Return to Yemen: My Obsession with Socotra
The Missed Opportunity (2007)
In 2007, I made my first journey to Yemen—but for some strange reason, I didn’t go to Socotra Island. At the time, it just didn’t call to me the way it later would. It wasn’t until around 2010 that Socotra appeared on my radar and sparked a deep obsession.
The Island That Beckoned
Socotra—a remote island in the Indian Ocean, geographically closer to Somalia yet politically part of Yemen—captivated my imagination. With its surreal landscape of alien-like dragon blood trees, endemic species, and sparse human population, it seemed like a true lost world. I became determined to reach it.
But fate, or rather, bureaucracy, had other plans.
Blocked by Bureaucracy (2013)
New Visa Requirements
Since my earlier trip to Yemen, new travel restrictions had been imposed. A visa on arrival now required an official authorization letter from a Yemeni host. I booked my airfare and began working with a local Socotri tour operator to arrange everything.
The Waiting Game
Weeks went by. I checked in repeatedly, only to receive the same vague reassurance:
“Everything will be fine, Inshallah!”
As my departure to Oman neared, there was still no sign of the authorization letter. The operator promised to travel to Sana’a to sort things out. Meanwhile, one of my friends had already arrived in Socotra and was waiting for me.
Persona Non Grata
Once in Oman, I tried contacting the Yemeni Embassy—no luck. Then came a warning from my friend in Socotra:
“Don’t come. Something’s wrong. You’re flagged.”
Soon after, my Yemeni contact messaged me frantically, demanding to know who I really was and accusing me of lying. Apparently, they had been detained and interrogated in Sana’a. The authorities were convinced I was some kind of spy or terrorist. I had somehow become persona non grata in Yemen.
Why? I still don’t know. I had done nothing illegal during my first visit. And Yemen, with its fractured systems, isn’t exactly known for detailed record-keeping.
A Nation in Chaos
The Arab Spring and the Fall of Yemen
By late 2013, Yemen was slipping further into lawlessness. The Arab Spring revolutions had shaken the country. Civil war loomed. Most of the mainland, including the capital, Sana’a, had become too dangerous to visit. The western half of the country had fallen under the control of Al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP), a designated terrorist organization.
Socotra: The Last Peaceful Corner
Ironically, Socotra remained the last bastion of peace—isolated, untouched by the chaos sweeping the mainland. I decided to roll the dice.
Second Attempt: A New Hope
A Different Operator, A Different Outcome
This time, I found a new operator based in Socotra. I didn’t rush. I waited to secure the authorization letter before buying a flight. To my surprise—it came through without issue.
A Lingering Concern
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. Given my last experience, I feared complications once I landed in Yemen. Would I be detained again? Flagged? Interrogated?
The journey to Socotra wasn’t over yet—but at least, for now, the door had cracked open.
Journey to Socotra: Into the Heart of Yemen
Flying in the Face of Risk
In 2013, I finally made it to Socotra—alongside my friends Dan and Tim—via Felix Airways, departing from Sharjah in the United Arab Emirates. The flight was infrequent and known to be the only safe option for foreigners hoping to reach Socotra. There was technically another flight from Sana’a, but it was both unreliable and off-limits to foreigners due to the war.
We planned to stay on the island for four days, but even getting there felt like threading a needle in a hurricane.
The Dangerous Detour: Al Mukalla
Although the flight was headed for Socotra, it wasn’t direct. We had one scheduled stop on the Yemeni mainland in Al Mukalla, a city that had only recently been recaptured from Al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP). At the time, it was the only major city in the region not under AQAP control—and the group was constantly threatening to take it back.
Our layover was set for three long hours. In that tense window of time, we hoped the Yemeni military could hold the line. Sitting in that airport, it felt like we were banking on a fragile peace.
A Flight Like No Other
From the moment we arrived at the Sharjah airport for our 6 a.m. departure, it was clear that Socotra was no ordinary tourist destination. We were the only foreigners on board. Every other passenger was either in an abaya or a thawb, and the atmosphere was serious, quiet, purposeful.
