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Most people don’t think of homeschooling when they imagine a typical high school experience. But for me, living in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, for 3 years, it became the foundation for a life of learning beyond textbooks. What started as an alternative to the traditional classroom quickly became something bigger.
I didn’t just stay on track with school—I discovered that the world itself could be my most powerful teacher.
When my family moved to Jeddah, I found myself at a crossroads. I didn’t speak enough Arabic to attend local schools, and while there were international options, something in me resisted the idea of returning to a conventional classroom.
Maybe it was teenage stubbornness, or perhaps it was a desire to shape my own education. Either way, I convinced my parents to let me homeschool. That decision changed everything, because it allowed me to experience something most students never do: learning through travel.
Learning at my own pace
Homeschooling gave me freedom. I could finish my lessons by noon and spend the rest of the day learning through experience. That meant wandering museum halls, navigating historic streets, or asking curious questions in new environments. There were no homework loads, no rigid timetables. Learning wasn’t something that interrupted life; it flowed alongside it.
That flexibility isn’t just something I felt. It’s a key reason many families are turning to homeschooling in the first place. According to research by the National Home Education Research Institute (NHERI), a major driver for homeschooling is the ability to customize the curriculum to each child’s pace, interests, and needs.
This mindset is also part of a growing global trend known as ‘worldschooling‘—an approach that combines homeschooling with immersive, place-based learning through travel. Rather than just reading about the world, families live in it, letting each destination become part of the curriculum. It’s education that’s both academic and deeply personal.
And it works—A 2020 study by Dale and Ritchie supports this, showing how real-world environments fuel emotional engagement, deepen understanding, and strengthen critical thinking by anchoring lessons in lived experience.
Makkah: routine becomes ritual
Living near Makkah meant we could go for Umrah nearly every week. My mother and I would catch a simple SAPTCO bus, which dropped us near the Grand Mosque. The pilgrimage rites often took just over an hour, but the spiritual impact lingered much longer.
That kind of spiritual immersion is more than personal. According to a 2023 study, students with a strong sense of spirituality often show greater academic motivation and emotional resilience—two traits that make learning more purposeful and enduring.
One memorable day, we visited the Makkah Clock Tower’s observation deck. My younger brother, nervous about the height, asked, “Is it… wobbly up there?” My mother smiled, “It’s solid as a rock, and the view is like seeing the whole world.”
From up high, the Grand Mosque looked like an intricate, jeweled carpet. The moment was a lesson in scale, history, and faith, all without opening a textbook.
AlUla: ancient civilization and majestic desert
A family road trip to AlUla felt like driving through time. The vast desert gave way to towering canyons and mysterious rock formations. We explored Hegra, with its Nabataean tombs carved into cliffs. Standing in the quiet of one ancient chamber, I felt history breathe.
My brother kept asking, “Who lived here? How did they do this?” Questions that led to long discussions and deeper curiosity. That’s what learning on the road looks like.
Archaeologists call AlUla a living museum. For me, it was also a classroom. I learned more about ancient civilizations in those few days than I ever had from months of textbooks. And I remembered it, not because I gave exams about it, but because I experienced it.
Abha: fog, forests, and baboons
In Abha, the cool mountain air was a welcome contrast to Jeddah’s coastal heat. The fog rolled through the valleys during our cable car ride, hiding the view but making it feel like we were floating through clouds.
We saw baboons in Asir National Park and explored the beautifully adorned homes of Rijal Almaa village. It was the first time I realized just how diverse Saudi Arabia’s landscapes and cultures really are. That realization shifted how I viewed national identity—not as something singular, but richly varied.
What I learned in Abha wasn’t written down in any curriculum. It was in the taste of new food, the texture of highland fog, the surprise of a country that defied its stereotypes. I began to understand that climate, culture, and community shape identity just as much as language or religion.
Sometimes the best lessons don’t come from formal instruction. They arrive when you’re simply paying attention.
