Falling in love with Lahore
Jazeera Airways is now flying to the spectacular Pakistani city of Lahore. Long-term resident Patricia MacIntosh picks the city’s 10 must-see attractions
Photos_Alamy, Getty
01. Look out from the Minar-i-Pakistan
With views across the Old City to the British suburbs and the sprawl beyond, this place offers the perfect vantage point from which to wonder at Lahore’s progress from little more than a fort and market to a 21st-century megacity.
02. Discover the depths of Lahore Fort
Above ground, the fort buzzes with families picnicking and boys playing cricket. But it is the underground palace that’s truly amazing. Ask a guard for the key to the rooms where Punjab’s rulers slept and lived. Little beats the thrill of lurking alone in the old rulers’ secret hideaways and finding the tunnels that are rumoured to run underground all the way to India.
03. Escape the crowds
Relax in the spa and swimming pool of the Pearl Continental, or in the Holiday Inn’s sauna. But for a wonderfully luxuriant experience, wash away the summer heat with a dip in the Holiday Inn’s rooftop pool. It is particularly beautiful at night, when the lights of the city twinkle beneath you.
04. Chill out to Pappu Sain
Thursday night is Sufinight with Pappu Sain, the world famous musician, banging out his mantric rhythms on the dhol, a traditional Punjabi drum. Head to the Tomb of Shah Jamal in Ichhra to hear the master at work.
05. Shelter at GC University’s Gardens
The lushest and quietest of the city’s many gardens, the Botanical Gardens provide some glorious respite from the summer heat, shelter from the monsoon, and, for any green-fingered visitors, plenty of horticultural inspiration.
06. People watch on Food Street
More a cultural event than a culinary experience, “Food Street”, in Gulberg attracts the whole of Lahore, with young and old coming together in a shared love of Punjabi food. Best visited at night when it lights up like a festival, dizzyingly delicious smells waft from street traders, tempting tourists to eat their way from one delicacy to the next.
07. Relax at Jehangir’s tomb
Jehangir’s tomb, located in Lahore’s northern suburbs, is a monument to Mughal wealth and power. It is a charming park with, at its centre, a dazzling tomb of mirrors. As you cross the Ravi River to reach it, you feel you are leaving the city behind you. Herds of cows graze at the water’s edge and wander the streets outside. A favourite with families, the gardens here are perfect for whiling away an evening in good company.
08. Wander round the Walled City
The Old City is the heart of Lahore, where the architecture of the Mughals, Sikhs, Hindus and British jostles with 12th century houses. Small traders rule the roost, with everything from bread to birds for sale. The tiny streets can become gridlocked, as donkey carts lock horns with rickshaws, but the chaos is part of the charm.
09. Catch a game of kabaddi
Described as a mixture of sumo wrestling without the rules and rugby without the ball, kabaddi is a traditional Punjabi sport that has recently seen a revival with a World Cup in 2010, which was won by the Indians. With a crowd sometimes as rowdy as the teams, this is not a sporting occasion for the faint-hearted.
10. Badshahi Mosque
Richly and elegantly designed, the Badshahi Mosque was once the pride of Mughal society. With its harmonious architecture and original artwork, it is a place of peace and tranquility away from the traffic and crowds. It’s worth visiting it so you can experience Islamic architecture at its simplest and finest.
Matthew Lee dons a helmet, holds on tight, and joins Riyadh’s Harley-Davidson enthusiasts for a ride
The next thirty minutes was a blur. Without goggles and on such a windy night, I could barely see a thing when I dared open my eyes. The roads, the signposts, the 22 bikers driving beside us – it all appeared as a series of flashing lights.
He’s in love with his Touring Ultra Classic, a sturdy, sleek, manly thing of beauty, and yours for around US$20,000. “We have 400 members in the Riyadh group,” he says. “The summers here get hot so we like to travel to cool places.” He’s not kidding. In 2006, they drove to Ireland and this summer they’re heading to Belgium.
BasataThe eco-beach
I’ve been somewhat less productive. I spent my first hour at Basata, a short drive from Sharm El-Sheikh, cross-legged on a rug, looking beyond a radiant blue sea to Saudi Arabia. The distance seems almost swimmable. Since then I’ve read two-and-a-half books, taken one medium-sized walk, eaten two huge meals and two mini-pizzas, and slept far more than is necessary. I’ve had no access to TV, the internet, newspapers or a mobile phone. The experience was at first daunting, but soon liberating.