We landed safely in Al Mukalla—but then came the unexpected: our plane left us there and flew onward to Sana’a to pick up additional passengers. Only then would it return to Al Mukalla and continue on to Socotra.
Sitting Ducks and Silent Prayers
In the back of my mind, worst-case scenarios started spinning. What if there was an AQAP assault on the airport while we waited? What if a mechanical failure delayed the return flight and left us stranded? We had no backup plan. There are no hotels for foreigners, no safe zones in Al Mukalla—just the airport and our anxious patience.
But this is Yemen. If you want to reach its most surreal, beautiful, and untouched corners—you accept the risks.
Location of Socotra Island
Arrival in Socotra: A Breath Held, Then Released
The Plane Returns—And So Do Our Nerves
Much to our relief, the Felix Airways plane did return to Al Mukalla, swooping back in to gather us for the final leg to Socotra. We touched down in Hadibu, the capital of the island, with adrenaline still lingering in our veins.
But the stress wasn’t over. My next worry loomed at immigration. Given my mysterious visa blacklisting during a previous attempt to visit Yemen, I feared I might be flagged for deportation—or worse, imprisonment.
Immigration… Or Lack Thereof
As it turned out, immigration was a breeze—almost too easy. The small airport was so chaotic that I accidentally walked past immigration altogether and exited the airport without getting stamped in. Only once outside did I realize my mistake. I walked back in to request the entrance stamp, just to be safe when it came time to leave the country.
There were no issues. In fact, it didn’t seem like any databases were being checked at all.
Exploring Socotra Begins: Sand Dunes and Slaughter Markets
Our Welcome Committee
Outside the airport, our driver and guide awaited us in a dusty old jeep, ready to take us across the island’s alien landscape. We were finally here. The dream of Socotra—after years of obsession, obstacles, and close calls—was real.
First Camp: Arher’s Towering Dunes
We made our way to our first night’s campsite in Arher, a remote beach on the northeastern coast of the island, nestled beneath a coastal mountain range. The shoreline was lined with towering white sand dunes, some as high as 100 feet, cascading dramatically down toward the turquoise sea.
The Streets of Hadibu
Along the way, we passed through Hadibu, the largest town on Socotra with a population of about 60,000 people. It’s a dusty, windswept place where goats wander the streets and commerce happens in open-air markets. We stopped to explore the fishing market, where the day’s catch glistened under the sun, and then visited the goat slaughter market, a raw but honest glimpse into daily life on the island.
Fishing market
Photography Etiquette on the Island
The people of Socotra are warm and friendly, but also quite shy when it comes to photography. It’s essential to be mindful and respectful when taking pictures—always ask for permission and avoid pointing a lens at someone without consent.
In such a remote and traditional place, cultural sensitivity goes a long way. Taking the time to connect with people before snapping a photo not only shows respect but often opens the door to more meaningful encounters.
Outdoor goat slaughterhouse
A Savage Spectacle: The Goat Slaughter Market
Our stop at the goat slaughter market in Hadibu was one of the most intense and visceral experiences of the trip. It was a savage scene of gore—goats were lined up at a crude chopping block, each one beheaded in succession, their blood pooling in a dark red puddle beneath the wooden slab.
As shocking as it was, this was daily life here—a raw, unfiltered glimpse into how meat reaches the table in Socotra.
Photography Gone Wrong
While walking through the market, one man proudly asked me to take a photo of him holding a goat’s severed head. I obliged, sensing he wanted to show off his toughness or humor. But standing right next to him was another man who was clearly averse to any photography.
I respected that. But his friend didn’t. In a moment of bad judgment, the man grabbed my camera from around my neck and started to jokingly aim it at the other man to tease him. What began as playful quickly turned tense—the agitated man shoved my camera away violently, his face rigid with anger.
Not wanting the situation to spiral into something worse, we made a quick decision to leave the market immediately. It was a stark reminder that while some locals were open to being photographed, others were not—and even well-intentioned moments could turn volatile.
Kids and the Camera
In contrast, the children of Socotra were always eager to be photographed. Wide-eyed and curious, they would run up to us laughing, strike playful poses, and giggle with delight when we showed them their pictures. Their openness provided welcome moments of joy and levity in a landscape that often felt remote, raw, and wild.
