When the Rainy Season Starts Around the World

Traveling the world with the rains as your companion is both a challenge and a thrill. In this guide, we’ll organize our adventure by region (from Southeast Asia to Central America, sub-Saharan Africa, and beyond) and by the calendar, noting typical start months for each rainy season.

To start, here’s a quick reference table of rainy season start months by region. Keep in mind these are general timelines, exact dates can vary year to year and within sub-regions:

Understanding the global pattern of rainy seasons can help you plan. Essentially, as the sun’s seasonal path shifts north and south, so does the band of heavy tropical rainfall (the Intertropical Convergence Zone).

From about March through September, the rain belts drift into the Northern Hemisphere, and from September to March they slide into the Southern Hemisphere.

That’s why, for example, monsoon rains drench India and Southeast Asia between late spring and early fall, while across the equator in South America and southern Africa the peak rains come around December–February.

Every region’s story is a bit different, though. Let’s explore these regional rainy seasons one by one – discovering when they arrive, how they impact travel, and the hidden perks of braving the rain.

Southeast Asia: Monsoon Adventures Begin in May

I arrived in Thailand one late May, just as the Southeast Asian monsoon announced itself with an afternoon sky that went from blue to charcoal in minutes. The rainy season in most of Southeast Asia typically lasts from May to October. Its onset is often in May or early June, when the oppressive heat of April yields to the first showers.

In countries like Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos, locals eagerly await these first rains – a relief from the heat and a promise of fertile rice fields. As a traveler, you’ll notice the transformation immediately: dusty village roads turn to mud, brown hillsides turn lush green, and the smell of petrichor (rain on dry earth) rises from the ground.

How the rain affects travel: In this region, rain often comes as short, intense downpours (typically in the afternoons) rather than all-day drizzles. You might plan a temple visit in the morning and then watch the storm sweep in over lunch.

Roads can become flooded in both cities and rural areas – I once had to wade through calf-deep water in the streets of Phnom Penh, Cambodia after a surprise cloudburst. In the countryside, flooding can occur, especially in low-lying deltas.

For example, the Mekong Delta in Vietnam and Cambodia experiences seasonal floods that can disrupt road travel (but also enable wonderful boat journeys through floating villages). Mountainous areas, like northern Laos, may see the occasional landslide that can temporarily block roads.

Mosquitoes also thrive in the wet, humid environment – meaning travelers should pack repellent and consider malaria precautions in certain areas. On the upside, tourism tends to lull during the monsoon, so you’ll find fewer crowds at popular sites and often lower prices for accommodation and tours.

I vividly remember having the normally bustling ruins of Angkor Wat almost to myself one drizzly July morning, feeling like a true explorer amid the mist and moss-covered stones.

When it begins & duration: While “May to October” is the broad brush for Southeast Asia’s rains, there are local nuances. Myanmar (Burma) sees rains starting a bit later (June) and tapering by October.

Thailand’s southwest (Phuket, Krabi) gets monsoon rains roughly May–Oct, whereas the Gulf of Thailand side (Koh Samui) starts later and can be wet into November. The Philippines and Malaysia are hit by multiple weather patterns: their heaviest monsoon rains often peak a bit later (July–October), and they are also susceptible to typhoons (tropical cyclones) during that period.

In Indonesia, being equatorial, the pattern differs across the archipelago – for instance, Bali’s dry season is May–Sept, so its rainy season starts around October/November (slightly earlier than Australia’s monsoon, since Bali is just south of the equator).

Meanwhile, North Sulawesi or the Maluku Islands get rains on a different schedule (with a wetter May–July period) – a good reminder that “rainy season” isn’t one-size-fits-all even within Southeast Asia.

Travel advantages in (or near) the rainy season

Counterintuitive as it sounds, traveling just before or during the early monsoon can be fantastic. The landscape turns a vibrant green; hills and rice terraces that were brown in the dry season become photogenic emerald quilts. Waterfalls (like Kuang Si in Laos or Erawan in Thailand) swell to full force.

Many festivals also dot the calendar at the end of the dry season and start of rains – for example, Thailand’s Songkran (April) is essentially a giant water fight meant to call in the rains, and in late June the Cambodian Royal Ploughing Ceremony prays for good monsoon rains. With fewer tourists around, you can enjoy a more intimate experience.

I once rode a slow boat down the Mekong in Laos in early June: it rained lightly each afternoon, but the mornings were clear, and the normally busy boat had just a handful of other travelers, allowing me to swap stories with locals.

Hotels often offer off-season discounts, and you can sometimes upgrade to that river-view bungalow for a fraction of the peak-season cost.

Off-beat examples

One of my fondest monsoon memories in Southeast Asia comes from Luang Prabang, Laos. In mid-June, as the first serious rains fell, I sat on the wooden balcony of a guesthouse watching the Nam Khan River rise visibly hour by hour.

The town’s normally dry falls (like the Tad Sae Waterfall) came alive, and I joined local children in a joyous impromptu swim as the cascades reappeared. In Borneo, I trekked through Sabah’s rainforests in July – yes, it was wet and leech socks were necessary, but I was rewarded with the sight of orangutans feasting on fresh figs brought down by the showers, and an incredible chorus of frogs and insects that only a rainforest in the wet season can produce.

These off-the-beaten-path moments – a jungle trek in the rain, a serene temple visit under dripping trees – exemplify how the rainy season, though challenging, deepens the travel experience. You learn to dance in the rain, quite literally in some Thai village festivals, and come away with stories that dry-season tourists might never gather.

South Asia: The Grand Monsoon of the Indian Subcontinent

In South Asia, the rainy season isn’t just weather – it’s a cultural and spiritual force. Often simply called “the Monsoon” (with a capital M), it defines the rhythm of life for over a billion people. I arrived in Mumbai, India, in early June one year, just in time for the monsoon’s grand arrival.

The city had been wilting in 35°C heat; then, almost overnight, the clouds burst. Streets flooded, children danced barefoot in the downpour, and the whole atmosphere was one of celebration and relief.

Typically, the monsoon season in India (and neighboring countries like Nepal, Bangladesh, and Pakistan) spans from June to September, with some regional variation.

It usually hits the southern coastline of India (Kerala) around the first week of June, then progresses north and east over the following weeks. By July, nearly the entire subcontinent is under the spell of rain. The rains then start retreating from the north by late September.

How the rain affects travel

When the monsoon says hello in South Asia, it does so dramatically. Heavy rainfall and high humidity dominate these months.

Travelers should be prepared for frequent downpours that can sometimes last for hours or even days, especially at the height of the season (July–August). Flooding is a major consideration – urban areas like Mumbai or Dhaka often experience temporary floods that can snarl traffic and delay trains.

Rural travel can be even more affected; for example, landslides in the Himalayan regions (northern India, Nepal) are common in July/August, sometimes blocking roads to hill stations or trekking trails. I learned this the hard way when a planned bus journey to Nepal’s Annapurna region was halted due to a rain-triggered landslide – we waited an entire day while crews cleared debris, underscoring the need for flexibility during monsoon travel.

Beyond infrastructure, the monsoon brings health and environmental considerations. Stagnant water can increase mosquito-borne illnesses (dengue, malaria, etc.), so carrying repellent and wearing long sleeves, especially at dusk, is wise.

