Let me start by saying that the breakfast at this hotel is absolutely top notch. About 20 types of bread and pastry, omelettes made for you while you wait, freshly-squeezed juices, lots of fresh fruit, etc., etc.: a real feast with which to start the day.
Muscat Souq was the main port of call today, located along the corniche. Locating it in the car was a bit hit-or-miss, but we located it and fed the parking meter with baisas (1000 of which form a rial, by the way. Incidentally, it’s odd to be dealing with prices in rials, since they require three decimal places for the baisas. All the other currencies I’ve ever dealt with divide the main unit into 100ths, not 1000ths).
The souq was very impressive. We bought some frankincense and some incense burners. The myrrh and gold was left on the shelf, although both could have been purchased here, too.
After a quick lunch, preceded by Eloïse’s afternoon nap, we headed off to the old walled town of Muscat. Yes, we’re already in Muscat, but Muscat these days generally refers to the municipality, not the actual town. The actual town is a tiny dot on the map, but greater Muscat is more than 50 km long and includes the areas of Mutrah and Ruwi.
The old walled town is very impressive, with ancient forts looking down from ominous looking escarpments. The forts are still in use by the military, so you can’t visit them.
The Sultan’s palace is here, too. It’s nice, but not outrageous. Donald Trump’s real estate looks decidedly tackier. The Sultan’s palace is quite tasteful.
Eloïse ticked off one of the guards by running across one of the Sultan’s beautifully landscaped lawns. Oops. The Sultan must love flowers, because his gardens are ablaze with flowers of every imaginable variety. Not only that, but the roundabouts and dual carriageways here are also festooned with dazzling displays of floral colour. It really brings the place to life and helps suggest a much less arid climate.
After this, we drove up to the viewing point at Bandar Jissah for some lovely views out over the hills, down to Muscat.
Dinner was at the hotel again, after a failed 45 minute attempt to find a restaurant we wanted to dine at.
We’re not normally so hopeless with our directions, so we should explain that most of Muscat’s roads have no name. That’s right, no name at all. We don’t mean only an Arabic name, no. We mean no name at all. Most residents therefore use a PO box to receive their post; they have to, because they don’t know their own address.
Think about that for a minute. It makes getting from A to B quite a challenge if you don’t know the city (and we don’t). Directions to any given destination are usually given by describing proximity to one of the city’s many roundabouts, which mostly seem to bear a sculpture of some kind to help make them more memorable. One has a gigantic incense burner, for example, while another has vases, complete with pouring water.
Anyway, the concierge explained how to get to this restaurant once we had got back to the hotel, so we’ll make another attempt at finding it tomorrow.
So, we ended up eating mediocre Mexican food. Thanks to globalisation, one can eat Mexican food in the Middle East, whilst listening to two (fake?) Mexicans, strumming Mexican arrangements of Beatles and Carpenters songs on their acoustic guitars. Hmm.