When international visitors disappear, nearly every segment of the local economy suffers.

By Motti Verses

There are places people want to see, and there are places people dream of seeing. Petra belongs firmly in the second category.

For decades, Jordan’s ancient Nabataean city has appeared on countless lists of destinations every traveler should visit at least once in a lifetime. I have been fortunate to visit Petra several times, and each visit left me equally mesmerized. Hidden beyond dramatic sandstone canyons, surrounded by rose-red cliffs and crowned by monuments carved directly into the rock, Petra offers an experience unlike almost anywhere else on Earth. A rare combination of history, mystery, and natural beauty that has made it one of the world’s most photographed and admired destinations.

Only three years ago, Petra appeared to be enjoying its golden age. In 2023, the UNESCO World Heritage Site welcomed a record-breaking 1.17 million visitors, nearly one million of them international tourists. During my last visit that year, over the Passover holiday, prosperity was visible everywhere. Hotels were full, restaurants were bustling, and the local economy was thriving on an unprecedented scale.

Today, however, behind the postcard-perfect image of one of the world’s most celebrated heritage attractions lies one of the Middle East’s most dramatic tourism crises.

Following the regional conflict and the war with Iran, conversations among hotel managers, business owners and government officials have shifted from growth and expansion to survival. The region’s instability triggered a wave of cancellations, empty hotel rooms, lost jobs and growing uncertainty about the future. Visitor numbers have reportedly fallen by more than 60 percent, transforming one of the Middle East’s greatest tourism success stories into a destination fighting for its economic life.

Petra, one of the New Seven Wonders of the World, is far more than an archaeological treasure. Over the years, an entire tourism ecosystem has grown around it – hotels, restaurants, souvenir shops, desert camps, transportation companies and thousands of jobs that depend almost entirely on foreign visitors.

Then the crisis arrived.

According to Adnan Al-Sawaeir, Chairman of the Petra Development and Tourism Region Authority, March 2026 ended with an almost complete collapse of tourism bookings to the city. Reports later indicated that approximately 60 percent of April reservations and 45 percent of May reservations were canceled. By April, nearly 80 percent of hotel rooms in the region remained unsold, devastating an industry that had entered the year with high expectations.

The statistic that shocked Jordan emerged during last month emergency session of the Jordan Economic Forum in Amman titled “Petra: A Roadmap for Resilience and Adaptation.” During the discussion, Al-Sawaeir revealed that hotel occupancy during the March Eid al-Fitr holiday stood at only about 6 percent. He described Petra as “the tourist destination most affected in Jordan.”

For a city whose economy lives and breathes tourism, the figure was almost unimaginable.

Abdullah Husanat, President of the Petra Hotels Association, summarized the situation in a sentence that quickly became symbolic of the crisis:

 “All investments in Petra are currently in intensive care.”

Behind that statement lies a stark reality. According to figures presented at the forum, roughly 83 percent of foreign tourism to the region arrives specifically because of Petra. When international visitors disappear, nearly every segment of the local economy suffers.

The region offers thousands of hotel rooms despite being primarily a one-night destination for many travelers. Among the most prominent properties is the 183-room Mövenpick Resort Petra, widely considered one of the area’s flagship hotels. Other internationally branded properties include Mercure, Marriott and Crowne Plaza, alongside dozens of regional and locally owned hotels.

Hotels built to accommodate hundreds of guests each day suddenly found themselves with silent corridors, nearly empty dining rooms and staff waiting for visitors who never arrived. Industry sources report that approximately 32 hotels have closed while around 1,000 tourism workers have lost their jobs.

The irony is that Petra itself has not become dangerous.

International tourism organizations continue to regard the destination as relatively safe, with dedicated tourist police, established visitor infrastructure and well-managed attractions. The problem is perception. For many travelers in Europe, North America and Asia, Jordan has become part of a broader regional narrative associated with instability. When the entire region is perceived as unsafe, organized tour groups cancel, airlines adjust schedules and independent travelers simply choose alternative destinations.

Jordanian officials increasingly recognize that waiting for international tourists to return cannot be the sole strategy. During recent economic discussions in Amman, two words repeatedly surfaced: resilience and adaptation.

The goal is to create a more sustainable model in which Petra is less dependent on international tourism alone. Proposed solutions include strengthening domestic tourism, attracting new investment, developing alternative sources of income and creating stronger tourism links between Petra, Wadi Rum, Aqaba and the Dead Sea.