The flip side is that the monsoon also reduces some health risks; the rains clear out dust and pollution, offering a respite for those with respiratory issues (Delhi’s post-monsoon blue skies are a welcome change from its dusty May haze). Tourism-wise, expect a shoulder or low season.

Many beach destinations in Goa or Sri Lanka’s southwest see fewer visitors (some beach shacks literally dismantle for the season!). However, Sri Lanka’s east coast (Trincomalee, etc.) is dry when the west is wet – a quirk that savvy travelers can exploit to find sunshine within the region.

When it begins & regional quirks

Around early June, the first monsoon clouds typically make landfall in Kerala (southwest India). The progress of the monsoon front is almost an annual spectacle tracked in newspapers: it moves northwest up the coast (hitting Mumbai by mid-June) and spreads inland and eastward. Eastern India and Bangladesh catch the rains a bit later in June.

By early July, Nepal and northern India (Delhi, etc.) are usually under full monsoon conditions. Pakistan’s rains start later (July) and are less uniform, mostly affecting the north and the coast.

Sri Lanka has two monsoons (a complex pattern): the main southwest monsoon brings rain to Colombo and the south/west from May to August, whereas the northeast monsoon drenches the other side of the island from October to January.

Meanwhile, the Maldives see their wet season roughly May–November as well, with a peak in June–August.

The monsoon generally begins to withdraw in September, first from western India, then from north and east. By October, most of India is done with its rains, though the southern tip (Tamil Nadu) actually gets a late-fall rainy period (the “retreating monsoon” brings showers in Oct-Dec there).

The duration is about 4 months of on-and-off rain, with July and August typically the wettest. It’s worth noting that even at peak, the rain is not constant – South Asian monsoon rains often come in bursts: a few days of heavy rain, then a day or two of sunshine, in a pulsating pattern.

Advantages to traveling during the monsoon

South Asia’s monsoon can indeed be a magical time to visit, if you don’t mind getting a little wet. First, the scenery is at its most lush.

The Western Ghats of India (e.g. in Kerala or Karnataka) turn into a wonderland of green hills and overflowing waterfalls. I once visited the hill station of Matheran, near Mumbai, in July – a place known for its misty forests.

I rode on a toy train through clouds and dripping trees, an experience straight out of an adventure novel. There were almost no other tourists, meaning I had quiet hiking trails and echoing viewpoints all to myself.

Many popular sights, like the Taj Mahal or Jaipur’s forts, are far less crowded in monsoon season; you might share that postcard view with just a handful of other die-hards instead of a summer throng.

Prices for hotels and flights (excluding certain holiday periods) can be 20-30% lower than peak winter. Another plus: the monsoon culture. You haven’t truly experienced Mumbai until you’ve had hot chai and pakoras (fried snacks) at a street stall, sheltering from a sudden downpour along with office workers and students – it’s when you feel a communal kinship, everyone marveling at the rain.

Furthermore, some festivals take place because of the rains: for instance, Onam in Kerala (around Aug/Sept) is a harvest festival thanking the monsoon, featuring gorgeous flower carpets and snake-boat races in rain-swollen rivers. Experiencing these events as a foreign traveler can be incredibly rewarding.

Off-beat destinations

South Asia offers some unique rainy-season travel gems. Meghalaya, in Northeast India, is officially one of the wettest places on Earth – the village of Mawsynram receives staggering amounts of rain.

Travel there in June or July, and you can witness living root bridges draped in mist and endless waterfalls pouring off the Khasi Hills. (Just bring a robust raincoat – when it rains in Meghalaya, it pours!). I trekked to a double-decker root bridge in Cherrapunji during peak monsoon; it felt like stepping into a Tolkien novel, with clouds wafting through verdant gorges and thunder echoing in the distance.

In Pakistan’s Karakoram or India’s Ladakh region (paradoxically, high-altitude desert plateaus), the monsoon doesn’t reach strongly – making July/August actually a great time to do mountain treks there while the rest of the subcontinent is drenched. This is an off-beat strategy: combine a wet lowland destination with a dry highland one.

For example, you could experience the lush monsoon in Kerala’s backwaters (perhaps staying in a homestay where the host teaches you to make spicy pakoras to enjoy with the rain!), then fly north to Ladakh where July is sunny and prime for trekking since the Himalayas block the rains.

Lastly, an iconic monsoon anecdote: I attempted to visit Machu Picchu in Peru one February only to learn the trails were closed – but in India, the Inca Trail’s equivalent closure is the monsoon’s doing.

In other words, the heaviest Indian monsoon rains can cause closures too – notably, some treks in the Himalayas or wildlife parks (like Kaziranga in Assam) partly close in the wettest months for safety. Yet, as soon as the rains taper, the world is reborn.

Traveling through Rajasthan in September, just as the monsoon ended, I found the lakes of Udaipur full and gleaming (they sometimes dry up in winter), and the Aravalli hills alive with peacocks.

It struck me that without the monsoon, India wouldn’t be the colorful, vibrant place we love – and for a traveler willing to embrace a bit of rain, South Asia’s monsoon offers a journey of renewal and discovery like no other.

East Asia: Plum Rains and Summer Downpours

Eastern Asia’s rainy seasons are more short-lived but can still pack a punch. They even have a poetic name in some languages – in Japan and parts of China, the early-summer rainy period is called “Plum Rain” (tsuyu), coinciding with the ripening of plums.

I experienced East Asia’s rains while living in Tokyo, Japan. Most of Japan’s rainy season starts in early June and lasts until mid-July – roughly a six-week spell of steady humidity, intermittent rain, and many grey days. Similarly, Korea’s jangma (monsoon rain) and Eastern China’s meiyu rains also arrive in June and taper off by mid-July.

The onset isn’t as dramatic as India’s monsoon; instead, one June morning you’ll just notice the air is thick, the sky is murky, and a fine drizzle is coating everything – the plum rains have begun.

How the rain affects travel

East Asia’s rainy seasons affect travel in subtler ways. In Japan and Korea, for example, it doesn’t usually flood catastrophically during the tsuyu/jangma, but constant light rain can put a “dampener” on sightseeing – your views from Tokyo’s Skytree or Seoul’s N Seoul Tower might be lost in fog.

Hiking trails in places like Jeju Island (Korea) or Japan’s Alps can be slippery or closed due to heavy rain or the risk of sudden downpours. One needs to carry an umbrella at all times – and indeed you’ll observe locals doing the same.

I remember riding the bullet train past Mt. Fuji in June; ordinarily Fuji might be visible, but during rainy season it hid behind low clouds for weeks on end. High humidity is also a hallmark – 90% humidity days are common, which can be uncomfortable if you’re walking around cities.

Mold is an enemy – I once had leather shoes sprout mildew after a week in a closed closet during Japan’s tsuyu! For travelers, this means quick-dry clothing is your friend, and make sure your hotel has good ventilation or AC to counter the damp.

Timing and variations within East Asia

It’s intriguing how the rainy season moves through this region. In Okinawa (far southern Japan) and Taiwan, the rains start earliest – around May – and may be largely done by mid-June, when those areas transition to a hotter summer.

