Day 2 was supposed to start with a morning drive to Al-Mukalla, the seaport and capital city district of Hadramawt. But that plan aged poorly, because we woke up to this instead:
Just like my morning of our last day in Kabul in 2019, we woke up to deep groaning rumbles that resembled the thuds of “did someone just fall down upstairs?” or more relatable, “was that thunder in the distance?” But I knew better. I know now that if it sounded like someone fell upstairs, it was an explosion from mortar fire. I also knew that meant we’d be grounded at our hotel. That comes with arriving in the middle of a military/armed takeover and government change.
We therefore spent the morning brushing up on Yemen’s latest politics, learning who the UAE-backed Southern Transitional Council (STC) are and what they just did to the Saudi-backed First Military Region that had been in control when we flew in yesterday. When we fly out in 3 days, the airport will be under a new flag.
Brief primer on what just happened:
Southern Yemen’s politics operate on multiple layers of complexity. The country officially unified in 1990, merging North Yemen (Yemen Arab Republic) and communist South Yemen (People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen). That union never stayed comfortable, and in 2015 when civil war erupted between the Houthi rebels and the internationally recognized government, those southern grievances resurfaced.
The Southern Transitional Council (STC) formed in 2017 with backing from the UAE, advocating for at least southern autonomy, if not independence. They controlled the southern coast hoping for one day it would become a federal “State of South Arabia.” Meanwhile, Saudi Arabia supports what was until yesterday the First Military Region, aligned with Yemen’s current internationally recognized government. Both are technically on the same side against the Iran-backed Houthis in the north, but their competing visions for southern Yemen’s future create this proxy tension.
Hadhramaut, where we are now, is southern Yemen’s largest and wealthiest governorate: it’s oil-rich, historically significant, and relatively stable compared to the rest of the country for the past decade. Control of Seiyun’s airport, the region’s resources, and port of Aden makes this area a prize worth positioning for, which is exactly what the STC just did: a calculated chess move to consolidate power before any future political settlement.
For tourists, this matters because our safety depends on whoever controls the region maintaining stability and protecting the tourism revenue stream. The STC taking over doesn’t make things more dangerous for us, if anything, it just changes who’s in charge. The transition happening this quickly, with Saudi and Emirati delegations immediately negotiating, suggests both sides want to avoid prolonged conflict that would shut down what little international access exists here. Our tour coordinator Kais compares it to a guy who bought a house and then lends it to a cousin. Now 25 years later he wants it back. They’re still family, so today was compared to more of an arm wrestle pissing contest without setting any houses — literal or figurative — on fire.
Just like when we were on Socotra in 2019, where the island is essentially split as proxy war grounds between the UAE and Saudi Arabia, so is what’s happening here today in South Yemen: Saudi-backed group (First Military Region) vs. Emirati backed group (STC), both of which are still allied against an Iran-backed group (Houthi). But regardless who’s in charge, we were kept safe by our guides who have been through this before.
We therefore enjoyed an extended breakfast speaking with Kais and getting to learn about his experiences here, and then before we even got up from breakfast at 11am, we saw videos on X showing that Seiyun airport was successfully seized by the STC with celebratory gunfire (which we also heard sporadically from our hotel) in the background. It was then announced on Yemen Monitor a few minutes later that Saudi Arabia had just sent a delegation to Al-Mukalla to negotiate tentative, temporary peace terms with the STC.
Nevertheless out of an abundance of caution and as recommended by Kais’ contacts within the local tourist police infrastructure, we spent the next 24 hours under a self-imposed house arrest at the hotel, where we had spent the day walking the grounds, dipping into their pool (super cold!), and enjoying their high-speed Starlink WiFi. The mortar fire explosions had ceased by the early afternoon. By 10pm, Kais got word from his tourist police contacts that everything was still trending toward lockdown as the incoming weekly Thursday flight from Cairo into Seiyun the next day would be cancelled. Kais’ backup plan would be to fly us out from Al-Mukalla later in the week.
The next morning, December 4th at 8am as we were having breakfast, flights were still cancelled. By 10am they then reversed course, flights resuming, including tomorrow’s Thursday Yemenia CAI-GXF 11:30am-4:00pm that would bring in a large group of Polish tourists (who we’d meet the next evening at our hotel). We then got the green light to head out.
Remember the three Chinese tourists that were on our flight yesterday? We’d run into them again later at Haid Al-Jazil who said their coordinator recommended staying grounded in Seiyun for a second day out of caution. They and their guide went out anyway to Wadi Doan.
With word we could leave, we then repacked and drove out to the place I’d been waiting years to see.