Madinah: a different kind of peace
Madinah offered serenity. Sitting in the courtyards of the Prophet’s Mosque, surrounded by pilgrims from all over the world, I felt part of something vast and peaceful.
On one visit, I helped an elderly man gather his spilled dates. It was a small gesture, but the exchange stayed with me. Later, praying at Al-Rawdah Al-Sharifah, I made a quiet wish for success in getting into a top university back in Indonesia.
That moment grounded me in purpose. These moments weren’t just personal—they also helped develop my spiritual awareness and cultural understanding.
According to Dr. Diane L. Moore, engaging with religion in real-world contexts deepens cultural literacy and promotes critical thinking by challenging simplistic narratives and encouraging contextual analysis.
In a world where so much of education is loud and rushed, Madinah taught me that peace can be its own kind of knowledge.
Jeddah’s Al Balad: old streets through new eyes
Exploring Al Balad, Jeddah’s historic district, felt like walking through a living museum. Coral stone buildings, spice-scented alleyways, the clatter of souqs. We wandered, soaking it all in. My brother’s eyes lit up at the market colors and crafts.
We had no formal lesson plan that day, but I learned plenty. I learned about architecture shaped by the Red Sea climate, trade routes that brought spices and stories from across the Indian Ocean, and how families once lived in these very homes, shaded from the sun by the same rawasheen.
The chaos of the souq, the texture of history, the connection with strangers—none of it was scripted, but all of it was valuable. This was education rooted in place, culture, and conversation.
KAUST: the future of knowledge
@KAUST
From ancient textures to futuristic tech, our learning continued at KAUST, or King Abdullah University of Science and Technology. Located near Jeddah, it’s known for its cutting-edge science programs, global faculty, and strong focus on innovation and sustainability.
Visiting the Museum of Science and Technology at KAUST introduced us to a different kind of history, one focused on innovation. My brother loved the interactive marine biology displays. I was fascinated by models from the Golden Age of Islamic science: water clocks, astronomical tools, and early automatons.
@Museum of Science and Technology in Islam, KAUST
Our visit became even more special when a faculty member, recognizing my father’s diplomatic badge, invited us for a private tour.
Over coffee, we talked about the university’s mission: research for the world, not just the region. I remember thinking, maybe I could study here someday, until I learned it was only for graduate students.
Still, something shifted in me that day. I started to imagine a future shaped not just by books, but by the pursuit of ideas that could solve real-world problems.
The solitude between the highlights
Of course, there were trade-offs. Homeschooling meant fewer peers my age. I missed the small joys of school friendships, like sharing a laugh on a field trip or whispering in the back row of class. I remember one night in a quiet hotel room, journaling under dim light while my brother slept.
I missed the noise of classmates, the simplicity of cafeteria banter. The solitude felt heavy. But in exchange, I gained something deeper: independence, adaptability, and a front-row seat to culture, history, and nature.
That shift from traditional schooling to experiential learning isn’t just a personal takeaway. Research supports it. A 2021 study found that students engaged in experiential outdoor education developed stronger motivation, deeper conceptual understanding, and more emotional resilience than peers in traditional settings.
Lessons that last
Homeschooling while traveling showed me that real education often happens outside the classroom. It lives in the swirl of pilgrims in Makkah, the silence of AlUla’s tombs, and the questions sparked by a journey of exploring both science and spirituality.
This path was unconventional, but it awakened my curiosity and shaped how I see the world.
And I’m not alone. Since the pandemic, homeschooling has grown globally, especially among families choosing flexible, travel-friendly approaches. In the US, homeschooling rates rose from 5.4 percent in 2019 to over 11 percent by 2021. Across the world, more families are looking past test scores and toward experiences that feel personal, meaningful, and lasting.
As more people rethink what learning can look like, I keep coming back to one idea: Maybe the world isn’t just a classroom. Maybe it’s the greatest teacher of all.
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