The annual pilgrimage to Mecca has kicked off with the kind of festive cheer you’d expect from a stag do in downtown Damascus. As 2.5 million faithful shuffle towards the Grand Mosque, the UK Foreign Office has issued a travel advisory that reads less like ‘Top Tips for a Blessed Journey’ and more like a prequel to a war crimes tribunal.
British pilgrims, brace yourselves. The official advice now includes: 'avoid large gatherings that have not been properly reviewed by the Saudi authorities.' Which is a bit like telling a salmon to avoid water. The Hajj is one giant, historically sanctioned, divinely ordained large gathering. It’s the mother of all gatherings. The gathering that makes Glastonbury look like a Tupperware party.
But the subtext is clear. Iran is rattling its sabres, flexing its proxies, and generally behaving like the aggressive drunk at the bar who keeps shouting about his ‘rightful place at the table’. Meanwhile, the Saudis are polishing their missiles, the Americans are revving up their drone fleet, and the British government is telling its citizens to ‘stay vigilant’ – the diplomatic equivalent of ‘duck and cover.’
Let’s be honest. The Foreign Office advice might as well read: 'Perform your rituals, kiss the Black Stone, then leg it back to the hotel before the airstrikes start. It’s all part of the spiritual journey, really. Purification through terror. A test of faith. If you’re not being evacuated by a Chinook by the third day, you’re not trying hard enough.'
I’d like to see the travel insurance policy for this. 'Acts of God? Yes. But if that God is Sunni and you’re Shia, you’ll need to speak to a manager.' The Iranian government, for its part, has cancelled its pilgrims’ flights, claiming it’s to ‘protect their safety’ – a move that is simultaneously a political statement and a spectacular PR cover for being a spoilsport. They’ve effectively said: 'We don’t trust the Saudis, and we don’t trust your God to keep our people alive. So we’re keeping our customers at home, thank you very much.'
This is where we are. The holiest site in Islam, a place designed to unite the ummah, has become a theatre of geopolitical pissing contests. It’s like a dysfunctional family reunion where Uncle Sam and Cousin Ayatollah are duelling with drones over the barbecue.
And the British pilgrims? They’ll be queueing for water in 45-degree heat, sweating through their ihram, and wondering if the rumble they hear is the call to prayer or a Tomahawk missile. They’ll be chanting 'Labbaik Allahumma Labbaik' while checking the BBC news app for flash alerts. Faith, it seems, now requires a data roaming plan.
So to every Briton making the trip: may your steps be blessed, your Mina tent have air conditioning, and your return journey be delayed only by the inevitable logistical nightmare and not by the start of World War III. And remember: if you hear a siren, it might be the call to prayer. But it might not. Trust your instincts. And pack a good book. You might be waiting a while.
