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Published: December 16th 2012
RUBBISH
A friend of mine who has spent a deal of time in this region described the Omani people to me as "the hippies of the gulf". I didn't notice any peace sign neck chains, dreadlocks or groups of locals sitting around eating bird seed and smoking numbers whilst discussing the kaleidoscope of colours on the domes of mosques. I do however see some merit in the simile with the general kick back nature of the populace. There's no wild antics, animated gesticulating or hints of aggressive behaviour, as if they have been inhaling a few of those less than licit substances. There's even a semblance of sanity in the traffic.
Good news is no news. That's why you have probably never seen Oman occupying the headlines of international media. Flying under the radar is a cake walk when you don't become bogged down in geopolitics and cheap power games and your population is a cocktail of the best of laid back Arabia, Africa and Sub Continent, aka Arabian hippies.
It also helps remaining inconspicuous when you don't have economic power brokers banging on your door bartering for oil. When borders were drawn up in the gulf region,
even though Oman is in the thick of black gold HQ, it somehow missed out on most of the booty. It's tough to put all your eggs in one basket when you don't have that gold edged basket in the first place.
This has forced Oman into some serious economic cross training. Despite the relative dearth of raw fuel, Oman is way off being the low man on the Arabian totem pole and one area that is starting to provide some financial ballast is tourism.
The major push for foreigners is centred around its natural beauty, in particular the desert and wadis. My google translation of wadi came up with "valley". With my rationale in overdrive, I reasoned in order to have a wadi you'll also need mountains. This looked remote on the bus in from Dubai as the terrain was as flat as 3 week old beer and cultivated a look as inhospitable as Old Trafford for a Manchester City supporter. Dry, baked, unforgiving.
Things start turning around on approaching the capital. Muscat is backed by hills which grow in size the further you move inland. Cleaved into those mountains are Oman's hyped wadis. Cool pockets
of palm studded myrtle green pools, flanked by those sunburnt cliffs. Oases defined. Picnic spots without parallel.
Throw in an Arabian version of the Grand Canyon, the blue Arabian Sea bordered by a few whitewashed towns and Oman has a fair tourist arsenal.
If only the people knew how to maintain it. When you have assets, they really should be exposed to a touch of TLC. Oman has spent a bomb on public works with roaring success, with one teeny weeny exception.
With access to disposable income for civil services, rubbish disposal should be high on the priority list. Trash cans, a rubbish pickup service and an education program. Simple.
So why is it that every town we called into masqueraded as a rubbish dump? The coastal hamlet of Ayjah was a prime example. It has everything going for it. Location location location. From a distance it looks a peach. Delve deeper into the dusty streets and goats, stray cats and dogs fight over tonnes of discarded refuse. We saw one lone guy employed to pick up the flotsam. He was a quintessential dog chasing its tail. He'd fill up a bag in about the same
time it took for the residents to hurl two bags worth into the street.
I thereby challenge the Sultan of Oman to wield his mighty sceptre and do something. Sultan Qaboos bin Said is "The Chosen One" in Oman.
Whilst I remain steadfastly an anti-monarchist, viewing the entire concept as nepotism on steroids, the good Sultan of Oman is actually a solid anchor. He may enjoy an exotically privileged lifestyle but he is also a genuine man of the people. He is wildly popular and the citizens to a man are defenders of the establishment. When the Sultan speaks, Omani listen.
So Sultan, give those folks some bins and TELL them to use them. Everyone's a winner.
YUM YUM. In hindsight, always 20/20, I should have used Amir as a speed hump and driven straight over the top of him as he blocked the road waving me down. But no, always trying to play the standard diplomat, I pulled over. No amount of "no thank yous" would be accepted. It was lunch at Amir's house.
How many people do you know would invite complete strangers into their home to eat, especially when
neither party spoke a word of the others language?
Out came the communal bowl of rice and chili. In went Amir and grabbed a fistful, rolled it into a slimy ball, shoved it in his cake hole, licked his fingers, then dived in for some more. Noting we weren't exactly following suit, he shoved the bowl under our noses, imploring us to help ourselves.
