DUBAI: Netflix’s latest police-procedural is set in Scotland, but based on the novels of Danish writer Jussi Adler-Olsen.

At its heart is detective Carl Morck (Matthew Goode). Morck is one of those cops; you know, great at his job but terrible with people, emotionally stunted, arrogant, divorced, et cetera. Morck and his partner — and best (only?) friend — James Hardy (Jamie Sives) are shot and wounded in a seemingly routine visit to a crime scene, leaving Hardy paralyzed and the junior officer who arrived first at the scene dead. Morck returns to work to discover that his boss has assigned him to head up a new department (established at the behest of her superiors) looking into cold cases — a good excuse to get the troublesome Morck out of the main office and into a dingy basement room where he can’t easily bother anyone.

He’s assigned some assistance: Akram (Alexej Manvelov) — a Syrian refugee who’s ostensibly an IT boffin, but, it quickly becomes clear, is also a very handy detective with some serious combat skills; Rose (Leah Byrne), an eager and capable cadet struggling with her mental health after a fatal accident at work; and, eventually, Hardy.

Their first case is the disappearance and presumed death of prosecutor Merritt Lingard four years previously. The last person to see her alive was her brother William, but he’s unable to communicate having suffered brain damage as a teen. The case’s many tangents lead off into conspiracies, organized crime and more. The truth of it, though, is considerably more prosaic.

The good news: “Dept. Q” — as you’d expect with Netflix money behind it — looks great, with a gritty, noir-ish feel. There’s a genuine chemistry between the members of the titular department, and it has an absorbing mix of dark humor and sometimes-horrifying violence. Sives, Manvelov, and Byrne, in particular, are compelling draws. Goode offers a largely convincing portrayal of a not-very-nice man attempting to become slightly nicer. It’s enjoyable and easy to binge.

But one suspects that “enjoyable and easy to binge” wasn’t the limit of the showrunners’ ambitions, and “Dept. Q” certainly shows the potential to be more than that. It’s let down, however, by some horribly clunky storylines, not least the relationship between Morck and his assigned therapist Rachel (a wasted Kelly Macdonald), which appears to have been lifted from a discarded rom-com pitch. And many will likely find that the ultimate solution to the case stretches credulity well beyond their limits.

Still, it’s clearly set up for a second season (and possibly many more), and there’s enough promise here to believe that “Dept. Q” will find its feet and become a must-see — rather than a maybe-see — show.

JEDDAH: A dry wind carries the first sign: a curl of frankincense smoke, sharp and sweet, drifting over the desert flats. It seeps through windows, clings to clothes, lingers on skin. Najran once sat at the center of the incense trade, and the scent still clings to its streets like a memory too deep to wash away. 

In Najran’s Old City, sun-drenched alleys wind between mud-brick towers etched with delicate patterns. The buildings lean into one another like elders sharing secrets, their thick walls cool to the touch, smelling faintly of clay and ash.  

At the edge of town lies Al-Ukhdood — ancient ruins unfolding in silence, trenches cut through centuries, and soot-darkened stones bearing the scars of fire. There’s no ticket booth, no crowd, just wind brushing across fractured stone. This is where an infamous massacre once unfolded, a horror alluded to in the Qur’an. Now, goats graze nearby, and a boy scrolls through his phone against a wall that has seen empires rise and fall. Here, history doesn’t sleep, it hums softly beneath your feet. 

Further into town, the Thursday Market erupts like a drumbeat. The solemnity of the past gives way to present-day vibrance. Silver jambiya daggers flash from stalls, sticky dates glisten under the sun, and fabric bolts in electric blues and deep saffron flutter in the breeze. A vendor hands you a tiny ceramic cup filled with qishr (ginger coffee), fiery and fragrant. Its scent coils in your nose, the first sip stings your tongue, and a strange warmth begins to gather in your chest — a jolt from another time. 

Past the market, Al-Aan Palace rises above the palm groves. Its mud towers glow gold in the late light like a dream from another age. Climbing its narrow staircase, your breath shortens. At the rooftop, it stops altogether. Below, date farms stretch like green lace. Beyond, the Tuwaiq Escarpment flames red in the sinking sun. There is awe, and there is quiet.  

The road south of Najran curves, shimmering, into the desert. Follow it to Bir Hima, and you’ll find 7,000-year-old carvings on basalt boulders — hunters, animals, stories too old for language — and drink thick tea under the sun, sweet and dense as syrup, and imagine those long-ago artists tracing their lives into stone.  

To explore Wadi Najran, you can rent a bicycle. At first it rolls smoothly through scrub and stone, but then the asphalt ends and sand takes over. The wadi unfolds — vast, veined cliffs shimmer in the light. A shepherd leads his goats past, his voice rising briefly on the wind. The heat is heavy, the bike grows cumbersome, but the land invites you not to conquer it, only to notice. 

Evening comes with a slow hush. The air smells of dust and dry leaves. In the distance, the sky purples, gold slips behind the horizon. Najran lingers not just in your memory, but in your senses. The sting of ginger, the hush of carved stone, the smoke of incense soaked into your shirt. This is not a city you visit. It’s one you carry. 

And as night folds in, Najran reveals another layer. The souk’s date stalls, clay homes, and impromptu chai shops reveal not just trade but trust. You’re offered water without price, tea without expectation. A stranger gestures toward his car and home — unstaged, authentic hospitality. In one such home, beneath a full moon and garden perfumed by local incense, a conversation turns to life’s simplicity, peace, and the lies we often believe until we travel. There are no tours or tickets for this part of Najran. 

Spend a few days. Let the place press gently into you. Wander the alleys, share the tea, smell the smoke, and listen. You’ll understand why Najran is not simply visited — it’s remembered.