By contrast, Tokyo, Seoul, Beijing (further north in the temperate zone) see the rains mainly in June to early July. Eastern China’s plum rain typically impacts areas around Shanghai and the Yangtze River basin in June (historically it’s roughly mid-June to early July for the meiyu front over that region).

Northern China (Beijing) doesn’t have a distinct “rainy season” name, but it gets most of its annual rain in the summer months as thunderstorms (July–August); in fact, North China’s rains peak a bit later, in July, sometimes causing flash floods (Beijing was hit by serious flash flooding in late July a few years back). Hong Kong and Southern China experience a longer rainy season from late spring into summer, with May and June being very wet (monsoonal showers plus occasional typhoons), and even July-August still having frequent storms.

Typhoons deserve a mention: They are the Pacific’s hurricanes and they can strike East Asia from summer into fall. Traveling in Taiwan, Japan, or coastal China in, say, July or August, you may encounter a typhoon warning which can shut down flights and trains for a day or two.

I was in Kyoto in early September once when a late-season typhoon brushed by – the city basically hunkered down for an evening with heavy rain and wind, then resumed normal life the next day. So if your trip is around that time, build a little buffer for possible weather delays.

Advantages of the rainy season here

One big upside: cooler temperatures at the start of summer. For example, Tokyo in June is cooler than Tokyo in August by several degrees (though more humid). So touring temples or cities might actually be more pleasant with a light rain and 25°C than under a brutal 35°C sun later in summer.

The rain also means beautiful hydrangea blooms – Japanese gardens and temples pride themselves on hydrangeas that bloom during the tsuyu. In Kamakura (south of Tokyo), there’s even a famous “Hydrangea Temple” (Meigetsuin) that’s best visited on a misty June day when thousands of purple and blue blossoms are sprinkled with raindrops and the crowds carry color-coordinated umbrellas.

Fewer international tourists visit in June (many wait for cherry blossoms in spring or autumn leaves), so you can find better hotel rates in big cities like Tokyo, Seoul, Shanghai. I once got a great deal on a ryokan (traditional inn) in Kyoto in late June, which included a view of a garden that looked especially enchanting glistening wet after a rain shower.

Another advantage: just after the rainy season, festivals explode in East Asia. In Japan, July marks the start of summer festival season (matsuri) – many of which were historically celebrations to thank the gods for rainfall. For instance, Kyoto’s famed Gion Matsuri (July) takes place just as the rains end, and the air is still fresh and rivers full.

Arriving in Japan or Korea right after the monsoon (mid-July) means you enjoy verdant landscapes and can partake in those summer festivals with the comfort of knowing the heavy rains have mostly passed (though you may contend with rising heat).

In South Korea, I hiked the trails of Seoraksan National Park in the last week of June. It was the tail end of jangma (rainy period), and the forest was dripping and green. Clouds hung low in the valleys, and every so often a soft rain would patter down, encouraging me to take shelter under pine trees. I virtually had the trails to myself, aside from a few hardy Korean hikers in colorful rain jackets.

Reaching a mountain hut serving hot soup felt immensely rewarding with the chill of rain still on my face. The park’s waterfalls were gushing thanks to the recent rains, more impressive than in the dry autumn. That experience taught me that a normally crowded park can become a peaceful retreat if you time it in the “off” (rainy) season.

Off the beaten path in the rain

One truly off-beat destination shines because of its prodigious rainfall – Yakushima Island, off Japan’s southern coast. Yakushima is so renowned for frequent rain that locals joke it rains “35 days a month” there. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, covered in ancient cedar forests.

I visited Yakushima in early July; indeed it rained every day, but not all day. Hiking through Yakusugi Land (a cedar forest trail), I encountered mist and surprise sunbeams as the weather shifted rapidly.

The rain brought out Yakushima’s almost otherworldly beauty: swirling mists around enormous thousand-year-old trees, forest floor covered in vibrant moss (earning it the moniker “the moss forest”), and clear droplets clinging to fern fronds.

At night, the island’s rivers roared with newfound life. Few tourists were around – most choose spring or fall – so I had my pick of trail shelters and enjoyed long soaks in a seaside onsen (hot spring) while warm rain fell on my face. Yakushima in the rainy season remains one of my most cherished “secret” travel experiences, an example of how embracing the rain in East Asia can yield unparalleled rewards.

Lastly, consider Taiwan’s summer rain: While many travelers avoid Taiwan in the hottest months, early summer (May/June) has the plum rains which cool the air. Taipei’s tea-house lined hills in Maokong are mystical in light rain, with clouds wafting through terraced tea fields, and you can savor high-mountain oolong tea while listening to distant thunder.

And if it really pours? Do as locals do and head to the night markets – I found that a rainy evening is perfect for feasting on hot bowls of beef noodle soup or piping-hot dumplings, with shorter lines since some fair-weather tourists stay in.

In essence, East Asia’s rainy season, though shorter, adds a different mood to the travel palette: contemplative, cozy, and intimate. It’s a time when you see these countries in their everyday skin – umbrellas in hand, rain boots on, life continuing at a slower, softer pace.

Central America & the Caribbean

Warm rains, lush rainforests, and the rhythmic drumming of drops on palm fronds – that’s the vibe of the Central American rainy season. I recall one June in Costa Rica, waking up to a morning chorus of birds and howler monkeys in the Osa Peninsula.

By noon, the sky had darkened; a brief tropical deluge ensued, and by 2 PM the sun was out again as if nothing had happened. In Central America (Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama), as well as the Caribbean islands and Mexico’s Yucatán region, the rainy season typically starts around May (late spring).

It generally lasts until about October or November, making for a roughly half-year “green season.” For example, Guatemala’s rainy season is usually May through October, and similarly Costa Rica’s Pacific coast sees rains from May to November.

It’s important to note these rains are often punctuated by plenty of sunshine – mornings are frequently clear, with rain in afternoon/evening, especially in the earlier part of the season.

How rain affects travel

In this region, the rain can be intense but usually predictable. Expect shorter days (sunset comes earlier under cloudy skies) and plan outdoor activities for the morning hours.

Many travelers (and tour guides) adopt the rhythm of rising early to hike or dive, then relaxing during the customary 3 PM downpour. Roads in rural areas (often dirt roads) can become muddy quagmires. I’ve experienced this firsthand on a drive in Belize’s Cayo district – what was a dusty track in April turned to slippery mud by June, requiring 4x4 and some deft steering.

Flooding can occasionally wash out back-country roads or cause rivers to rise. In mountainous areas like Honduras’s highlands or Costa Rica’s cloud forests, landslides are a risk on mountain roads during heavy rain peaks (Sept/Oct). However, main tourist routes are generally maintained; locals are well adapted to the patterns (you’ll see drainage ditches everywhere).

Wildlife and nature respond dramatically to the rains. The forests become a vibrant green “jungle” again – hence why many call it the “green season.” You’ll see more butterflies, and many animals breed during or right after the rainy season when food is abundant.

This can be a plus for wildlife watchers: for instance, turtle nesting season on Costa Rica’s Caribbean coast (Tortuguero) is during the rainy months, and you can go on nighttime beach walks in the rain to witness sea turtles laying eggs. Conversely, more rain = more mosquitoes (so bring repellent, especially for lowland jungles where dengue fever can occur).

