A burst of clapping broke out as the Gulf Air flight from London landed at Muharraq airport on 1 November 1976. I joked to myself that they were welcoming me to Bahrain but apparently it wasn’t unusual for Bahrainis to give a round of applause for the captain who brought them safely back to their homeland.

I stepped out of the aircraft and was hit by a wave of humidity and the nostalgic smell of tangy sea air mingled with heat and dust and pungent kerosene fumes. The last rays of the setting sun glimpsed through distant palm fronds silhouetted against a turquoise sea, shimmered like liquid gold. I sighed happily. This is where I was meant to be.

I was born on the tropical island of Penang, Malaysia, and grew up crunching my toes on sandy beaches as I ran beneath rustling palms and splashed in sparkling blue seas. My teens were spent in an Irish boarding school followed by a few years working in the endless cold of Dublin. One morning walking down a dismal grey street with the rain trickling down the back of my raincoat, I yearned for the sunny lifestyle of my childhood and decided that I’d had enough. My criteria for a new job was to live in a land of 'Sun, Sea and Palm Trees' and within a couple of months, I was winging my way to Bahrain. I was to be the PA to the chairman of one of the Gulf’s oldest merchant families. My posting was for two years - that was thirty-five years ago.

Bahrain was a heady mix of adventure, fun and fascinating people. Everyone had a story to tell of why they had set out to find their fortunes in the world’s newest and biggest honey-pot. It was only forty-four years since oil had been discovered in Bahrain; the first place in the Arabian Gulf to un-tap the massive oil fields that lay beneath the desert and which transformed forever the lives of its people. 

For the first few months my feet didn’t touch the ground. Except for having to be in the office at 7.15am from Saturday until Thursday noon, life was one big party. I shared a flat in a small two storey block for junior overseas staff with a stunning English girl called Gudrun, the only other European female in the company. Our view was the municipal graveyard which was always busy and adjacent to us was Andalus Gardens where, on Friday evenings, local dancers and musicians played traditional Arabic music with the women ululating loudly and clapping their hands, filling the night with their joyful sounds. 

We drove to work through sandy winding lanes and potholed tarmac streets, flanked by wind-tower houses, decorated with mashrabiya where ladies were able to view what was going on without being seen. Past the American Mission Hospital and down Government Road we reached the car-park; a patch of sandy gravel near the original National Bank of Bahrain tower, on what is now Manama’s multi-storey car-park. Latecomers paid no regard to parking etiquette and blocked others in, which resulted in daily scraps and shouting matches usually refereed by Isa, the tall, dignified chief car washer. Now slightly stooped and frail, Isa continues to clean cars for a few fils a day in the government car park opposite Bahrain Financial Harbour (BFC). From his earnings, he educated five children, each of whom went to university and now have sound jobs in the private sector.

The once thriving dhow port of Mina Manama stood on the site of the traffic lights opposite the BFC. Here, dhows from neighbouring countries unloaded cars, tractors, refrigerators, sheep and other livestock, the latter held in warehouses on the site of the Regency InterContinental Hotel. When the wind blew in the wrong direction, Manama suffered from the sickly stench of lanolin and soggy wool. 

“The Manama bazaar claims with justice to be the emporium of the Gulf” wrote, James Belgrave, a long-term English resident, in his book Welcome to Bahrain published in 1953. It gives a fascinating insight into Bahrain before and after the discovery of oil, particularly its commercial status as the hub of the Gulf before the ripple effect of black gold brought undreamed of prosperity to the Gulf and the tribal outposts of Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Oman and Qatar. Before the shopping malls invaded the land like giant tripods, the souq was the vibrant heart of Manama where you could buy anything and everything, even things you didn’t know existed, or had only read about in old text books. Most products came from India, Iran, Egypt, Jordan and nearby countries, until the influx of cheap goods from Japan and China squeezed out genuine high quality items. 

Our office overlooked Bab Al Bahrain and even before the hand-carved wooden shutters opened at 8am, the souq was alive with novel sounds, scents and colours; the drone of air-conditioners, the blare of horns, the searing brightness and humidity evaporating as the sun rose higher. At any opportunity I’d nip onto the fourth-floor veranda and watch the bewitching scene unfold below, like turning the pages of an Arabian fairytale. 