I only stopped staring at Saudi when the sun fell behind the mountains and it become too dark to see my own fingers. With the screen on my MP3 player acting as a makeshift torch, I tiptoed across the sand to the communal area where dinner was being served. I shared a table with a Swiss mother of two, a regular visitor since the camp opened 24 years ago. Basata, she warned me, can become an addiction – she hasn’t holidayed anywhere else in years. After a fantastic meal of fried fish, spicy rice, bean stew and homemade potato chips, Basata’s founder, Sherif El-Ghamrawy, wandered over to chat.
Basata means “simplicity”. And in the 1980s, Sherif and his Swiss friend inform me, simplicity was even simpler. There were no showers, just buckets of water, and the villas at the back of the beach hadn’t been built yet. Despite such improvements, I’m assured Basata’s character hasn’t changed at all. It’s still an antidote to the mega-resorts of Sharm El-Sheikh. It’s still a place that does minimal damage to the environment. And as I was about to discover, it’s still a place where people from around the world stay up late talking to people they’ve only just met.
The following evening, our dinner party swelled to double figures. After a fantastic vegetarian meal we talked until we got tired. At one point, a child tapped me on the shoulder, handed me a piece of cake, and told me it was his parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. I followed him inside and found Sherif and his wife quietly toasting their marriage. A small gathering of friends, family and guests stood around half a cake and a few cups of tea. It’s a party, Basata-style.
When I first arrived, the softly spoken owner was there to greet me and lead me through the guests’ kitchen, past baskets of vegetables, a handmade fridge stocked with juice and water, and a bakery where cheese pastries and mini-pizzas appeared each morning. I should help myself to whatever I wanted, Sherif said, and keep a tab on a piece of paper. While he trusts his guests, Sherif does have a few rules. It’s an Egyptian camp, he explained, so guests are requested to respect the local culture and dress and behave accordingly. Drugs and alcohol are strictly prohibited on the site.
While I adored it, Basata is not for everybody. The days can be hot and the nights cold, the squat toilets are primitive, and you can almost hear the flies laughing when you sit down to eat breakfast. But it works like a dream. The five-star hotels in Sinai are splashing out on plasma TVs, iPod docking stations and heated swimming pools in their efforts to lure in “the right kind of tourist”. The irony isn’t lost on Sherif, who regularly attracts CEOs and politicians by offering them as little as possible. When he opened Basata in 1986, the term eco-tourism didn’t exist. He’s a pioneer, but it’s the simplest of ideas – an eco-friendly camp inspired by the Bedouin lifestyle. My accommodation is a bamboo hut on the beach with a mattress and a few rugs.
I’ve spent much of my time lazing, daydreaming and sleeping on these rugs. The constant hissing and crashing of the waves has a meditative quality. Counting stars through cracks in a bamboo ceiling is like counting sheep, only it works. On my second day at Basata, I hardly did a thing. On my third day, I did even less. I curled up on a pillow and spent the hours before my taxi arrived fully engaged in an activity I don’t do nearly enough of in my everyday life – nothing. +20 69 350 0480; 
For golfers, life doesn’t get much better than this. At the El Gouna Steigenberger Golf Resort, a short drive from Hurghada airport, golfers can spend their mornings sunning on a private beach, and their afternoons hitting the fairways of an 18-hole USPGA championship golf course. The hotel was conceived by renowned American architect Michael Graves and offers 196 rooms, 45 suites and 14 apartments. It’s surrounded by turquoise lagoons and the golf course, which was designed by American golfer and former Masters winner Fred Couples, is guaranteed to test the driving and putting skills of the keenest players. And let’s not forget El Gouna and its beautiful beaches, which are great for water sports. +20 65 358 0140; 
A steadily sinking sun casts long shadows across the gently rippling sand. The last remaining sunbathers are stretching, yawning and gathering their towels after a long day soaking up the rays. Couples pad along the shore and clamber over rocks to watch the sun set in a peachy-orange sky, while under a wavering palm, a group of men sit cross-legged and share tea from a flask that’s seen better days. It might not be the most pristine or beautiful part of Dubai’s shoreline, but the vibrant and diverse Open Beach is arguably the only true public space in the city.
