Alice Morrison’s 2,230km Quest to Cross Saudi Arabia on Foot

Alice Morrison moves through landscapes the way others move through memories—fully immersed, deeply attuned, never quite finished. To call her an adventurer feels almost inadequate, as if it reduces her to mere motion when, in truth, she is something closer to a living map—charting, witnessing, absorbing. The 61-year-old British explorer, TV presenter, journalist, and self-proclaimed “Indiana Jones for Girls” has spent years etching her name onto the world’s wildest, most unforgiving terrains. She has cycled the length of Africa, run the brutal Marathon des Sables, and trekked across the Sahara’s shifting dunes. But her latest feat is perhaps her most ambitious yet: an unprecedented north-to-south crossing of Saudi Arabia—entirely on foot.

The journey, split into two stages, has already seen her carve through 930 kilometers of desert, rock, and sand, step by relentless step. The first leg, completed this January, pushed her through the kingdom’s vast, ancient landscapes, where the bones of history lie buried beneath the sand. The second, looming on the horizon this October, will see her cover the remaining 1,300 kilometers, a final march toward history. If successful, Morrison will become the first recorded person to traverse Saudi Arabia on foot.

When we spoke, Morrison was between journeys, but not exactly standing still. Based in Morocco’s High Atlas Mountains, she dialed in from Essaouira, a coastal pit stop, where she was, fittingly, unpacking her bags as we began our conversation. She exudes the easy warmth of someone who has learned to belong everywhere and nowhere all at once. Despite the magnitude of her accomplishments, she is disarmingly humble, treating record-breaking expeditions as though they were just another thread in the larger fabric of a life in motion. Conversations with her feel like windblown narratives—she speaks not in rehearsed monologues, but in stories that unspool naturally, casually embedding moments of staggering resilience into an exchange that feels like a two-way street.

And yet, beneath her unshaken composure, there is a fire—one that has kept her moving, across continents, across lifetimes, across terrain that most would hesitate to enter.

How did your journey into adventure and travel begin? Was there a defining moment that turned it into your life’s work?

Alice: I was born into it, really. My parents moved to Africa when I was just six weeks old, and later worked in the Middle East, so travel was never a choice—it was simply life. But the moment I truly fell in love with adventure was in Cairo. I had moved there to study Arabic at university, and those two years shaped everything. I went everywhere.

I was 22 when I hitchhiked across the Western Desert, catching rides on army trucks and motorbikes, standing on the side of the road with nothing but my backpack. I remember being handed a tin of plum sausages by a stranger in an oasis—one of those odd, surreal acts of kindness you never forget. Of course, I was also bitten to death by mosquitoes, but that’s part of it.

The truth is, I’m not particularly sporty or athletically gifted. I just love being outdoors.

As for turning adventure into a career—well, that was an accident. I had a secure job as an executive at a development agency, but when the Conservative government came to power, our funding was cut, and I found myself making people redundant until, inevitably, I was made redundant myself. It was brutal.

So, I did the only logical thing: I signed up to cycle across Africa. No training, no second thoughts. We started in Cairo and rode all the way to Cape Town—10 countries, 12,500km, 120 days. At one point, I was chased by an elephant in Sudan. But when I finished, I knew there was no going back to a desk job. I had left the rat race for a bike race.

And honestly? Travelling at this age—I’m 61 now—it’s better than ever.

What inspired you to take on this Saudi expedition? Was there a specific moment that sparked the idea?

Alice: When I was 11, my dad gave me a copy of Arabian Sands by Wilfred Thesiger. It’s his account of crossing the Empty Quarter with Bedouin companions, and it lit something in me. He spoke Arabic, lived among the tribes—it was that old-school eccentric British explorer thing.

Half a century later, the fire was still burning.

I’ve always been drawn to Saudi. It’s the historic heart of Arabia, yet for so long, it was an enigma to me. I started seriously thinking about this journey at the tail end of the pandemic. Three years later, here we are.