Also, note that hurricane season in the Atlantic runs June through November, which overlaps with the rainy season. While most Central American travel won’t be directly in the path of hurricanes (except perhaps parts of Belize, Yucatán, or certain Caribbean islands), the broader weather patterns can cause several days of heavy rain if a storm passes nearby.

I was in Nicaragua in October when the fringe of a Caribbean tropical storm dumped rain for nearly 72 hours straight – rivers swelled, a few bridges were closed for a day or two, and we adjusted plans to stick to higher ground until it cleared.

Regional onset and differences

The rains usually kick off in May. Often there’s a little prelude in late April – the first thunderstorm that locals will point to and say “rainy season is coming.” By May, afternoons are reliably wet.

June tends to firmly establish the pattern. Interestingly, there’s sometimes a phenomenon called the “mid-summer dry spell” (or “canícula” in Spanish) in parts of Central America: typically in late July or August, rainfall briefly decreases for a couple of weeks before picking up again.

I’ve experienced a beautifully sunny week in mid-August in Guatemala, right in the middle of the supposed rainy season, which was exactly this canícula providing a respite.

The late season, September and October, can be the wettest, especially on the Pacific side of Central America – some remote eco-lodges or tour routes even shut down in these peak rain months, so always check ahead if you plan to travel deep into jungle or mountain areas then.

The Caribbean islands follow a similar schedule: June to November is hurricane/wet season, with August–October usually the most active for storms.

Islands in the southern Caribbean (like Aruba, Curaçao) actually lie outside the main hurricane belt and stay relatively drier (a useful tip if you want a Caribbean getaway in summer – go south). But places like Puerto Rico, Jamaica, Dominican Republic see increasing rain from May/June onward.

It’s often sunny for a good part of the day with a dramatic thunderstorm late afternoon or overnight. These islands also contend with tropical humidity – I recall stepping out of an airplane in Barbados in July and feeling like I entered a steam sauna. But hey, that’s what the beach (and frequent sea swims) are for!

Travel perks in this season: Despite some wet inconveniences, many travelers (and travel experts) argue that the rainy season is the best time to visit Central America. Why? Everything is alive. The parched browns of dry season turn to fifty shades of green.

Waterfalls like Semuc Champey in Guatemala or La Fortuna in Costa Rica are far more impressive with greater flow. Lower tourist volume means you might have Tikal’s Maya ruins or a Panama rainforest trail nearly to yourself at times.

I visited Tikal (Guatemala) in September; a morning shower scared off most tour groups, and I had the grand temples emerging from misty jungle nearly alone, except for the hooting of distant howler monkeys – an almost eerie, profoundly magical experience.

Also, prices drop. Many hotels in Central America offer green season deals. I once got a luxurious eco-lodge in Costa Rica’s Arenal area in late May for nearly 40% off high-season price – and it included free daily hot spring passes, which were perfect for a rainy afternoon soak.

Another plus: local culture and agriculture. The rains are the lifeblood for farmers; travel during this time and you might coincide with planting or harvest festivals.

In Belize, for instance, June brings the Chocolate Festival in the cacao-growing regions – a celebration made possible by the fertile rains. Surfing can be great on the Pacific coast in rainy months, as the swells are consistent (just watch out for river runoff affecting water quality near river mouths).

Rivers become raftable – in dry season some river rapids might be too low, but come green season, white-water rafting and tubing are in full swing (I had an absolute blast tubing down a rain-swollen river in Honduras – the rain was lightly falling, warm, and the jungle around was practically glowing neon green).

Off-beat highlights

One of my favorite Central America rainy-season adventures was in El Salvador’s Ruta de las Flores (a string of villages in the highlands). This region is known for its coffee farms and, in dry months, wildflower blooms. I went in June, after the first rains.

The hills were cloaked in clouds and the coffee plantations were shiny-leaved and fragrant from the moisture. I hiked to a waterfall near Juayúa that was gushing powerfully thanks to the recent rain. The trail was a bit muddy, sure, but the reward was having this waterfall all to myself – something unheard of in peak tourist months.

Locals were incredibly welcoming (they see fewer tourists in the wet season), often remarking that I must like their country a lot to come “cuando cae el agua” (“when the water falls”). In evenings, I sipped on locally grown coffee while thunderstorms rolled in the distance, a cozy vibe.

In the Caribbean, an off-beat rainy season trip I cherish was to Dominica (the island, not to be confused with the Dominican Republic). Dominica is actually nicknamed “Nature Island” and it rains year-round there, but the wettest times are late summer. I went in October. Yes, it rained each day, but usually in short bursts.

This kept the island’s innumerable rivers and waterfalls roaring – I trekked through the rainforest to the Middleham Falls, got utterly drenched by both rain from above and spray from the cascade, and couldn’t have been happier. The forests were teeming with life – tree frogs, parrots, and an absurd number of shades of green in every direction.

With fewer tourists around, I had little guesthouses practically to myself and could chat at length with Dominicans about how the rains were treating the yam crops this year. It felt like a very authentic encounter with island life.

Practical tip: Always have a Plan B for the day in rainy season. If that volcano hike in Nicaragua is rained out, maybe swap in a visit to the local hot springs or a craft market.

Often the rain might clear after an hour or two – a local guide in Panama once told me, “If you don’t like the weather, just take a siesta and it’ll change when you wake up.” I’ve taken that to heart: a downpour is a great excuse to slow down, enjoy a long lunch (Central America has fantastic soups and stews perfect for rainy afternoons), or simply sit on a veranda and watch the rain nourishment happen.

Travel isn’t only about the sights under clear skies – it’s also about embracing these natural rhythms. And in Central America and the Caribbean, that rhythm is the pulsing beat of tropical rain.

South America: Andean Showers and Amazonian Rains

South America’s rainy seasons are a tale of two (or more) climates. The continent straddles the equator, so the Northern tropics (e.g. Colombia, northern Amazon) have different patterns from the Southern tropics and beyond (Bolivia, southern Brazil, etc.).

A general rule: the bulk of South America experiences its rainy season roughly from October through May – essentially the spring and summer in the Southern Hemisphere. I experienced this in Peru’s Andes. Arriving in Cusco in late November, I found the tourist high season winding down.

By December, the ancient Inca capital was cloaked in afternoon showers; street vendors switched to selling umbrellas, and the surrounding hills that were golden in August had turned a deep green by Christmas.

In contrast, when I traveled to Colombia (Northern Hemisphere) in December, it was actually one of their drier periods. So, understanding where you are in relation to the equator is key.

Andes and highlands

The Andean regions (Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador’s highlands, Colombia’s mountains) have a well-defined wet vs. dry season. Generally, the rainy season in the Andes begins around November – or late October in some areas – peaks in January and February, and starts tapering off by March.

For example, the Cusco region of Peru (gateway to Machu Picchu) sees relatively dry weather May–Sept, then starting in late October/early November the rains come, with Feb being extremely wet. In fact, February is so wet that the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu is closed every year for safety and maintenance – a telling indicator of the rain’s intensity.

