Destinations In Bahrain

Bahrain’s mosaic of settlements ranges from the cosmopolitan capital to quiet fishing isles. Though its total land area is little more than 700 square kilometers, this archipelago has deep historical layers: ancient Dilmun trade routes, Portuguese and Persian occupations, and a modern oil-fueled economy. Each locality – whether the skyscraper skyline of Manama or the deserted dunes of the Hawar Islands – holds distinct character and history.

Table of Contents

1 Manama
2 Sitra Island
3 Riffa
4 Muharraq
5 Hawar Islands
6 Hamad Town
7 Isa Town

Manama

Manama, the capital and largest city, sits at the northeast tip of Bahrain Island. At first sight it might resemble any modern Gulf metropolis – gleaming skyscrapers and manicured waterfront boulevards – but beneath that veneer lies a remarkably layered city. Bahrain’s modern financial district with its glass towers (for example the twin-towered Bahrain World Trade Center) looms over a warren of low-rise alleys and historic souqs. In the old quarter, narrow lanes open onto bustling markets where traders have haggled for pearls, spices, textiles and carpets for generations. Spice-scented stalls and vendors of glass-bangle kiosks give way to a shaded pedestrian square near Bab al-Bahrain. Here Bahrain’s National Museum – a long, low building shaded by sun-bleached roofs – interprets Manama’s storied past, recounting Portuguese and Persian periods as well as the country’s Arab heritage. Indeed, the city was captured by Portugal in 1521 and by Persia in 1602 before the Al-Khalīfah dynasty resumed control in the late 18th century. The museum’s galleries, and the nearby Al-Fateh Grand Mosque (with its vast fiberglass dome seating over 7,000), offer tangible proof of those bygone eras amidst the high-rises.

By contrast, beyond the historic core Manama stretches outward in broad avenues punctuated by modern malls and hotels. The Corniche al-Fateh along the bay is flanked by luxury resorts and palm-fringed promenades. Yet even here one may glimpse traditional elements: seeing a wooden dhow tied up by a modern pier, or an elderly pearl-diving exhibit amid swanky development, keeps the city anchored to its roots. On weekday evenings the traffic along the King Faisal Highway throngs with office commuters, but just off those roads sit cafés where retirees play backgammon over sweet black tea or shisha (hookah). In Manama’s Souq district, shopkeepers greet each other in Arabic as generations of families have done, arranging stools around worn brass coffee pots. This persistence of the old in the midst of the new – when the city’s skyline gleams with progress – is often remarked upon by locals as the true essence of Bahraini culture.

Modern amenities coexist with tradition in Manama. Perhaps no building better illustrates this than the Al-Fateh Grand Mosque: a cavernous prayer hall of white marble and sparkling calligraphy, yet under a modern fiberglass dome engineered to house 7,000 worshippers. On any given day non-Muslim visitors may be guided through its serene interior, a juxtaposition of openness and devotion in the middle of a busy city. Not far away, financial towers line the bay against sapphire waters – flagships of Bahrain’s 20th-century transformation. In sum, Manama’s charm lies in these contrasts: soaring towers above, and below them a century-old bazaar where one still haggles for (and often finds) finely woven carpets or hand-blown glassware.

Sitra Island

East of the capital lies Sitra, a slender island that has seen Bahrain’s economy evolve from agrarian to industrial. Sitra was once famed for its date-palm groves and garden plots sustained by natural springs. Up until the mid-20th century, much of its northern plain was farmland and its south was dotted with fishing villages. Over the last half-century, however, the island’s landscape has shifted dramatically. Oil storage facilities now dominate the south end of Sitra, for example the vast BAPCO petroleum tanks that receive crude for distribution. In fact, Sitra handles most of Bahrain’s oil traffic, with the island hosting the terminus of the Dhahran–Sitra pipeline from Saudi Arabia and a major wharf for export ships. Its economy “used to be based on agriculture and fishing,” notes the Bahraini environment council, but is today centered on petroleum and light industry.

