Samail

Oman is a country of many geographical contrasts. West of Muscat there are the flat, fertile (by Arabian standards) coastal plains where most of the population lives, farms or fishes. In the interior, ragged mountains of every colour rise to 3000 metres above sea level. To the south, a seemingly endless desert. In the far south, the Dhofar mountains, which turn green between July and September as the edge of a monsoon clips the Arabian coast. However, as I do more exploring I'm finding some of the best contrasts are local, and you often discover them by accident.

Now my beloved Kia was back on the road I decided to head inland to the town of Samail, about 90km south west from Muscat. I knew nothing about it, apart from the fact there was a Fort, a not uncommon feature for most towns in Oman. I left Muscat early afternoon, taking the Expressway out of the city. Just before the turning for the road to Samail there is a road sign: 998km to Salalah. I have driven from Oxford to Scotland (and back) a few times, and completed the Icelandic Ring Road at almost 1300km. But it hit home how much of this country there is to explore; driving to Salalah is another thing to add to a growing list.

The weather was unusually stormy as I headed inland, a couple of lightning bolts hitting a mast on the top of one of the mountains ahead of me. The principle destination for many people travelling this way is the town of Nizwa, about 150km from Muscat and now firmly part of the tourist trail with its restored souks and fort. It is also one of few 'large' towns outside of Muscat sprawl. And at weekends many people working in Muscat return home to their family villages around the mountains.

A few miles after the main turning the highway enters a large flat valley. On the right, the imposing grey limestone mountains of the Western Hajar were surrounded by storm clouds, bearing a frightening resemblance to being on the edge of Mordor, the occasional lightning bolt illuminating the ridge lines. And on the left were the low lying brown 'Ophiolite' hills of the Eastern Hajar, originally submerged below the ancient Tethys sea some 90 million years ago, and one of few places on earth where you can walk on oceanic crust. These are the same hills which surround Muscat. Some more detailed geological facts can be found on this excellent website written by a couple of Dutch rock fans.

The road between the East and West Hajar. The Ophilites are on the right.

From the highway Samail looks like most of the other towns I had passed - large clusters of newly built compounds and a copse or two of date palms. But the real gem can be found in a wide valley hidden from the main road, about 1.5km wide and 10km long, and to appreciate the scale of it you need to find a high point. Feeling a bit adventurous I decided to try and climb up to one of the many watchtowers lining the edge of valley. I parked next to the wadi and armed with my camera and tripod I struggled up the edge, attracting a small crowd of bemused locals. From the top I could see the full extent of the palm plantations; a sea of green fills the valley as far as the eye can see. I now understand why the shops in Muscat are always so well stocked with dates; each tree can produce anything from 50 - 120 kilos per annum.

The Arabian Peninsula isn't all deserts.

 

The Two Towers

Beneath the canopy is an intricate and extensive falaj network of water channels which irrigate the valley. Plots of land were divided up by metre high brick walls, and each was criss-crossed with narrow irrigation channels. All the plots are watered sporadically, probably only once or twice a day for 15 minutes, but are given enough water for the date palms and crops. On the edges of the valley a few of the farms were more open and some were growing root vegatables, wheat crops and herbs (I think). Some plots are left fallow. Beneath the palms there appeared to be a mixture of fruit trees and grass (fodder for livestock), but it was difficult to tell.

Crop Rotation - the field on the right has been left fallow.

Intensive farming near Samail.

 I made my way up the valley on a narrow lane which cut through the plantations, intent in reach the castle about 4km away. It felt similar to driving through rural Vietnam, surrounded by rich green vegetation. However the lane gradually took me away from the main road and abruptly turned north, up and out of the valley. I decided to go with it, passing a couple of busy football pitches as the tarmac turned into a rough gravel road. In short, I ended up doing a big loop and found myself back at the top of the valley. Second time around I took the less scenic main road which follows the wadi towards the castle. Like the Fort at Barka, it was closed, although it was probably past four in the afternoon by that point. As I was about to leave I was approached by an Omani gentleman who invited me back to his home village for coffee and dates. I accepted and followed him out of Samail driving another 20km further south towards Nizwa, before turning towards Falaj Al Maragha.