Yet everyone involved in the industry understands that the ultimate solution cannot be found in a new marketing campaign or the opening of another hotel.

The real challenge is restoring confidence.

Petra has survived earthquakes, the collapse of empires and centuries of abandonment. Its magnificent rose-colored monuments still stand proudly among the desert cliffs, just as they have for centuries.

The great question of 2026 is not whether Petra will survive. It is how long it will take for the world to feel confident enough to return and walk once again through the red sandstone canyons of one of the most breathtaking and inspiring destinations on the planet.

*Feature photo: Pulsating Petra.  Rife with tourists from all over the world, the writer in Petra a few years ago. (Photo: Liat Valter)

About the writer:

The author is a seasoned hotel expert, traveler, writer, and videographer, and formerly served as Head of Public Relations for Hilton Hotels & Resorts in Israel. Today, as a travel writer and hospitality trends analyst, his insights and experiences are regularly featured in leading Israeli media outlets.

While the mission of Lay of the Land (LotL) is to provide a wide and diverse perspective of affairs in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world, the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by its various writers are not necessarily ones of the owners and management of LOTL but of the writers themselves.  LotL endeavours to the best of its ability to credit the use of all known photographs to the photographer and/or owner of such photographs (0&EO).

What stays with our family most vividly over decades of travel is not famous landmarks – but Friday night tables in unfamiliar cities.

By Karen Kallmann

We arrived in Tehran hours before Yom Kippur with four exhausted children, no contact person, no Farsi, and only the vague address of a synagogue somewhere on Palestine Street — unbeknownst to us the second longest street in the city. After wandering for hours on the Friday night with no success, we finally found the kinnesa (synagogue) on Yom Kippur morning tucked away behind heavy doors. Within minutes, children were racing down the stairs to greet us while adults ushered us inside with warmth and curiosity.

By the time the fast ended we were being sprayed with rosewater and invited to break the fast in a beautiful family home.

Experiences like these are why my husband, Evan, and I travel.

Our romance began while travelling through Israel and Jordan, followed by a six-and-a-half-month journey through Asia. Like many young couples, we assumed that once children arrived, our travelling days would be over. Instead, much to our surprise and joy, children enhanced our travels, made our social interactions more meaningful and as one child became five, we continued travelling.

Over the years, we have explored the world as backpackers, South Africans and perhaps most significantly, as Jews. Our travels have often intersected with Shabbat (Sabbath) or Chaggim (Jewish festivities), and again and again we have found ourselves welcomed into Jewish communities in the most unexpected corners of the world.

One of the reasons we travelled to Iran was because we had read that it had the second-largest Jewish population in Middle East (after Israel); and when we visited in 2011 that was indeed the case.  We chose to go between Yom Kippur and Simchat Torah in order to get the most immersion in the community and it was such an enriching and meaningful experience despite the difficulty we initially had finding the community.  Once we did, we were warmly embraced and showered with hospitality.

At every kinnesa we visited, our Ashkenazi family became something of a curiosity. People crowded around us after services, fascinated by where we came from. Strangers delivered meals to our hotel and insisted we join them for elaborate family dinners. The first family we met gave us a sim card so that they could be sure we were safe wherever we travelled.  We found a rich Jewish life in Iran, where Jews trace their ancestry to the time of the biblical Daniel.  There was however, a darker side too – with some oppressive restrictions on Jewish observance.

The kinnesa’s were full of people, and Simchat Torah in Tehran was joyous. Women danced with their own Torah scrolls, children were overloaded with sweets and balloons, and after chag there was even a post-Simchat Torah dance party. At the end of the evening, members of the community thanked us repeatedly for visiting their communities. The irony was not lost on us.

We have discovered that children are often the best bridge between cultures. During a trip to Ethiopia in 2014/2015 with our five children, we spent time with Jewish communities in Gondar and Addis Ababa. Many families had been separated from relatives in Israel for decades while waiting desperately for the opportunity to make aliyah. Despite the hardship and uncertainty, their commitment to Judaism and Israel was profound. Our children connected instantly with local Jewish children. Together they sang “Kol Ha’olam Kulo” in Hebrew, English and Amharic. The Ethiopian children spoke better Hebrew than ours, which was both inspiring and slightly humiliating. Many of the Ethiopian Jews we met then may now be living in Israel after the Aliyah policy was relaxed.

