Travellers think Muslim countries are off-limits during Ramadan - I found the opposite

The Cairo hotel is in full swing - Arab pop weaves through the bubbling of voices and shisha pipes, waiters move between low tables, trays loaded with a banquet of small dishes of glossy olives, hot savoury pastries, creamy dips, bread served warm and fragrant. All around me, people recline on long pillows, languidly nibbling, smoking scented shisha, enjoying the night breezes cooled by the Nile.

Then, a whisper passes through the crowd. "Amr Diab's here!"

The Arab world's king of melodic pop, who's sold more than 50 million records and grows younger and more muscular with every album, is the latest celebrity to show up to tonight's kheyyma, the luxury "tent" set up in the Sofitel Nile. This is my first Ramadan spent in Cairo.

It's now Ramadan across the Muslim world, held in the ninth month of the lunar Hijri calendar. It starts with the sighting of the new moon, and continues until the sighting of the new crescent moon.

Most famously among non-Muslims, it's a time when those who are capable will fast from sunrise to sunset. And no fasting means no food, no water, no cigarettes - but also no sex and no anger.

It's a time for personal betterment, for reflection on the spiritual self; a global mass mindfulness movement that's been going on for 15 centuries, from Morocco to the Maldives.

Every year, at the start of Ramadan, the internet is flooded with cheeky posts asking the same question: "Which is the best country to spend Ramadan in?"

For Muslims, the winner, inevitably, is whichever country is currently in winter - the shorter the day, the shorter the fast. But question on the flip side of the coin is... which country is the best to spend Ramadan in as a traveller?

The standard travel advice to the non-Muslim world has been to avoid visiting in the Middle East and across northern Africa and Muslim Asia. "Boring", "everything's shut" and "people are rude", are some of the criticisms I've heard.

But to steer clear at this time is to miss the bedrock of a culture; I've experienced Ramadan across the Middle East, in Indonesia and in North Africa, and every one has its own flavour, swinging from all-night parties to no make-up and subdued streets to life as usual, at least for non-Muslims.

I'm in Abu Dhabi, it's hot, and it's the first day of Ramadan. My guide, Shadi, has been waiting for a call and he's frustrated. Absent-mindedly, he steps out of our parked car and lights a cigarette.

"Ouff!" He flicks the cigarette out and looks around. Thankfully, no-one's seen him, but he's clearly upset in pious Abu Dhabi. In a culture where smoking is a profession, it takes some adjustment to switch from such mindless, daily habits to complete abstinence overnight.

Another year, another Ramadan, this time at the other end of the scale, I'm wandering Marrakech's hectic, gigantic square, Jemaa el-Fnaa in the late afternoon. The snake charmers and camel kebab stands are yet to set up, but the cafes lining the square are filled with foreigners enjoying a cold beer, a surprise after the abstemious Gulf countries.

Curious, I too spend the day fasting, and by sunset I am spent. Without the experience of a childhood learning incrementally how to fast, my mind is wandering, my thirst almost intolerable. Finally, a muezzin's call to prayer from a nearby mosque announces sunset, and I stagger to the nearest kiosk for a bottle of water.

"Suamt? You've fasted?" asks the seller, incredulously, and ignoring my protests, leads me to a nearby cafe. An alley behind the square's tourist cafes, it's another world from the beer drinkers. Every table filled with Moroccans breaking fast after a day's work in the hot desert city.

Men hunch over the nourishing, hydrating meal - tomatoey harira soup for the thirst, bread for the stomach, sweet chebakia pastries for the tongue. He pays for our food, brooking no argument, wishes me Ramadan Mubarak, and our paths separate once again. Years later, it's a kindness I've not forgotten.

"But the best country for Ramadan is Egypt," asserts a chorus of friends, Egyptian and not, with Dubai and Saudi Arabia in second and third place.

Wandering through Cairo, its streets and lanes are strewn with great strings of fairy lights and fawanees, the elegant lanterns of One Thousand and One Nights design (pictured). Shops open early in the cool morning, closing in the afternoon as food is prepared and sleep beckons, but there's a quickening in the moments before the call for maghreb, or sunset. Volunteers appear on the streets, offering dates and traditional Ramadan drinks to passers-by: sweet apricot qamar al-din, piquant tamarind, ruby-red hibiscus or milky sobia.

It's not a push to say that Ramadan got cool. Or corporate. My social media feed is now flooded with ads for glorious Ramadan tents across Cairo. Like the one in the Sofitel on my first Ramadan, they promise dusk-to-dawn feasts, Arabian music, luxury divans and nights spent beneath the stars. Beside the Pyramids, in medieval palaces, on the Nile waterfront - and they welcome all comers.

Far from a season to avoid, for the traveller, Ramadan breaches the divide between tourist and guide, between Muslim and non-Muslim, between them and us. And, surely, that is needed now, more than ever.