Of course, it’s a first—to walk the Kingdom from north to south. But let me be clear: while I may be the first recorded person to do it, I am certain people have done this before—traders, soldiers, nomads. The difference is that now, for the first time, it’s being documented.

Take us through the expedition—what were the biggest challenges and the moments that made it all worth it?

Alice: We started at the Jordanian border in Halat Ammar and finished at Medina, covering 21km every day—rain, shine, or blistering heat. Breakfast at 7 AM, finish by 4 or 5 PM, set up camp, repeat.

Physically, it was brutal. My feet were wrecked—blisters on blisters, bleeding, swelling. Three weeks in, I looked at them one night and thought, How am I going to finish this? Then the strangest thing happened: I woke up the next morning, and the pain was just gone. I don’t know if it was magic, adrenaline, or God listening, but I kept walking.

The desert was my sanctuary. I will never forget those days: walking through vast, open plains, mountains in the distance, acacia trees scattered along the wadis. Every night, we’d watch the sun bleed from gold to orange to deep red, and in the morning, we’d wake to its soft pink glow.

It wasn’t just a journey—it was an existence.

How do you even begin to prepare for something of this scale?

Alice: If I wasn’t absolutely determined, if I didn’t want this with everything in me, it never would have happened. The logistics alone took three years.

First, I needed a company that could handle the terrain and support the journey. I found Mallah El Doroub, and they became my lifeline. Together, we planned every detail—every route, every backup plan. I met Alan Morrissey, an expert on Saudi Arabia, who handled all the mapping.

I also wanted camels—not for practicality, but for symbolism. We had vehicles carrying our supplies, but the camels were essential. I wanted to connect with Arab and Muslim history, to move as people had for millennia. Camels are my emotional support animals, and they became the beating heart of the expedition.

Then, of course, there was funding—arguably the hardest part. The amount of rejection I faced was staggering. But eventually, I found two brilliant sponsors: the Saudi Tourism Authority and the Royal Commission for AlUla. Without them, none of this would have been possible.

What about the people you met? Did you form any lasting friendships?

Alice: By the end, we weren’t a team—we were family.

I walked with Shaia Al-Shaia, and despite being worlds apart—different ages, religions, nationalities, genders—we formed an unbreakable bond. We talked about everything. He taught me Saudi Arabic, Saudi history, Saudi humour.

And oh, the humour. Saudis are hilarious—like Egyptians, always joking, always finding ways to lighten the load. We had this thing called “mad hour” after 2 PM, when exhaustion hit, and we’d just start laughing at everything. We made up stories about our camels, about each other—it kept us sane.

One of my favourite days was walking with the female rangers of the Prince Mohammed bin Salman Royal Reserve. These women are pioneers—the first female wildlife rangers in Saudi, going through the same rigorous physical and written tests as the men. I was in awe of them.

What surprised you most about Saudi Arabia?

Alice: First, the sheer history.

We stumbled upon Bronze Age tombs, Stone Age tools—hand axes just lying there in the sand—thousands of rock carvings. Walking along the old Hejaz railway, we kept finding bolts and fragments of the train. And then, of course, we reached AlUla, once the seat of the Dadanite and Nabataean kingdoms.

One of the most surreal moments? Walking with archaeologist Wissam, who casually picked up a thousand-year-old piece of pottery from the ground like it was nothing.

Second, the hospitality. I have never, in my life, met kinder people.

Cars would screech to a halt offering water, food, a place to stay. If we told someone we were walking across Saudi, their immediate response was, “Eih khidma? Eih khidma?!” (How can we help?) They would offer to slaughter their own sheep for us.

And then, of course, there was the sheer fun of it.

I did not expect to laugh so much, to feel so alive. Even when my feet were in agony, when I was exhausted beyond reason, I was firing on all cylinders—physically, emotionally, mentally. Everything I had was engaged.

Oh, and one final surprise: ice. One morning, near Tabuk, we woke up to find our tents covered in frost. In Saudi. Who would have thought?

Stage one: 930km down. Stage two: 1,300km to go. How are you feeling?

Alice: Oh, I just can’t wait.