I was in trouble deep in the Saudi desert. I was running late for my bus from Al Ula to Madinah. Missing it would mean a thirteen hour wait for the next one. I opened the door of the nearest taxi at Al Ula Airport. “Yalla, Yalla” I said to the driver. I knew this Arabic, “Let’s Go! Let’s Go!”, from the central London restaurant of the same name. It is a Saudi pipe dream to be paid to drive fast. My driver took my mission to heart, sped at 100 miles per hour and I made the bus by a few minutes. And fell into a deep sleep.
Everyone fell asleep on the bus apart from the driver. The holy month of Ramadan tires people during the day and evenings become more vital. Our destination Madinah, the second holiest city in Islam, was closed to non-Muslim visitors until 2022. But things are changing fast in Saudi Arabia. I wandered around the outside of the vast Prophet’s Mosque through a throng of evening worshippers, Ramadan swelling numbers to the hundreds of thousands. After all those football matches, this was the largest crowd I had ever experienced, a tumultuous current of pilgrims from across the Muslim world. I spotted tour shirts from Uzbekistan, Tunisia and Malaysia and, standing out amongst the traditional clothing, a boy wearing an Al-Hilal jersey with “Mitrović” on the back. I inwardly snarled.
This was the World Cup of religion. The spiritual atmosphere around Madinah was arguably more like the European Championships given Mecca is the most important Islamic city. And, as at major tournaments, big companies have spotted an emerging market. McDonalds, Dunkin’ Donuts and KFC push their products amidst a dense collection of faceless hotels. The glaring fast food lights brought familiarity to an unfamiliar scene that pushed me to the edge of my comfort zone in a way football has rarely done. An elderly Pakistani man in a wheelchair, Muhammad, stopped me for a chat in a courtyard outside the mosque. He asked my name and was visibly disappointed when he heard it was Christian. We exchanged numbers and he remains hopeful that I might change my name to a Muslim one. This seems more likely than changing my football club.
I took the high-speed pilgrimage train that links Madinah and Mecca. I was careful not to miss my stop at Jeddah since
Mecca remains closed to non-worshippers. Jeddah is home to Al-Ahli and Al-Ittihad, two of the four clubs, alongside Riyadh rivals Al-Hilal and Al-Nassr, that have benefitted from the government’s Public Investment Fund. Muhammad, my guide in the stunning desert scenery around Al Ula, was an Al-Hilal fan. He said that fans, Hilalis or otherwise, did not care who was backing their teams. However, Al-Ahli fans I later met resented wealthy Al-Hilal and called them “the Man City of Saudi”. Certainly, the elite clubs had existed before central funding and, much like Saudi Arabia itself, were trying to diversify into other revenue streams.
Early investment was a theme in a country with runaway ambition and little need to balance the books. Train stations are the size of airport terminals and the fabulous digital art museum in Jeddah had more staff than visitors. The mirrored Maraya concert hall in the desert near Al Ula reflected wealth and innovation as well as the surrounding sand. My friend, a British expat who had been working in Riyadh for two years, said that the country was developing incredibly quickly. I noticed that there was a tendency to construct buildings with a hole in them in Riyadh. A vast cube was being built and there was no known use for it.
Saudi football had clearly benefitted from this investment. I took a taxi to south Jeddah to watch Al-Ahli at Prince Abdullah Al Faisal Sports City. The stadium sparkled with green lighting in the colours of Al-Ahli and big screens outside advertised the Saudi Arabia World Cup. But there was limited public transport and very few toilets, things that will need to improve ahead of 2034. I bought a £7 seat near the half-way line and was surrounded by eager twenty-somethings, keen to practice their excellent English with a football tourist. I lauded the comfortable seats to my new friends. But they hated this stadium. Al-Ahli’s fan base typically live in the north of this elongated coastal city. It was especially important to go to the right stadium in Jeddah. Al-Ahli played their Asian Champions League matches nearer their fans at King Abdullah Sport City, a future World Cup venue located a whopping 25 miles to the north.
