Muharraq

Muharraq is older than the capital opposite it, and by the eighteenth century its town was the principal settlement of the archipelago. When the Al Khalifa family took Bahrain in 1783 they made Muharraq their seat, and it remained the ruling family's capital until the administration moved to Manama in the early twentieth century, as the British political agency, the customs house and the new harbour drew business across the water.

Everything about the old town was shaped by pearls. Bahrain's fleets sailed from the beach below Bu Maher Fort each summer for the diving season on the oyster beds, and the money came back to build the coral-stone houses of the captains, divers, merchants and money-lenders whose rooms, majlis halls and warehouses still line the lanes. The trade collapsed in the early 1930s, undercut by Japanese cultured pearls and the Depression, and the town went quiet.

Oil, found in 1932, paid for what followed: a causeway to Manama, an airport that opened on the island in the 1930s and grew into the country's main gateway, and new districts at Arad, Busaiteen and Hidd. The historic quarter was neglected for decades, and many families moved to modern houses elsewhere. From the 2000s the government and private owners restored a chain of pearling properties and linked them as a walking route, inscribed by UNESCO in 2012, which turned the old streets into the country's main heritage attraction.

Muharraq thinks of itself as the keeper of Bahraini tradition, and outsiders generally agree. The fidjeri — the polyphonic work chants sung by pearl divers' crews, with drums and clay pots for rhythm — survive here in dedicated houses where groups still perform, and dhow building, net making and pearl grading are remembered in the restored buildings of the Pearling Path.

Social life turns on the majlis, the reception room where men of a family or neighbourhood receive guests with cardamom coffee and dates; several of the old houses were built around them, and the custom continues in ordinary homes. The town is religiously mixed, with both Sunni and Shia communities, and the Islamic calendar sets the year: Ramadan nights, the two Eids, and Ashura processions through the older lanes.

Crafts and small trades have been deliberately revived alongside the restoration — tailoring, gypsum carving, coffee roasting, and above all halwa making, which Muharraq is known for across the Gulf. The atmosphere remains residential rather than staged: washing hangs above the lanes, children play in the alleys, and visitors are expected to behave as guests in a neighbourhood rather than in an open-air museum.

Muharraq is Bahrain's third most populous city, with about 263,000 people counted in the city in 2020, and the island's built-up area holds a large share of the national population, spread between the old town, Arad, Busaiteen, Hidd and the reclaimed Amwaj Islands. The historic quarter is comparatively poor and heavily occupied by migrant workers from South Asia, who rent rooms in subdivided old houses, while Bahraini families have largely moved to newer districts with garages and gardens.

The airport is one of the island's biggest sources of work, with the Gulf Air base, freight handling and a large industrial area alongside it; Khalifa Bin Salman Port, Bahrain's main container port, and the shipyards at Hidd add more, and fishing continues from the shore towns. The working week runs Sunday to Thursday, and in summer daily life shifts to the early morning and late evening.

Development pressure is the constant theme: reclamation has changed the coastline, roads and bridges cut through the edges of the old grid, and conservation rules now limit what can be built inside the heritage zone. Traffic between the island and Manama is heavy twice a day, and the causeways are a standing subject of complaint.

Halwa is the town's signature. Bahraini halwa is cooked slowly in wide copper pans from cornflour, sugar, ghee, saffron, rosewater and cardamom until it turns into a dense, chewy, translucent paste studded with almonds or pistachios, then sold by weight in shallow trays; the best-known makers are family firms working near the souq, and boxes of it travel across the Gulf as gifts.

Everyday eating follows the Bahraini pattern. Machboos, spiced rice with fish or meat, is the standard main dish; the Gulf catch landed at Hidd — hamour, safi, prawns and small sardines — is grilled or stewed with tomato and tamarind; and flatbread is baked against the wall of a tannour oven. Balaleet, sweet vermicelli under a thin omelette, is a breakfast dish, and samboosa, harees and thareed appear through Ramadan.

Drinks are sweet and hot: cardamom Arabic coffee poured from a dallah into small cups in the gahwa houses, and karak — strong tea boiled with milk, sugar and cardamom — sold for small change at cafeterias all day. South Asian cooking is everywhere in the old quarter, reflecting who lives there, while the licensed restaurants and international menus are out at Amwaj and along the airport road.