Driving 'The Beast' through Africa (and the Middle-East)
Arabia
by Isabelle Demaeght, February 2nd, 2026
We are driving to the sea again: to Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates. A world that hardly resembles what we are used to now. Everything is big, shiny, and above all busy. The most expensive cars glide past on five-lane roads as if it were the most normal thing in the world. After days in nature, we eat a hamburger in a very tall building, almost speechless, while watching glittering boats in a marina with a zipline above it.
Adriaan finds a hotel an hour and a half north of Dubai. Two out of seven reviews on booking.com turn out to be painfully accurate: on the roof above the ninth floor is a club that goes all out two nights a week. Even our bed on the third floor vibrates to the low tones, because it is one of those two nights a week...
Meanwhile, my body is suffering. Probably due to reduced immunity, I get shingles, around my diaphragm and back. It hurts. Because, in view of my role as a grandmother, I want to be sure that there will be no risk of infection for newborns, we look for a doctor. The Sudanese doctor reassures me: it is indeed the smallpox virus, but in a month I will no longer be contagious. To be absolutely sure, he prescribes medication.
We drive to the southernmost tip of the Arabian Peninsula, which belongs to Oman. We have found a unique spot on the Strait of Hormuz and think we will be alone, at the end of a difficult steep path, by the sea, among the rocks. That is true... for a moment. Soon Ben, a motorcyclist from the United Kingdom, arrives. Later, a family from Abu Dhabi follows. I don't notice much; upon arrival, I immediately crawl into the tent (lying down eases the pain a little). Adriaan spends the evening with Ben.
Later – or is it already night? – three Algerians from Dubai arrive with a lot of noise and light. In the morning, I am irritated by this, but that subsides once we start talking. They are just people who, like us, want to camp in a unique place. They spend a large part of the day in the water and share the fish they catch with us.
When we want to leave on Monday, fisherman Mohammed stops with his boat. He wants to take us for a ride, just like that. It's strange how our first reflex is always: “What does he want from us?”. And so we stay another day in this now lonely Omani place.
On the way back, we drive into the Emirates again, en route to Saudi Arabia. We first make a short stop in Dubai to see one of the two palm islands. Artificial islands in the shape of a palm tree with glamorous hotels and expensive villas (which also house European criminals). I navigate Adriaan to “Atlantis” – a huge and also extremely luxurious hotel (for a sanitary top). Our dirty Beast is kindly but firmly directed to a parking spot between the buses. The “regular” tourists with “regular” cars—Lexus, Lamborghini, Maserati—can leave their vehicles in front of the lobby—the staff will park them. Atlantis is a prime location with nice restrooms.
After a night in the middle of the desert (next to a new high-pressure oil valve – oil still flows naturally from the ground here), we set off early to cover some miles. But the day takes a different turn: a completely flat tire and a time-consuming border crossing into Saudi Arabia. The Saudis take it seriously. Long queues for the e-visa and car checks. Hours pass and we are happy when they say, “You can go.” Just across the border, at sunset, we find a SIM card. The next day (Friday), we are unable to exchange our remaining Omani money and we can't find liability insurance either.
We reach Riyadh. Adriaan has booked an apartment in a suburb. It's nothing special, but the bed and shower are good. That gives me the chance to recover, while Adriaan goes looking for a new spare tire, a starter battery, a new washing/changing tent, and insurance. It's like the USA: without a Saudi ID card or license plate, the computers won't issue a policy.
This is our first real introduction to Saudi culture. You hardly see any women, or if you do, they are completely covered in black abayas, their faces hidden. Restaurants where you can sit comfortably are hard to find, and even then they have a separate, small room for women (actually, for “families”). Women eat with their abayas still on. Takeaway is the norm and we eat in our apartment (like everyone else?). Saudi Arabia is working on ‘Vision 2030’. Billions are being invested to welcome tourists. The contrast with the current reality in this suburb is palpable.
Recovering also means reading: travel guides, maps, highlights. This way, some places take shape even before we get there. Al Ula and Hegra are often mentioned. No haphazard stops, but destinations with weight.
After Riyadh, we first drive to the Edge of the World. An impressive crack in the earth's surface where the plateau suddenly ends and silence takes over. It feels like a transition in more ways than one: away from the city, towards something (geologically) older, slower. We arrive an hour before sunset, just before a few tour buses disgorge tourists.
In Buraydah, we end up at the largest camel market in the world. A chaos of noise, dust, and movement, and camels everywhere (of course). We walk around and are soon invited for tea by cattle traders in a Bedouin tent. We sleep in the roof tent in the middle of a city for the first time, because we can't leave the city before dark. It's not comfortable – people, buildings, traffic, and lights everywhere. Before dawn – we find ourselves surrounded by mosques announcing that Allah is great at 5:30 in the morning – we leave.
Medina is a pilgrimage city, a bit like Lourdes. Crowds of believers flock to the mosque. For several years now, non-Muslims have also been allowed to visit. It is impressive and educational. For many, this is a stopover on the way to Mecca—one step further, a place where we are not allowed to go. We meet some traveling believers who are on their way to Mecca. They are wrapped in two white towels. A sign of purity.
Amidst all this activity, our next destination continues to grow in our minds: Al Ula, a green valley in a harsh landscape, once a resting place for caravans. And just outside it, Hegra, also known as Madā'in Ṣāliḥ. An ancient Nabataean city, older than Petra (in Jordan), where monumental tombs have been carved out of the rocks. For centuries, this place was shunned, considered cursed, and remained untouched. Only recently did Hegra open to visitors, cautiously and in a regulated manner. No spectacle, just silence and stone. It doesn't feel like just another place on the route, but like a destination we are slowly traveling towards, mentally longer than geographically.
And then, somewhere along the way, my phone lights up. In the WhatsApp group ‘Arabic Peninsula Overland’, I read that Robert has broken down with his BMW motorcycle. Barely a hundred kilometers from where we are sleeping. I reply without hesitation that we will come by the next day. Handy Adriaan will fix it.
So chance takes us to Wadi Al Disah. A wadi is a valley in the desert that channels rainwater to open spaces, before quietly and patiently returning it to the earth. A little rain is forecast and the Saudi authorities have closed off the valley. Robert is staying with Ahmoud, a few hundred meters past the roadblock, between high rock walls. After some grumbling and gesturing at the police, we are allowed in for a ‘very short while’.
Robert is not a young, frightened thirty-something calling for help (as I had imagined after reading his messages and profile), but a sixty-something with a calm gaze. Adriaan has to pass: the clutch plates broke during a wild ride through the sand.
But Robert's misfortune turns out to be our lucky break. The visit that was supposed to be for “just for a bit” stretches into the next morning, thanks to Ahmoud. After sunset, we lift the motorbike into Ahmoud's pickup truck. We eat fragrant, rich food, and during tea, Adriaan gets into a lively conversation with our host. Unusually, the topic is politics and religion. (If it were up to ‘the Arabs’, we would be paying for oil in euros per cubic meter. Trump is not popular here either.) Ahmoud is a funny, charming host. The next morning, we drive together through the still closed Wadi to Tabouk, where Robert has arranged transport to Jeddah.
Neom is still on my Saudi bucket list. It is part of “Vision 2030”: a city of steel and glass, budgeted at five hundred billion dollars. Everywhere there are cranes, dust, and haste. We are not allowed to get close to the futuristic city; the future remains at a distance. This detour yields nothing.
Our detours through this country are coming to an end. Ahead of us lie three countries involved in conflict: Syria, Iraq, and Iran. We have chosen to drive through Iraq and thus around Syria. That road takes us through Jordan. How that goes is the subject of the next, (probably) last blog post.