As befitted this oil rich nation, spanking new Rolls Royce, Mercedes and Cadillacs cruised down the streets parading their individually commissioned liveries of emerald, purple or gold. Small white donkeys pulling carts of hand-painted drums containing drinking water, stood submissively, their ears twitching and bodies artfully decorated in henna, as their owners sold cups of water to passers by. Curious shoppers stopped to inspect the latest electric gadgets or feel the texture of a Persian carpet or Kashmir shawl, or query the price of outdated Western style dresses, suits and sharp shoes. Indian stall holders dangled fake Rolex and indicated to wind-up mosque alarm clocks which gave an ear-splitting call to prayer, 'hubble-bubble' pipes, halwa, the sticky sweet toffee so loved by the Arabs - anything and everything appeared to be on sale.

Streets were literally lined with gold where rows of shop windows gleamed with glitteringly ostentatious yet intricately crafted displays of gold, pearls and precious stones. Jewel studded necklaces, woven bridal caps with chains dangling like plaits from the sides, decorated with half-moons, coins, balls and other shapes. Rings for each finger, linked by golden strands to a bracelet, ornamental ear, nose and toe rings. The complexity of designs was mesmerising - but essential for a bride. Gold was a vital commodity for her dowry in case she became divorced, widowed or replaced by another wife. It was common to see black robed women inside shops, their sleeves pulled back to reveal armfuls of gold which they would barter for cash. Gold was so cheap that it didn’t matter much if you lost a piece, you could replace it for a few dinars. If you couldn’t decide which ring or necklace you liked best, the jeweller allowed you to take a few items home to decide which one you preferred - a custom I never heard being abused. Deeper inside the souq, were the pearl merchants who displayed their precious pearls, graded according to size on a piece of red cloth, resting in bowls on the counter. Some of these pearls were over one hundred years old and would sell for a fortune.

The material souq wound its way like a rainbow through lanes and alleys of multi-hued fabrics that billowed out from stalls crammed with Indian silks and satins, sequin trimmed saris, woven damask from Syria and Egyptian cottons that would cost a small fortune in Europe. Locals and expatriates sought bargains for the best quality material which would then be made up by a local tailor into the latest fashion. As in traditional Arabic bazaars, alleyways were laid out like supermarket aisles, each dedicated to particular goods. One was filled with suitcases of every size and shape, others of shoes and sandals, towels and bedding, thobes and gutras, abbayas and hejabs, colourfully stacked spices - their aromas mingling with intriguing potions, exotic perfumes and expensive oud bark. From dark alleys the clanging of metal drew you further to see shadowy figures crouched on wooden stools crafting coffee pots and incense burners out of flat sheets of copper or silver. 

A mesmerising buzz of Arabic, Urdu, Farsi, Pashtun, Hindi, Malayam, floated in the air from residents from all sections of society including the labour force of fierce eyed Afghanis sporting bushy henna dyed beards, their heads covered in flamboyantly large turbans with one end hanging over their right ear, tall handsome Pathans from the high Karakormans, their ruddy complexions and green eyes strangely at odds with their billowing trousers and long tailed shirts, Gujarati ladies in neatly embroidered cotton bonnets and capes walked in pairs like nuns, whilst all around were cheerful black robed, plump shapes who chattered non-stop, taking up half the street as others squeezed by.

The only female sellers appeared at the weekly Wednesday Market near the Delmon Hotel; a great crowd puller. Here, village women dressed in colourful, long cotton dresses, their faces covered in shiny black ‘beak’ masks, set up stalls to sell their hand embroidered, gold trimmed thobe al nashal (wedding robe) and bisht (men’s formal woven cloaks), embroidered sheets and pillow cases, woven baskets and mats and pottery, halwa and bottled chutneys.