No matter what the adults thought of being photographed, the kids were always happy to oblige.
Socotra Kids
Socotra Kids
Village Soccer match
Through Stone Villages Frozen in Time
As we continued our journey across the island, the road took us past humble stone villages, where life seemed suspended in a simpler era. Many of these homes had no electricity, and we often saw goats roaming freely, weaving between the stone walls and sandy paths.
Mosques stood at the heart of each village, their minarets rising modestly above the homes—a reminder of the quiet but ever-present rhythm of prayer and tradition. The daily lives of the villagers appeared unchanged, untouched by modern distractions, shaped instead by the land, the sea, and the slow passage of time.
Socotra Man
Socotra Village
Socotra Island
Cliffside Majesty: The Northeast Coast
As we drove along the northeastern coast of Socotra, the scenery became nothing short of mind-blowing. Sheer sea cliffs rose over 1,000 feet above the Indian Ocean, their rugged faces carved by centuries of wind and salt.
The road clung to the cliffs precariously, winding around dramatic drop-offs and revealing panoramic views at every turn. It felt like the edge of the world—untouched, raw, and absolutely breathtaking.
Driving Around Socotra’s Sea Cliffs
Forests of the Strange and Rare
As we drove further north, forests of strange, endemic trees began to dominate the landscape. Their twisted forms and surreal shapes made it feel like we had entered another world. We kept pulling over to snap photos, unable to resist the urge to capture the alien beauty around us. Socotra’s isolation had bred plants found nowhere else on Earth, and now we were surrounded by them.
Incredible trees and vegetation of Socotra
Scavengers of the Skies
The most common wild animal we encountered—aside from the ever-present geckos—was the Egyptian vulture. These striking birds were as plentiful as seagulls, always circling above or loitering nearby, scavenging for scraps. Whether perched on rocks or gliding through the sky, they were a constant presence on the island’s rugged horizon.
Egyptian Vultures
Driving to our campsite
Me photographing the scenery
Drive to Arher Dunes listening to local music being played on the car stereo.
Camping Beneath the Dunes and Stars
We set up camp near the massive coastal sand dunes that hugged the base of Socotra’s sea cliffs. As soon as the tents were up, we were off—climbing the dunes, scaling rocky cliffs, and searching for caves tucked into the mountainside. I found a few that tunneled surprisingly deep into the rock, adding to the mystery of the place.
That night, our campsite felt almost surreal—a flickering bonfire, some hearty Yemeni meals, and a sky overflowing with stars. The only sounds were the wind in the dunes and the distant crash of waves below. It was the kind of night that makes you forget the world entirely.
Camping near Arher Dunes
Camping near Arher Dunes
One of the Caves I found near Arher Dunes
Sunrise near Arher Dunes
Hiking to Hoq Cave: Echoes of the Ancient World
The next morning, we set out on a hike to Hoq Cave, one of the island’s most fascinating natural and historical wonders. The cave winds deep into the mountain—stretching for several miles—its chambers cool and echoing with silence.
What makes Hoq Cave truly special isn’t just its size, but its ancient graffiti, etched into the stone walls by seafarers over thousands of years. Inside, you can still find inscriptions left by Romans, Greeks, Aramaeans, and traders from Palmyra, all of whom once landed on Socotra’s shores. Standing there in the quiet dark, reading the markings of long-forgotten sailors, you feel just how far back the island’s story goes.
Entering Hoq cave
Stalagmite Inside Hoq Cave
Natural Pool, Hoq Cave
Dan and Tim Exploring Hoq Cave
Hoq Cave
Wadi Girhut: An Emerald Pool in the Sky
Of all the hikes on Socotra, my favorite was the trek to Wadi Girhut, a natural pool tucked high above the sea. The trail led us from the beach, up sheer sea cliffs, winding through bizarre, otherworldly vegetation until we reached a stunning emerald pool perched on the mountain’s edge.
Swimming there was pure bliss—one of those rare, suspended-in-time moments when nothing else matters. The freshwater shimmered in the sunlight, and behind us, the Indian Ocean stretched endlessly into the blue. It was peaceful, wild, and perfect.
