PART 1 (OMAN)

More work to do, less time to plan trips, this is the usual and convenient reason (or rather pretext) we find not to struggle too much and see our dreams come true... Anyway, fact is that my planned trip to Saudi Arabia was not to happen in 2006; they would not grant tourist visas unless one booked a package and none of the agents usually organizing trips in Saudi Arabia would do that in 2006.. Furthermore, I was too lazy and did non look into other possibilities of being granted a visitor or business visa. So, giving up my Middle East plans and while working on a much easier to organize a trip in Azerbaijan, Armenia and Georgia, I was just about to buy flight tickets and get visas when I realized how much I actually wanted to go back to the Middle East instead. So, as Saudi Arabia was out, I went on along the ancient incense route traces. Yemen sounded interesting, somewhere between the Orient and Africa but nevertheless with a flavour of India... To make it for the needed contrast, there was Oman, a country that had developed greatly for the past 20-30 years. Visas were once again fun to get: opened in the purple times of the communist Republic of South Yemen and Ceaușescu's Socialist Romania, the Yemeni embassy in Bucharest lacked activity nowadays and it was to close down for good in a couple of days after my calling in; there was no time to fulfill their visa requirements. As for Oman, there was no embassy in Romania. So, applying for visas in Paris, playing (or rather gambling) with airlines and their code share partners on both Muscat and Sana'a, things settled down about a week before hitting off: because of initially planning to go to temperate weather countries like Armenia, I was to go in the South of the Arabian Peninsula in the end of August and the beginning of September: "you are going to melt", as a friend from Portugal wrote me.

Time passed by and the departure day was getting closer: I had already got used to the infectious, contagious ignorance people would get struck by when telling them where I was going: for some Sana'a (which most of them could not even locate on the map with an error margin of 5000 km.) was the same with Beirut or Amman, while Marmaris or Sharm el Sheikh were definitely not in the Middle East. Just as always, ignorance came and went by and even before knowing it, I was on board of a THY plane, destination Muscat. While getting to the gate in Istanbul Airport, I got struck by a dim, almost surreal and fascinating incense fragrance. This fragrance was to follow me for a long while. I don't know (and, honestly, I did not even care at the moment) whether it was perfume or whether they were just keeping some dried incense in their closets, but this made it for a great beginning of the trip after 8 hours between flights. Getting to Muscat at 2 AM, I felt the 29C outside more intensely than I would have expected: the air humidity reached 85-90%. Going rather smoothly through immigration and customs, I got to sleep for a few hours until the break of dawn. A 6 AM ride on an empty "service" van and I reached my hotel, on Mutrah Corniche: the air was still humid, but the smell of the sea was refreshing in its own way.

The way it appeared from a bird's eye, Oman was a country in a fast pace of development, a country which, like Iran or Syria, took great care of its cultural heritage, preserving its traditions, however without remaining backwards while doing so. After a short break, I got on a van heading for Ruwi, a quarter from where most outbound buses departed. As the driver had parked in the wrong place, he got a fine from a police officer: nobody ever intervened or commented the matter, everyone was quiet, he paid his toll and we could go, just in time for me to get the bus to Nizwa. There was a quite crazy driver this time, driving at over 120 km. / h. a quite ordinary (and not at all new) bus that would shake from all its rusty joints... Nizwa was more impressive than its description, but Jabrin was even better, with its fascinating alternation of light and shadow, as if every single wall, corner and window had been designed to stir one's imagination at maximum. Otherwise quite simple wood carved decorations placed next to the desert-coloured walls looked as if in a dream, while the labyrinth of small rooms, halls, dead ends and corridors added to the mysterious aura of the place.

Jumping from bus to van, from van to hitch-hiking from from hitch-hiking to another "engaged" or "shared" taxi, even without reaching one's destination, the mere way towards it would have been superb in this country, where the mountainous or the desert scenery, the sand colour forts, as well as the buzz of the street or souq would blend in an almost perfect harmony. The scenery itself was more touching than the one in Jordan: dry, reddish djebels and wadis would be dotted every now and then with oasis, either consisting of date tree plantations or of different wild bushes near a water source. Furthermore, the ethnic landscape was a gem, as there were many obvious ethnic groups living in Oman, from the Indian ladies wearing colourful saris in a deep contrast with elder Muslim women dressed i black, all the way to mid-aged people from Sudan or to the male Muslim majority dressed in long, impeccably white shirts, respectively covered with caps painted in mild blue or beige, in a design that was somewhere half the way between two continents... Added to the incense fragrance in the air and to the heat best reflecting the desert around, these were the three items that would make the hotspots of my trip to Oman.