Alongside this industrial expansion lie the traces of Sitra’s older side. Tiny villages such as Al Kharijiya and Mahazza still cluster along its shores, vestiges of the island’s rural past. In these communities one finds squat white houses and local mosques, and perhaps the long shadow of a minaret on a courtyard of drying dates. Fishermen still launch their small dhows from the coves of Wadyan and Sufala before dawn, hauling nets at sunrise much as their fathers did. Thus one can almost feel the “two sides of Bahrain” at work here: the sheer concrete storage tanks and multistory car showrooms mentioned in official reports, and the humble fishermen tending crab nets from painted fishing skiffs.

Sitra’s northern end is tied to the main island by causeways, making it a commuter stop for workers traveling to Manama or the nearby industrial zones. The Applied Science University campus and international schools on Sitra have also grown in recent decades, drawing students from across the island. Meanwhile, the island’s geography makes it a gateway to quieter waters. A short boat ride off Sitra is the Al Dar Islands resort archipelago – a pair of palm-clad islets reachable from Sitra’s small fishing port. These little islands offer sandbar beaches and palm-thatched cabanas; though built for tourists, they remind one of the region’s age-old affinity with the sea.

In summary, Sitra today is neither solely industrial nor fully pastoral but both. Its mosques and shade trees sit not far from high-voltage lines and refinery corridors. Visitors note that it “sits on the eastern edge of Bahrain” and offers a glimpse of daily life – from pulling up to a roadside falafel stall on Sitra’s main street to watching tankers on the gulf. One Bahraini writer remarked that the island allows you to “witness two sides of Bahrain working in unison” – one side that drills oil and one side that drags in the nets of a long-ago fishing economy. In short, Sitra is a microcosm of Bahrain’s modern history, straddling old and new.

Riffa

Near the center of Bahrain Island lies Riffa, historically the nation’s second city. In the 19th century Riffa was actually the island’s principal settlement, until Manama’s port growth outpaced it. Today Riffa retains a mix of old and new. Its most striking landmark is Riffa Fort (Shaikh Salman bin Ahmed Al Fateh Fort), a sandy-brown stone citadel built in the 18th–19th centuries atop the escarpment between East and West Riffa. From the town one sees its round towers crowning the hill, each battlement carved with the familiar scalloped “crenellations” of Middle Eastern forts. Inside the fort are the rooms and chambers where Sheikh Salman lived; outside on quiet days the clank of a distant mosque’s muezzin prayer can still be heard across the desert plain.

Beyond the fort, Riffa’s old core unfolds in a series of winding streets and plazas. Here traders still load sacks of dates and spices onto carts, and women in abayas browse displays of fine carpets. Traditional crafts persist amid the new: even as high-end boutiques and cement apartment blocks appear, one can stumble upon workshops of goldsmiths fashioning ornamental dagger hilts or local families bargaining over pearls in the colorful covered market. The old Souq ar-Rifa is lively on market days, its tea shops alive with elders in kaffiyehs discussing family and politics. One visitor described Riffa’s experience as finding “old-world character” in its alleys – and indeed, much of Riffa still feels like a village stretched thin, with layers of history present at the marketplace and café corners.

Nevertheless, Riffa is far from static. Its East Riffa suburb now hosts Bahrain’s National Stadium (though its official name is Bahrain International Stadium, it serves as the national football stadium) and nearby sports facilities. The town is also home to the Royal Golf Club, one of the oldest and most renowned courses in the Gulf – a lush expanse of green that seems almost out of place against the surrounding ochre hills. The golf course, built in the late 20th century, has drawn international tournaments and new residential neighborhoods to its edges. In contrast to Riffa Fort’s centuries-old stone, the fairways and manicured gardens of the golf club symbolize the modern development that has arrived.

In recent years Riffa has expanded further with a large housing development (New Riffa) radiating to the south. Highways now connect Riffa directly to Manama, and commuter traffic has grown. Yet even as Riffa’s population grows, the old quarter remains relatively small and unhurried. In one of its narrow lanes, a shopkeeper might bundle carpets while children in school uniforms hurry home. Just a few blocks away, corporate signs and car dealerships testify to the town’s contemporary role. Riffa’s identity rests on this blend: the commanding silhouette of Riffa Fort overlooking 21st-century gardens, and bazaars that could feel identical to those of half a millennium ago. In visiting Riffa today, one is struck by the coexistence of its “antique court rooms” and modern amenities – indeed, a local observer might note that the new malls and roads of Riffa simply encircle the same ancient center that has long anchored southern Bahrain.

