Oman

Easter 2005

Oman? Why the hell would anyone go to Oman? Let’s face it, you probably don’t even know where it is. The only reason I knew that Oman existed was because when I did my scuba diving instructor’s course back in Thailand back in July 03, I became friends with Welshman Ceri Evans who was based in Oman. “Open invite, mate”. So that’s just what I did and took my 72 year old father along with me. I’d been told the scuba diving was excellent.

Easter 2005. I was burnt out with a non stop 11 week term, which threw in a Government (OFSTED) inspection just before the end. No time to think about the trip. Just book the flights and go. What the hell.

So on Easter Monday, we drove to Heathrow Airport, parked up and got a ride to Terminal 3. Gulf Air checked us in faster than we could pretend our scuba laden luggage wasn’t overweight. Embarrassingly, we were airside 3 hours before departure. We took off at 9pm. Dull flight, dull in-flight entertainment, dull amount of alcohol. 7 hours flew past (it helps if you sleep a lot).

We touched down the small Muscat airport (3 hours ahead) around 7am on Tuesday March 29th. The temperature was 29’C. Pasty faced, we were not complaining. You purchase an Omani visa upon landing for about £8.50. Ceri eventually met us in the arrivals area (and where no taxi drivers bother you), looking obscenely fit and tanned, and drove us 15 minutes north to his compound – “The Royal Guards of Oman Technical College”.

This institution had been set up by the Sultan of Oman to provide decent education for the children of his entourage, supporters and obviously, the Royal Guards. Ceri had been teaching here for 3 years; mostly science and IT for students aged between 11 and 18. It was a small campus but equipped with a swimming pool, a gym and running track. To get in, you had to pass through a 24 hour hour security check. In Ceri’s 4 wheel drive, they just waved us through. At night we had to dip the headlights before approaching.

Ceri’s teaching schedule seemed pretty light. He had got cover for this morning of classes today, a Tuesday. After finishing on Wednesday lunchtime, he had Thursday and Friday off, which was the Omani weekend. With the job came large first floor apartment, rent free where the electricity was also free. The air conditioners were on 24 hours a day. The dusty gardens were awash with colourful flowers. His salary was tied to the US dollar and the fall of the dollar had led to a drop in salary over the last three years but he was still living very well and enjoying the cheap consumer culture.

We entered a proper bachelor pad, with all surfaces covered in stuff, gadgets, ‘boy projects’ and sports gear everywhere. “You won’t believe it, but this is the tidiest it’s been in months. It took days to clear up. Most of the floors were covered with crap”. As his friends popped round during the week, they would remark rather shocked “Christ, Ceri. Did someone break in and tidy up your flat?” There was scuba, climbing and kayaking gear everywhere. A large bookcase full of books, a cabinet of cheap pirated DVD’s. Such was the relaxed nature of the place, he never locked his door! We had our own room. Welcome to Oman.

There are very few guide books on Oman. The outdated Lonely Planet said “Oman is slowly emerging from its hermit shell, revealing a land of friendly people and dramatic landscapes peppered with forts” which was definitely true. In contrast to the vast desert wasteland of Saudi Arabia, (which we flew over both ways) Oman is a land of dramatic mountains and unspoilt beaches.

Between the 17th and 19th Century, Oman was an imperial power which vied first with Portugal and later with Britain for influence in the Gulf, the Indian Ocean and along the coasts of India and East Africa. I had visited Zanzibar last summer, which was the former Omani stronghold off Tanzania.

It appears a relatively prosperous country, seemingly almost built overnight. New roads, new buildings with none of the scruffy trappings of somewhere poorer like Egypt. Natural gas and oil have financed this rebirth over the past two decades. It is run by the Sultan Qaboos Bin Said who has been quite a progressive leader, providing free health and education to the population. Franchises were everywhere (McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Marks and Spencers). The Sultan was originally British backed so the British have had a pretty good foothold in Oman, hence the Technical College of the Royal Guards.