Some of our most memorable Jewish experiences have happened entirely by accident. During our trip to Tunisia, we found ourselves on Djerba Island over Pesach. Unsure where to go, we sat outside a synagogue with our baby in a pram waiting for services to begin. A young local man walked past, looked horrified that we were sitting outside, and insisted we come home with him instead.

That evening we shared our seventh-night Pesach meal around a table that somehow included his Sephardi Tunisian family, our Ashkenazi South African family and a Chabad woman from Florida travelling with her own carefully prepared non-gebrochts food. Their handmade matzah was brittle and imperfect — truly lechem oni, the bread of affliction.

What fascinated us most about Djerba was the sense of communal interdependence. Before Shabbat, families bring their cholent pots to a communal oven to cook overnight. Before lunch the next day, the men collect the pots and carry them home. If the fire worked well, everyone has good cholent. If it didn’t, nobody does.

In 2023, shortly after the start of the Israel – Hamas war, a historic synagogue was burnt to the ground in Al-Hammah Tunisia.

We were drawn to the Jewish Caucasus by a newspaper article that alluded to the last Jewish village outside of Israel, Qirmizi Qasaba in north eastern Azerbaijan.  We were then compelled to explore the whole region inhabited by the Mountain Jews, including Georgia, Armenia and Southern Russia. In Qirmizi Qasaba, we found a modern, wealthy village, barely inhabited as many Jews had left when the then Soviet Union fell but the mikveh, taharah house and the synagogues had all been rebuilt and invested in for the community who visited during the summer.  We were lucky to connect with the rabbi who showed us around and joined a heritage tour group for meals and song. 

After debating long into the night with our children, we decided to return to Georgia via Chechnya and Dagestan.  In Derbent in Dagestan, we visited a beautiful synagogue and community centre, with a pre-school, mikveh and fascinating museum of the Jewish history of the area.  Tragically, on the 23 June 2024, this historic centre was attacked and burned to the ground in a terrorist attack.

We try stay connected to Jewish communities we have visited and when tragedy strikes, we feel it deeply and it makes us reflect on our own sense of safety in the world.

Visiting India and the Jewish community of Kerela, was a fascinating encounter with the possibility and power of religious tolerance. I happened to stumble upon an article about the Kadavumbagam Synagogue of Ernakulam and was fascinated by the story of cooperation and commitment that characterises the resurrection of this shul and I dragged my family (who were desperate to go to the beach) to check it out. It took us a while to actually find the synagogue as it was behind a tropical fish store. The shul had been severely damaged in floods that had struck the area in 1975 and then in 1976, it was robbed and vandalised. It stood vacant until 1985 when the guardianship of the shul was taken over by Elias “Babu” Josephai, and he set up his tropical fish shop in front of the shul and started repairing and renovating it. What is most incredible about the story is how other faith groups contributed to the repair of the synagogue. Light shades were contributed by the Hindu community, windows by the Muslim community, and the Christian community assisted in the restoration of the bimah. It was a really profound representation of India’s tolerance, respect and embracing of other religions.

“Babu” told us about their tradition of calling men from the ground floor of the synagogue to read from the Torah in the gallery up the stairs in accordance with some verses in the Torah. He also sang some of the songs for us which I recorded. This was the shul he went to as a child, and he had many childhood memories of it and the mischief he and his friends got up to.

It was Babu’s choice to remain in India; the rest of his family are in Israel but he worries greatly about some members of his family, and I spent a long time listening to his concerns while my children were desperate to get to the beach.  I tried to explain to them that travel isn’t just about taking – photo’s, experiences, information – but also about giving, even if it is just a listening ear or like we did in Iran, reminding communities just by being there that they are not forgotten.

Our latest trip to Iraq this year was quite different from a Jewish perspective because sadly, after a 2600-year presence in Iraq, there are no Jews remaining. Jews first came to Babylon after King Nebuchadnezzar’s destruction of the First Temple in Jerusalem in the 6^th century BCE. We walked down the grand ceremonial avenue Street of Procession where the slaves most probably entered the city. 

For centuries, Iraq was one of the great centres of Jewish civilisation. Iraq is the where the Babylonian Talmud was written. Jews often prospered in the Babylonian exile and were an integral part of Iraqi society, becoming successful doctors, lawyers, government officials, merchants, and artisans. In Baghdad’s markets, Jews were prominent jewellers, smiths, and cloth dealers while in Basra, many Jews worked at the important port authority. By the early 20^th century, Jews made up a significant portion of Iraq’s three largest cities: making up to 40 percent of Baghdad’s population, as well as a quarter of Basra’s and a significant portion of Mosul’s populations. By the late 1940s in Baghdad, the Jewish community was funding over 60 synagogues, schools, hospitals, and health clinics. Within a single generation, almost the entire community disappeared.