The two main food stores frequented by Westerners were Jawad Cold Store standing where Yateem Centre is today and Al Jazira in Adliya. Otherwise it was the meat and fish markets at the far end of the souq, which were not for the faint-hearted. Covered by strips of cloth to provide shade, the wooden counters were piled high with haunches of mutton and goat. There were no fans, nor air-conditioners, and the meat sellers’ aprons were very, very bloodstained and the stench of meat was overpowering. But it was packed with housewives carefully examining each joint, as was the adjacent fish market but at least the fish were kept in water containers, and the fantastic selection of prawns, crab, hamour, shark, mussels, oysters and more, made up for the odour. The vegetable and fruit market was picturesque. Traders would perch above their colourful displays, tempting shoppers to taste a peach or nectarine. Over the years these food markets were moved to the Central Market with initially fans installed, before air-conditioning. 

One of my favourite places - and still is - are the coffee shops where the male shopkeepers and elders gather throughout the day. Seated on gawha cursi (long wooden benches, literally coffee seats) their legs tucked under their thobes, they sipped cardamom flavoured gawha or lemon chai, served from hole-in-the-wall kitchens and discussed the events of the day and latest gossip. 

Life in Bahrain was - and is - so easy. No need to battle through a downpour to haul a petrol line to your car; here attendants filled up your car at a few fils a litre, boys stacked your shopping and carried it out to your car and drivers were courteous. Rather than being second-class citizens, women were respected, especially when it came to queues. Whether in the post office, a hospital, supermarket or shop, women were summoned to the front of any queue and served before the poor men, no matter how long they’d been waiting. Sadly this practice seems to have been discontinued!

The new Sea Road, or King Faisal Highway, named in honour of a State visit to Bahrain by the late King Faisal bin Saud in 1975, began at the junction of the Budaiya Road and Sanabis and continued past the dhow building yard - later reclaimed as the Pearl Roundabout junction - past Manama and Government House, until it veered right at the Hilton, Bahrain’s first international hotel, now the Golden Tulip. The Sheraton, Diplomat Radisson and Crowne Plaza didn’t exist. The Diplomatic area was being reclaimed, so the highway connected with Government Road near the British Embassy and continued up Old Palace Road, past the fishing village of Hoora until it reached the palm groves of Juffair village and the Gulf Hotel.

Night-life was limited to a few hotels or restaurants and the Gulf Hotel, built on an island of reclaimed land, was the place to go on a Thursday night. Outdoor dances were held in the gardens by the pool with entertainment provided by dark skinned Muharraqi males wearing thobes with gutras tied around their hips who danced to rhythmic, tribal music played by black-robed female musicians, some wearing old fashioned shiny black ‘beak’ masks as they beat drums made of stretched goat hide. Sometimes camels were brought along to ride, which added to the exotic flavour of the night. The best curry lunch in town was served at the Omar Khayyam Hotel, now hidden behind urbanisation in Hoora. It then overlooked the sea and the yacht club, which consisted of a wooden hut and a rickety pier.

An intriguing night spot was the Pearl Restaurant on top of the former Jashanmal building near the Yateem Centre. Owned by two Lebanese brothers, it was dark, seedy and smoke filled, with velvet seating around the dance floor and a buffet of Arabic cuisine garnished by the odd cockroach. Troupes of singers, dancers and circus stars from Cairo, Beirut, Istanbul and other foreign ports performed tantalising and daring routines; the females in eye-boggling skimpy attire, much to the delight of local and expat audiences. The persistent jamming of the elevator between the ground and 11 floor, also added to the thrill of a night out at the Pearl.

Julianna’s, Bahrain’s first disco, opened in the Delmon Hotel which had a large pool in a palm fringed garden that backed onto the sea. Julianna’s attracted society’s young bloods; many of the young men looking hilarious as they jived and twisted in their thobes and gutras. Bahraini ladies never dined in public, nor went to nightclubs - unlike today, where whole tables are often taken over by groups of sophisticated and confident Bahraini ladies.

Expatriates usually entertained at home and hosted dinner parties, barbeques, film shows or fancy dress parties which were highly popular - often with no-holds barred. One American couple held a party where each guest was given one metre square of black cotton and one safety pin and told to undress and cover themselves as best they could with the cloth, with some hilarious results.

