Could you bring the Curry?

Last Thursday I was invited to go camping with some colleagues and their families. But on one condition: would I be able to transport a large vat of curry from Muscat to Fasah, a small village 180km away in the middle of the Al-Jabal al Akhdar mountain range? Some of my colleagues were leaving the day before and the curry would probably dissipate after 48 hours in their cars. So, armed with a brand new red Coleman coolbox, I accepted the task.

What made it challenging was my car, a second hand Kia Sorrento which has had one problem after another. Vehicles suffer out here and a combination of high temperatures, dust and Muscats road system ensure good business for carmechanics. Indeed garages and repair shops in Oman are as common as garden centres in Hampshire so if you do break down there is normally somewhere close by you can have it fixed. At least the petrol is only 17p a litre.

I left at midday on the Saturday following the road west out of Muscat, past Barka before turning left at Al-Muladdah and continuing south-west to the town of Rustaq. The car started well but as I passed Barka the road began to feel suspiciously more bumpy and 5km shy of Rustaq my front right tire burst. After changing the tire in the sweltering heat the brakes started to make a racket and, after limping to Rustaq to find all the garages closed until 4pm, I thought my journey was over. Miraculously whilst being taken to an open garage by a friendly local the noise ceased (some dislodged grit perhaps?) and despite an increasingly leaky radiator I took the chance to go on.

The only way through the otherwise impenetrable Al-Jabal al Akhdar mountains is the Wadi Bani Awf. The alternative route to Fasah would be a 200km drive from Rustaq via Ibri in the west, or back east to Muscat where you take the main road via Bidbid and Nizwa. So the narrow pass was busy and chaotic with vast engineering works taking place inbetween the small villages hidden behind date palms.

Wadi Bani Awf

Roads in Oman are regularly washed away by floodwater. For most of the year the wadi is a small trickle but for one or two days it becomes a deadly torrent which destroys everything in its path. The engineering work is an attempt to channel natures power. Whether my Kia made it through was another matter; I saw at least two cars with infant daughters sat steering on fathers lap, negotiating the noisy columns of lorries and trucks.

The wadi opens out on to large plateau surrounded on all sides by the mountains. Immediately to

the west was the small town of Fasah, mostly hidden amongst an oasis of irrigated date palms. The rest of the plateau is barren, littered with a few patches of withered trees and dry vegetation. More sporadic building was taking place as well, mostly new roads but also a few houses and schools were being constructed close to Fasah and Amq. In the distance further to the west is the summit Jebal Shams (literally 'mountain of the sun' in Arabic), a tower of jagged brown rock which soars 5000 feet above the plains and foothills below. It is one of the few places on earth where rock deep within the mantle has been forced through the crust, the enormous pressures giving the mountains their omninous, twisted and beautiful appearance. 

Jebal Shams in the Distance

We found an area to camp in a small valley not far from the village of Madruj, about 3 - 4km south west of the summit. The children were kept busy foraging for firewood in the nearby scrub and as the sun set we settled down for dinner. Upon opening the coolbox the curry was thankfully (and literally) in one piece, frozen inside the container. After a long days drive it was a welcome meal amongst good company. We spent the rest of the evening sat around the warm campfire watching dusk give way to a blanket of stars, Orion emerging briefly to the west above the ridgeline before disappearing. Being closer to the equator the stars move more quickly and I had my first go at filming them. At midnight the moon rose in the east, flooding the valley and mountains above with pale light. At this point I turned my camera off and managed a few hours sleep under canvass.

Is there a pub nearby?

Our Camp

I woke early the next morning. The valley was earily silent, broken only by the occasional call of a bird and loud snoring emanating from a nearby tent. I crept out of the camp and headed for a nearby hillock to catch the sunrise. On the way down I bumped into a friendly goat herder, an elderly gentleman probably in his early 70s wearing a white dishdasha and a pair of worn out reebok trainers. We exchanged greetings and seeing my camera asked if I could take his photo. He was possibly after a bit of money although I could not be sure. I showed him the photo and on he went, his goats slowly following him back down the valley.