Among the Ancients: The Dragon Blood Trees of Homhil
As we climbed higher, we entered endless groves of Dragon Blood trees, Socotra’s most iconic and otherworldly inhabitants. Their umbrella-like canopies cast alien shadows, and some of the trees are thought to be over 1,000 years old.
The trees get their name from their deep red sap, which has been used since biblical times for medicine and henna body art. That night, we camped in Homhil, high on the mountain, surrounded by these ancient, majestic sentinels. Sleeping under their gnarled branches, it felt like resting in the heart of a forgotten world.
Our guide resting on the hike
Endemic Trees Along the Hike
Endemic Trees Along the Hike
Wadi Girhut Natural Pool
Wadi Girhut Natural Pool
Wadi Girhut Natural Pool
Dragon Blood Trees
Dan and Tim Hiking in the Dragon Blood Trees
Me Looking Out Over the Ridge
Dragon Blood Trees
Endemic Gecko
Dragon Blood Trees
Dragon Blood Trees
Sunset over Dragon Blood Trees
A Socotri Thanksgiving: Feast in the Wild
It happened to be Thanksgiving—a quintessential American holiday marked by family gatherings and a huge feast. As we sat on our mountaintop campsite in Homhil, surrounded by Dragon Blood trees, we casually mentioned the holiday to our guide.
Without missing a beat, he smiled and said, “No problem.”
He disappeared for about an hour, and when he returned, he was holding a small, live lamb. The lamb ran over to us, bleating softly, and we instinctively took turns gently holding the sacred little creature, unsure of what to say. But deep down, we all understood—this was our Thanksgiving solution.
An hour later, the guide and another Yemeni man returned, the lamb now skinned and boiled, presented with a generous serving of rice. It was our Thanksgiving feast, improvised Socotri-style—raw, real, and unforgettable. No cranberry sauce or pumpkin pie, but a moment that was uniquely ours—giving thanks under ancient trees, halfway around the world.
Thanksgiving Dinner of Lamb
Crossing the Island: Toward Diksam Plateau
The next morning, we packed up camp and walked over to meet our driver, who was waiting with our vehicle. The plan for the day was to drive across Socotra’s rugged interior to the Diksam Plateau, a highland region known for its sweeping canyons and more groves of Dragon Blood trees.
A Lamb in the Backseat
Along the way, our driver pulled over at a roadside stand where a man was selling live lambs. He casually negotiated a deal and bought one right there on the spot, explaining that lambs in this part of the island were both cheaper and better tasting.
We continued the journey with Dan cradling the lamb in the backseat, a surreal and strangely endearing moment that felt perfectly in tune with the unpredictable charm of Socotra. Later in the drive, we passed the driver’s village, where he dropped the lamb off with his wife before we continued toward the plateau.
Traveling with our drivers live dinner
Waterfall off the side of the road
Diksam Plateau: Beneath the Dragon Blood Canopy
At the Diksam Plateau, we found ourselves lazing beneath towering Dragon Blood trees, soaking in the sweeping views of a vast canyon below and the rugged mountains of central Socotra beyond. This was the heart of the island—raw, remote, and breathtaking.
We wandered through the Firmhin Forest, home to some of the densest and most majestic stands of Dragon Blood trees on Socotra. Their umbrella-shaped canopies offered shade from the sun, and a surreal sense of being in a natural cathedral.
But even paradise had its challenges. Egyptian vultures, bold and opportunistic, hovered nearby and snatched up any unguarded food with military precision. Beautiful as the setting was, we had to eat with one eye on the sky.
Diksam Plateau
Diksam Plateau
Diksam Plateau
Lunch at the Diksam Plateau
Dan napping under a Dragon Blood Tree
A Window Visit: Love Within Boundaries
On our way back from the plateau, our guide asked if we could make a brief stop—he wanted to visit someone special. As it turned out, we were stopping to see his forbidden love.
In Yemen, as part of traditional Islamic custom, marriages are arranged by families, and the couple typically meets only once before the wedding—through a window, under the watchful eye of the bride’s father, with the woman fully veiled.