We arrived at his house set in a typical compound at the edge of the village. It looked new, probably less than a year old. He introduced himself as Nasser and insisted on giving me a whistlestop tour of his village while his wife prepared the coffee. The first thing he showed me was the Falaj, the water channel which supplies his village and took me to the first point where it emerges from the ground. The rest of the channel is underground and flows directly from the porous limestone mountains about 10km to the west. Nasser reckoned the channel was between 300 and 500 years old. The water was lukewarm but very fresh and after two months of living on desalinated it tasted great.

Nasser showing me the Falaj, and texting his wife.

From there he showed me the rest of the village. It was sizeable, probably about 100 compounds and several copses of dates, along with a school, village hall and mosque. The water was divided up depending on the size of the household and the number of date trees. En route back we passed three of his nine brothers. Nasser said he had two sisters as well.

Nassers home was amongst a cluster of compounds on the edge of the village which were all owned by his immediate family. They had done well in recent years and the Government had granted them each some land, 60ft by 60ft plots, to build on. The house, surrounded by a 6ft wall, takes up most of the plot. I asked why he hadn't left a bit more space for a garden and he replied "if we had a bit more water we probably would". But he did say the rains in recent years had been good and the water supply had been steady. When he was growing up there were more regular droughts and water was generally more scarce. He said some of the text messages he was receiving were from friends and family elsewhere in the valley, reporting on where rain had fallen. Even in an era of more stable supplies and desalination, Omanis still get incredibly excited at the prospect of rain; talking about the weather is one thing the British and Omani people certainly have in common.

I was invited into the large guest room where fruit, dates and coffee was set out on the floor. Aside from the cushions there was no other furniture in the room. Nasser was joined by his younger brother Yousef and his two excitable children, a daughter aged 7 and a son aged 3. His daughter was wearing a beautiful red embroided dress and he explained most women wear them around the house but cover up in public. His wife did not join us although he said if I were to bring my wife in future then we could eat together.

Nasser, from what I could make out, worked for a public body which classified diseases. His brother Yousef was an architect who was busy designing the family hamlet. Nasser explained Yousef was not married yet and I enquired how men and women meet. He said when Yousef felt ready he would ask his mother and she would approach other family matriaches to see if there were any potential matches. Most marriages were by family agreement and according to Nasser it was up to the woman to accept the match. However he said more young people were meeting through other means now although they were still a small minority, especially in rural areas. I asked if the same was true of tribal links and he nodded; they were becoming a less prevalent factor in peoples lives. Nevertheless the connection to the home village remains an important part of an Omanis' life and identity.

After an hour Nassers 'prayer app' signalled it was time for the mosque, however he asked if I would stay for dinner. He came back half an hour later and I was served with lamb skewers, cream cheese, a sweet banana dip, fresh bread and tea. Outside it started to rain and lightning lit up the sky. His children were boucing with excitement, running around outside with little umbrellas.

Our conversation drifted from one topic to the next: Omani history, Chelsea Football Club, cars, family and social life. I explained how my Grandparents generation also had large families but now the norm was to have one or two children by early to mid-30s. The same demographic change was now happening in Oman, Nassers family being a case in point. This has been brought about by greater prosperity and job opportunities, although the family unit is still seen as the pension and safety net for many people. Nevertheless Omans economy will need to diversify more if it is to maintain the standards its growing population expects. Compared to many of its neighbours Oman has modest oil reserves which will start to decline by the time Nassers children grow up. For now it is doing well, but economic challenges do lie ahead.

By now it was past dark and time to head home. I said my farewells and promised Nasser I would stop by his village again in the coming months. En route back the lightning storm lit up the Western Hajar and I encountered more heavy rainfall at BidBid. I texted Nasser with news of the rain. For the rest of the way the traffic increased as more people joined the weekly migration from their villages, back to Muscat in time for work on Sunday morning.