When I visited Machu Picchu in mid-March, I encountered misty rain that gave the ruins a mystical atmosphere (and yes, a rainbow appeared as the clouds parted!). It also meant some hiking paths were a bit muddy and I had to contend with a few leeches on the trail – small prices for the experience.

Amazon and rainforests

The Amazon Basin, which sprawls across multiple countries (Brazil, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, Bolivia), is defined by rain. It technically rains all year, but even the Amazon has a wetter season.

For instance, in the western Amazon (Peru’s Iquitos region), they talk of a “flooded” season from about December through April when the rivers swell significantly – roughly 60% of the annual rainfall falls in this period.

I embarked on an Amazon riverboat in February; the waterways had expanded so much that we were able to boat into areas that are just forest floor in the dry season, gliding among the treetops in what felt like a flooded forest cathedral. It was surreal – we fished for piranhas from between the branches of submerged trees!

The flipside: mosquitoes were plentiful (long sleeves a must at dusk) and the air was heavy with humidity and 30°C heat even when it rained. The central and eastern Amazon (Brazil) follows a similar pattern: for example, Manaus (in Brazil’s Amazon) has high rain from December to May, with a bit less June–November.

Southern South America (outside tropics)

Once you get to places like Buenos Aires or Santiago (farther south, outside the tropics), the concept of a “rainy season” fades – those places have more of a winter rain (like a Mediterranean climate).

For instance, Central Chile has rains mostly in June–August (their winter). But since this guide focuses on travel and rainy seasons, it’s the tropical and subtropical parts of South America that matter most.

How rain affects travel

In the Andes, rain can mean trekking routes become challenging. The classic example: the Inca Trail’s closure in February due to landslide risk and to allow repair of trail damage from rains. Other treks in Peru, like those around the Cordillera Blanca or Ausangate, are generally not undertaken in Jan-Feb due to weather.

Roads in mountainous areas can suffer landslides – I once had a hair-raising bus ride in Bolivia’s Yungas where waterfalls were literally cascading onto the road from the cliffs above after a storm. Low visibility and occasional road washouts meant we had to stop for hours. Travel schedules in the rainy season thus need some buffer time and flexibility.

In the Amazon, high water season (roughly Dec–April) actually makes boat travel easier (rivers are deeper, you can reach further into tributaries), but it can make foot-based jungle excursions trickier (trails might be flooded or super muddy). Some lodges offer rubber boots and focus more on canoe trips during high water.

The wildlife experience changes too: for example, in the Pantanal wetlands of Brazil (a fantastic wildlife destination), the rainy season (Dec–March) floods the grasslands, dispersing animals and making traditional jeep safaris impossible (boats are used instead).

Tour operators in the Pantanal often reduce tours in peak floods because spotting wildlife is harder when water is abundant (animals don’t cluster at a few waterholes like in dry season).

Mosquitoes and health

It’s worth noting malaria is present in parts of the Amazon and other tropical areas; rainy season sees an uptick in mosquito numbers, so prophylactics and nets are important.

I actually delayed a trip to the Bolivian Amazon by a month to let the worst of the rainy season pass – not just for comfort, but because dengue fever had spiked in the peak rains.

These are considerations one should research for each region (for example, highland cities like Quito or La Paz are too high for mosquitoes – they’re fine year-round; it’s the low jungles where precautions count).

Advantages to rainy-season travel in S.A.

Believe it or not, South America’s rains can unlock some extraordinary experiences. Machu Picchu with mist swirling around Huayna Picchu peak is arguably more atmospheric than under a flat blue sky.

I visited Machu Picchu at the end of the rainy season (March) and the cloud play, with ruins appearing and disappearing in the fog, made it feel like I had walked into a dream. Plus, there were fewer than half the usual tourists there – plenty of room to get that perfect postcard photo (with a rainbow, no less!).

Lower crowds and costs are a big selling point. Patagonian regions aside (which have opposite timing and not a “rainy season” so much as unpredictable year-round weather), many South American destinations see their lowest tourist numbers in the rainy months of Feb–April.

In places like Cusco, the Galápagos, Rio de Janeiro, this can mean better prices on accommodations and tours.

The landscape benefits are huge. Iguazú Falls (on the Argentina-Brazil border) is an example: the falls are at their most powerful during or just after the rainy season.

I went to Iguazú in late February, just after heavy rains, and the volume of water thundering down was mind-boggling – yes, I got thoroughly soaked on the catwalks from the spray, but that’s half the fun. (Dry-season visitors sometimes find a few minor falls reduced to a trickle; I saw every waterfall in full roar). Similarly, Angel Falls in Venezuela is best seen after rains have swelled its flow (though Venezuela’s tourism is a whole other topic these days).

One of the most surreal advantages is something photographers and nature-lovers chase: the mirror effect on Bolivia’s Salar de Uyuni. This vast salt flat floods with a thin layer of water in the wet season (Jan-March). When calm, it turns into the world’s largest mirror, reflecting the sky perfectly.

It’s an almost psychedelic experience – you can take photos where it’s hard to tell land from sky. I ventured onto Uyuni in early March in a 4x4; we drove through an inch of standing water, the horizon disappeared, and I felt like we were floating in the clouds. That phenomenon only happens because of the rains – a prime example of a unique reward.

One off-beat rainy season memory was visiting the Colca Canyon in Peru in February. It’s a popular place to see condors and terraced landscapes. In peak dry months, it’s brownish and the condors show up reliably in mornings riding thermals.

During my Feb trip, the slopes were an electric green with new crop growth and wildflowers. Rain clouds threatened in the afternoon but mornings were clear enough to watch condors soar.

I did some hiking down in the canyon – it drizzled and at one point a heavy rain forced me to take shelter in a local farmer’s shed. That turned into a wonderful cultural exchange; the family shared boiled corn and cheese with me as we waited out the rain.

They said tourists rarely come that time of year, so they were as curious about me as I was about their farming life. When the rain eased, everything smelled earthy and fresh, and a waterfall that the farmer said is dry half the year was flowing by the trail. This kind of unplanned human moment, facilitated by the season, felt very special.

Another example: the Brazilian Pantanal (as mentioned). In November, at the very start of the Pantanal rains, I joined a jaguar safari. It was the beginning of the wet season – the dirt roads were just starting to get squelchy.

The benefit was, early rains had cooled things a bit so animals were active, but the area wasn’t fully flooded yet. I remember a late afternoon boat ride where a sudden downpour had us all don ponchos; minutes later, the rain stopped and an astonishing double rainbow arched over the wetland, with capybaras grazing underneath and macaws flying across – absolutely breathtaking.

The wet season provided dramatic skies and vibrant sunsets due to all the moisture and clouds – a photographer’s delight.

Regional breakdown reminder

In northern parts of South America (like Colombia, Venezuela, northern Guyanas), the rainy season might start earlier (April/May) and have a different rhythm – for example, Colombia has two rainy seasons (around April–May and October–November) in many regions due to its equatorial climate.

So if you’re traveling there, “summer” months can be relatively dry.

Conversely, in Paraguay or southern Brazil (subtropics), summer (Dec-Feb) is the peak of rain and humidity. It’s always best to refine the timing to the specific country or even specific region of a country (the Amazon vs. highlands vs. coastal, etc., can differ).