There are only remnants of this history remaining (the Baghdad museum makes no mention of Jews at all, while the museums in Alqosh and Sulaymaniyah in Iraqi Kurdistan do). You can however, identify the abandoned Jewish suburbs in the major towns by their balconies (Jewish homes had balconies facing the street while Muslim houses are built around a courtyard) and empty mezuzah crevices.  Tombs of Jewish prophets, including Ezra, Ezekiel and Nahum also still exist, albeit they are now active mosques with domes over them. However, there is still Jewish writing on the ceiling and walls, and despite our fear of identifying ourselves as Jews, the caretakers seemed to know that we were and were generous in showing us side buildings where we could find more Hebrew inscriptions. We also had the immense pleasure of WhatsApp calling a friend’s grandmother in Israel, who was born in Mosul, and was airlifted out of Iraq by operation Ezra and Nechemiah in the early 1950’s when she was 16.  She gave us a guided tour of her Mosul and was overjoyed to be visiting albeit by a video call.

Not all Jewish travel takes place overseas.

Afrikaburn, South Africa’s version of Burning Man, takes place in the Tankwa Karoo, and our family has been a number of times.  One year, Afrikaburn coincided with Pesach. Deep in the desert, surrounded by art installations, dust storms and radical self-expression, we hosted two enormous Pesach seders and distributed countless kneidel balls.  It may have been one of the more unconventional seders in Jewish history but we could not resist the temptation of celebrating Pesach back in the desert.

Wherever we travel we take our Judaism with us.

Looking back over decades of travel, what stays with us most vividly is not famous landmarks or tourist attractions. It is Friday night tables in unfamiliar cities. It is hearing familiar prayers sung in unexpected accents and tunes. It is strangers insisting we eat more food than we possibly can. It is watching Jewish children who share no common language somehow find ways to sing together.

As budget independent backpackers who are spontaneous and impulsive, rarely booking accommodation in advance and often deciding at the last minute to go on an adventure, our Judaism gives us a focus.  We plan our itineraries around Shabbat, making sure that we are either with a community or if this is not possible, we are somewhere special where we can relax and walk around easily.

Travel continues to teach us that Judaism is not only something we inherit. It is something we encounter — unexpectedly and repeatedly — in every corner of the world.

*Feature photo: The writer and her family touring Iran.

To explore more intimately, join a 4-part journey in which Karen Kallmann and family will take you deep into the heart of far-flung Jewish communities in Iraq, Iran, Africa and the Caucasus.
See flyer below:

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While the mission of Lay of the Land (LotL) is to provide a wide and diverse perspective of affairs in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world, the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by its various writers are not necessarily ones of the owners and management of LOTL but of the writers themselves.  LotL endeavours to the best of its ability to credit the use of all known photographs to the photographer and/or owner of such photographs (0&EO).

As regional tensions escalated into direct confrontation with Iran, the impact on Dubai’s tourism sector, so beloved by Israeli travelers, was almost immediate.

By MOTTI VERSES

(Courtesy of The Jerusalem Post were article first appeared)

I met Suri, the no-longer-young Indonesian, yet intelligent and well-educated, about two years ago over breakfast at a hotel in the United Arab Emirates, where he worked as a dedicated and enthusiastic waiter.

He had migrated far from home, leaving behind his family and children, sending them money each month.

We kept in occasional contact, but when the war with Iran erupted, he wrote to me saying he had lost his job and asked if I could help. At that moment, it became strikingly clear just how fragile the position of foreign workers in the Gulf truly is.

Now, with a ceasefire in place, early signs of recovery are beginning to emerge, but for workers like Suri, the damage has already been done.

As regional tensions escalated into direct confrontation with Iran, the impact on Dubai’s tourism sector, so beloved by Israeli travelers,   was almost immediate. It came, ironically, on the heels of a record-breaking year.

In 2025, the city welcomed 19.59 million international visitors, operated 154,264 hotel rooms across 827 properties, and achieved an average occupancy rate of 80.7%.

Within the first weeks of the conflict, sharp signs of slowdown appeared. More than 80,000 short-term rental bookings were canceled. An early indicator of collapsing demand.

