Caliban – Opinion and Righteous Anger

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.

We started the day with some beachcombing. Sarah likes to collect rocks and shells whenever she visits a beach.

I spotted a couple of rather large-rumped fish, swimming about in the shallows of the retreating tide. I wish I could have got a closer look at them, but I was lucky even to spot them in the first place.

We then drove into Sur for a look around.

First of all, we passed down the very attractive corniche, then on to the jetty to see the dhows left high and dry on the mudbanks, the village of Ayajh behind them on the other side of the water.

An old man was willing to take us out in his small boat for a couple of rials, so we went with him and viewed the bay from the water. Ayajh’s three watchtowers and lighthouse are very impressive and were doubtless invaluable back in their day.

After some lunch at the oddly and unappealingly named Turkish Sheep Restaurant (which isn’t Turkish and serves no mutton; in fact, it has no menu, but they’ll prepare decent Indian food for you), we had to speed out of town towards Al Qabil, which was where we were due to be picked up for our Desert Discovery trip.

Once there, we were met by a thickly-accented South African chap, who led the way in his car towards Wahiba Sands. We turned right into the desert, at which point he bolted away from us over the sand, setting a pace I couldn’t hope to match with my lack of sand-driving skills.

We soon reached the site of the camp, but first a steep dune had to be negotiated before we would be at the tents. My first attempt failed and we had to roll back down the dune, back to a good distance from which to retry the approach. On my second attempt, we charged with much greater speed and power and this time managed to reach the top.

We signed in at the main tent and were assigned a chalet: a king-size bed and a flushing toilet, here in the middle of the desert! We’re impressed.

At 16:30, we went out for some dune driving. I didn’t want the hassle of letting a load of air out of our tyres (necessary to avoid getting stuck in the fine sand) or putting our hire car at risk (I’m pretty sure we’re not insured for dune-bashing), so we tagged along with the Desert Discovery lead vehicle rather than take our own. The driver, Abdullah, is a true Bedouin and knows the terrain here like the back of his hand.

At first, I regretted my decision not to personally drive, as careering over the dunes was obviously a lot of fun, but after a few frankly astounding manoeuvres on the part of our driver, Abdullah, I realised that we were getting the most spectacular ride of anyone in the group.

We hammered up and down dunes, sideways across them, down into ditches and up again to the crests of these golden, sandy waves.

Many times, I thought there was nowhere left for us to go, the only path in front of us a suicidally steep descent or an impossibly uneven patch of ground. In all such cases, Abdullah revved up the car and blasted us up or over whichever obstacle happened to be in our way. Several times I thought we might tip over, but we never did. What a driver!

Even if I had been driving and had managed to mimick Abdullah’s every move, Sarah would have been terrified. As it was, she implicitly trusted this perfect stranger, as he had grown up amongst these dunes.

The modern Bedouin may still trade camels, but he drives a 4×4 to get from A to B. None of their cars are insured, either, as the only time they are taken onto a public road is when their owners sneak into town to fill them up with petrol.

We stopped several times during the dune drive, the final time to watch the sun set over the mountains. As soon as the sun was gone, a dust storm kicked up, triggered by the change in the temperature of the air.

The sand in the desert is amazing. It’s so fine that it’s almost like liquid, as fine as dust, and nothing like the sand you find on even the most finely grained beach. In fact, the grains are so miniscule that each footstep leaves behind a perfect print, from which even the text of the logo from the sole of the shoe can be read. Yes, you can actually tell which make of shoe people are wearing from the footprints made in these sands.

We headed back to camp and chatted to a few of our fellow visitors. Most of them were either expats or the visiting friends or family of expats. It seems to be a very popular place for such foreign workers to bring visiting family.

Most people we talked to had been here multiple times before. In fact, we didn’t meet a single non-resident tourist here.

Dinner was served at 19:00 and was delicious. Afterwards, a live band of Bedu musicians regaled us with their highly percussive music. Eloïse danced along to the music and enjoyed herself immensely.

The atmosphere was wonderful. Everyone was having a great time and the mood was electric. Many different nationalities and cultures were represented here, from Swedish to Omani, New Zealander to Indian.

All too soon, however, the party was over and we were all back in our chalets and tents, waiting for the generator to be switched off for the night.

As we undressed Eloïse, we noticed that her nappy was full of sand. Ouch! She’d been playing happily in the stuff, but we hadn’t realised that the sand might find its way that far inside. Fortunately, she hadn’t been rubbed raw by it.

It took rather longer than expected to leave the hotel today, and not because of how much we had enjoyed the stay in our beautiful room with sea view, the friendly and efficient staff, the fully stocked club lounge that one can dip into at any time for free juices (including pineapple – yum!) snacks and free wireless Internet access, the great swimming pools, the fabulous breakfast, etc.

No, it’s just because we had unpacked quite a bit in the course of our four day stay, so it took a lot of time to get packed up again. We also had to arrange a trip into the desert on Thursday with Desert Discovery, which required a phone call. Last but not least, we didn’t bother setting an alarm, so we weren’t down to breakfast as early as we might have been.