Muharraq

On an island just northeast of Manama lies the city of Muharraq, Bahrain’s third-largest population center. Muharraq was the Bahraini capital for many decades (from the late 18th century until 1932) and is still the country’s air gateway – Bahrain International Airport occupies much of Muharraq Island. The city is noted for preserving traditional culture: old coral-stone houses line its alleys, and the famous Muharraq Souq still draws crowds to its spice stalls and boatbuilders’ workshops. In this sense the city feels like a time capsule. Visitors often point out the contrast between Muharraq and Manama: whereas Manama is international and fast-paced, Muharraq is more provincial, with narrow streets and a calmer rhythm.

Muharraq’s roots run very deep. It was part of the Bronze Age Dilmun civilization, and antiquity even saw it linked to wider legends (the island was once called Tylos by the Greeks, with even Phoenician myths attached to it). By late antiquity, Muharraq had become a stronghold of Nestorian Christianity: the very name of one village, Al-Dair, means “the monastery,” and another, Qalali, refers to “monk’s cloisters”. (These names remain in use today.) Those who wander the old city might still find ancient prayer chapels or ruined church foundations amid the winding lanes. In the 16th and 17th centuries Muharraq saw its share of strife: Portugal took control of Bahrain in 1521, then Persia in 1602, before the Al-Khalīfah sheikhs ultimately gained lasting power from 1783 onward.

Much of Muharraq’s 200-year-old urban fabric remains intact. The Siyadi House and Bu Maher Fort in Muharraq stand as national monuments, but everyday life is likely to be found in the local markets and corner cafés. Muharraq has long been a center for Bahraini arts: even the contemporary Bahraini singer Ali Bahar grew up here. A stroll through the city often involves glimpses of traditional musicians tuning ouds at a café or citizens smoking sheesha under date palms on the boulevard. These scenes underscore Muharraq’s reputation as the custodian of old customs. An observer might note that the city’s weekly markets continue to move goods just as they did a century ago, offering spices, textiles, and sweets against the background of Arabic script signage and mint tea poured by shopkeepers.

Sport also plays a role in Muharraq’s identity. The city is home to the Al-Muharraq Sports Club, the nation’s most successful football team. Founded in 1928, the club has won more domestic championships and trophies than any other in Bahrain. On match days the club’s crimson-clad fans spill into stadium stands and street corners. This modern passion for football sits comfortably alongside the city’s arcane mosques and bazaars: after all, Muharraq SC’s community emerged from these same neighborhoods.

In geographic terms, Muharraq is not large, but it carries the feel of antiquity. From its Corniche one can look across the harbor to Manama’s new skyline, feeling decades of change even across a short span. Within Muharraq itself, wooden dhows may still ply the waters of the dhow harbor, and craftsmen might still carve mother-of-pearl into jewelry much as they did in Dilmun times. The city’s multi-layered history – from prehistoric to modern – is written in its street plan and building facades. For the informed visitor, Muharraq offers an almost perpetual reminder that Bahrain’s urban identity extends far deeper than its oil boom.

Hawar Islands

Far to the south of Bahrain’s main inhabited islands lie the Hawar Islands, a remote archipelago facing the Qatari coast. The Hawars are almost entirely uninhabited, amounting to a kind of island wilderness. Indeed, the Bahraini government itself calls Hawar “Bahrain’s last remaining true wilderness,” noting its “unique natural beauty.” Anyone visiting Hawar will notice immediately how different it is from Bahrain’s cities: there are no roads or houses on the main Hawar (officially Hawar al-Shamaliyya) and only a handful of Bahraini soldiers or rangers live there to protect it. Instead, the islands are best known for wildlife.

Birdlife is a major draw. Tens of thousands of seabirds rest on the coral shorelines at Hawar’s sheikhdom. The Hawars host the only protected breeding colony in the Persian Gulf for the Socotra cormorant – an almost black sea-bird about two feet long with a lacy white crest when breeding. From 2000–2010 UNESCO documented that some 30,000 pairs of the vulnerable Socotra cormorant nest on Hawar, making it the largest such colony in the world. As spring arrives, flocks of these cormorants gather noisily on the rocky beaches and in the shallow lagoons. For birdwatchers, spotting a Socotra cormorant here is a special event, since their numbers elsewhere have dwindled. Migratory waders and shorebirds also pause on mudflats around the islands, adding to the kaleidoscope of life.