Hotels experienced an even more dramatic shift: according to CoStar, occupancy rates dropped sharply to just 20%-30%, with some properties falling as low as 5%, levels not seen since the COVID-19 pandemic.

SURVIVING IN A DOWNTURN

The human impact was immediate and widespread. As of April 2026, industry estimates indicate that tens of thousands of foreign hospitality workers have been placed on standby without active employment.

Across many hotels, including five-star luxury properties, large portions of staff have been sent on indefinite unpaid leave, often without a clear return date. In some cases, only 3-4 employees remain active out of an original team of 30.

For those still formally employed, the situation is no less precarious.

Many remain housed in staff accommodations, yet must cover their own food expenses despite having no income. Others continue to work on reduced schedules, facing salary cuts of 20% to 50% as hotels struggle to survive the downturn.

Rather than implementing mass layoffs, many hotels have chosen to keep workers in a suspended “standby” status, preserving a labor pool for the eventual recovery.

It is a strategy driven by operational logic: rehiring and retraining an entirely new workforce would take time and resources. Yet for employees, this limbo creates deep uncertainty.

With the ceasefire now in effect, new bookings are reappearing across reservation platforms. Airlines  are gradually restoring routes, and some hotels report a cautious uptick in demand, primarily from regional and European markets.

TOURISM INDUSTRY MAY TAKE TIME TO RECOVER

However, industry insiders stress that a full recovery of international tourism is expected to take time, particularly given the erosion of traveler confidence. Bookings may be reappearing, but confidence has not fully followed, leaving Dubai’s recovery uneven, driven more by proximity than by trust.

At the peak of tensions, industry estimates suggested that the cost to the Middle East tourism sector could reach approximately $600 million per day, highlighting the scale of the shock even for a powerhouse destination like Dubai.

In response, the Dubai government announced a relief package of around AED 1 billion (approximately $272 million), including deferred fees and payments for hotels, in an effort to stabilize the sector.

Despite this support, foreign workers remain the most vulnerable group, with many fearing permanent job loss or even deportation if the crisis extends into the summer season.

Yet beyond the numbers lies a deeper story – the story of the workforce. Unlike most destinations worldwide, Dubai’s hospitality industry is built almost entirely on foreign labor.

Workers from India, the Philippines, Indonesia, Bangladesh, and beyond form the backbone of the system, from housekeeping and kitchens to front-of-house service.

The hotel sector alone employs approximately 240,000 foreigners, as part of a broader tourism workforce of around 800,000. In luxury hotels, 95% of those who provide service are not locals.

In the early weeks of the crisis, field reports revealed empty restaurants, silent entertainment districts, and taxi drivers reporting steep declines in income, often the first visible signal of collapsing demand.

For many of these workers, employment is not just a job – it is their entire living framework. Housing, meals, health insurance, and transportation are typically provided by the employer.

This model enables high efficiency and operational flexibility, but it also creates near-total dependency. When employment disappears, so too do housing, healthcare, and the ability to remain in the country.

In Dubai’s employment model, workforce reductions rarely take the form of public layoffs. Instead, they unfold quietly: shifts are reduced, bonuses disappear, and employees are placed on unpaid leave or left waiting for contracts that may never be renewed.

At the same time, a process of departure begins. Workers without permanent status or social safety nets are often forced to leave within a short period if they cannot secure alternative employment.

The countries of origin for many of these employees had to rise to the challenge during the war. The Philippines stood out, repatriating roughly 1,500-2,000 nationals from Dubai as part of a broader effort that evacuated more than 6,700 citizens across the region.

Most other governments, however, limited their response to advisories, leaving tens of thousands facing uncertainty.

Now, as stabilization begins, a more complex picture is emerging. Some hotels are cautiously considering rehiring or bringing back former staff, yet industry voices warn that workers who have already left the country may not return quickly.

The implication is striking: if demand rebounds faster than expected, Dubai may face a labor shortage, the opposite scenario of the initial crisis.

A comparison with Israel highlights the structural differences.

In Israel, even when hotels emptied of tourists or were repurposed to house evacuees, workers did not simply disappear. Many were placed on unpaid leave, received government unemployment benefits, or remained employed through adjusted frameworks in an industry where the vast majority are local workers.

The state played a central role in maintaining employment continuity. In Dubai, by contrast, responsibility rests almost entirely with the employer.