Eloïse has been such a fantastic travel partner since we got here. In fact, she has always been great at travel. The least we can do in return is let her go to sleep and wake up as and when she pleases. Consequently, we rise (and occasionally crash) when she does.

Anyway, we finally made it onto the road by noon and were heading towards Quriyat, the town where the unsurfaced coastal road to Sur begins. 84 km later, we arrrived in Qurayyat. We made sure the car was full of petrol, cleaned the windscreeen and popped into a local eatery for some food.

One of the surprising things about Oman is that there are a lot of fast food type restaurants that, from the outside, look very unappealing. Sometimes, they remind one of the crud served in similar-looking establishments in the West; sometimes they just look drab and unappealing.

In Oman, however, one is constantly surprised by the quality of the food on offer inside such places. It’s not necessarily going to impress Gordon Ramsey, but it’s decent, filling and cheap. And when I say cheap, I mean really cheap. A filling meal can be had at many places for as little as rial or less.

And that reminds me: I have to mention the fabulous fruit drinks that can be had all over Oman. Wherever you go, small hole-in-the-wall shops, juice bars and restaurants conjure up large fruit drinks, smoothies, shakes, or any combination thereof. You can get everything from avocado shakes to fresh lime juice. Beware, however, of the surfeit of sugar that will invariably be deposited in your drink unless you instruct otherwise.

Anyway, after lunch, we hit the rocky road and began winding our way to Sur, a plume of dust being kicked up in our wake. I’m not an experienced driver on unsurfaced roads (in spite of years of driving up and down US 101 in California), but at no point during the trip did I start to become uncomfortable. There were a few steep gradients and some incredibly bone-jarring washboard patches, but nothing that made me wonder how I was going to navigate through it.

At just after 15:00, we reached Wadi Shab, immediately before the small town of Tiwi and just after an incredibly steep descent. There had been precious little to see on the way, save for a few other 4×4 vehicles carrying tourists, the occasional bird overhead, feral donkeys, straying goats and a dead camel at the side of the road.

If Eloïse weren’t in tow, this wadi would have been good for a day hike, but as it is, we walked for only an hour before turning back.

The wadi is lush and beautiful. Tall palms rise up on either side of the water, themselves dwarved by the towering cliff walls. Local girls beat tree branches with long sticks to make their berries fall, which they then collect. I’m not sure if they are eaten as is or used for cooking.

Alas, we could stay no longer, because we wanted to reach Sur by sunset. We could have spent a pleasant day wandering through the wadi.

We got back on the road and finally found our way back onto tarmac some 20 km or so outside of Sur. The road felt like velvet from that point forward, and the soles of my feet were tingling from all of the day’s unsurfaced jostling.

We overshot Sur and had to backtrack 5 km. Once we’d realised our mistake, we quickly located our hotel and checked in. We were given a room facing the sea. As I write this, I’m watching the waves break on the beach and listening to the roar of the ocean through our balcony doorway. The easternmost point of the Arabian peninsula lies just a few kilometres from here, at Ras al-Jinz, an important turtle-breeding site; sadly, we’re here out of turtle season.

There was just enough time before sunset to enjoy a walk on the beach. We found a partially decomposed turtle, a washed up blowfish and a dehydrated cuttlefish. Eloïse darted around in the sand, while Sarah collected rocks and shells.

It was now time for dinner. We opted for the hotel’s restaurant, as our guidebooks seemed to suggest there weren’t very many options in town. Once again, we were in for a surprise, as our totally unassuming hotel restaurant turned out to serve excellent food.

We plumped for the buffet and weren’t disappointed. There was even a choice of dessert, amongst other things fruit triffle (sic) and strewberry gareaux (sic). They tasted better than they were spelt.

Tomorrow morning, we’ll look around Sur. In the afternoon, we’re off to a desert camp somewhere in Wahiba Sands. I can’t wait!

Tonight’s hotel, by the way, is the Sur Beach Hotel. Its folder boasts that it is a world class hotel with “all amenities”. Presumably, this includes the undersized sink plug lagged with toilet-paper to make it fit, which was brought to our room when we complained that there was no way to make the water stay in the basin! Credit where credit’s due, though: the solution worked.

We returned to the Mutrah Souq today to purchase a couple of shirts, then put the car in 4WD mode and headed out to Wadi Mayh, in search of date palms, feral donkeys, straying goats and tiny villages. Getting off the tarmac onto a dusty gravel track was good practice for the major trek ahead of us tomorrow, as we leave Muscat behind us and head down the coastal road to Sur.

We could take the inland road and be there much more quickly, but the coastal road is reputedly stunning, so we’re opting for that instead. We’ve been told that a 4×4 vehicle is essential for this trip, so I’m curious to see what the terrain will be like.

Anyway, we stopped at a village on the way back from Wadi Mayh and introduced Eloïse to some little girls who were playing at the side of the dusty road. From the reception we received, it was clear that no tourists ever drive into this village.

