We made an early start today, having an early breakfast and getting on the road by about 09:30. We had a lot to pack in and only one more day in the area.
We drove about 50 km to the village of Al Hamra, which features two and three storey mud-brick houses in the Yemeni style. This old village had real character and conveyed a sense of life from a bygone era. We saw women doing their washing in the falaj at the side of the road.
From Al Hamra, we returned to the main road and began our ascent of Jebel Shams, the highest mountain in Oman.
The Lonely Planet guide warned of “vertiginous views over the edge [of the road] a little too close to the hubcaps for comfort”, a phrase that had made me nervous about making the ascent with our precious cargo on board. Happily, however, there was no real danger and the ascent was an easy one, although a 4×4 vehicle was definitely necessary on the steep, unsurfaced road.
At the top, it was a relatively cool and refreshingly pleasant 21°C.
Peering over the rim of what is known locally as the Grand Canyon of Arabia revealed the depth of what was, indeed, a gigantic chasm, with Wadi Ghul down below. It’s about a 1.5 km vertical drop down to the wadi: you definitely wouldn’t want to fall off this precipice.
Further along the canyon rim, we came across a small village, situated right at the canyon’s edge. Quite why this remote site was chosen for a village is a mystery to me, but there it was, complete with shacks, washing lines, goats, dogs, children and elders.
A woman tried very persistently to sell us some woven goods, but we were equally persistent in our refusal. She eventually disappeared, only to be replaced by an old man, who was eager for us to take his photo, as long as we crossed his palm with a rial in return. His face was contoured and weathered in a way that made him appear like he had stepped out of an item on the evening news, or perhaps out of the pages of an issue of National Geographic.
We declined his offer and he, too, eventually disappeared.
Soon afterwards, as we were gazing out into the canyon, another man joined us, shook our hand and offered us coffee. It’s very rude to refuse such an invitation in the Gulf states, so we accepted and walked with him to his home in the tiny village.
His domicile was a one-room brick affair, with mats laid out across the floor.
We doffed our shoes and entered, sitting against the far wall. He followed us inside and opened a big tub of dates, pulled out a handful and offered them to us. We gratefully accepted his offer and found the dates to be delicious.
He then poured coffee for us, but it was unlike any coffee (or other drink, for that matter) that I have tasted before. I have no idea what it was made from, but it was dark in appearance. He poured it into small, handleless cups and handed them to us. Sarah and I both partook.
The women of the family soon joined us, complete with small baby, and we began to exchange small talk, such as the age of our respective babies, where we were from, etc.
I looked about the room. In spite of the lack of furniture and the obvious simplicity of the structure, the home was relatively well-equipped. An electricity meter graced one wall, whilst a small television set sat perched in one corner of the room. Under it, a satellite tuner box blinked the wrong time.
I glanced over to the door, half ajar and brightly lit by the midday sunlight. A sticker on the outside read ‘Do you Yahoo?’ It seemed as if matter from a separate universe had somehow slipped through into this one.
On the wall behind us, a photo of the photogenic old man shared space with a rifle and a khanjar.
Before long, and rather expectedly, the woven goods were produced by the women and laid in front of us for our inspection. Having been taken into this man’s home, drunk his brew and eaten his dates, we could now hardly refuse to purchase something, but the trade was more than worth it.
We purchased a couple of goat-hair keyrings and I paid the old man that rial for his photo. I also took a photo of the man who had invited us in, but we weren’t allowed to photograph the women of the house (one of whom had already whipped out a boob in front of us to feed the baby — I hadn’t expected a Muslim woman to do that in front of strangers).
I’m sure we weren’t the first and won’t be the last tourists to be invited into his home, and that he was probably more motivated by salesmanship than friendship, but the experience was no less real for that small detail. It reminded me of our contact with the Thai hill tribes back in 2002 and reinforced my belief that there is nothing in this world that can compare with travel and the contact it brings with people from other cultures.
After our encounter, we slowly headed back down Jebel Shams and had lunch at a small camp site/café on the mountain.
Once we had made it back down to ground level, we drove through the wadi to the base of the desserted village of Ghul. We clambered up the rocks to the village and nosed around in the ruins of the old mud-brick homes, long since abandoned to the elements.
This left just enough time to point the car back in the direction of Nizwa and make for the Al Hoota caves, a recently opened cave system that boasts one of the largest caverns anywhere in the world. A small train carries you from the reception area to the cave entrance: very slick.
The caves themselves were fun, but not as awe-inspiring as those we visited last year in Slovakia and Hungary. Our guide didn’t speak much English, either, but the visit was still fun.
A simple dinner of shwarma and hummus back in Nizwa rounded off the day.