When work disappears, that responsibility dissolves just as quickly. Workers do not transition into unemployment; they enter a state of immediate and near-total dependency.

A particularly telling example of Israel can be found in Eilat, where 1,500 hotel employees commute daily from neighboring Jordan.

Despite not being Israeli citizens, these workers are employed under Israeli labor law and are entitled to full social benefits, including pension contributions, paid vacation, and health-related rights.

Even during periods of crisis, their employment status is not immediately severed, reflecting a system that, while not without complexity, offers a level of protection and continuity largely absent in more employer-dependent models.

Dubai’s employment framework was designed to be efficient, flexible, and highly responsive. Yet that same flexibility is also its core vulnerability.

The recent crisis demonstrated just how quickly the system can contract. But with the ceasefire now in place, a new question emerges:

How quickly can it rebuild?

With the summer off-season approaching and the hope for relative calm with Iran, Dubai’s extreme heat, which naturally suppresses international demand, may temporarily ease pressure on the sector.

Israeli travelers, typically undeterred by 40-45° temperatures, are likely to take advantage of the increasingly attractive rates on offer in this less demanding period in the Emirate.

Suri, the Indonesian worker, still hopes to return to his job.

But the larger question is no longer just what happens when demand disappears; it is whether the workforce the system has lost will still be there when the world returns next winter.

Feature Photo:   Huge tourist attraction,  the writer visiting Dubai’s iconic Museum of the Future.  How will the Iran war affect Dubai’s future?

About the writer:

The author is a seasoned hotel expert, traveler, writer, and videographer, and formerly served as Head of Public Relations for Hilton Hotels & Resorts in Israel. Today, as a travel writer and hospitality trends analyst, his insights and experiences are regularly featured in leading Israeli media outlets.

While the mission of Lay of the Land (LotL) is to provide a wide and diverse perspective of affairs in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world, the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by its various writers are not necessarily ones of the owners and management of LOTL but of the writers themselves.  LotL endeavours to the best of its ability to credit the use of all known photographs to the photographer and/or owner of such photographs (0&EO).

Best hotels along the Strait of Hormuz – In this part of the world, anonymity itself becomes a form of luxury.

By Motti Verses

The hour-long sail unfolds like a slow-moving painting toward a shifting horizon brushed in improbable shades of red, orange, and violet. The way leads to an island that feels less like land and more like a living geological artwork. For Israelis, this is an experience that will remain imaginary. Not even many foreign travelers have reached Iran’s Hormuz Island in the Persian Gulf.

The island itself lends its name to one of the world’s most strategically vital waterways. It is roughly half the size of the Greek island of Mykonos, yet its global significance far outweighs its scale. A substantial portion of the world’s oil supply flows through these narrow passages, making every geopolitical tremor instantly felt across international markets and global stability.

Reaching the extraordinary Majara Residence requires first arriving in Bandar Abbas, Iran’s southern port city. From there, a short journey leads to one of the most visually striking eco-lodges in the region. A cluster of vibrant domes that seem to grow organically from the earth itself.

Painted in bold hues – crimson, turquoise, ochre, and green –  the structures reject conventional luxury in favor of something deeper: connection. Majara, meaning “adventure” or “journey” in Persian, lives up to its name in every sense.

Here, minimalist rooms open to almost otherworldly landscapes. Days are spent exploring red beaches, rainbow-colored valleys, and salt caves, or sailing quietly along the coastline. The project, awarded the prestigious Aga Khan Award for Architecture, is celebrated not just for its design, but for its rare ability to fuse architecture, community, and landscape into one living experience.

Developed by Iranian entrepreneur Ali Rezvani, Majara is more than a hotel. It is part of a broader vision for sustainable development on the island, integrating hospitality, culture, and local infrastructure. With room rates ranging from $80 to $150 per night, the value lies not in opulence, but in immersion. These days, availability is hardly an issue.

Yet even here, geopolitics is never far away. In recent weeks, tensions around the Strait have taken on a new dimension, with Iran signaling its intention, alongside Oman, to explore the possibility of imposing transit fees on vessels passing through the Strait of Hormuz. Such a move would mark a significant shift in one of the world’s most critical maritime corridors. At the same time, Washington has escalated its rhetoric, with President  Trump openly warning that any attempt to disrupt freedom of navigation triggers a naval response, including the possibility of enforcing a de facto blockade to secure the waterway. Together, these developments underscore how quickly commercial lifelines can become geopolitical pressure points in this strategically vital passage.