Though it’s only a simple stretch of sand with a handful of amenities, this beach in Jumeirah is accessible to everybody, regardless of status or nationality, and entrance is free. Sure, there are a couple of other free beaches in the emirate, but they aren’t as well looked after by the municipality, or as well loved by the city’s people. By day, its sands fill up with tourists, locals and foreigners alike, who are happy to sit or sprawl cheek-byjowl and enjoy some of the city’s natural beauty. As evening falls, the bathing and swimming stops, and the sweeping paved area transforms into a lively promenade where families can amble up and down under soft lighting as the waves break on the shore. 
Like most city beaches around the world, Open Beach has a scattering of public showers, bathrooms and refreshment kiosks. But though the facilities are basic, there’s value to be found elsewhere. Take the views, for example. Straight ahead there’s nothing more offensive on the eye than golden sand, turquoise sea, pale blue sky and the occasional passing ship (give or take the odd fat guy in Speedos). Face the beach from either of the manmade jetties and you’ll see the famous Sheikh Zayed Road skyline, including the World Trade Centre and Burj Khalifa, in all its shameless pomp. 
Long gone are the days when turtles were shipped in bulk from the eastern Mediterranean to Europe to satisfy the demand for turtle soup.
The Riviera Beach Lounge may be perched right on the Mediterranean, yet there’s no sand here. The clientele wouldn’t want any – it could mess up their hair. Instead, there are lots of stylish pools, Jacuzzis, and rows of luxurious sunbeds on which perfectly tanned people in designer shades sip drinks. 
“I mainly go to Riviera to relax, but I also love seeing the Lebanese at their most fabulous,” says Don Duncan, an exNew Yorker now living in Beirut. “There’s lots of bling and lots of designer eyewear.” The pools are beautiful, and it helps that the people in them seem far more interested in posing than exercising. “Once I made the mistake of breaking into a breaststroke,” recalls Don. “I probably broke many other rules, too, including not having a perfect tan.” 
Founded in 1956, the Riviera has a long history that stretches back to Beirut’s glory days, and is set on some of the city’s prettiest shoreline. “We attract the young, trendy and glamorous people in Lebanon, and people from the diaspora,” says Rita Faddoul, the club’s director of sales and marketing. “A certain type of person comes here to relax, party and, of course, get noticed.” 
For US$200, you can hire a private sunbed by the main pool, which can spin to face either the pool or the Med, depending on your mood. Also on offer are private turning sunbeds with “in-water” dining areas, and personal staff to attend to your every whim. Those wishing to splash out can hire the VIP lounge, which comes with a personal Jacuzzi and a private butler. There’s also an outdoor spa service, where you can get a manicure or massage while working on your tan. 
Antalya The history beach
When I walk by the sea, I think about the people who made footprints in these sands before me: King Attalos of Pergamon, who founded the city; Paul the Apostle, the early Christian missionary; the Roman emperor Hadrian and his wife Sabina; and later still, the great Arab explorer Ibn Battuta, who wrote glowingly about the beauty of Antalya in the 14th century.
After a spot of daydreaming, I’ll dip into the crystal clear waters and look for crabs and tiny shrimps hiding in the masonry of the stone jetty. If I’m feeling energetic I’ll swim out to the rocky islands in the direction of Konyaalti Beach and the distant Beydagi Mountains. If I’m feeling lazy, I’ll visit the small kiosks selling Turkish coffee and grab lunch at the Mermerli Restaurant.
Salalah The wild beach
Walk towards the edge of the road and there’s little hint of the cliff a mere stone’s throw away. It’s sensible to stick to a viewpoint from the inside of the road, but there’s a compulsion to wander to the edge for a glance at the dramatic drop below. 
The beach is covered in brittle shells so delicate they’re almost invisible. These are taken as trophies by the ghost crabs that build their castles in the sand. Paw prints are dotted along the shore, left by a wild cat that hides somewhere in the thicket. 
Pearl diving is no longer a thing of the past. Julia Stuart puts on her diving gear and is amazed by what gems Bahrain’s waters have to offer
One find in particular sticks in her mind. “One man found a beautiful 6mm pearl, gathered everyone on the bow, dropped to his knee, and proposed to his girlfriend with the pearl in his hand. He got it set for her engagement ring.”
