We awoke at 07:20 after a glorious night’s sleep in the completely silent and starlit desert. As we emerged from the chalet, we found beetle tracks and some larger prints that we were later assured by the camp manager were those of a mouse, cat or fox.
Breakfast consisted of baked beans and boiled eggs today. Eloïse tucked into the beans with gusto.
After breakfast, we staggered down the dune on which the camp is situated to a sheltered area, where Bedu women had assembled with their assorted handwoven goods. I purchased two wristbands for a couple of rials each.
We then walked over to where some Bedu boys had trussed a herd (is it a herd?) of camels. For a couple of rials each (and just one for Eloïse), we went camel riding.
Mounting a camel is easy, because it’s sitting on the ground when you do so. You just clamber onto his back. When he gets to his feet, however, he does so by getting to his hind legs first, which has the effect of creating a disturbingly steep slope between his back and his neck, down which you believe you are inadvertently going to slide at high speed.
Thankfully, however, the camel then quickly gets to his front legs, too, so that the feeling of imminently arse-skiing at lightning speed off the head-end of this living, makeshift ski slope gives way to a sense of relief that, for now, one has made it into the riding position.
And then off he walks, led by his Bedu master. A strap at either side of the saddle provides something to hold onto, although I couldn’t help but feel that my long torso made for a less than optimal centre of gravity. The feeling that I might inadvertently shift too much of my weight to either side and make an ungraceful and impromptu dismount at any moment scarcely left me during the entire ride, which was, at least, mercifully short.
The only thing trickier than mounting the camel is dismounting. Well, getting off it is actually almost too easy, because if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up with your face in the sand.
As the camel starts to kneel on his front legs, you have to lean backwards as far as possible, so that you are virtually horizontal along his back. This, I did, but it still wasn’t enough to prepare myself for the moment when the camel goes into a full front kneel, at which point I was catapulted forward with considerable force. My Bedu helper put a hand up to my chest to stop my tense and inexpert pose from allowing me to be launched like a human projectile from my desert steed.
Eloïse had not been happy when first placed on top of Sarah’s camel, but now started to complain bitterly as she was taken off. She wanted to get right back on. You have to admire the spirit of the girl, as she’s up for almost anything.
After the camel ride, we walked back past the Bedu ladies, who were now busy weaving and braiding, using their toes to hold one end of the wool in place. We bought a camel hair keyring for our back door keys and then went on our way.
It’s amazing to come into contact in this way with real Bedu, dressed in their traditional clothing, replete with striking angled face mask. What an opportunity and what a contrast with our daily lives back home.
We clambered back up the dune, paid our bill and thanked the camp staff for such a wonderful experience. What a terrific place the desert can be; I can’t recommend Desert Discovery highly enough for setting up this camp and helping the local Bedu benefit from their activities, here in Wahiba Sands.
We headed off in the car, making our way back over the sand towards the main road, where we turned left and began the long drive to Nizwa, some 220 km away (yes, not actually a very long way, but on straight roads with no cruise control and a chiming nanny built into the car when you edge over 120 kmh, it does feel long).
There wasn’t much to see along the way, just the now familar sights of dozens of roaming goats, a few feral donkeys and the occasional grazing camel. Eloïse soon dozed off after departure and didn’t wake up again until we reached our hotel a couple of hours later. Her timing couldn’t have been better.
It’s Friday, which is weekend here, so most things are closed. In any case, many things shut down between 13:00 and 16:00, and only slowly come back to life thereafter, so we first had a buffet lunch at the hotel and then went back to our room to make some calls in an effort to firm up our itinerary for the next few days.
At 16:00, we drove into the centre of Nizwa, parked the car and began ambling around the souq. There were some nice woven goods, pottery, the omnipresent khanjars, lots of fruit and veg, fish and even a separate souq just for trading dates. The dates available here are supposedly excellent, so we bought a big box for just one rial. The value for money just can’t be beaten.
Unfortunately, the souq’s goat market operates only on Thursday mornings, so we weren’t able to view that particular spectacle. Instead, we left and walked further into town, where Nizwa proved to be a bustling town with an appealing character all its own.
Nizwa is a quite a long way inland and this gives it a totally different flavour from the coastal towns. The population is 70% Omani, or so I’m told, which is a vastly higher percentage than in, say, Muscat, where most of the residents are immigrants.
The mosque here is beautiful (it graces the cover of the 2006 Bradt guidebook to Oman), but non-Muslims are not allowed inside, so we settled for admiring the building from the outside.
Of course, there are plenty of immigrants here, too — mostly Indians, as elsewhere in Oman — and so it was that we managed to find a travel agent who was open on Friday. We took advantage of the moment to purchase a trio of return plane tickets to Salalah for this coming Sunday.
With that taken care of, we walked back through the town, now bustling more than ever, as the sun had set and the evening prayer had just finished.
People were spilling into the street from the mosque and the weekend atmosphere was vibrant.
We headed back to the car and had dinner at a local restaurant. The entire meal, which consisted of two main meals, salads, hummus, two large glasses of fruit juice, a Pepsi Light (or Diet Pepsi, as it’s known here) and a 1.5 l bottle of water came to just four rials, or €8. What incredible value. The soft drink was complimentary; no reason; they just do things like that here.
As always, the staff were friendly and the other diners gestured to Eloïse, encouraging her to play with their children. In the course of any given day, Eloïse gets picked up and manhandled by at least half a dozen strangers. She doesn’t particularly care for the tactile approach, but the practice is so common that we encourage her to be friendly, placid and take it in her stride. Sometimes she’ll say “Hi” and then “Bye”, but those are reserved for the fortunate few.
We’re in Nizwa tonight and tomorrow.