---

The water in the Gulf of Oman is jewel colored. Intense blues and greens that seem unnatural. I had noticed this that first morning, walking along the corniche in Mutrah. Yet I was still awed by it as I walked along the beach in Sur, watching dhows bob in that color. It was easy to imagine jumping on one of those wooden boats and setting sail into the Indian Ocean. (I seem always to be fantasizing about venturing out to sea, whether it be following the Vikings or now Omani traders…)

The sea* defined most of my second day in Oman, which is perhaps fitting. Much of the fortune of the country was built by its seafaring coastal people; it is the coast that most people probably think of when they think of Oman (though to only know the coast is only to know half the story – stay tuned).

***
To make the most of my short stay in Oman, I decided to rent a car. And since I planned to get off the beaten path a bit, I opted for a 4WD. However, I was a little stunned when the Toyota Landcruiser showed up at the hotel – this was no Miss Daisy! I prayed I would not have to do much backing up.

Early on Sunday, I navigated out of Muscat’s morning rush hour traffic and onto the road that would lead me over the foothills of the Hajar Mountains down to the coastal plain. With my own wheels, I had the freedom to go where I liked, when I liked. This allowed me to have some solitude, as well as escape the occasional Italian tour group bespoiling a remote spot of beauty (see below).

My first stop was the village of Qurayat. After not encountering much traffic between Muscat and this coast, I was perplexed at first by the traffic jam I found myself mired in upon entering town. Why would there be so many people here on a Sunday, particularly at this hour? Then I saw the reason: there was a sheep market in the main square, beside the town’s fort, in preparation for Eid al-Adha, the Feast of Sacrifice that marks the end of the Hajj. These little sheep were destined for a bloody end mid-week. It was one of those unplanned moments of wonderfulness (for me, not the sheep).

The road from Qurayat to Sur I am told was once mostly a bumpy, gravelly affair. But a brand new paved highway has been built along the same route. While I am sure it has increased the speed with which one can traverse the coast, I sort of regret the disappearance of the rough gravel path. For one, the new road is so new that signage was iffy at best, playing havoc with my ability to find the places I wanted to see.** But it was all part of the adventure.

My first post-Qurayat stop was Bayt al-Afreet, the House of Demons, otherwise known as the Bimmah Sinkhole. Despite the fact that it was all but unmarked, this gorgeous pool of unknown depth, out in the middle of nowhere, was, alas, brimming with Italian and Russian tourists (I felt like I was back at the Greek Club in Khartoum). Apparently, someone got the memo on how to find this spot.

My greatest challenge, however, was figuring out how to enter Wadi Shab. Despite the sign (old?) that pointed into the village of al-Shab, the remnant of the former gravel road ended abruptly where it had been destroyed. At the edge of a cliff! I had to get back on the highway, pass in front of the mouth of the wadi – so maddeningly close! – drive down to the next village, Tiwi, and then find my way through its tangle of narrow streets till I got to the entrance of the valley. Just as I was starting to feel smug about discovering the “secret” trail to the wadi, I pulled up to the canyon/valley’s entrance only to find a clutch of other Landcruisers and similar 4WD vehicles. So much for having nature all to myself! I guess I can’t blame them…it was spectacular, a real Arabian oasis experience. It was a winding canyon with pockets of date palms and pools of spring water. When it rains, the wadi would become a river; now, in the dry season, I only had to ford one stream.

Sur marked the end of my day’s journey. I hadn’t really thought much about the town beyond deciding it seemed a convenient point to stop for the night. But as is so often the case, I found great pleasure in the unexpected. Strolling along the town’s corniche, I stumbled on the dhow building yards, having forgotten that the town was known for its shipbuilding. These wooden boats, right out of 1001 Nights, still ply the Persian Gulf and the coast all the way to East Africa. These were the vessels by which Oman built its empire, when it was an empire. While I contemplated the dhows, the call to prayer began echoing across the town and off the surrounding hills. The picture was complete.

As much as I would have liked to linger on the coast, it was time to turn inland – towards the sands.


*I almost titled this entry “Land of a Thousand Roundabouts” – because that’s about how many I encountered during my foray into driving in Oman. They are the defining feature of the road system here.

**To be fair, after a number of days driving around the country, I have decided someone needs to work on improving the sign issue in general. While the road network in Oman is excellent, exasperatingly, signs seem to go amiss on a regular basis. You might have a clearly signposted turn for a major town, only to come to the next intersection and have no sign telling you which way to go. Luckily, Omanis proved to be some of the most helpful people I have ever encountered – someone was always at hand ready to help guide me towards the right direction.

---