Al-Ahli’s team lined up with arms linked in front of their 13,000 fans as anthems boomed around the stadium. I liked this unique touch although Saudi fan culture was influenced by more established leagues. Al-Ahli took a fortuitous own goal lead, but mid-table Al-Khaleej scored from two counterattacks with Portuguese nomad Fabio Martins at the heart of both moves. My new friends were dismayed and one even complained about Al-Khaleej “parking the bus”, an awkward term in a country so fixated on the car. Galeno scored a late equaliser, but Al-Ahli couldn’t force an undeserved winner as the game, a 10pm kick off due to Ramadan, ran into the following day.
I took another taxi to the old town of Al-Balad in the morning. I mentioned that I was a newly-converted Al-Ahli fan to the driver and he refused to take any money for the ride. This was the Middle Eastern authenticity that Saudi Arabia was keen to retain to help separate it from some of its glitzier Gulf neighbours. Al-Balad was deserted in the middle of a Ramadan day and I enjoyed exploring the narrow streets filled with curious cats. The charismatic old buildings with their beautiful wooden balconies were being gradually restored ahead of a tourist boom that few had predicted until Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman took up the reigns in 2017.
I was keen to visit Saudi Arabia before it became more mainstream and before my friend returned home. It was remarkably straightforward to get into a country that was nearly impossible for Westerners to enter until 2019. My electronic visa waiver, £33 for Brits under a reciprocal agreement, was issued in just one minute. I was waved through Saudi immigration quicker than at most European borders. There were only a handful of other tourists braving Ramadan restrictions, although my friend observed that more shops were open than the previous year. Drinking or eating in public is still frowned upon during daylight hours. I drank water behind pillars and snacked in metro station toilets.
My friend showed me around Riyadh, a desert city of just 100,000 inhabitants in 1960 that now housed over eight million. It was previously puritanical. I noticed checkpoints on the edge of the city. They were legacy landmarks like many previous regulations. Western websites are more accessible than ever before and women now make up more than half of my friend’s workforce. I spotted more women at the football, some without headscarves, than at some Eastern European matches.
Entertainment was also improving outside the Saudi Pro League. Al Murray, the English comedian, did not hold back his jokes in a stand-up show. Metallica played songs from their legendary second album, “Riyadh the Lighting”, two years’ ago. And Guns N’ Roses performed recently, although I doubt “Paradise City” was written about the Saudi capital. Alcohol remains prohibited, even in hotels or mouthwash.
We took in Al-Hilal’s match against Al-Ahli. Mitrović was injured so I didn’t have to boo him. The King Fahd stadium is being renovated ahead of the 2027 Asian Cup so Al-Hilal are currently playing at the Kingdom Arena. The Saudis love to claim a Guinness World Record and the Kingdom Arena is the world’s largest indoor football stadium. This enormous box is located next to theme park Boulevard World, a showcase for Arabian takes on different world cultures spread around the world’s largest artificial lake. The United Kingdom zone had been replaced by Iranian Corner, perhaps a subliminal nod to the new world order. It was bizarre to glimpse the outside of a stadium with a faux Egyptian pyramid in the foreground. The Kingdom Arena is certainly an unusual setting for football, with one massive stand alongside the pitch accessed by countless escalators.
Inside, there was orchestrated noise from both sets of fans, which helped distract me from a scatty first half. I was pepped up at half-time by a turquoise blue mojito. Al-Ahli striker Ivan Toney may also have indulged in such a saccharine treat as he scored an excellent second half hat-trick to give the visitors a 3-2 victory. Ten overseas players are permitted in every squad and the tendency to invest in attacking foreign flair leads to entertaining matches and few goalless draws. Salem Al-Dawsari, scorer of the winning goal against 2022 World Cup winners Argentina, had adapted well to
the new competition at Al-Hilal. “Salem is better than Reece James. He should play for Chelsea” said an excitable young fan near me. Another gifted me his Al-Hilal scarf on the way out.
Saudi Arabia is at a crossroads. And, like the local drivers, it is moving at pace without seatbelts and scant regard to red lights. I found a young population excited by these changes despite early reticence. Football is providing a sociable outlet in a country that, until recently, was one of the most reserved in the world. It may even help develop a buzzy vibe elsewhere in society alongside hospitality that was perhaps a little too generous at Al-Hilal. Several undercover Al-Ahli fans twirled green scarves in the main stand after defeating their hosts to little dissent. Liverpool fans are advised not to repeat this trick at Old Trafford.