Back in Nizwa in the lazy afternoon, I found the town entirely changed: the souq seemed deserted, there was hardly any car in the streets, even the omnipresent taxi drivers seemed to have vanished. People were relaxing or sleeping in the cool shadow provided by the stone archways by the mosque or in the very souq. There was nothing to disturb the silence imposed by the hot, still afternoon. The city began to come back to its regular buzzing life only at around 6 PM, as fruit merchants once again began to call for customers and taxi drivers began looking for business by honking pedestrians. The traffic that had almost ceased to exist until a few minutes before, got even worse than in the morning. Horns were being blown, cars and trucks were slowly making their way along the narrow streets surrounding the souq.

As evening was slowly making its way over all of us, I was also making my way towards more humid Muscat once again, in search for a fat, extremely sweet piece of pastry. My bus eventually showed up and I was greeted by the same driver I had had in the morning; this time he seemed to be in a rush to meet someone he was talking to every 10 minutes on the phone while not allowing anyone to take him over. Muscat was full of people sitting on terraces, walking in the streets or working; travel agencies in Ruwi were open, and so were various offices, despite the fact that it was nearly 9 PM. The Corniche was also full of people taking advantage of the lightly cooler - but still just as humid - air, as well as of the absence of the sun.

The following day I was trying to decide between going to Nakhal and Rustaq forts, respectively visiting Sultan Qaboos Mosque. The odds decided instead of me: as there were no other passengers for the van to Barka and I did not wish to go by "engaged" taxi, I got on a crowded van heading West, towards the mosque. I expected to see a monumental structure meant to impress and to host a large number of the faithful, but it was not only that. The mosque reflected a synthesis of the various approaches or influences of the Islamic art, from the colourful Kashan tiles to the delicate Indian designs. Furthermore, the most impressive thing I found at the mosque was the way the architect played with the light. Desert-like or white archways, stone carvings, niches or gateways, all had been conceived so as to allow an inspirational light flow, at a much larger and impressive scale than at Jabrin Fort. The main prayer hall was large and over decorated, with huge chandeliers, respectively intense and too contrasting colours. The mosque was surrounded by a fig tree plantation that would have granted it with an oasis-like atmosphere, should it not have been for the noisy, busy road 100 m. ahead.

Just like in Nizwa and as it was to happen many times afterwards, people were approaching me, looking for a chat, asking about my trip itinerary or just about the country I came from. Other than in Muscat and in some of the top destinations, people in Oman were not used to tourists or to foreigners for that matter. Maybe foreigners living in the country did not travel that much by public transport means, maybe (or almost certainly) I was there during the not so popular season, maybe Al Bustan Palace and other such resort hotels were more attractive, not allowing people to go elsewhere too much. However, whichever the case might have been, this granted my trip with a very enjoyable human experience.

Back in the city, I took a few hours of walking along the coast to get to Muscat proper and explore it. The town looked more like a village with many children running around, small houses built in all possible place provided by the rather small flat area surrounded by arid rocky cliffs. The difference between some of the households here and sultan's palace 200-300 m. away was huge, especially with the grand avenue they were just finishing building, that granted access to the main gate into the palace. Sustained by some imposing, rather huge and colourful columns inspired by the UFO vision of the 1970s, the main building of the palace did not have much in common with local, traditional architecture and I for one preferred the latter, with its mild colours, respectively with its respect and harmony with the natural environment. Otherwise, Muscat was not at all the big capital one would have expected, and that was a refreshing thing. It was quiet as far as the business buzz was concerned, and noisy - as far as children were concerned. The souq in Mutrah was buzzing even at 9-10 PM. The "regular" merchandise was there, from spices and DVDs, to incense and souvenirs. However, the relatively new structure of the souq, as well as its very atmosphere resulted in its not getting even close to that of the souq in Isfahan or Aleppo, and that was not in terms of dimension or grandeur, but quite to the opposite.