The golden age of pearling in the kingdom was between 1850 and 1930. There were around 30,000 divers, who worked holding their breath. Their only equipment was a nose clip, leather finger stalls for protection against coral, a weighted rope and a bag. The industry started to decline when the Great Depression stifled spending and cheaper cultured pearls flooded the world market.
There are two programmes – one for novices and the other for qualified divers. Beginners have a pool session with Robin to learn the basics, and one open-water dive at the banks. Certified divers do two open-water dives. Before heading for the sea, students attend a theory class on the history of the natural pearl, as well as ecology, biology and conservation. The class also includes tips on how to select an oyster that is more likely to contain a pearl, as well as how to open the shell and search for them among the flesh. They also run women-only diving programmes. Robin taught the first Bahraini woman in history to scuba dive on the pearl grounds.
Few know the beds better than Rob does. In 1969, when he had just finished his A-levels, a crew arrived from America to make a Wonderful World of Disney film called Hamad and the Pirates. Rob volunteered his services to make some pocket money, and the director appointed him underwater cinematographer because he had a scuba diving licence. He spent seven months filming the pearl divers, and was the first Westerner to dive the pearl grounds.
Holding on to the rope with my right hand, once I’m on the seabed I start collecting the saddest-looking oysters I can spot and put them into a string bag. Robin, holding the rope next to me, regularly checks that I’m OK with the standard diver’s signal, and collects alongside me as we drift across the bed, which is covered with sea urchins and oysters. I inspect each one I pick up, and drop those that aren’t ugly enough, so they can re-attach themselves to the seabed.
“Take your time,” Rob advises. “You’ve gone to all this effort to collect the oysters. Have a good look around the flesh so that you don’t miss any.” But there’s nothing in it, and I cast it back into the sea. I continue opening, and eventually find blister pearls – small lumps attached to the inside of the iridescent shell. Several oysters later, I find a collection of about six minuscule pearls, the size of sugar grains. Thrilled, I put them into the glass jar I have brought along.
As we went to press, we received the sad news that Rob Gregory had passed away. Robin is continuing to run the courses. Call her on +973 3967 1748 for more information.
Henry Wismayer travels half an hour from Amman and almost 2,000 years into the past to watch gladiators clash spears in Jerash
For years, visitors have visited Jerash to walk through Jordan’s greatest Roman ruins and imagine what life was like before their glory faded. The difference today, as Centurion Lucius Maximus issues another Latin command and the Legion Six Ferratta go through their manoeuvres, is that it’s really happening. In the hippodrome of ancient Jerash, the Roman Army and Chariot Experience (RACE) brings history to life.
At one point in the twice-daily performance it looks as though the soldiers are going to chuck their spears into the crowd, who are arrayed across six tiers of granite seats in the arena’s southeast corner. They don’t, of course – RACE’s quest for realism falls short of spilling the blood of either actors or audience, unless, as the invisible narrator warns, anyone is caught using their mobile phone.
Next, “out of the dungeons of Gerasa” (the Roman name for Jerash), come the gladiators, looking understandably nonplussed at the prospect of fighting to the death for our amusement. Their duels are theatrical but convincing – these actors, mostly local exsoldiers, have been trained by professional stuntmen – and, true to history, the baying mob of daytrippers and sunburned tourists get to decide the loser’s fate with a thumbs up (lives) or sideways (dies). Most go for sideways. “You’re a friendly lot,” the commentator says disappointedly.
As a third defeated gladiator is spared execution only to get a dagger in the belly, a galloping soundtrack strikes up to introduce the show’s finale, the spectacle for which this stadium was built in the second century AD and partially reconstructed out of earthquakeravaged rubble 1,900 years later.
Through the western gate rumble three two-horse chariots. They don’t race so much as tear about a bit, stampeding round the tight hairpins of what was once the smallest hippodrome in the Roman empire.
But it falls to the half-bucket chariots to provide the show’s most hands-on experience – the chance to play Ben Hur in a faithful replica of the vehicles that once carved ruts into Jerash’s colonnaded streets.
The ancient homes of Sana’a are wonders of the world, unique to Yemen. But keeping them intact is demanding and expensive. Hugh Macleod meets the men trying to preserve the incomparable beauty of the Old City in the 21st century 
Standing just inside Bab al-Yemen, the last remaining of the seven great gates to the City, he points across the square to the home he inherited from his grandmother, a four-storey tower overlooking the souq, just one of the 7,500 minor miracles of architecture that make Old Sana’a an internationally protected heritage site. They look like towers from a fairy tale, rows of gingerbread-coloured bricks held together with mud and straw, marked out by white gypsum and windows so intricate they seem entirely impractical.