Penny had the trauma valve ramped up to extreme but did a commendable job at simulating eating.
Just when things couldn't get any worse.........
I suppose we should at least be thankful Amir's dentures didn't land in the bowl when they fell out of his mouth, but even the thought of our host having to pluck out the carpet fibres from his falsies wasn't in the brochure of life's rich tapestry.
I know we'll laugh about this later on but it may take some time.
CRITTER OF THE WEEK? Reaching for the door of Thrifty Car Rentals in Muscat and a rat the size of your average domestic cat scurried past and up a drainpipe like, well, like a rat up a drainpipe.
Stepping into the
safety of the office and Penny spotted a bucket in the corner of the room and had a peek inside. Another rat struggling to stay afloat in the half full receptacle.
Five minutes later, sitting in a chair waiting for the car details to be finalised, have a guess what staggered past the toe of my shoe. Another rodentus gigantus had seemingly managed to extricate itself from another bucket somewhere else on the premises. It looked like a, yep, a drowned rat. It wobbled around the room as if it could send a police breathalyser into new territory.
I pointed this out to the staff, all Indian, who gave me a disinterested look of;
"You have a problem with our national animal"?
One employee was at least driven to a comment;
"No problem sir, only a mouse".
If that was a mouse, unscrupulous athletes looking for an edge should start enquiring into what sort of growth hormones the Omani are putting in their cheese.
Yeatesy
Our last stop in the middle east. So far I have had to wear a scarf and jacket to cover up anything remotely
resembling a feminine part, survived a trip to the dentist, travelled by plane, mini bus, private driver, rented car and camel, and eaten enough shish to last a life time, so what could possibly is left?
Arriving to Oman I have to admit I had little knowledge of the place, the culture or the people. I think I felt I had travelled enough in the region to be ready for whatever Oman had to offer.
So what did we find? The people of Oman are as casual and easy going as you'll get. I couldn't help but notice the large numbers of male sub continentals wherever we went. Oman being a trading partner with India for centuries would probably explain why the numbers are so high and why there are more travel agents than banks, restuarants, and barbers put together. Most of the service industry is run by sub continentals. The statistics state that women hold as many jobs as the men in Oman, but I rarely came across an Omani women here. The few I saw in the souks were heavily covered by the chador and it is was not uncommon for them to also cover the
face and wear the black mask.
Getting around Oman was not too dissimilar to Dubai, you either hire a driver and car or you rent a car yourself. There is no public transport infrastructure. The cars on the road are all fairly modern and with petrol being as cheap as $0.15 cents a litre, there's no wonder everyone drives. Nick, I didn't see a single Audi the whole time, it appears Toyota have the market stitched up with the Yaris and loads of Lexis.
Four wheel drives are also pretty popular, I am not exactly sure why unless you plan to head over a few sand dunes, but the roads are all newish and in good condition. A word of warning if you are driving in Oman, signs indicating towns and destinations are few and far between, but you'll never have to worry about a toilet along the sandy desert, the signs for the toilet are larger than the road signs. A huge board will appear stating "PUBLIC TOILET 14 KLMS" and sure enough in 14 klms there will be a lone building in the middle of nowhere manned by a lone cleaner ( sub continental of course).
Finally, an addition to Gary's comment on Amir, who "graciously!!!" invited us to his home for lunch. Firstly lunch consisted of regurgitated rice and sauce that he would chew, spit and splatter towards us, followed by him wanting to dress Gary and I up in some Arab get up ( I personally outgrew dress ups a few decades ago) and the grand finale , which was his main reason for inviting us to his home, was so he could have his picture taken with us and have a good old grope. I have deleted the photos, but unfortunately not the memory.
Good bye Oman, Sri Lanka here we come.
Penny
More images at:
www.colvinyeates.zenfolio.com
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Kuan Yin
Karen Johnson
Hospitality
I've always heard that folks in the Middle East are unfailingly hospitable to travelers. Maybe that's why Amir wanted to share his dentures with you. You know, just in case your teeth were tired.