The following day I was going to one of the most popular areas in the country at that time of the year, i.e. to Dhofar during the khareef, when the monsoon currents would bring cooler, humid fronts from India. Hotel prices were anywhere from 25% to 100% higher than usual, so, after a bit of bidding over the phone, I could find a convenient option. The bus ride to Salalah was to emphasize once again the cultural diversity in the country, as there were two large families on board, an Omani one and an Indian one. The bright outfits, the noisy laughters of the latter were superbly balanced by the simple outfits - black for women, white for men -, respectively the tranquil discussions of the former. The 12 hour ride went across the desert for most of the time, with stops every 3-4 hours, in the rare inhabited places or where, out of nowhere, there appeared a gas station, joined by a few basic restaurants and sometimes also by a motel. Trucks loaded with long distance containers, vans or coaches - some of which came from Saudi Arabia or Emirates -, cars and motorbikes, all would crowd in one of these places, while their passengers and drivers would go inside for a shawarma, some rice and a sip of chai. These stops along the highway reminded one of the old caravanserais along trading routes, only that the caravans had been replaced here by people and merchants traveling based on yet another richness of the desert apart from camels, i.e. oil. Cars and coaches would always be left with the engines turned on, so that the air-conditioning would go on working. The heat was more bearable here than in Muscat though, as there was almost no humidity in the air here.

Even after having been to Iran, or Jordan, the vastness of the desert was impressing in Oman, especially as for most of it the horizon line would be far away, as the ground was as flat as the shape of the Earth allowed it to be. Only rare dry bushes or isolate reddish rocks would bring an illusory change after leaving Nizwa all the way to the mountainous border of the Dhofar, some 750 km. away. Some 11 hours after leaving Muscat, we started going up, crossing a rocky ridge. The scenery changed completely and what seemed to be a fata morgana in the first place, was as real as possible: there was a drizzle outside and we were already in the land of the khareef. Slopes were green, the air got cooler and humid, while we found Salalah among palm tree plantations and grassy parcels on which whole families were enjoying this natural wonder in the end of August. Learning that I was foreigner and that this was my first trip to Oman, another passenger on the bus offered me a ride to the hotel I had booked, once again making proof of a genuine hospitality that some other regions have entirely lost, despite the fact that they use it as a means of tourism promotion.

In the morning, I discovered a city where the different people living there had all left impossibly not to notice traces: the merchants in the souq selling frankincense and vividly coloured ceramic burners, entire streets of tailors' or shoemakers' outlets with their employees working at modern desks or directly on the pavement, farmers selling their fresh bananas, coconuts or pineapples from green, colourful stalls by the road, van drivers shouting for customers, families with many children walking on the beach or fishermen displaying their catch, from sardines to shark, they were all there, living in the khareef and for the khareef... After a long walk along the Arabian Sea shore and after a relaxing narghileh on a deserted restaurant terrace by the beach, I headed to Khawr Al Balid and its ruins testifying the importance of the frankincense trade route had.

At 6 AM, I got to the bus station for the bus to Mukalla in Yemen. A bus that would start later than the time mentioned on my ticket, but nevertheless earlier than the time confirmed by people there, a vehicle that was not the one I was shown, as well as the lack of any information on buses in any language and my being lazy and confident to ask further, all these resulted in my missing the right, twice weekly bus to Yemen. Being told that I could catch the bus with a taxi, as they would call the driver and he would stop at the checkpoint at the Dhofar border, I did so, just to find out that either the bus driver or the other passengers did not wish to wait. "Mashallah" as one would say. So, after enjoying a nap on a bench in a park, in the pleasant shadow of a palm tree, just like a few local people, and after having a walk among the banana tree plantations, I got on the evening bus back to Muscat, in order to take a plane to Sana'a: on the bus I was to meet Michael.

Coming from Goa, India, Michael had moved to Oman in the 1970s, getting a job with a company importing vehicles, at a time when one would travel for 3-4 days between Muscat and Salalah, while crossing the country guided only by his own common sense, as there had been no clear road but the never ending desert.

"I came to Oman for a couple of years, just to make some money and I've been here for over 30 years already." Moving from one company to another one, he had eventually succeeded to get his own car service in Salalah. With many interesting stories to tell, Michael was a great companion for the 1050 km. journey to Muscat and a good introduction to a future possible destination: India.

After going through the modern, developing Doha Airport, I was to get to Sana'a in a different world, a world that would show its being human in every possible way, laughing out loud while dancing in the beat of a crazy, captivating music: I was to get to Arabia Felix.

My introduction to Yemen was made by the beautiful views... (click here for the sequel)

THE OMANI SECTION (you are here)

THE YEMENITE SECTION