Approximately 300,000 sq km in area, we only saw the northern coast and the major mountain range during our stay. The rest is pretty much flat monotonous desert surrounded by 1700 sq km of coastline. North of Oman lies the United Emirate States. Yemen lies west. Across the Gulf of Oman lies Iran. With just over one million people, it is one empty country, with the majority of the population living near the coast. It is deserted enough to still allow nomadic people to move around the mountains.

With the sun booming down outside and the temperatures rising, we headed south through Muscat which did not appear to have a centre. It was just a series of separate suburban neighbourhoods which were originally built amongst the mountains and had been linked by brand new freeways. In the mornings and evenings, there were rush hours. Everything looked as if it had been built yesterday. Large new shopping malls lay off the sides.

One thing we noticed were the roundabouts. Every one seemed to have a theme: a boat, clocktowers, Omani daggers, even a large pile of books. There were often false open boxes of treasure too. It made giving directions very easy. Ceri had christened the purple phallic tower near his college as the ‘Purple Throbber’. “From the airport, just head north and take a left at the Purple Throbber”.

The Omnis are still getting used to driving and Ceri was driven mad by the antics of the Muslim women. “They haven’t a clue”. He had a name for the bad drivers; “Numpties”. As we drove around and were cut up or someone crawled along in the fast lane, Ceri would thump his steering wheel and yell in his Welsh accent “Excuse my French, but what a f**king NUMPTY!” One day when I was driving and parked up to take a photo, a Muslim women drove up behind me so close that she had to do a 3 point turn to get past, even though I was parked up. Doh!

You don’t see any old or (because of the climate), rusty cars in Oman. Just a lot of Mercedes, Audis and 4 wheel drives. You also don’t see a dirty car. It is against the law! After our day of four wheel driving in the mountains, I took the vehicle to a car wash before any police spotted us. Not that you ever saw a police car. Car prices are really low against European prices and petrol cost, read and weep, £0.16p a litre (currently around £0.85p a litre in the UK). I could put 50 litres of unleaded into Ceri’s Toyota Discovery for less than £10!

We drove for an hour to the Blue Aqua Diving Club where Ceri worked part time as an Instructor. A British Navy boat had moored in the harbour and four of the crew had booked in for the Open Water Course. while Ceri taught, we sunbathed by the pool and worked on the tan which was the envy of my work colleagues when I returned to work.

The dive school became our base for the next three days while we went diving. Unlike Eygpt, scuba diving is only just taking off in Oman. There appeared to be only three dive schools in the country. The boats were small, carrying only ten people and when we did go diving, we were briefed and told which direction to swim in and pretty much left to ourselves. This was excellent news, because my dad and I could potter around underwater at our own speed, nosing around and then come up after 60 minutes. Consequently, Oman was to prove the best diving we had ever done together.

Briefly, we did six dives south of Muscat. The first one was the wreck of Al Munassir. About 80m long, this freighter was deliberately sunk for divers around 18 months ago. My dad and I dropped down to the propeller at 30m and then swam around the outside, inside the gangways and up over the top of it. As my dad climbed a staircase, a huge honeycombed moray eel about a metre long, swam down past him.

Over the previous weeks, the seas had been rough and visibility underwater had been low. True to form, the ocean had got choppy and the second dive near the wreck was cancelled. We crashed through the waves back to base, where our boat with twin engines leapt out of the water whenever a wave subsided and crashed into the next one…not for the faint hearted… and did a second dive around Cat Island, just outside the small harbour. This shallow dive was rather tame for me, but my dad enjoyed the fact that we could potter around, taking in the usual suspects: a shoal of small puffer fish, moray eels, lion fish, cornet fish, a lobster and a porcupine fish.

The following day at Mina Al Fahal, we dropped to 14m and saw six huge honeycombed moray eels during the dive and an excellent selection of coral including spectacular brain coral. I had a new sighting of a white sole which lay on the sand. Visibility was poor during the second dive in the same area, but there were carpets of cauliflower coral, a large shoal of jackfish, Arabian Picasso fish and deep blue Triggerfish which ducked into the holes in the coral when we approached.

