with jolts of fear. Below us, an entire ecosystem thrived, brain corals in undulating formations, fan corals swaying with invisible currents, and countless fish species darting between them in flashes of electric blue, sunshine yellow and silver.

The top layer of the coral formations appeared brown and lifeless, a visual reminder of the impact of rising temperatures on these delicate ecosystems. We floated side by side, occasionally surfacing to share discoveries or simply exchange glances of amazement.

Between worlds

As we headed back toward shore, Hameed talked about how Saudi Arabia had changed its approach to tourism.

“Five years ago,” he said, “none of this was promoted. Now the government sees tourism as one of the approaches to diversifying beyond oil.” This got me thinking, will these pristine sandbars and vibrant reefs remain the same with increased tourism? Hameed mentioned new regulations being implemented, suggesting awareness of what’s at stake.

Approaching the marina, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the water. The day hadn’t gone according to plan, it rarely does in travel, but instead had revealed something unexpected: a hidden piece of home I never knew existed. I glanced at Nat, salt drying on his skin, the same salt drying on mine. Here was my American husband from small-town Missouri, navigating Saudi waters where I once played as a child, both of us discovering something new together. What had once been separated by oceans, cultures and years now converged in this moment.