After a long day of sightseeing in Medinah, Saudi Arabia, I found myself at a local restaurant recommended by a friend.

My order–chicken, rice, tahini sauce, and cucumber yogurt–had me salivating. I went to pay with my credit card but received devastating news from the cashier.

"No Visa."

Are you kidding? No credit card? I didn't have cash.

But man, I really wanted that order.

I started searching for nearby ATMs with the sinking realization that the nearest one was a 20-minute walk. But then, the cashier held up his phone with an Arabic message translated into English:

"I have your request. I will take care of it. Welcome to Saudi Arabia."

Generosity that Cannot be Repaid

This sort of kindness hit deep because of where I was. Medinah is the second-holiest city in Islam and the holiest city that non-Muslims are allowed to visit.

As a solo traveler–and Christian–with a limited understanding of Arab and Islamic culture, the city felt foreign. It was easy to feel intimidated–especially with the illusory pressure from locals waiting behind me to order.

Yet Medinah was overflowing with altruism.

I would've been satisfied writing a story about how a benevolent stranger paid for my meal. But it wasn't the only time I felt welcomed in Saudi Arabia beyond what I deserved.

In fact, by the end of my trip, I decided that this Gulf nation had the best hospitality of any country I've visited.

Saudi's Pure Heart

A few days before Medinah, I landed in Jeddah and was welcomed at the airport by my friend Ibrahim. He took me to his favorite shawarma shop and insisted on covering my first meal in his hometown.

As night fell, the weather in Jeddah was mild and cloudless. We headed to Al Balad, the historic city center and Ibrahim asked if I wanted to try street food.

Uhhh...of course?

I wanted to pay for our street food escapades to return the favor from his shawarma generosity. But Ibrahim was stubborn. As we argued about who would cover this one, we arrived at the front of the line.

The woman working the stand said something to Ibrahim in Arabic and he laughed. Turning to me, he said,

"The guy in front of us heard us arguing about who would pay. So he just paid for both of us."

I didn't even get to thank the guy, because he'd already walked away. He didn't want attention or recognition.

He just wanted us to feel welcome.

"I Gave You My Word"

Ibrahim might not have won that battle, but he certainly won the war. My stay in Jeddah was a nonstop warm welcome.

The following day we went sunset horseback riding with two German girls who were teaching at a school in Jeddah. Ibrahim took us all to a fantastic restaurant serving Mandi–rice and lamb eaten with our hands.

The next day he gifted me his Shemagh–the red and white headpiece worn throughout the region. Later, we went off-roading and ATV riding in the desert.

But it was during my last day in the country that he dropped the hospitality bombshell.

"I booked us the Ritz Carlton for tonight," he told me.

"What? Are you serious? Why?"

I was at a loss for what to say.

"When you said you were coming, I said 'I gotchu.' And I'm a man of my word," was his reply.

So we spent the night at the Ritz. Five-star treatment for two kids trying our hardest to act like we'd been there before.

It was a long way from sleeping on the floor of a 7/11, that's for sure.

What is Saudi Hospitality?

Our night at the Ritz was topped off by another chicken and rice dinner followed by Masoob–a warm dessert of dates, bananas, and cream.

Honestly, I was on the verge of becoming obese from all the delicious food that I couldn't refuse.

But between bites of food and profuse thank-yous that couldn't possibly convey my gratitude, I formed an idea of what hospitality means in Saudi Arabia.

People showed their generosity in different ways. They may have bought me a snack or even an entire meal. They may have offered their bed or decided to ball out at the Ritz. They might've simply asked if there was anything they could do for me.

I'd assure them that it already felt like the entire country was doing something for me.

What I especially appreciated about the hospitality wasn't the tangible gifts offered, but rather the conversations I had with people. I arrived curious about Islam, Saudi, and Arab culture and my hosts were happy to talk for hours.

Still, the icing on the cake wasn't what people in Saudi Arabia offered. It was what they expected in return.

Nothing.

They didn't expect a single thing.

You Can Take the Man out of Saudi...

As I boarded my flight out of Jeddah, I was confident I'd just witnessed hospitality at its best and it got me thinking about how to best pay it forward.

In our own lives, perhaps we can offer someone a bed. Perhaps we can offer them a meal. Maybe we have nothing–but we can still offer conversation.

Regardless, what we give doesn't have to be transactional. We can and should give from the kindness of our hearts.

Why? No reason other than to make someone feel at home.

One day, we all might end up in a place as foreign as Saudi Arabia where someone gifts us unspeakable generosity.

Only then will it become clear that all we want is to feel welcome.

Wouldn't it be great if we could give that gift the same way we receive it?

:)