The end is worse than the beginning…
It was too early for the coffee bar to serve drinks and croissants; we were able to talk the buffet breakfast down to an arbitrary charge of 3 rials a person for coffee and pastries. Better than 10 rials I suppose but more than I would’ve liked.
On the plus side, our tour guide was early and waiting for us in the lobby. Rasheed has been a tour guide for 19 years, always with the same company. We were on good hands… albeit I clearly booked the wrong tour. There was a slightly more expensive option that had a 4×4 take tourists to either of two famed Omani mountains. We however were in a minivan and relegated to more… flat terrain.
Ah, well. It wasn’t the first time I felt I’d made a mistake in Oman (see all previous encounters with cabbies and tours). Nor would it be my last (more on this at the end).
On the drive out of town toward Nizwa, Rasheed offered to go over some choice statistical highlights of Muscat and Oman history. He was worried he’d be covering the same ground as our prior guide but I told him it’s better to hear it multiple times as I’m more likely to remember it… besides, one never knows if one hears it right the first time!
According to Rasheed, Oman has a population of approximately 4 million, with 3 million Omani and 1 million foreigners (so far so good on what I heard previously). It’s a land of 300,000 square kilometers and 15% of that mass is covered by mountains. The highest is 3000 meters+ and is called “Jabal Shams” or Sun Mountain (because it’s the first to get light and the last to see it). Green mountain is also a famous one, know for its fruit and roses.
Islam is obviously the major religion but there is protected freedom of religion in Oman. Having said that, there are apparently 14,000 mosques in Oman. Nonetheless, the rule, says Rasheed, is not to say bad words or hateful things to one another about ANYONE’s religion – it’s a form of political correctness that has supposedly engendered good will and harmony in the land. From my perspective, I found Oman, minus the taxis and transport services, very laid back, accommodating, and welcoming. It’s a warped, skewed view to be sure based on only a few curated days, but I mainly felt the good vibrations and goodwill of the Sultanate.
Speaking of the Sultan, this particular royal family has been in power since 1744. The present Sultan is the eighth member of the family with direct line of descent in the dynasty. He came to power in 1970 and is currently 76 years old. He doesn’t have any children so the hope for succession is “a good cousin if Allah wills it.”
Muscat is a “governate” or state of Oman, of which there are 11 in total. Oil and natural gas accounts for 85% of the nation’s GDP and while there’s copper and gold it’s not currently being mined, saved for a rainy day.
There’s a compulsory law that companies’ workforce must be 60% Omani. Most Omani work in government and oil sectors but tourism is a growing, young field.
And as long as we are on the subject of laws, the maximum speed limit nationwide is 120 km/h. Every cab/tour vehicle I was in emitted an audible staccato beeping sound if the speedometer cracked 120… so they must take that number VERY seriously.
Historically, the Portuguese held Muscat from 1507 until 1650. They never made it further inland. Though they held the harbor, there was constant fighting with the Omani people… unfortunately, the Omanis were also fighting amongst themselves so it took some time to unify the factions to then push out the Portuguese.
A few weeks after assuming the role of Sultan, Qaboos bin Said Al Said on 9 August 1970 renamed the land the Sultanate of Oman.
As we made our way to the first stop of the day, Rasheed dropped the following stat: there’s apparently 8 million palm trees in Oman. Amongst its crops there are rotating seasons of banana, mango, fig, dates, lime, alfalfa, onions, and more. In south the primary crop is coconut… so for me that’s like a land of death given my not-real-but-I-do-just-hate-them coconut allergy.
This discussion led us to Birkat al Mouz, a village of ruins dating back 500 years. The loose translation is “Banana Pool.” I have always liked walking amongst ruins, particularly in the quiet solitude that these afforded. A few squatters were living there, though I wasn’t clear if it was on their own or as part of a security watchman patrol. They did have satellite TV though…
As we headed into Nizwa, we could see Jabal Shams looming on the horizon. It’s the highest and coldest place in Oman. Yesterday for example, as we were creeping up into the high 20s in Muscat, it was only 2 degrees Celsius on the Sun Mountain.
Man, I wish we were in that 4×4… though I think I probably would’ve opted to see the Green Mountain.
We did stop at a Wadi to check out a local swimming hole… and grabbed a quick selfie of our tour group to boot. Here’s Me, Reda, and Rasheed:
In any event, without a 4×4 and clearly having booked the wrong itinerary, OUR tour next took us to Nizwa, a city made up of 42 villages and boasting a 2009 census figure of 60,000 people. We started at the souk (marketplace).
Highlights included a livestock auction block (minus any action today)…
…a date market wherein once again I ate WAY too many of the sweet things. I should note my favorites were the most expensive ones on offer. What can I say? I’ve got good taste!
The marketplace itself sold pretty much anything and everything you could imagine… including this lamp that I was tempted to buy. I kept rubbing it but where there’s no smoke it felt like there’d be no genie… so I gave it a pass.
But I did love seeing this Made in China trinket amongst the junk… er… “wares” on display.