On the opposite side of the Strait lies Oman, perched at the southeastern edge of the Arabian Peninsula. Its remote Musandam Peninsula, a rugged exclave overlooking the shipping lanes, offers a dramatically different vantage point.

Here, towering cliffs plunge into the sea like ancient stone walls. The Strait of Hormuz is not a single passage, but a network of narrow maritime corridors. From several resorts, the view is nothing short of cinematic.

At Atana Khasab, perched high above the water, the experience feels almost like a private observation deck over global history in motion. Tankers glide slowly across the horizon, and the sea carries a quiet sense of tension and depth. Surprisingly, this perspective comes at a modest price. Rooms range from $45 to $90 per night. The resort itself is intimate, with around 60 rooms, an infinity pool, spa, and two restaurants – reminiscent of Sinai’s understated Red Sea retreats.

Just a few kilometers away, Atana Musandam Resort offers a softer, more refined interpretation. Spacious balconies open toward the sea, a serene pool reflects the mountains, and silence becomes part of the luxury. Prices here rise accordingly, from around $150 to $250 per night, yet remain far below neighboring Dubai’s standards.

Both properties are part of Atana Hotels, operated under Oman’s government-backed OMRAN Group. This is not a private enterprise, but a national strategy: transforming Musandam into a unique tourism destination. Rather than competing with Dubai’s glamour, Oman offers something else entirely. Stillness, nature, and raw, unmatched scenery.

You won’t find celebrity guest lists or Hollywood anecdotes here. These are not status hotels. They attract a different traveler. One seeking quiet, meaning, and landscape. In this part of the world, anonymity itself becomes a form of luxury.

Yet, in times of geopolitical tension, especially amid conflict involving Iran, the picture shifts quickly. International tourism fades, cruise ships cancel, and occupancy drops. Oman remains neutral, and the hotels stay open, but the guests change. Fewer travelers, more logistical crews. Even the scenery transforms: less maritime movement, more charged silence.

The Strait of Hormuz is not a classic tourist destination. There are no shopping boulevards or glittering nightlife. But precisely because of that, the few hotels here offer something rare: a stay overlooking one of the most important places on Earth.

The main attraction is the sea itself. Wooden Dhow boats – traditional Arabian sailing vessels –  glide slowly along the coastline, often passing pods of dolphins and stopping at quiet, crystal-clear coves for swimming. Visitors can snorkel, dive, kayak beneath towering cliffs, or hike to panoramic viewpoints overlooking the shipping lanes. Every activity feels amplified by the knowledge of where you are. At the intersection of nature, history, and geopolitics.

Officially, Israeli passport holders cannot enter Oman. Yet history has offered brief glimpses of possibility. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s 2018 visit to meet Sultan Qaboos, or the later opening of Omani airspace to Israeli flights.

For now, the journey remains complicated. Even Israeli travelers with foreign passports may face uncertainty depending on political conditions.

And yet, the question lingers:

Could the skies fully open one day?

Because when they do, the journey is surprisingly simple. Just a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Dubai to these cliffside resorts overlooking the Strait.

Until then, the experience remains suspended – somewhere between dream, distance, and the shifting tides of reality.

*Feature picture: The serene Strait of Hormuz (Credit: Lifestyle Desk/ETimes).

About the writer:

The author is a seasoned hotel expert, traveler, writer, and videographer, and formerly served as Head of Public Relations for Hilton Hotels & Resorts in Israel. Today, as a travel writer and hospitality trends analyst, his insights and experiences are regularly featured in leading Israeli media outlets.

While the mission of Lay of the Land (LotL) is to provide a wide and diverse perspective of affairs in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world, the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by its various writers are not necessarily ones of the owners and management of LOTL but of the writers themselves.  LotL endeavours to the best of its ability to credit the use of all known photographs to the photographer and/or owner of such photographs (0&EO).

Lebanon’s coastal gem  functions simultaneously as a vibrant cultural and nightlife ‘Hot Spot’ as well as a high-risk area due to intense geopolitical tensions.

By Motti Verses

For about $100 a night including breakfast, you can become a guest at the Ramada Plaza, a relatively modern hotel with about 144 rooms and suites in an approximately 18-story building overlooking the promenade and the Mediterranean Sea. Yet it is doubtful that the attractive price alone would tempt many travelers to stay there nowdays, as the hotel stands in Beirut, the capital of Lebanon, facing the Pigeon Rocks, one of the city’s most famous landmarks – two massive rock formations rising from the sea opposite the Corniche promenade.