Shibam: The Manhattan of the Desert
Some places earn their nicknames through aggressive marketing. Others through undeniable existence. Shibam is the “Manhattan of the Desert” and until today, had remained a longtime dream of mine simply for its presence on this planet.
We departed Hawta around 8:30am, driving approximately 15 minutes to reach Shibam. The approach is gradual until suddenly, impossibly, the city materializes from the desert floor: dozens of tower houses, rising 5-11 stories, packed tightly together, all constructed from sun-baked mud brick.
These Are The World’s Oldest Skyscrapers
Shibam is a metaphor for human ingenuity, remnants of a grand civilization from a time long lost to antiquity. These buildings, some dating back to the 16th century with foundations potentially older, represent the world’s first high-rise apartment buildings. Long before Chicago or New York bragged about optimizing vertical urban living, Hadhramis were already living upwards for a millennia, stacking families on top of one another out of necessity and ingenuity.
Why build up?
- Defense: Height provided protection from Bedouin raids and flooding from the seasonal wadi
- Space efficiency: Limited habitable land in the valley floor demanded vertical expansion
- Climate control: Tall, narrow buildings with thick walls created natural ventilation
- Social structure: Extended families occupied entire towers, with older generations on lower floors and younger families ascending as they aged
Shibam contains approximately 500 tower houses anywhere from 3 to 11 stories tall, housing around 7,000 residents within an area of just 80,000 square meters. UNESCO designated it a World Heritage Site in 1982, recognizing it as “one of the oldest and best examples of urban planning based on the principle of vertical construction.”
There’s only one gate to get inside, leading to Al-Qaser Square to begin your walk.
Walking Shibam’s Streets
We walked through Shibam’s streets, hearing barely a whisper as if the town had yet to wake up, and as if we had the whole place to ourselves.
Towers loomed overhead everywhere, creating canyon-like passages that provided shade during the day.
The mud brick architecture creates a natural air conditioning system: cool morning air settles in the narrow streets while hot air rises and escapes at the tower tops. When we were in the shade, the weather felt literally perfect.
Life continues in these timeless structures: Children play in the alleys, women shop at small ground-floor marketplaces…
The occasional lone motorbike groans through the narrow passages.
Nearing the markets, we passed by the occasional “wildlife,” with Shibam’s domesticated goats and baby chicks.
To keep their UNESCO status, buildings require re-plastering the exterior with fresh mud every year to protect against erosion. It’s labor-intensive, expensive, and increasingly difficult as younger generations move away or lack traditional building skills.
We peeked in a few woodshops and craft markets, one of which showed us a contraption they’d designed over their natural wells to retrieve groundwater.
A bunch of friendly locals asked us to take their photos:
Inside a Mud Tower
Our guides had arranged access to one of the houses, a craft center, to see how they were built from inside. But first we were ushered into a nearby shop for some souvenirs.
Ever wanted a Philips radio over a century old? You can find it here:
Not taking no for an answer, the shop owner beckoned us to dress up as local bedouin, Yemeni style:
Huffing in this new getup, we entered inside one of the mud-brick “skyscrapers”:
A typical tower in Shibam begins at the ground floor, historically reserved for animals and storage, now often modernized into shops and commercial spaces. As you climb the stairs, you reach the second floor, usually reception areas for guests.
We found the stairways narrow and unlike Manhattan itself, clearly not designed for moving large furniture. Small windows, positioned strategically, provided ventilation while maintaining privacy. The interior walls were covered with smooth mud plaster, whitewashed annually before the rainy season.
The middle floors, anywhere from one to three stories high, were private family quarters—bedrooms and living spaces.
We found fascinating antiques here. The family that used to live here were quite the collectors.
The highest floors include the kitchen to dissipate cooking heat and smoke upwards, plus rooftop social spaces for summertime sleeping, drying foods, and social gatherings.
From the rooftop, the view justified the climb in heavy local clothing we’d been outfitted with at the next door souvenir shop; Shibam’s tightly packed towers stretched in every direction, their flat roofs creating an undulating urban landscape.
In the distance, the wadi walls rose sharply, and date palm groves provided the only green against an endless desert’s tan.
After Shibam, we drove deeper into the Hadhramaut ecosystem, heading toward Wadi Doan, a dramatic side valley that branches off the main wadi.
-EDIT-
Totally worth returning the next day for sunset from a viewpoint in New Shibam:
- At time of posting in Shibam, it was 27 °C - Humidity: 28% | Wind Speed: 8km/hr | Cloud Cover: sunny