Our guide was in love with a girl he’d only seen a few times through such a window. He referred to her as his girlfriend, though their contact had been limited to glances and perhaps a few brief greetings. He was visibly distressed, confiding that her father would not approve their marriage because of his darker skin tone and African ancestry—a quiet but real form of discrimination still present in parts of Yemeni society.
We stopped briefly by her family’s home. The window was completely covered, so we couldn’t see her, but we heard her greet us softly from behind the curtain. It was a strange, intimate, and bittersweet moment—love constrained by tradition, glimpsed only through the thin veil of custom and centuries-old expectations.
Socotra Village
Socotra Village
Rusting Relics of a Divided Yemen
On our way to Detwah Lagoon—a breathtaking stretch of white sand beach where we’d spend our last night camping on Socotra—we made a stop that felt like stepping into a time capsule.
Along the coastline facing the mainland, we came upon a row of abandoned Soviet tanks, now rusting in silence. These relics are a reminder of a not-so-distant past, when Yemen was split into two countries: the South aligned with the Soviets, and the North backed by the West.
The tanks were part of the Soviet Union’s support, meant to defend South Yemen against potential invasion. Today, they sit motionless and decaying—ghosts of the Cold War, slowly being reclaimed by salt, sand, and time. Seeing them in such a remote and peaceful place only deepened the contrast between past conflict and present calm.
Me in a Soviet Tank
Motorbike Joyride: A Socotri Yes
On the drive toward Detwah Lagoon, we had one of those spontaneous moments that makes travel so unforgettable. Tim spotted a man riding a motorbike along the roadside and casually asked our guide if he could hop on and ride with him for a few miles.
Our guide laughed at the absurdity—and the charm—of the request.
“Why not?” he shrugged.
He flagged the motorbike down, explained the situation, and the rider—grinning—nodded without hesitation.
“Let’s go.”
And just like that, Tim climbed aboard, and for the next few miles we drove alongside the bike, watching him cruise down the remote island road, wind in his face, smiling like a kid on summer break. It was a small detour, but one of those surreal, joyful scenes that stick with you long after the trip ends.
Village man giving Tim a Ride on his bike
Detwah Lagoon: A Quiet Final Camp
Our last night on Socotra was spent at Detwah Lagoon, a sandy beach backed by dramatic cliffs, where local village kids played soccer barefoot in the fading light. The scene was peaceful, with a sense of simplicity that felt true to the island’s rhythm.
The scenery was pleasant, but the ocean water wasn’t ideal for swimming—murky and a bit stagnant compared to other spots we’d visited. In hindsight, I probably would’ve chosen a different location to end the trip if given the choice. Still, it was a fittingly quiet final night, with the soft sounds of waves, laughter from the nearby village, and the lingering warmth of the Socotri sun on our skin.
Detwah lagoon
Being escorted by village kids holding our hands to our campsite
Campsite
A Tense Farewell: Leaving Yemen
Even as we prepared to leave Socotra, I couldn’t fully relax. The red listing from years earlier—when I was denied entry into Yemen—still haunted the back of my mind. I worried that somehow, at the last moment, my name would be flagged and I’d be detained.
At first, everything seemed fine. I was stamped out of Yemen at the Socotra airport with no issue, and I took a seat in the small waiting area, starting to breathe easy.
That’s when two immigration officials approached me.
They asked to see my passport and confirmed, “Is your name Matthew?”
My stomach dropped. This was the moment I had feared.
They asked me to follow them into a small room, where they reviewed my documents and began asking me routine questions about my trip. For about ten long minutes, they debated in Arabic, their tones unreadable. Then, without much explanation, they handed back my passport and released me back to the boarding area.
Just as I was settling down, the two men returned once more, took another final look at my passport, then gave it back again with a polite nod. I still have no idea what the issue was—likely some lingering red flag in the system. But in the end, they chose not to pursue it. Perhaps they figured it was an error. Or maybe they just didn’t want to deal with the complications of detaining an American tourist during a civil war.
Shortly afterward, our Felix Airways flight lifted off, bound for Sharjah, United Arab Emirates, and I finally exhaled.
I had made it in—and out—of Socotra.