We were often invited to the Company's guest house by the sea at Zellaq, where we met visiting dignitaries and senior family members from Saudi and the UAE. I was warned to have a snack before I went because, although we arrived at about 9pm, dinner wouldn’t be served until after midnight, after which the guests would leave immediately. Bahraini weddings were lavish affairs, generally held in hotel ballrooms. This was an opportunity for the young women to dress in the latest Paris gowns where they could dance and mingle with young men and hopefully catch the eye of a handsome suitor. The more traditional families held separate wedding venues with only the bridegroom and the bride’s immediate male family members invited into the ladies' ‘do’. Great stamina was required for the bride and groom who sat on thrones on a stage arranged in bridal décor and received well-wishers for hours on end, not moving until dinner was served at about 2am.

The month of Ramadan was celebrated quietly. Muslims fasted all day then gathered at each other’s houses at sunset for the Iftar meal. There were no khaimas or qaqbas held at hotels. We never knew when Eid would be declared as the sighting of the hilal - new moon - depended on when it was announced in Saudi. It must have been a tense time for Bahraini housewives to plan ahead when they didn’t know which date would be Eid. Sometimes we’d actually be at work when the word would spread that “hey - it’s Eid - a three day holiday!”

Few expats had their own boats, so dhow trips were the best option on Fridays. About twenty of us would hire a dhow from Abdulla, a retired pearl diver and captain who was a great character. We climbed aboard his dhow moored at the Muharraq jetty with blocks of ice bought from the ice factory - as no one had cold boxes then - which we dropped into a large wooden box which served as a fridge. Armed with cocktails and curry, we skimmed across the turquoise Gulf to Al Bain (the spring), a sand-spit off the north-west coast, now absorbed into the Saudi Causeway. Al Bain’s main attraction was a stone hut that sheltered a pipe from an underground aquifer that poured out cool, sweet water which was a glorious relief for our salt encrusted bodies in the blazing sun. The aquifer must have also appealed to pregnant shark as the shallows around Al Bain were filled with (harmless) baby shark, so plentiful that we could catch them in our hands. Fortunately we never met their mums or dads! 

Once renowned as ‘the land of a million palm trees’ because of the abundance of fresh water springs - ains - that flowed beneath the islands, this marine phenomenon gave Bahrain its name - Land of Two Seas. In Arabic, 'bahr' means sea and ‘thnain' means two. In centuries past, seafarers sailing to Bahrain were astounded by the thousands of aquifers that gushed from the seabed to mingle with the salty sea that created a unique confluence of velvety sweet water which also gave Bahraini pearls their exceptional lustre. Pearl divers could remain at sea for months by diving to the seabed and filling their leather water bags with sweet water to sustain them. 

Sailing home beneath a pink twilight with a fresh breeze caressing our skins, a stunning sight was the setting sun as it dipped behind acres of date palms that stretched along the coast from the shoreline of Sanabis village - site of the Bahrain Exhibition Centre - to Janabiya and Zellaq. Knowing the sea like the back of his grizzled palm, Abdulla would drop anchor at certain spots where we would leap in to refresh ourselves in fresh springs that once flowed beneath where the Ritz Carlton and the reclaimed land as far as The BFC now stands.

For its tiny size, Bahrain has an exclusive, yet intertwined history and heritage, unique to anywhere in the world. It was the first place to discover oil along the Arabian peninsula, had fresh water aquifers beneath the seas which gave the island its name, it produced lustrous pearls sought after by emperors and royalty for centuries, and had the five thousand year old burial mounds which pre-dated the pyramids. Until the 1980s, more than one hundred thousand burial mounds stretched like buns on a baking tray across the island from A’Ali, flowing across the sands over what is now Hamad Town and Dumistan to Shakhura and near the Janabiya coast. They remained virtually undisturbed until the 1950s when the Danish Archaeological Expedition excavated some of the tumuli and other sites including the Barbar Temple where Bahrain’s iconic copper bull’s head was discovered. 