Aside from birds, the Hawars support a few land animals and rich marine life. The waters around the islands have colorful coral reefs, where fish and even the occasional sea turtle swim among sea-grass beds. On land the dunes and salt flats sometimes show traces of larger mammals: there are records of wild goats and, on rare occasions, an Arabian oryx (a white desert antelope reintroduced in Bahrain decades ago) roaming free. In Bahrain’s environmental assessment, the Hawar group is singled out for having an “endangered sea cow” (dugong) population as well. In short, Hawar is ecologically fragile; both Bahrain and Qatar designate parts of the Hawars as protected nature reserves. UNESCO’s tentative listing highlights the islands’ conservation value, emphasizing that their isolation makes them “irreplaceable” in retaining a pre-development natural state.

Human activity on Hawar is minimal. The main access is by ferry from Sitra or by air to a small Bahrian airstrip. Rangers patrol the protected zones to prevent disturbance to wildlife. Occasionally one might find fishermen’s huts on Hawar al-Janubiyah (one of the smaller islands) or see boats unloaded on a makeshift quay. But there are no commercial facilities or tourist hotels here. When a visitor walks along a Hawar beach, the silence is profound – broken only by waves and birds. It is a place for quiet observation of nature. One might stand on the windward side of an island listening to the cormorants cawing above, or watch a reddish sand-eagle circle against the horizon.

Thus, the Hawar Islands provide a stark contrast to Bahrain’s bustling towns. They lie at the kingdom’s frontier – a chain of rocks and sand where one feels the emptiness and space beyond, not the crowds. The air is salt-scented and the sunlight, when it slants at sunset, drenches the entire panorama in gold. For locals concerned about conservation, Hawar symbolizes an ancient Gulf that still survives: a warning that not every place in Bahrain is destined for high-rises. In that sense, Bahreinis speak of the Hawar Islands with reverence as the country’s last true wild lands.

Hamad Town

Approximately 18 kilometers south-west of Manama lies Hamad Town (Madinat Hamad), one of Bahrain’s largest modern suburbs. Established in 1984 as part of a government housing initiative, Hamad Town was envisioned as a new commuter city for working families who found Manama housing expensive. The town’s layout is highly regular and planned. Unlike Bahrain’s ancient souqs, Hamad Town is organized on a grid of roads centered on 22 numbered roundabouts. Local addresses are often given by roundabout number (for example, “Roundabout 8”). This system was meant to simplify navigation and mark the town’s identity, and indeed residents often refer to living “near the fifth roundabout” rather than on a street name.

Hamad Town’s architecture and mood are unmistakably 20th century: rows of beige stucco apartment blocks and tract housing are set behind walled courtyards with modest front gardens. Between them run broad avenues rather than winding lanes. It feels much like a deliberately built district – which it is. By 2005 the population had grown to over 50,000, largely drawing workers from the capital. The town has its own shopping center (Sooq Waqif), schools and clinics, but it lacks a historic core or old buildings. Even its mosque architecture is mostly modern.
A notable feature is Hamad Town’s proximity to the Bahrain International Circuit in Sakhir, the motorsports complex that hosts the annual Formula One Grand Prix. From some points in Hamad Town one can see the curve of the F1 track’s grandstands and floodlights on the horizon. On race weekends, the town’s roads carry ticket-holders in caravans of cars and buses out to the circuit, linking this bedroom community to one of the region’s major entertainment venues.

The town’s street life reflects its function. On weekdays many residents drive or bus into Manama for work, while the town’s own commercial center bustles in the early evening. The shops in Sooq Waqif provide the evening gathering point: families stroll between stores, and small cafés see groups of young people with shisha pipes chatting over tea. If one steps out after dark, the numbered roundabouts themselves often have informal fruit stalls or barber chairs on their fringes – a modern but homegrown scene.