The south eastern flank of Jebal Shams

The mountains soon lit up with sunlight and before too long the cool night temperatures gave way to blistering summer heat. After a hearty breakfast of scrambled egg and Arabic bread we packed our tents up and headed back towards Rustaq to visit the Fort. I will write about this at a later date, although I will say the vast battlements make for a good game of hide and seek. From there it was back to Muscat. Until next weekend, inshallah.

Early Morning in Mutrah

Friday 11 April

I woke early and left the house by 5.30. The night sky was turning pale blue to the east and the street lights were still on. I headed east towards Old Muscat intent on seeing sunrise. The normally busy roads were empty; only on Sultan Qaboos Street and the other main roads did I see a few cars.

Muscat is not a conventional coastal city, if there is such a thing. The old city lies to the far east of the modern day urban sprawl which stretches for 30km west along the coast towards Seeb and Barka (the town I visited two weeks ago). Old Muscat nestles on the edge of a natural defensive harbour and is hemmed in on all sides by rugged, impassable mountains. In terms of size the old city is, at a guess, no larger than Westminster and its adjacent parks in central London. Since the reign of the present Sultan, who came to power in 1970, the city has increased a hundred fold spreading out along the coastal plains and valleys to the west. Old Muscat, and the neighbouring 'town' of Mutrah, remain largely cut off from the modern city by the sheer mountains, pierced only by a highway and coastal road which connects it with the rest of the city. 

My principle aim of the morning was to buy lunch at the fish market, but not before taking a quick walk in the nearby hills. I left the car at Riyam Park, between Old Muscat and Mutrah, eventually finding the walking path. It took me all of 25 minutes to clamber up and down the hills and was rewarded with a good view of Mutrah harbour being lit up by the sunrise, the Sultan's gigantic yacht dwarfing the nearby fishing boats. The way down was not straightforward as I had to scramble over a 'wadi dam' which prevents flash floodwater from engulfing the houses below; apparently it did not stop the nearby souk being flooded after a recent heavy deluge. After helping two nervous Indian IT technicians scramble down the side of the dam I headed for Mutrah Corniche.

Mutrah Harbour, overlooked by Mutrah Fort centre left. The Sultans Yacht is on the right.

Being early on a Friday morning almost everything was closed. A few locals were busy line fishing off the corniche, enticing small shoals with breadcrumbs, but it was otherwise quiet. However as I passed the entrance to souk I heard a shout of 'Es Salaam Alaykum, Good Morning', and a middle aged man in a white dishdasha and cap came bounding towards me. I had been spotted by one of the work guards, Talal, who I didn't recognise outside of his uniform. We exchanged pleasantries and news. He was out doing some part-time taxi work. I told him I was heading for the nearby fish market, but that I would buy him a coffee on the way back if he was still there. Muscat is a small place after all.

Mutrah Fort

The fish market lies at the far end of the corniche, and consists of a large dusty car park and warehouse roof. Unlike the rest of the town the market was a hive of activity at 7.30am. Fishermen were hurriedly bringing the nights catch from the harbour in wheelbarrows and many of the stalls were already fully stocked with almost every type of fish you can imagine: huge piles of mackeral; yellow fin tuna; small sharks; eels; sailfish; and a wide variety of different shellfish. The fishermen who did not have stalls under the roof simply set up shop in the car park, selling fish out of the boot of their trucks or tarpalin sheets laid out on the gravel. I wandered up and down trying to decide what to buy before settling down for what looked like a large cod (I know little about fish), and for all of 1.5 rials; about £2.10.

Hungry?

The old fish market is being replaced by a new purpose built trading hall under construction next door. Nevertheless it will remain a fish market. I just hope it retains the same loud and chaotic atmosphere as today.

I left just after 8.00 as the market was becoming busier. Fish in hand I headed back up the corniche where I bumped into Talal again. I offered to buy coffee but being typically Omani he was insistent I was his guest and he would make the purchase. We sat down on the pavement and chatted for a few minutes about how to make Omani coffee and the best places in Mutrah Souk to buy Frankincense. Apparently the best time to shop is early evening when the tourists disappear, in other words you are not overcharged. Tourists normally pay between 5 - 7 rials (about £8 - £11) for one kilo. However if you look in the right place and speak a bit of Arabic you can buy for less than 3 rials. Still I don't blame the traders for making gullible visitors pay a bit more. Just as we finished coffee Talal spotted a couple of American tourists in their late 50s ambling out of their nearby hotel. He rushed off and, I found out later, managed to bag a couple of city tours so he was pleased. I will do a Talal tour of Muscat in due course.