Archaeologists have excavated a few hundred tumuli which yielded fascinating information of earlier occupants of Bahrain dating back to 3500BC when the Sumerians sailed from Mesopotamia to seek the secret of eternal life which they believed lay in the pearls found in the confluence of sweet and salt waters of Bahrain. They named it the Land of Dilmun and built a city at Saar, near the Saudi Causeway. Two thousand years later in 1500BC, Alexander of Greece detailed some of his navy to sail down the Gulf where they discovered the islands which they renamed Tylos and settled here for several hundred years. Both the Sumerians and Tylos civilizations buried their dead in circular tumuli, with pearls and jewellery, clay pots, pieces of iron and coins. A distinctive feature of the Tylos tombs were statues found at the head of each grave which named the interred bodies. These finds, including the exquisite Dilmun Seals are on display at the Bahrain Museum. Sadly for Bahrain’s cultural heritage, the majority of tumuli have in the past thirty years, been bulldozed in favour of urbanisation. I once I asked a senior ministerial official why the tumuli were allowed to be destroyed and he replied “We don’t need these old graves, we have some in the museum to show people. We need the land for housing.” Perhaps he was right but Bahrain, and the world, has lost an irreplaceable part of history.

A single track road led from Manama through Riffa to Awali - the high place - an American style town built in the 1940s for expatriate employees of Caltex, the US oil giant which formed the Gulf’s first joint venture with Bahrain Petroleum Company, now BAPCO. It was a world of its own with a private school, hospital, shops, cinema, offices and a club. A local joke was that Awali expats never left their compound until they flew out of Bahrain on leave. Members of Awali Golf Club, Bahrain’s first, used to carry their own plastic green mats which they placed on the oil-brown earth to tee off from. 

Driving south from from Awali was a journey into the Empty Quarter with the whole desert and the Jebel Dhukan to choose from for picnics by the sea or on the rimrock. Local families preferred to picnic beneath the shade of the acacia plantation near to Sakhir, a former Ruler’s palace. Near the Tree of Life we regularly saw herds of dainty Reem gazelle, jackals or foxes, hares and giant lizards which spread themselves across the warm, potholed road. Walking in the desert after heavy winter rains, desert blooms spread a riot of colour across the dips and ridges of the terrain. Scattered across the surface where rain had dislodged the sand, you could pick up ancient pottery sherds, bottles, iron age arrow heads and other treasures. 

A wonderful weekend getaway was to obtain a permit to camp for a couple of nights at Ras Al Bar, the very tip of the south of Bahrain. Usually only Western expats were mad enough to camp out in the heat, but we had great fun as the pristine beach was long and the sea was deep and cool. We often spotted pods of dolphin playing at sea, or the secretive dugong that lived off the sea grass in the shallows. Fishermen paddled their handmade reed boats into the shallows where the fish were so plentiful that they could spear hamour, saffi and other varieties on their long oars. They would offer us fat, gleaming hamour for a few fils which we would cook on the barbeque. A timeless sight when returning home at sunset was a ruined stone palace perched on the rim-rock at Riffa; silhouetted against the soft pink sky, it epitomised the ethereal beauty of Bahrain.

Another welcome seaside option was a private beach for Westerners to swim without being hassled. The gardens were a delight of manicured lawns running down to the beach shaded by fragrant citrus, almond, frangipani trees and date palms. Streams ran through the gardens where children could catch tadpoles and crabs. The sea was very shallow for about five hundred yards which was safe for toddlers and young children and when we got too hot, we cooled off in a fresh water pool in a covered bathhouse. Cold fizzy drinks were free and in the late afternoon, white clothed tables and chairs were set up on the beach where tea, sandwiches and cake were served. 

Beyond Zellaq the road petered out to a sandy track where we nearly always got stuck, so everyone carried a rope, spade and old carpet in the car boot. A favourite spot was Thompson’s Beach, now known as Al Jazira Beach. Here we would hold sunset barbeques and sing songs and swim in the sparkling phosphorescent sea until late at night when we would head home along dark unlit tracks, driving carefully to avoid camels which often lurched into the headlights.

The Budaiya Road was pure countryside with farms lining either side, interspersed with villages and a few country homes of some of Bahrain’s older families. Stables were aplenty and you could ride from the Bahrain Fort along the beach to Jazra, then swing inland and gallop across the desert to the old racecourse - near Saraya Two - and watch the horse and camel races which sometimes ended in fisticuffs between rival owners. All fun and games on a Friday afternoon.