Travel during transition times: A handy tip is to aim for the shoulder of the rainy season – e.g., late November or late March for Andean countries – when you still get the greenery and some storms, but also plenty of decent weather.

I did a trek to Huayna Potosí near La Paz, Bolivia in late April (just after the rainy season). The air was crisp, the mountains had a fresh coat of snow from recent months, but the heavy daily rains had ceased – it was ideal. Locals said that in January it would have been very hard to climb due to storm risk.

The theme across South America is “green and glistening”. Whether it’s the Amazon turning into a mirrored water world, the Andes cloaked in clouds with waterfalls everywhere, or the southern grasslands rejuvenated, the rainy season is very much the continent’s time of growth and abundance.

As a traveler, if you equip yourself with patience, flexibility, and good rain gear, you’ll be rewarded with landscapes in their full glory and a deeper connection to how nature and culture intertwine here.

After all, much of South America’s folklore, music (the Andean pan flute’s evocative sound fits a rainy mountain), and celebrations revolve around the coming of the rains.

By experiencing it, you tap into that pulse. I still hum “Gracias a la lluvia” – a song a guide taught me in Peru meaning “thanks to the rain” – whenever I think of my rain-soaked adventures on that continent.

Sub-Saharan Africa

When I think of Africa’s rainy seasons, I picture dramatic skies over the savanna – towering thunderclouds on the horizon, the smell of wet earth after months of dust, and wildlife rejoicing in newfound water sources. Sub-Saharan Africa is vast, spanning many climate zones, so rainy seasons start at different times in different regions.

Broadly, West Africa gets its first rains in the spring (April/May), East Africa has a unique pattern of two rainy seasons (the “long rains” around March–May and the “short rains” around Oct–Dec), and Southern Africa starts raining in the late spring (November) as the Southern Hemisphere summer begins. Let’s break it down further:

West Africa (roughly between the Sahara and the equator): In countries like Senegal, Ghana, Nigeria, Cameroon, etc., the rains come with the West African Monsoon from the Atlantic.

Typically, along the coastal countries of the Gulf of Guinea, the rainy season begins by late April or May. For example, Accra (Ghana) and Lagos (Nigeria) usually see the first heavy showers in April/May.

Interestingly, the coastal south of West Africa often has two peak rain periods: one in May–June and another in September–October, with a slight reduction (a short dry spell) in July/August.

Inland towards the Sahel (Mali, Niger, northern Nigeria), there’s essentially one rainy season starting a bit later – often in June – and peaking in July/August. By September it’s trailing off. I traveled in Senegal in June; in the coastal capital Dakar, the rain had just started sporadically (it was actually quite pleasant, a brief shower every couple of days), but when I went inland to Tambacounda in July, it was full-on rainy season: intense storms every other afternoon, turning the red dirt roads into slushy tracks.

East Africa (around the equator)

Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda, Ethiopia’s south): East Africa’s pattern is bi-modal. The “long rains” generally start in March and last into May. These can be quite heavy; for instance, Kenya’s Maasai Mara in April is a verdant marshy grassland with daily afternoon thunderstorms.

Then there’s a drier break in June-Sep (which is why that’s peak safari season). Then come the “short rains” around late October through November (into early December), which are shorter in duration and sometimes lighter, though they can still cause flooding.

I was in northern Tanzania (Serengeti) in early November, and the short rains had just begun: brief showers that barely inconvenienced our safari – in fact, they triggered the start of the wildebeest migration, as the animals followed the fresh grass.

One thing to note: East Africa’s mountains and highlands (like Ethiopia or Kenya’s highlands) have their own microclimates. Ethiopia sees a long rainy season roughly June–September (they call it kiremt), and some areas get a small rains in Feb–April.

For example, in Addis Ababa (Ethiopia), it can rain relentlessly in July/August. Meanwhile, Somalia and much of the Horn of Africa are quite dry (even during monsoon season, some parts see little rain).

Southern Africa (Zimbabwe, Botswana, Zambia, South Africa’s north, etc.): As we go south of the equator, the rainy season shifts to the Austral summer. In countries like Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Mozambique, etc., the rains typically begin around November.

The first thunderstorms often roll in late October or early November, marking the end of the dry winter. The rains then continue through December, January, February, up to around March or early April. This is often called the “Green Season” by safari operators.

I spent December in Botswana’s Okavango Delta – rain came in dramatic nighttime thunderstorms and some afternoon showers, but it wasn’t constant; days often started clear. By March, the rainfall was waning and the bush was thick and lush.

Notably, South Africa is split – most of South Africa (e.g. Kruger Park area, Johannesburg) has summer rains (Nov–Feb), but the Cape Town region has winter rains (since it’s Mediterranean climate).

So if you’re in Cape Town in January, it’s sunny and dry; in June, it’s cool and wet. Travelers should be mindful of those differences within Southern Africa.

How rain affects travel and safaris

In safari terms, many will tell you that the rainy season is the “off-season” for wildlife, because animals disperse (no need to crowd limited waterholes when water is everywhere) and the bush is dense, making game spotting a bit tougher.

That’s somewhat true – for instance, in Kruger (South Africa) or Chobe (Botswana) in January, you might not see as many big game concentrations as in September. However, the flip side is the scenery is stunning and there are baby animals galore.

Many herbivores give birth at the start of rains when food is abundant. I went on a safari drive in Kenya’s Amboseli National Park one April after the long rains started; I saw more baby zebras and wildebeest than I could count, tottering alongside their mothers on the fresh grass plains.

Predators were still around – and taking advantage of the nursery of prey animals. Birdwatchers, too, love the wet season: migrant birds arrive in droves when the rains come. In Uganda’s Kibale Forest during the wet season, I saw countless colorful migratory birds that aren’t present in dry months.

Roads and infrastructure

Africa’s roads vary from good tarmac highways to muddy tracks connecting remote villages. During heavy rains, those latter can become impassable. In Uganda, during the rainy season, I had to revise an itinerary because certain remote roads to the Rwenzori Mountains were washed out.

Some national parks in the Congo or Central African Republic simply close in the wettest months because you can’t get in easily. Flooding can occur in low-lying areas; parts of Mozambique or Malawi often have some flooding in Jan/Feb if rains are exceptionally heavy.

For example, in early 2020 (a notably wet year), I recall that Limpopo River in Mozambique overflowed, affecting roads and communities. But on a normal year, most primary tourist routes remain accessible – perhaps with slower going or the need for 4x4.

City travel isn’t exempt either: I was in Dakar, Senegal during an August downpour and the city’s drainage couldn’t cope – some streets turned into temporary rivers (my taxi detoured a lot to avoid submerged roads).

Advantages of traveling during/near the rainy season in Africa: Cost and solitude are big ones. Safari lodges and camps slash prices in the Green Season – sometimes by 20-40%. I once stayed at a beautiful camp in Zambia’s South Luangwa in December for a rate that was almost half of what they charge in July.

There were only a few other guests, and we had very personal, flexible safari drives (the guides were actually excited to have keen visitors in the off-season and went out of their way to track animals for us). Also, those sunsets!

The mix of sun and storm clouds often produces spectacular sunsets and sunrises with towering cloud formations lit in gold and purple. Photographers sometimes prefer this season for the dramatic skies and softer light (dry-season can be very hazy with dust).