A few days ago, in particular it would not have been advisable to be among the hotel’s guests. An Israeli strike hit a suite on the top floor of the building. Members of the Quds Force of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard were reportedly staying there. At least five people were killed and about ten others injured:

• Majid Hosseini, Financial officer of the Quds Force Lebanon Corps, responsible for transferring Iranian funds to Hezbollah and allied groups.
• Ali Biazaar, Intelligence representative of the IRGC in Lebanon, reportedly involved in intelligence coordination with Hezbollah.
• Hossein Ahmadlou, Head of what Israeli sources call the “Zionist file” within the Quds Force unit operating in Lebanon.
• Ahmad Rasouli,  Intelligence officer connected to the Palestine Corps of the Quds Force, allegedly involved in coordinating activity with Palestinian militant groups.

According to Israeli military statements, the men were meeting in the hotel suite in central Beirut while coordinating militant activity and attacks against Israel through the Quds Force–Hezbollah network.

The strike was highly targeted: windows shattered and part of the façade was damaged, but the structure itself did not collapse and the damage was limited to a precise, surgical hit on a single room.

The hotel, owned by a Lebanese group, operates under the Ramada brand of Wyndham Hotels & Resorts, one of the world’s largest hospitality companies, which operates more than 9,000 hotels in around 95 countries under roughly 25 brands. Ramada, one of the oldest hotel brands in the world, was founded in the United States in 1954 and today, hundreds of hotels operate under the name worldwide. In Israel, Ramada hotels operate in Jerusalem and Netanya.

Under normal circumstances, the Beirut property functions primarily as a business and leisure hotel, hosting international delegations, journalists and business travelers. It stands in the heart of one of the city’s main tourism districts. The Raouché hotel strip, home to a long row of mostly upscale international hotels.

The strike was particularly unusual geographically as well. The Raouché district, where the Ramada stands, lies several kilometers away from Dahieh, Beirut’s southern suburb considered the main stronghold of Hezbollah, where Israeli strikes are usually concentrated. A strike on a hotel in the center of the city’s seaside tourism district, far from Dahieh, is considered an exceptional event in Beirut’s security landscape.

Yet for the city’s residents, a hotel suddenly turning into a security headline is not entirely new.

Two decades earlier, an even more dramatic event occurred nearby. On February 14, 2005, former Lebanese Prime Minister Rafik Hariri was killed in a massive explosion along Beirut’s waterfront. His convoy was attacked near the historic St. George Hotel, long regarded as one of the city’s iconic hotels. The explosion devastated parts of the building and turned it into a symbol of the event that reshaped Lebanese politics.

“WAR OF THE HOTELS”

The connection between hotels and Beirut’s turbulent history runs even deeper. At the beginning of the Lebanese civil war in the 1970s, many of the city’s luxury hotels became battle positions in what became known as the “War of the Hotels”. High-rise buildings of that era, such as the Holiday Inn and the InterContinental, were used as sniper positions and improvised fortresses. The Holiday Inn building still stands today as an abandoned concrete shell in the center of the city. One of the most powerful symbols of that traumatic civil war.

The recent strike is not comparable to those battles in scale. It struck only a single room. Yet the very fact that a hotel in the heart of Beirut’s tourism district once again makes security headlines is a reminder of how fragile reality in this city can be.

Despite its turbulent history and the unpleasant events that have taken place in some of its hotels, Beirut continues during periods of calm to draw travelers to its shores. But for visitors to the city, history offers a quiet warning: even in a hotel with a perfect sea view, one may suddenly find oneself at the center of a chaotic drama.

About the writer:

The author is a seasoned hotel expert, traveler, writer, and videographer, and formerly served as Head of Public Relations for Hilton Hotels & Resorts in Israel. Today, as a travel writer and hospitality trends analyst, his insights and experiences are regularly featured in leading Israeli media outlets.

Feature Picture – Beirut Beauty. An idyllic waterfront that belies the dangers that beset its otherwise calm.(Photo: Lebanon Ministry of Tourism)

While the mission of Lay of the Land (LotL) is to provide a wide and diverse perspective of affairs in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world, the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by its various writers are not necessarily ones of the owners and management of LOTL but of the writers themselves.  LotL endeavours to the best of its ability to credit the use of all known photographs to the photographer and/or owner of such photographs (0&EO).