Mutrah Corniche

 
By 8.30 the sun was already beating down so I headed back, via a Portuguese watchtower, to my car. They are common on the Muscat coast; lonely outcrops of orderly rock on otherwise rugged headlands and shadows of bygone European empire. Now they offer another good viewpoint of the harbours below. I like to imagine what the view was like 100 years ago. Probably not much difference, although I don't think the Sultan in 1914 possessed quite such a large yacht.

RoadTrip to As Sifah

I left early again on Saturday this time heading immediately east from Al Khuwair towards Ruwi. The roads were quiet again but markedly busier than Friday. Until last year weekends began on Thursday before it was changed to Friday to be more aligned with Western calenders. The UAE and Qatar were the first in 2006, and after Oman made the switch Saudi Arabia soon followed.

I stopped just before Ruwi for petrol. It cost just 7 Omani Rials or about £12 to fill the tank of my Kia Sorrento from near empty to full. I found my way through the bustling shopping streets in Ruwi to the As Sifah bypass road, although getting through Ruwi puts alot of people off using it. On the plus side I didn't see another car for about half an hour and there was a good view of the urban sprawl which has filled the valleys like water.

Al Kabir District, Muscat

From there the road cuts through the seemingly endless labyrinth jagged brown mountains, winding its away across ridge lines and valleys. It was the most fun I had driving in a long time negotiating one corner after another. About half way to As Sifah I took a detour to see Yiti beach, passing a couple of small townships and farms. All had seperate small mosques for men and women.

The beach at Yiti had been overtaken by a large resort development, although this has seemingly been put on hold for some time now. Much of the bay has already been filled in ready for construction. However the beach at the far east side remains untouched and the fishing village there continues to thrive. Tourism is part of the diversification strategy for most Gulf economies; oil and gas, or the demand for it, will not last forever unlike the sunshine. But part of the charm here is the continuation of a traditional way of life in many coastal and rural areas; the local fishermen have little need for change and seem content to live as they have always done.

I left Yiti and continued for another half hour east through the mountains. The road briefly meets the sea near a series of tidal bays called Bandar Al Khiran where you can hire small fishing boats and explore the waters. I arrived in As Sifah early afternoon and stopped for lunch at a small fish restaurant called As Sammak, literally the fisherman in Arabic. The fish was delicious, fresh caught the same morning. Also the restaurant sits on the edge of the beautiful sandy beach. With the afternoon sun beating down I stayed at As Sammak for a couple of hours, reading two more chapters of Travels in Dictionary Land before heading along to the beach to the fishing village, trying not to tread on the small purple jellyfish washed up on the sand.

As Sifah village sits at the north end of the beach. About 3 - 4km to the south is another resort, "Jebel Sifah", which unlike Yiti is partially complete and thankfully far enough away from the village not to notice. This was the reason why such a good road had been built between Muscat and here.

As Sifah Beach - the Jebel Sifah resort is in the distance.

As Sifah Fishing Village

The village is sizeable, perhaps 500 - 1000 occupants and has a couple of small stores and two sizeable mosques. It is dominated by a medieval Portuguese watchtower which nests on a small round hill at the south end. The Portuguese colonised Muscat and much of the coastline in the 14th Century, and numerous ruins can be found near the towns and harbours. I will write about this period later.

Watchtower on the left, mosque at the bottom of the hill on the right.

I arrived just before afternoon prayers so many of the villagers were slowly congrating around the main mosque situated below the watchtower. I attempted to find a way up to the watchtower but the only clear path was (I think) close to the mosque. I did not wish to disturb prayers so I walked back through the village, attracting the interest of the numerous goats and donkeys roaming freely on the empty streets. There were no vehicles or traffic, the only sounds being the calls to prayer, grunting of animals and waves beating on the sand.