I’ve said it before, but I feel the need to say it again: the reaction from people when they see a lily-white, red-headed baby is extraordinary. It must be an even rarer sight than I imagined it would be.

Today, for example, in the Souq, a trio of Arabic women asked if they could take Eloïse’s picture, and we always oblige such requests. They whipped camera phones from their abayas and proceeded to snap away, touching her red hair and pale skin as they did so. “Beautiful, beautiful!” they enthused.

It’s hard to approach a Muslim woman in traditional clothing, so Eloïse forms an effective ice-breaker between us and a section of the population we’d otherwise likely find no way to interact with.

We returned from the wadi in time for some swimming pool fun before dinner. This time, we dined at the authentically Omani Bin Atiq restaurant.

As in the UAE, there are so many immigrants in Oman that finding a restaurant that serves true Omani cuisine (rather than Lebanese, Indian, etc.) is something of a challenge. Bin Atiq thankfully rises to the occasion.

It’s a bit of an unusual place. Rather than one large dining room or a couple of smaller ones, the place is divided into many small rooms, each with its own door. As such, it feels more like a small motel than a restaurant.

You leave your shoes at the door to your room and enter inside. The room has a carpet and several cushions. There is no furniture, but there is an ancient air-conditioning unit and an equally ancient television set, which you can watch while you eat. The door is closed behind you, opened only when your waiter enters to take your order and serve your food.

As you might imagine, traditional restaurant ambience is totally absent here. People-watching is impossible. On the other hand, you get the privacy of your own room, your small baby can go ballistic without anyone else being annoyed or even noticing, the room is totally smoke free, you can breastfeed without offending anyone, etc., etc. And it’s yours for as long as you want it, so it’s great for a real family get-together.

The food, which almost becomes secondary to the experience, was very good. I was grateful for the opportunity to eat some real Omani food.

Tomorrow, we leave Muscat for Sur. We’d really like to stay overnight somewhere along the way, but all sources agree that there is no accommodation along the entire route. Camping, then, is the only option, but we have no gear with us. So, it’s onward all the way to Sur, whether we like it or not.

I’ve no idea when we’ll next have Internet access, so this may be our last update for a while.

Today was another alarm clock day. 08:15, this time.

The reason, once again, was to visit a mosque before closing time at 11:00. This time, it was the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque. This time, we checked ahead of time to find out whether children were allowed and were told by our hotel concierge that this wouldn’t be a problem.

After breakfast, we drove across Muscat to the mosque and were alarmed to discover that no children under 10 are allowed inside. But not to worry, a bit of politeness goes a long way here, and so after asking the guard nicely, we were admitted inside, Eloïse and all.

I could describe the mosque to you, but I’d really be wasting your time and mine. Tasteful, opulent and grandiose are adjectives that come to mind; breathtaking is another. The central chandelier is extraordinary and reminded me of the mothership from the film Close Encounters of The Third Kind.

The grandeur of the building left one in awe; I was quite gobsmacked. That single experience this morning made my entire day.

We decided to hit a couple of the local shopping centres afterwards, namely the Sabco Centre and the Al Araimi. We checked out the “most valuable perfume in the world”, Amouage, not to be confused with the most expensive perfume in the world, which would mean something else entirely.

After a coffee at Barista, we went back to the hotel and spent the afternoon in the swimming pool, splashing around and playing with Eloïse. That was a really great family activity and lots of fun.

Dinner this evening was at Kargeen Café, the restaurant we didn’t manage to find yesterday evening. It was tricky this evening, too, but we eventually located it. The dinner, thankfully, was well worth it and the ambience was fantastic. We sat outside on comfortable one-person benches, with frankincense burning all around us and the occasional restaurant cat sauntering by. Simply lovely.

We’re going to have to get some chocolate-covered dates before we leave here. We checked out Bateel before dinner; the only branch in Oman is within walking distance of our hotel.

Speaking of our hotel, I love this place and would recommend it to anyone who’s considering coming to Muscat; especially in 2007, as the Al Bustan Palace is closed for a year for renovations.

When we came back to our room from dinner, a gigantic birthday cake was waiting for us on our table. The staff had noticed it was my birthday and had brought in a lovely cake for us. How’s that for attentive?

It has to be said, by the way, that the people here are the kindest and friendliest people we’ve encountered since our honeymoon to Thailand, Laos and Vietnam in 2002. They drive courteously, they love children, they are pleased to help you with directions and questions; they’re always willing to go to a little bit of trouble for you. Common courtesy, you know? If you give it, you’ll receive it, too. You don’t see that so much in the west any more.

It just keeps getting hotter, by the way. It was about 31 or 32°C today. Do you know what they call this kind of heat here? Their name for it is: winter. The coldest winter days here average around 25°C. That would have been a great summer’s day back in The Netherlands before mankind ruined the climate. I just don’t know how people cope here in the summer, when the temperature can rise up above 50°C.