The landscape transformation in Africa after rains is arguably the most stunning of any continent. The Kalahari Desert, for instance, blooms with grasses and wildflowers after a good rain, attracting herds of springboks and oryx.

Botswana’s Kalahari in February had fields of yellow devil’s thorn flowers as far as the eye could see, and it felt like a completely different place from the arid expanse I knew from July.

And I must mention Victoria Falls on the Zambia/Zimbabwe border – often touted as best seen at end of rainy season. Around March/April, after the Zambezi’s catchment rains upstream, Vic Falls becomes an absolutely thunderous curtain of water.

When I visited in April, the waterfall was so full that the mist was like a constant rainstorm in the vicinity (ponchos were non-negotiable). It was exhilarating, though admittedly the plume of spray was so thick it obscured some views. (In contrast, visiting in late dry season, say November, you can see the rock face in places as the falls reduce – a very different experience).

Community and cultural aspects

Many African communities celebrate the start of rains, as it means planting time and renewed life for livestock. In some parts of West Africa, there are mask dances or festivals that coincide with the first rain or the harvest after the rains.

In Burkina Faso, I stumbled on a village festival in October: they were celebrating a good rainy season that yielded a strong millet crop, with drumming and dancing that went well past midnight under skies that threatened another downpour.

It was joyous and I felt lucky to witness it – something that wouldn’t have happened if I’d only traveled in the “easy” dry months.

Off-beat discoveries

One particularly off-the-beaten-path rainy season journey I took was in Cameroon’s southwest, trying to visit Korup National Park, a dense rainforest, in the month of June. It was the start of the long rains there, and boy was it wet.

We had to cross a river on a hanging bridge which swayed as torrential rain fell. The forest leeches were having a field day (tuck pants in socks – lesson learned!). Travel was challenging – a bridge on the main access road had been damaged by floods, so we hired motorbikes to detour through villages.

It took patience and some discomfort, but the reward was seeing a pristine rainforest waterfall in full spate and encountering a family of drills (a rare primate) that our guide said are seldom seen in the dry season because they stay deeper in the forest then. The rainy season had brought them nearer to fruiting trees by the trail. It was a priceless wildlife sighting that I might have missed at another time.

Malaria caution: Sub-Saharan Africa’s rains do bring a spike in malaria in many regions, as mentioned. Travelers should take prophylaxis seriously and use bed nets.

I once visited Mali at the end of the rainy season (September) – the Niger River was gloriously full and navigable (good for my river journey to Timbuktu), but the mosquitoes in villages were noticeable and a couple of fellow travelers fell ill after not being consistent with prophylaxis.

Thankfully they recovered, but it’s a reminder that these beautiful rains come with that caveat.

Plan for spontaneity: African rains can be very local. You might see rain falling in distance while you’re dry, and vice versa. This means sometimes you just have to adapt on the fly.

On a safari in Namibia’s Etosha one December, half the park got rain and the other half didn’t. Our guide, in constant radio contact, literally “chased the dry skies” based on where rainclouds were.

It became a fun game for us, zigzagging the park to avoid downpours (successfully, we remained oddly dry the whole day while watching showers on the horizon). The wildlife had similarly moved, clustering in areas that hadn’t gotten fresh puddles yet.

By reading the weather, the guide delivered a phenomenal game drive against the odds. This taught me that local knowledge is gold – traveling in rainy season, hook up with experienced guides or drivers when possible; they often know the patterns (like which roads become impassable after an hour of rain, or which valleys tend to flood).

The start of the rains in sub-Saharan Africa is a blessing and a test. It’s a blessing for the land and those who live off it – seeing the joy of people when the first rain arrives is heartwarming and grounding as a traveler, reminding you how vital this season is.

It’s a test for travelers of our adaptability – but one that pays off with rich rewards: spectacular landscapes, unique wildlife moments, cultural insights, and the smug knowledge that you braved the “off-season” and found the soul of a place.

Some of my most soul-stirring African memories are tied to rains – from sipping spicy tea under a tin roof with new friends during a Ghanaian thunderstorm, to waking up in the Okavango to the sound of rain on canvas and lions roaring in the distance. The rainy season makes Africa alive, and if you’re willing to get a little wet, it will make you feel alive too.

Middle East & North Africa

In the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region, “rainy season” takes on a different meaning. Here we’re dealing mostly with arid and Mediterranean climates, not tropical monsoons.

Instead of a lush green explosion, the rainy season might mean a brief greening of desert shrubs or a season when ancient cities get a washing after months of dust.

Generally, in much of North Africa and the Middle East, the rains come in the cooler months – roughly late fall through winter (November to February). Think of it this way: summer is bone-dry, and winter is when it might rain a bit.

For example, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt’s north coast – these areas see most of their rainfall between November and March, with December–January being peak rainy months. Even then, total rainfall isn’t high (compared to tropical regions), but it can be significant enough to impact travel occasionally.

North Africa (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt)

The coastal and highland parts of these countries have a Mediterranean climate – meaning wet winters and dry summers.

I was in Morocco in December once; Marrakech had mild days and one or two light rain showers that month, whereas up in Fes and the Rif mountains it rained more steadily for a couple of days (and even snowed in the Atlas!).

Coastal cities like Casablanca or Tunis get grey skies and rain off and on through winter. However, the inland Sahara regions of these countries get very little rain at any time – the Sahara might not see rain for years in some spots. When it does rain in the desert, it’s often a brief storm.

I recall being near Merzouga (Moroccan Sahara) and the locals excitedly pointed out distant lightning – “maybe it will rain tonight.” It sprinkled for 10 minutes; by their reaction, you’d think it was a downpour of joy.

Egypt is a special case – Cairo gets a few rainy days in winter (maybe a handful of days with light rain, that’s it), and Upper Egypt (Luxor, Aswan) virtually never sees rain.

So “rainy season” in much of Egypt just means “a tiny bit of rain in December/January.” The lack of rain is why a winter Nile cruise is so popular – you’re almost guaranteed dry weather but without the extreme heat of summer.

Levant (Lebanon, Israel, Jordan, Palestine)

Similar story: November through March are the wet months. Beirut can get quite rainy in winter (and even snow in mountains), Israel’s coastal plain (Tel Aviv, Haifa) has showers and storms mainly Dec–Feb, and Jordan sees rain/snow in the north/west (Amman often gets snow once a year) but the eastern desert stays mostly dry.

If you’re visiting Petra in winter, bring a rain jacket – flash floods have been known to occur in the slot canyons if there’s heavy rain uphill (for example, Petra experienced dangerous flash flooding in November 2018, which caused tourist evacuations).

So rainy season in these areas can have serious moments even if overall rainfall is moderate.

Arabian Peninsula

This region is largely desert. Most places like Dubai, Riyadh, Doha have very little rain; what rain they get also falls in winter (Dec-Feb). But, the far southern part of the Arabian Peninsula (Oman’s Dhofar region and parts of Yemen) has a unique rainy season called the Khareef, driven by the Indian Ocean monsoon.