As close as I could get.

Goats in boats.

A fishermen repairing his nets at dusk.

As the evening light drew in I walked back along the beach greeting the local fishermen as I went and always receiving a friendly smile back. En route back to Muscat numerous football pitches I failed to notice en route came alive near every town and village, small crowds gathering to watch their teams. Part of me wanted to stop and watch, however the light was closing fast and I was keen to get back to Muscat before dark. I drove back through Ruwi again, its streets alive with activity after more prayers, all the men wearing spotless dishdashas and embroided caps.

This will be my last post for a week or so as I will be busy moving into my house this weekend. I may also be deprived of internet for a few days. However I will hopefully be heading out again next weekend. Until next time.

Trip to Barka

Friday: After an early breakfast I left my hotel and headed north along the Muscat Expressway towards the coastal town on Barka to visit its Fort. Friday morning is equivilant to Sunday in the UK and the roads were quiet.

The route to Barka is not particularly striking; the Expressway is lined with construction sites and the mountains on the left slowly fade away into the distant brown haze giving way to a featureless plain dotted with shrubs, farms and small townships.

Barka is a sprawling town of about 20000 people located about 60km north west of Muscat. Despite the lack of clear roadsigns and a flood diversion the Fort was easy to find - apart from a few minarets it was the tallest building. Sadly the Fort, which dates back to the 17th century, was closed. From the outside it is an imposing structure; the walls and ramparts were in good condition, the highest turret rising about 20 metres and adorned with the national flag.

Between the Fort and the beach there was a bustling Friday market. Fishermen were selling last
nights catch - their boats lined up on the beach nearby, and local farmers were selling fodder and fruits out of the back of their trucks. As the only European in town I attracted some attention but the people were friendly: "Good Morning, Hello, How Are You," accompanied with warm smiles. "Es Salaam Alaykum," I replied back. "Wa Alaykum es Salaam." This is about the limit of my Arabic at present.

I left Barka mid morning as I was due to meet a colleague for lunch back in Muscat. Driving back I spotted my first camel peering curiously over some scrub at my car.

What you lookin at??

On Saturday I travelled in other direction, driving south to As Sifah. I will write about this in the next day or so. The rest of my evening will be spent ironing and learning arabic. Ashuufak Badayn

Here it goes...

In late March 2014 I moved from the UK to Oman for 3 years. Before departing I floated the idea of keeping a diary / journal / blog of my time here. The friends and family I asked were enthusiastic about the idea; "you would be mad not to" said one.

I have never kept a diary, written a journal or started a blog before, and my experience of writing is limited. Creative writing was never my strong point at school although some history essays I recently uncovered did have a small degree of fluency in their arguments. At work I have to be matter of fact; short sentences, small words and punchy bullet points are the only way to guarantee readership. So I apologise in advance if my first few posts read like an Economist article.

My aim is to write about the history, geography, culture, language and people of Oman. I will focus on writing it as an informal diary, but for my friends and family as well as myself. I am taking some inspiration from Wilfred Thesinger, the eccentric British explorer who criss-crossed the Empty Quarter in the late 1940s and wrote a fine book about it. Another enjoyable read has been Travels in Dictionary Land by Tim Mackintosh-Smith.

In doing this I will try to stray from publishing long monologues (like this), they end up never being read and more time writing is less time exploring. I will attempt to keep my posts punchy but descriptive, and perhaps include a few photos along the way. Also I am here for work after all and cannot spend every day discovering forts, wadis, mountain villages, camel races, and writing about it. So I anticipate publishing two or three posts a month.

My first weekend begins tomorrow. It has been raining for the first few days, apparently a phenomenon for this time of year. The locals keep joking I brought the bad weather from England and I have to agree with them (although 20 degrees is really not cold). However the clouds are clearing so I may have the first opportunity of doing some proper exploring.

Setting my alarm for 6 in the hope I will see a sunrise over Muscat, so I will sign off for now. Hopefully I will be back on here in a week or so. In the meantime thank you for reading, and see you soon.

Jon