Nabi Saleh island off the Sitra Causeway, was a picture postcard island, a homage to palm trees which once stood tall and elegant, their fronds sheltering the village houses. Villagers here wore coloured dresses and veils and it was common to see them carrying jars on their heads having drawn water from the many aquifer wells on the island. Bahraini friends fondly recall family outings to Nabi Saleh to swim in its cool, sweet water pools and picnic beneath its shaded palms and to paddle in the shallows to catch small fish and prawns and especially to be there for turtle hatching, when baby turtles scuttled out of their sandy nests to race into the sea. 

The Bahrain Rugby Football Club was originally established at the old RAF base at Muharraq airport and passengers were often treated to a quick glimpse of a rugby match as they landed. When the airport was expanded, it was decided to move the BRFC to its second location behind the large Saar Mosque in Budaiya. To raise funds for the new clubhouse, one of Bahrain’s first Walkathons was held with strong virile club members walking from the airport site across the island to Budaiya. Several hours later, a raggle-taggle band of beer swilling, sunburnt and footsore members staggered into the new grounds where they plunged like sardines into the tiny swimming pool to revive their spirits. The Club was, and still is, one of the island’s most popular venues and is fondly remembered by many for its infamous Rugby Reviews and for the high jinks that occurred during visiting team matches from around the Gulf.

One of my fondest memories is of a scavenger hunt. One task was to count the number of flags on the ‘Irish Embassy’ in Bahrain. This referred to a motley pile of green bricks decorated with forty shades of green flags. It was actually a shrine that stood at a crossroad between Sehla and Isa Town. The green painted mosque that replaced the shrine is still referred to by some as the ‘Irish Mosque’.

A particularly memorable occasion was when President Hillary of Ireland arrived on a state visit in 1979. The rain that February would have done St Patrick proud, as the roads were flooded and a howling shamal was in progress. Undaunted, a group of valiant Bahraini workers clambered up every lamppost in Manama to hang the Irish tricolour. Just hours before the President arrived, an irate Irishman rang the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to complain why Bahrain was flying the Italian flag instead of the Irish one. A few hours later, up the lampposts went the stalwart crew to remove the offending green, white and red Italian flags to replace them with the green, white and gold of Ireland. 

Bahrain’s terrain changed dramatically in 1986 after the opening of the King Fahad Causeway linking us to Saudi Arabia and again in 1991 after the Gulf War. Large areas of wilderness have been replaced by main arterial roads linking Mina Salman to Janabiya, the Isa Town highway to Awali, Hamed Town was built and linked by the Shaikh Khalifa Highway to Seef and Manama. Yes, progress has spoiled much of our heritage and beauty spots but that has happened all over the world, yet the spirit of Bahrain remains unchanged and undaunted.

For 5000 years, Bahrain has welcomed adventurers to its shores. In recent times we expats have described it as ‘the world’s best kept secret’. Many people have left and returned on new postings by choice, as they know what a special place this is. Despite many changes to their traditional way of life, the Bahrainis are still the friendliest, most hospitable and amusing people you can meet. Overseas, if you catch someone’s eye in the street or bump into someone, they usually look through you, whereas in Bahrain, people immediately break into a warm smile - and you automatically smile back - and feel the better for it.

Hospitals provide excellent medical care - you rarely have to wait more than a week for an appointment with a top surgeon. Educational standards in most schools deliver ‘A’ grade pupils who get into the world’s top universities. Nowhere is more than an hour’s drive from the airport where we can connect to anywhere in the world and the weather is only really hot for three or four months a year and, we have air-conditioning. For the rest of the year, temperatures are as pleasant as the Mediterranean. 

Bahrain has been good to me and I realise how lucky I am to live here. I met my husband on my first day, his eldest son grew up with us in Bahrain and our two younger sons were born here and we’ve made wonderful friends from all over the world. The Bahraini family I came out to join so many years ago have been my family overseas. We lived as neighbours and our children were brought up together. Now we hope to retire here, because nowhere is as comfortable and easy to live in as Bahrain.

My Beautiful Bahrain is epitomised in a recent incident. I parked at a meter in Manama and after fumbling in my wallet realised that I’d no change. Sighing in frustration, I felt a tap on my shoulder and spun round to see an old beggar to whom I often gave a few fils. He’d uncoiled himself from his cardboard seat and handed me two hundred fils.

That says it all.