Explore Kuwait: The Gulf’s Best-Kept Secret (2)

Kuwait slapped me in the face, then handed me a candy.
It was tough, confusing, and sometimes unbearable, but somehow, it also found a way to win my heart.

At first, Kuwait was very hard for me. The endless heat, the flat desert that made me long for mountains and greenery, the harsh weather that triggered my allergies, the complicated rules that made something as simple as driving feel like a dream, and those silent boundaries that constantly reminded me I’d never truly belong.

Kuwait made me wonder about myself, about what I really want.

Sometimes, I miss the quieter places: the simple life, the fresh air and fresh water, the trees and walking paths right outside my door, places where rights and equality are the norm, where “hello” and a smile float naturally in the air, where I can sing along to a song or dance freely without being judged, a place where I can simply be myself.

But then I remember the early nights, the “live to work” mindset, the stores that close on weekends, and the new wave of “sexual freedom” that seems to threaten our children’s innocence, and suddenly, Kuwait feels like heaven.

You meet people who restore your faith, like Abu Nouh, a man who worked at Mekshat and whom we met with our Italian friends. He embodied everything beautiful about Kuwait’s soul. His generosity went beyond words. That evening, I understood what true Kuwaiti hospitality really meant.

Every time I plan a vacation, I look forward to leaving Kuwait, and yet, every time I return and see that familiar sign, “Welcome to Kuwait,” a little thrill runs through me. I smile without knowing why.
So… what has Kuwait done to me? Somehow, it has managed to frustrate me, challenge me, exhaust me, and still make me deeply attached to it.

Kuwait is a country that grows on you quietly, until one day you realize you’ve learned to love its rhythm. You begin to notice the small things: how to sip karak tea just right, how dates go perfectly with tahini, how coffee with cardamom and za’atar slowly become part of your routine. I learned to savor the saffron, cardamom, and rose water in sweets,  flavors that once felt strong and unusual, but now taste like home. I even learned how to recognize Kuwaitis abroad, not by their clothes (well, maybe the QN sneakers that should really be called Q8, haha), or their cars, but by something subtle, something within.

And then there’s the smell, the scent of bukhoor and rich perfumes wafting through malls and houses, that unmistakable fragrance that hits you even in a crowded street. It’s a sensory detail you can’t replicate, not even in the most elegant European cities.

And the dishdasha one of the most beautiful traditions that shows how proud Kuwaitis are of their roots. They wear it with elegance, whether at work, family gatherings, or in their diwaniyas.

Kuwait is truly a country like no other, and I feel blessed to have had the chance to live here and witness its authenticity up close.

As humans, we always tend to look to the other side, where the grass seems greener, forgetting to be grateful for what’s already beneath our feet.