ABHA, Saudi Arabia – From the air, the Abhi Mountains appear emerald green, rising from a sea of sand. Terra Firma offers other surprises: a bracing breeze that has me clutching my jacket, an item of clothing largely ignored in other parts of Saudi Arabia.
Indeed, much of Abha, the capital of the southwestern province of Asir, seems a world away—and two decades colder—from the scorching desert that dominates Western images of the kingdom.
I'm here as a tourist and Saudi Arabia hopes there will be many more. The government is spending nearly $1 trillion to make attractive a country that just over a decade ago was one of the most unattractive countries on earth for tourists.
If you've read anything about tourism in Saudi Arabia, you've probably seen mention of Vision 2030, a comprehensive diversification plan aimed at reducing the kingdom's dependence on oil; Neom, a sci-fi desert metropolis with plans for an artificial moon and flying cars; or the Red Sea Project, which intends to transform an archipelago of 92 islands off the country's pristine Red Sea coast into a network of 50 luxury hotels and about 1,000 residential units.
The two flagship projects were widely publicized during President Trump's visit to Riyadh in May, when Saudi Arabia's Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman – the architect of Vision 2030 – led him into a room with elaborate mock-ups of the finished product.
A man sits in an old fort on Mount Qais, one of the green places in southwestern Saudi Arabia.
(Tasnim Alsultan)
Abha and Asir were not present at the prince's presentation, but they are nonetheless part of the transformation of tourism, although for now they offer more grounded and perhaps more authentic pleasures – the main reasons I decided to come here. (Another, less fanciful reason is that I wasn't sure I could convince my editors to approve a $2,500-a-night private “dune villa” on the Red Sea shore in St. Regis for “journalistic purposes.”
Situated at nearly 7,500 feet above sea level, Abha is sometimes called the “Lady of the Mist” or “Bride of the Mountain” by the Saudis.
Both names seemed apt on the day I arrived, and as fog engulfed a nearby peak, I visited Art Street, a park with theaters, music festivals, restaurants and cafes. The lilac jacaranda trees were in full bloom. Later, I took a 20-minute drive to Al Sahab Park, located near Abha, filled with people admiring the evening mist shrouding Jebel Souda, the country's highest peak at 9,892 feet.
“People come here to touch the clouds,” says Hussein al-Lami, a 42-year-old pharmaceutical company employee who lives two hours away. He smiled as he looked at the Harley bikers parked near the rocks and the men and women walking nearby with traditional Asir garlands made from orange marigolds, dill and wormwood, a gray-green plant similar to sage.
“I left my kids and wife at home for a few days,” he said. “It's a good place to clear your mind.”
Men gather for a wedding in Abha, the capital of the Asir province of Saudi Arabia.
(Tasnim Alsultan)
The next morning I strolled along Souq Al Thulata, the central shopping street which, despite its name (meaning “Tuesday market” in Arabic), is open every day of the week.
One stall sold pieces of mango brought from Jazan, a fertile southern province known for its tropical fruits, wheat and coffee; others sold raisins, spices, nuts and exquisite honey from Yemen. Traffic was still light, but vendors told me that at the height of the summer season – when many Saudis flee the bonnet-frying heat of Riyadh and Jeddah to Abha – you barely have room to stand.
In its quest to become a must-see destination, the kingdom is ecumenical in its approach to its audience, hoping to attract not only Saudis who have traveled elsewhere in the past (and who will spend $27 billion on international travel in 2024, according to government data) but also foreign visitors.
There are signs it's working: An International Monetary Fund report notes that annual tourist arrivals have exceeded the Vision 2030 target of 100 million seven years ahead of schedule.
Work on Abha's tourism transformation is already underway. All over the city, you see signs advertising projects sponsored by the Public Investment Fund, the oil-backed sovereign wealth fund overseeing a gigantic investment in the kingdom's unfettered metamorphosis. The reconstruction of the airport will begin soon.
Locals pose in front of a mural at one of Abha's many parks, which is working to attract more foreign tourists.
(Tasnim Alsultan)
Outside the city, the foundation plans to build six tourist districts in prime locations in the region; According to promotional materials, they will use the area's majestic views to focus on health spas, yoga pavilions, meditation spaces, golf courses and glamping pods.
“We're in a transition phase at the moment, so there's construction going on and it might be a little inconvenient, but it's already getting better,” said Mohammad Hassan, 36, owner of a cafe in Abha called Bard wa Sahab (Cold and Clouds), located next to an Instagram-ready mountaintop viewpoint.
Hassan acknowledged that the rapid growth in construction is likely to increase competition and has already pushed up rents. But he seems pleased with the impact the changes will have on his business.
“Abha used to receive mostly guests from Saudi Arabia or people from [Persian] “Gulf,” he said, “we are already seeing more foreigners, but the government's plans will make Abha known internationally.”
Other locals complain that the construction has made Asir's most beautiful areas inaccessible, and that the emphasis on luxury will change the free-spirited character of the region.
“We went to the mountains and camped for several days. The authorities stopped all that and of course we won't be able to do that when the resorts open,” said Nasser, a municipal employee who gave only his first name for privacy reasons.
“Maybe everything the government does will improve the situation, but it is impossible to return to the old way of life that we had,” he said.
Another potential break with the past is the possibility of allowing alcohol consumption in the country. But crossing that Rubicon is a difficult decision for authorities all too aware of the kingdom's status as the home of Islam, which bans alcohol and is skeptical of those who drink and sell it.
Rijal Almaa, an ancient village about 15 miles from Abha, is a popular tourist destination in the Asir province of Saudi Arabia.
(Tasnim Alsultan)
However, many believe that this will happen. Employees working on the Red Sea project say hotel rooms at various resorts will be equipped with elaborate minibars. And the Four Seasons Hotel in Riyadh has opened a tonic bar (but without the booze) that invites you to “enjoy a symphony of handcrafted cocktails, carefully crafted to elevate your senses.”
Despite the hundreds of billions Saudi Arabia has spent, there are skeptics. They point to low oil prices which mean the government is unable to balance its budget or cope with the rising costs of Vision 2030. Several projects have already stalled; Architects working at resorts say layoffs have risen sharply and their workload has decreased. Other flagship projects, including Line, have seen their once fantastical goals grounded in the realities of physics and finance.
Whatever the fate of Vision 2030's grand plans, Abhi's charm awaits.
(Tasnim Alsultan)
One afternoon I decided to brave Jebel Souda, thinking it was time for us to make a short trek. I set off along the barely passable path with a vague plan to turn back soon. Indeed, I was so ill-equipped (inappropriate walking shoes, a tiny bottle of water and a bad cold) that I should have done it. But I kept going, curious to see what the next turn would bring.
Four hours later, sunburned and more out of breath than I'd like to admit, I made it to the village where I later drove back to town.
But before I found the ride, I ignored the fatigue and lingered for a moment in this corner of the country better known for its desert than for the dense forest I had crossed. In front of me, somewhere beyond the haze, a mountain range stretched out. The fog thickened around the peaks, and the last rays of sunset turned them into a gracefully undulating landscape of golden haze.
