What a day. We’re knackered, and I do speak for all of us.
Our speedboat was a partially covered affair with two outboard motors. We set off from Khasab harbour pretty punctually, after the food and drink had been loaded on board.
The first leg of the journey went very quickly, with the boat bouncing up and over the waves as we headed out towards the Strait of Hormuz. Our guide explained to us in good English that he had learned the language simply from talking to tourists. He had received no formal English tuition. In fact, he then informed us that he had not attended school of any kind, making his linguistic ability all the more impressive.
The scenery was pleasant, the wind created by our speed refreshing, and Eloïse looked very sweet in her little lifejacket. She was not happy to be on the boat, though, and had protested loudly about not being taken to the park instead.
As we headed out into open water, one yellow fibreglass speedboat after the other rocketed past us in the opposite direction, its crew almost catapulted from the vessel with each wave they rode. Our Kumzari guide explained to us that the occupants were the notorious Iranian smugglers, heading towards Khasab to pick up their bounty of household appliances, electronics, cigarettes and other contraband — all of which arrives at the harbour tax-free from the UAE — to bring it back to Iran, which I’m told is some 50 km from here. There, it will be sold on the black market.
After about half an hour, one of our outboard motors gave up the ghost, slowing our pace dramatically. When the motor died, the skipper stopped the boat and, at first, it wasn’t apparent that the other motor was still working, so it was quite a relief when that one was started up again and we stopped drifting.
The only stop on the way was to drop off a passenger, a friend of the skipper, at a fishing boat moored along one of the cliffs. High above, on top of the cliff, a look-out post was manned by someone searching for fish down below in the clear water.
Just before noon, we got our first view of Kumzar as it came into sight. We docked, but there was no sight of the promised smaller boat that would bring us to shore.
No matter, we would just walk, and it turned out to be an interesting walk, bringing us past fields of glittering sardines, lying baking in the sun, waiting to be picked up after three days spent drying. Our guide told us that up to 1000 kg of sardines are landed here some days.
Our walk towards the village took us past a desalination plant (for producing drinking water), a power station, a small hospital and a school.
Schoolchildren were walking towards us on their way to attend the afternoon session. Both the boys and the girls were wearing immaculately clean uniforms, although they were nothing like the school uniforms we have in the West.
The girls in particular were very interested in Eloïse. Not many white babies make it out here and even fewer of them are redheads. In fact, according to our guide, only three or so trips come here each week, which means just a handful of visitors (unless yesterday’s cruise liner has docked, in which case an excursion might contain as many as 25 people travelling here by dhow).
The girls posed for some pictures, but were very shy. Then, the boys got in on the action and were considerably less shy, jostling for position and striking macho poses.
Finally, we arrived in the village and were met by smiling, happy faces everywhere.
We walked through the rocky streets of the village. The road is unsurfaced, which makes sense, as there are no cars here. The married women wear facial masks similar to the Bedouin ones we have seen elsewhere. It was immediately clear to us that traditions and the old way of life have been better preserved here than anywhere else we’ve visited in Oman.
Goats huddled up in the shade of doorways, women wove fabrics and the men relaxed in shaded enclosures on the beach. Children were playing everywhere. Most families have five or six, we were told.
We walked out of the village on the far side and were taken to the large well, which was the only source of water before the desalination plant was built.
Electricity comes from the power station. Telephone lines also come all the way out here.
I checked my mobile and saw that I had a decent signal. It’s funny to think that there were moments back in Palo Alto, California that I didn’t have a good signal on my mobile, yet here I am now in the remote, northernmost community of the Arabian peninsula, where there are no roads and the only way in or out is a two-hour trip by boat, and I have a respectable signal.
We took a different route back through the village, this time weaving in and out of the mesh or narrow alleyways that separate the houses, some of which are two to four hundred years old, we were told.
Occasionally, we would turn a corner and encounter an entire family sitting on their doorstep. As is the case wherever we go, we would point at each other’s babies and encourage hand waves and greetings. Babies are the international language of womankind, and if you take one with you, you’ll receive a warm welcome from other mothers everywhere, it seems.
The call to prayer went out from the mosque and reverberated around the mountains. Back on the beach, boys were playing. It seemed as if every one of them was wearing a football shirt. I spotted a couple of Beckham shirts.
It was now time to leave, so we headed back to the boat and got underway again. It was now lunchtime, so the food was brought out and we all tucked in.
There was chicken, vegetable stew, rice, salad and bread; all in all, a very good spread.
The trip back took just under three hours with our single motor. Just before we docked, we were shown where the Iranian smugglers dock. There were dozens of boats and their owners were busying loading and tying their cargo of electronics and cigarettes. In the mornings, they apparently arrive in Khasab carrying goats for deposit here.
We had a quick look around the new souq area of Khasab, which took mere minutes, and then took Eloïse to the park, where she got a good hour’s playing time.
Afterwards, we headed back into Khasab for dinner at a local restaurant, picked more or less at random. The fruit juices were very welcome and prepared us for the food, which consisted of a large local fish called Sharji.
While we were eating, a large bus of Philippino people, mostly women, turned up and emptied into our restaurant. Almost every seat in the house was now taken. As you might expect, the table of women nearest us started cooing over Eloïse. We got talking to them.
It turns out that they all live in Dubai and are all on visitor visas while they attempt to find work. Their visas have all run out, so they have come to Oman’s Musandam peninsula purely so that they can reenter the UAE and start the clock ticking on a new visa.
They told us that 3000 Philippino people arrive in the Dubai every day, looking for work. Can that possibly be true? These women’s English was excellent and many of them were beautiful; it’s sad to think that they have such a hard time finding their feet and making ends meet. One of them confessed that things really aren’t any better in Dubai for her than back home.
Eloïse was now dead beat, so we had to get her back to the hotel. We paid our bill and reluctantly left, as it would have been nice to spend more time talking to the Philippino ladies.
Tomorrow, we leave Musandam and therefore Oman, too, behind us. We’ll head south through the UAE, back along the road that brought us here, towards the emirate of Sharjah, where we’ll spend the night.