In tone, Hamad Town is utilitarian rather than picturesque. Its 22 roundabouts (sometimes jokingly said to be like a racetrack) and uniform housing give it a somewhat stark appearance from the outside. Yet this also creates a surprising sense of order. At night, lamplight along each circle shines on neatly trimmed hedges and signposts (all labeled with their number). As one drives through, there is a subtle rhythm to the layout, unlike the haphazard urban sprawl of older neighborhoods. A planning expert might note that Hamad Town exemplifies Bahrain’s late-20th-century approach to rapid population growth: give people a grid of homes and let community life build up.

In short, Hamad Town is not ancient or romantic, but it is emblematic of Bahrain’s social housing efforts. It was created almost overnight out of scrub desert, and today it is one of the country’s busiest residential zones. To an outsider it may look like cookie-cutter development; to a resident it is simply “home” – with its mosque between Roundabout 7 and 8, its soccer field behind Roundabout 15, and the haze of Sakhir fields in the distance.

Isa Town

Isa Town (Madīnat ʿĪsā) occupies central Bahrain Island, not far south of the old villages of Diraz and A’Ali. Like Hamad Town, Isa Town was carefully planned, but its origins go further back. It was conceived in the early 1960s by the Bahraini government, with streets laid out by British planners, and its first houses were occupied in 1968. The town was named for Sheikh Isa ibn Salman Al Khalīfah, then ruler of Bahrain. Unlike the traditional mudbrick villages nearby, Isa Town was to be modern: its homes were solid concrete villas rather than old courtyard houses, and the roads were broad.

Today Isa Town has a reputation as a quiet, upscale residential area. The houses are mostly white or pale grey, simple in form, often with low walls and tile roofs. At first glance it might seem uniformly suburban, but a walk along its backstreets quickly reveals a lively local culture. One soon finds the town’s famed bazaar and market area. In the heart of Isa Town is a covered market complex (often called Souk al-Harraj) and the adjacent vehicle-free main street. Here dozens of small shops and stalls line the pedestrian walkways. Stallholders display bolts of embroidered fabric, piles of dried spices, intricate handicrafts, and trays of freshly baked breads. The air is tinged with cinnamon and cardamom, mixed with the salty scent of the Gulf breeze. Among the shoppers one sees older women in abayas bargaining with stallkeepers, and children darting through the crowds holding sugary treats.

The market area also has a cozy café culture. Under canvas awnings, men sip black tea with mint and chat over the day’s news; many smoke aromatic shisha at round café tables. From these seats one can admire the jumble of awnings and shopfronts – some sign-painted in Arabic script, some in English – while hearing accents from across Bahrain. It is a convivial, unhurried scene that belies the town’s modern origins. Indeed, one could easily imagine Isa Town’s marketplace standing for a century or more, were it not for the sleek pastel houses that block it in behind.

Isa Town also has a signature landmark: the town’s stadium and sports complex, built in the 1960s. An open green field and concrete stands stretch beside a fountain onto the main thoroughfare. In fact, Bahrain’s national football team often plays at this Sheikh Isa Sports City Stadium (capacity ~24,000), and its lights blaze on match nights. The stadium’s modernist, flat-roofed grandstands are a surprising sight amid the modest town; they recall that Isa Town was envisioned as a cross-section of Bahrain’s society, with amenities like a stadium and Olympic-size swimming pool provided from the start. On event days one sees streams of fans in red shirts walking through Isa Town toward the field, from families at resturant stands to teenagers kicking a ball outside the gates. The presence of the stadium anchors Isa Town on the national map, even as the rest of the town remains residential.

In essence, Isa Town is a blend of planned city and traditional life. Its quiet neighborhood lanes are interrupted by bazaars that feel centuries old. The wide streets might reflect British design, but the bustle of fabric sellers and tea houses in the market area reflects local custom. Residents often park their cars and stroll to the shops in the evening as neighbors gather by the fountain. To a visitor noting this peaceful coexistence of homes, markets and parks, Isa Town can feel like a village town that grew up around a plaza.

In brief, Isa Town’s character is that of a modern Bahraini suburb with a preserved social heart. The bright stucco villas and straight avenues were laid out on empty land, but give way to aromatic food stalls and tailors’ shops in its heart. The town’s official name reminds one of Gulf monarchs, yet its everyday pulse is set by the sight of children chasing pigeons in the central square. For someone seeking an authentic slice of Bahraini life, Isa Town provides that without fanfare – a place where the energy of the souk exists in the shadow of 20th-century planning.