And if you need “conventional weapons,” I now know where to go…
Amidst the souk, or perhaps more accurately encompassing the souk, is the Nizwa Fort. It was built in the 17th Century, shortly after the Imam who unified the nation forced out the Portuguese and then helped India do the same. As spoils of war, the Imam took quite a treasure trove home… thus could afford to spend the 300,000 rupees it would cost to build the fort. Construction would take 12 years to complete.
We detoured to Falaj Daris, the largest and most famous falaj in a Oman. It’s also possibly the oldest water canal in Oman. The aflaj system goes back 2000 years and is perhaps best compared to the Roman aqueduct system. Falaj Daris is one of five Omani water canals to be UNESCO listed. When we visited, a group of school kids were swimming in the canal, a past time hugely popular on weekends. I did not take a photo of one of the kids whizzing into the water. So there’s that…
Ambling out of Nizwa, Rasheed laid out the usual progression for founding a town in Oman. First they found a water supple option – usually a means of getting to the various spring water veins throughout the land. Then they built a mosque, followed by a fort, and finally a village and all that entails. The timeline then is summarized as:
water –> mosque –> fort –> village
From the impressive water system of yore (something like 111 of the original 134 falaj are still in operation), we went to Tanuf, village originally founded some 500 years prior. This one is famous for being the 17th century home village of the Imam who united the warring tribes and founded a common land. Tanuf survives as a town with the famed ruins serving as a reminder of Oman’s history:
We made a few photo opp stops in the town of Bahla. This region is famed for its pottery as well as having the oldest fort in the area–its 3000+ years old. They’ve restored it but Rasheed said the inside is boring and we were better off just taking photos from afar. We trusted his advice…
Bahla is also famous for its 12km city wall from ancient times. The wall has fallen into great disrepair and perhaps best illustrates that walls may have worked in the past but eventually they all fall down.
I had been looking forward to lunch at a local place… and had high hopes for the roadside restaurant Rasheed took us to. And by roadside, I mean it had livestock carriers pulled up beside it — if the cattle barons of Oman give it a thumbs up, isn’t that better than a Zagat or Tripadvisor review?
The proprietor was thrilled to see our guide, telling us he’d known him for 35 years. Rasheed later told me he only knew him from when he started offering tours… meaning he still knew him for 19 years. In any case, I was underwhelmed by the food. It was fine but I ate too much middling curry to have been happy with my selections. Rasheed joined us after a quick visit to the local mosque for his prayer service and his lunch looked great — grilled king fish with light seasoning. Compared to my not spicy though claimed to be spicy chicken masala leg bone, I clearly made the wrong choice.
Still I snapped a photo with the proprietor on my way out. A foursome of American entrepreneurs were outside dining and wanted to do a market survey to see if I’d be interested in a wildlife safari out on the dunes. It was an odd place to be soliciting opinions but hey – I guess this restaurant is on the tourist map. It FELT like a tourist trap greasy Indian spoon place…
The final tour stop was the 300 year old fort of Jibreen. To be perfectly frank, every room kinda looked the same to me, whether it was a guard armory or a guest suite or the library. Minor differences mayhaps and like all real estate, it’s all about location, location, location… but I’d give the place a bit of a shrug if I’m being honest. Didn’t stop me from shooting like a drunken revolutionary celebrating independence…
Before heading back to Muscat, I finally screwed up my courage to ask Rasheed if we could stop at a camel crossing sign for a quick photo. If you’ve seen my post on Facebook… or clicked through the temporary signpost posting I put up earlier, you already know I told my guide I knew that my request was super touristy and silly but I thought it would make my mom smile. You’ll also already be aware that in all honesty it was really more for me than anything. I regret not asking Rasheed to be in the pic but Reda shot a decent solo for me and it’s a pretty good cap to the tour:
***
Looking back, I am WAY over budget on this Mid-East trip. A few too many tours, a pricier hotel than I’d have liked, some taxi cab scams and screw jobs all combined to give me pause over my next few trips. There may be a bit of belt tightening in the coming weeks but that may also be due to my ballooning waistline. I’m feeling, as I’ve said in prior updates, incredibly pudgy. I haven’t gone out for any non-race runs since I got here and it’s taking a toll, both physically and psychologically. As I type this, I’m scarfing down a cruddy microwaved less-than-Hot Pocket KLM inflight snack and downing a glass of wine. THAT’S not helping matters… nor are the Belgian Waffle Cookies or the scrambled eggs rectangle breakfast… man, I feel awful…
…yet that’s not why this post started with the line, “The end is worse than the beginning…”. Reda had an earlier flight than me and headed to the airport just as I went to the City Center shopping mall in search of a cheaper dinner than the hotel’s menu. In walking to the mall, I mistook a step across a water channel for solid ground when in fact it was a water and sludge filled crevasse. My feet got soaked… socks, shoes, the whole bit. And not just waterlogged but that slimy, twiggy, almost mossy vibe that clogs up water feature fountains. It was awful. I actually bought a set of socks from Marks and Spencer in the mall… only to realize I didn’t have a means to separate the pack. Eventually I got my checked bag out of left left luggage at the Holiday Inn and dug out my last clean pair of socks… but for two hours I was walking the city center mall in damp, disgusting socks and shoes.
Sigh… had it not been for the random TMNT show in the food court, I’d have been majorly bummed about how this trip ended… but who can be upset when the turtles are in Oman?