In Salalah (Oman’s Dhofar), the Khareef runs from about late June through September. This is not a heavy downpour kind of rain – it’s more like a constant light drizzle and fog that turns the brown hills startlingly green. I visited Salalah in July and could hardly believe I was in the Arabian desert – it felt like Ireland with camels.

Locals from across the Gulf flock there to picnic in the 25°C coolness amidst waterfalls that only flow in those months. The Khareef is an offbeat “rainy season vacation” that contrasts with the usual idea of avoiding rain – here, people seek it out because it’s a respite from the scorching heat elsewhere.

Meanwhile, most of Saudi Arabia or UAE might get a rare thunderstorm in winter or even the occasional freak hail (yes, it hails in the desert sometimes in Jan!). But those are short-lived events.

How rain affects travel in MENA

Generally, rain in this region doesn’t drastically hinder travel like monsoons can, but there are exceptions. Urban flooding is a real issue because many desert cities aren’t built with big drainage systems. A single thunderstorm can flood streets.

I was in Dubai during an unusual heavy rain in January – the roads around the Marina area had ankle-deep water because the storm drains just couldn’t cope with that much water at once.

In Cairo, a winter rain can snarl traffic (more than usual Cairo snarl) because people aren’t used to driving in wet conditions and roads get slick with accumulated oil.

Also, the earthen architecture in some places (e.g., some old mud-brick villages in Yemen or oases) can suffer if heavy prolonged rain occurs – travelers might find historic mud buildings closed for repairs after big rains.

On the flip side, winter rains clear dust from the air, often leading to spectacular views when the sun comes out. For example, after a rain, the air in Marrakech becomes crystal clear and the Atlas Mountains capped in snow appear sharply on the horizon – a gorgeous sight invisible in summer haze.

Also, cooler weather plus a bit of green makes hiking in places like Morocco’s valleys or Israel’s Galilee much more enjoyable than the parched summer. Waterfalls in Morocco’s Middle Atlas (like Ouzoud Falls) are fuller in winter due to rains, making for a better visit.

Tourism patterns

High season in much of MENA actually coincides with the cooler (rainier) months, because tourists prefer milder temperatures.

For instance, the tourist peak in Egypt, Jordan, Morocco is October through April – which overlaps with the rainy season. Tour operators work around the occasional rain.

The key is that rains are not incessant – they might be heavy for a day or two, then you get sunny stretches. If you visit, say, Jerusalem in January, you might have two days of rain, then three days of crisp sunshine, then a cloudy day, etc. Pack layers and an umbrella, but you can still do your sightseeing (just maybe not the beach).

If we focus on the fringe cases where “rainy season” is distinct, Oman’s Khareef is a big one. The advantage is seeing a usually arid landscape turn green and cool – a rarity in Arabia. There’s even a tourism surge (rather than lull) in Salalah during Khareef; it’s like a reverse pattern where the “wet season” is peak time.

I remember joining Omanis and Emiratis in the misty hills of Dhofar, marveling at seasonal waterfalls like Ayn Athum which only flow in Khareef. It’s like a festival of nature – temporary roadside stalls sell corn on the cob and tea to dripping-wet picnickers, kids run around in light rain as if at a park.

The mountains are covered in almost jungle-like foliage. It’s a total sensory novelty – even the smell, a mix of frankincense trees and wet soil, was something I’ve only encountered there.

In North Africa, the rainy winter means lower desert temperatures, which is great for traveling the Sahara (except occasional cold nights). It might sprinkle on your camel safari, but you won’t be dealing with 45°C heat. Cities like Marrakesh or Cairo are more comfortable to explore in rain season (temperature-wise).

And if you don’t mind the possibility of rain, you can enjoy major attractions with fewer crowds in the absolute off-peak (like deep winter). For example, the Pyramids of Giza on a rare cloudy, drizzly day in February had far fewer tour buses – I practically had Khafre’s pyramid to myself for a bit, a surreal experience enhanced by the moody weather (and the camels looked rather pleased with the cooler weather too!).

In many Middle Eastern cultures, rain is considered mercy from God. It’s in prayers and common sayings. If you’re there during rain, you might hear phrases like “Al hamdulillah (praise be to God), it’s raining.”

I was in a taxi in Amman when rain started, and the driver smiled and started reciting a little prayer of thanks – it opened a conversation where he explained how the country badly needed that rain for their water supply.

Moments like that can give you deeper insight into daily life concerns, which are easy to miss if you only come in the dry tourist season.

Potential downsides and planning

If going to places like Petra or wadis (canyons) in Jordan/Oman, one must heed flash flood warnings in rainy season. For example, Wadi Mujib in Jordan (a slot canyon hike) is closed during winter months due to risk.

But then it’s open in hot dry times only – a trade-off. Some mountain passes in Morocco or Turkey can get snow-blocked occasionally in mid-winter rather than rain (e.g., Tizi n’Tichka pass to Ouarzazate sometimes closes briefly due to snow). So “rainy season” travel in these regions might also mean dealing with cold or snow in higher altitudes.

One offbeat rainy season visit I did was to the Siwa Oasis in Egypt’s Western Desert – in late February. It hardly ever rains there, but coincidentally it rained lightly the day I arrived, the first time in over a year.

The mud-brick fortress of Shali in Siwa has historically been melted by rains over centuries (rain is their enemy). I watched locals scurry to cover things, but the rain stopped in an hour.

After that, the desert around Siwa was treated to a rare sight: tiny green shoots sprouted in the dunes within days. It felt like witnessing a micro-miracle – life responding instantly to water.

The usually dusty palm groves were washed clean, and the scent of dates and wet earth in the cool evening was unforgettable. As a traveler, I felt fortunate to catch that moment. The next day the sun was back and one would never guess it had rained, save for the refreshed look of the foliage.

In summary, the Middle East and North Africa don’t have monsoons or dramatic rainy seasons like other regions, but they do have periods when the rain comes and changes the atmosphere.

Travel during these times means contending with a bit of wet weather and chill, but also experiencing famous places in a different light – perhaps with snow on Sahara sand dunes (it happened in Algeria recently!), or with wildflowers blooming in the Negev Desert after a March shower.

It’s a side of these destinations that many travelers miss, but it’s quietly beautiful. Just remember to pack that just-in-case jacket, and perhaps plan your desert camping for a night when the forecast is clear – stargazing after a rain, in the desert’s crisp, clean air, is second to none.

Final Thoughts

The world’s great travelers often say the journey is as important as the destination; I’d add that the season is just as crucial as the place. By timing your travels with the rains, you might save money, avoid crowds, and see natural spectacles that dry skies just don’t offer.

Of course, always stay safe – heed local advice about weather hazards, and be flexible because Mother Nature doesn’t always follow the brochure. Pack good rain gear, a sense of humor for the surprise storm, and a willingness to sometimes slow down and simply watch the rain fall.

Some of my most cherished memories are not of ticking off sights, but of moments during the rainy season: drinking tea with strangers, inhaling petrichor in a rice field, listening to a lion’s roar amplified by a wet wind, or watching a toddler gleefully splash in a puddle on a Marrakech street.

In those moments, you feel not like a tourist or observer, but a participant in the local rhythm of life.

So, don’t fear the rain – plan for it, love it. Around the world, when the rainy season starts, a whole new travel adventure begins.