“The ground floor is for the animals, or used to be,” Zayed explains. “First floor is for family things, the second floor has the good rooms, for eating, receiving guests and, of course, for weddings. The third floor is for sleeping, and the top floor, the mafraj, is for chewing qat. The homes have passed down through history and generations, unaltered by modern things. Old Sana’a,” he concludes, “is protected by God.” 
That it may be, but at the end of this first decade of the new millennium, the homes that stand witness to some 2,000 years of habitation in Old Sana’a could do with a little help from man as well. Lack of time, money and care, and dithering by Unesco, the international organisation tasked with ensuring the continuance of building traditions in Old Sana’a, have conspired to threaten Yemen’s unique architectural heritage like never before. 
Akwaa would like to see a more constructive role taken by the Old Sana’a Preservation Authority, led by Abdulla Zaid Ayssa, who recently gave a glowing appraisal of the efforts made by his administration to The New York Times. Others echo his views. “It’s time to ring the alarm. There need to be checks and controls,” says Elena Dicapita, a professional restorer from Italy working on decorations inside the city’s Grand Mosque. 
A shortage of the right kind of mud – a heavy clay mixed with camel dung and straw – as well as the skilled craftsmen needed to apply it, means many residents repairing homes in Old Sana’a are opting to use cement, new bricks and even concrete blocks to save on costs. Even the venerable mukhtar Zayed is doing it, admitting reluctantly that when his uncle’s home collapsed, five years ago, the plan for its restoration centred on new red bricks and concrete. “We can’t get hold of the right mud any more and no one knows how to use it anyway,” he admits.
Today, what remains standing of the building is a confusion of rubble and rooms patched together, some with old bricks, some with new, and with plenty of cement in between. 
“We want to restore the house not just as our home, but as the historical place it once was,” says Ghotheim. “But we don’t have the money and neither does the government. I’ve never met with Unesco, though I have written to them. Why don’t those international organisations who care about history come to help us?”
“Sana’a belongs to the world, to the history of beauty and taste, like Venice, like Bruges, Istanbul, Prague and Rome,” says Marco Livadiotti, an Italian consultant with Unesco who came to Yemen in 1960 and whose love of its architecture has fuelled a tireless campaign to preserve Old Sana’a. He has helped restore many of the area’s buildings, preserving the traditional architecture while installing modern furniture and fittings.
After 25 years of promoting tourism, Livadiotti now sees preserving architecture as integral to Yemen’s development. “Oil is declining, water is running out and the sea is over-fished. But Yemen has one of the richest heritages in the world. If we save it, the country can grow wealthy on the income from tourism.”
Words_Sabah Haider
“Damascus is changing by the day and the political situation is not the only reason,” says Julian Crane, head of marketing at the Four Seasons Hotel in Damascus. “There is a pent-up demand for a destination that has been closed for decades.” In the past, three-quarters of guests have been from the Gulf, but now the pendulum is swinging and he expects that within a year, half his customers will be Westerners. 
Peter and Frauke Mambrey are among the growing army of Western tourists cutting a path to Syria. “Our daughter was in Damascus for four weeks to learn Arabic and she recommended that we visit,” they told me over coffee in a picturesque Old City courtyard. “When we said we were coming here, many of our friends back home in Germany were shocked.”
Trade at the souq is brisk. Gad Syed makes hand-carved brass plates and vases. From his tiny shop behind the grand Ommayad Mosque, he’s practised his art for years but struggled to earn a good living. In recent times, however, things have changed. “For six months a year, in the summer, almost 100 percent of my business is from tourists,” he tells me, adding, “I have been busier over the past year than I ever have before.”
Syria is also attracting more tourists from Lebanon. Widad Abou Diab, a web designer from Beirut, regularly spends her weekends in Damascus, where she can buy goods for a fraction of the price they cost at home. She recently got married and bought everything for the wedding – including the dress, invitations and gifts for guests – in Syria. “I wouldn’t have been able to afford everything in Lebanon,” she says. “It would have cost twice as much.”
A hospice in Kuwait offers ill children a better quality of life