On our third diving day, Ceri had finished with his students and was now on his weekend so he could give us a personal tour of the Al Munassir wreck. We entered into the hold in complete darkness with powerful torches, through the engine room, up the long elevator shaft around the living quarters. The white toilet bowl was still intact! There was an air bubble trapped and Ceri and I were able to stick our mouths through the water and talk to each other at 14m with an echo all around. Weird experience. It was the best and most challenging wreck dive I had ever done.

The second dive, Cave Dive, was handicapped by the fact that my dad’s BCD valve got stuck and he lost quite a lot of air before we descended. Down at 29m, we saw a huge ray lying on the sand, scorpion fish, a black and white sea snake (new sighting), and the inevitable moray eels. After 28 minutes, we had to come up. I had now spent over 100 hours underwater in 137 dives. The water temperature was 26’C.

Oman diving started and finished early in the afternoon, which left plenty of time for other pursuits. After the first day’s diving, dad and I borrowed Ceri’s Toyota and headed down the coast along a brand new road through spectacularly buckled sandstone mountains. The whole area looked mangled yet magnificent. After the third day’s diving, Ceri and I drove down the coast with a pair of kayaks on the roof to a bay surrounded by steep cliffs, and paddled out to and along the coast for a couple of hours. It gave me a different perspective on the landscape that seemed to swallow us up.

Ceri, as a typical bachelor, did not cook (despite having a huge fridge and a fully fitted kitchen), so we ate out every night. There didn’t really seem to be any Omani cuisine. Franchises were everywhere. We ate at Nandi’s Kebabs, Pizza Hut takeaways, Mexican and Chinese restaurants and an all you can eat extravaganza at the Sultana Shopping Mall which was an immense collection of dishes. I did my best for England…as you do. Having visited many Arab countries, I had tried many traditional dishes before. Arab pastries are very sweet but very yummy. It was strange to eat at restaurants rather on street stalls which didn’t seem to exist in Muscat.

Across the road from the college, lay the British Officer’s Mess. There was a hidden shop selling alcohol. I was surprised to find it full of Omani men, obviously buying booze on the quiet (despite the Koran which prohibits it). Ceri bought enough beer and wine to give the empty fridge a reason to exist and give me a reason why giving up drinking was not the best idea this week. Not that Ceri drank much so I was forced to make up for him.

That first night, we popped in for a drink at the Officer’s Mess (or rather outside on the patio since it was so warm) and met some of his colleagues. Ceri felt that an ex-pat life could be quite limited if you stuck to the College and Officer’s Mess with the ability to drink yourself silly with the same company every night. He had tried to break out of this trap, using his part time job at the Dive School to meet new people, as well as linking up with other sporty people in Muscat. I could understand the mentality, having survived a year of very late nights in Japan guzzling cheap alcohol.

Day 5 and we turned north to dive off the Daymaniyat Islands. This is a UNESCO World Heritage Marine Reserve. An underwater paradise that has been protected for the last twenty years with coral reefs covering up to 70% of the dive sites seabed with more than a hundred different species of soft and hard coral.

Unlike the professional Blue Aqua Dive School, the Dimaniyat Divers Dive School based out of a major hotel resort about an hour north of our base, was casual, relaxed and involved a lot of sitting around while they got their act together. We met tourists who were based at the hotel on a package holiday. They were rather bored. Without their own transport, they felt isolated and taxi fares were expensive. There were minibuses as public transport but no bus system. It reinforced the fact that you really need your own transport in Oman, which, thanks to Ceri we had. Nevertheless, the beaches around the resort were excellent.

The tiny islands lay 18km off shore and we had a fast jet boat that blasted over the flat millstone sea. It was so calm, I spotted turtles on the surface and even sea snakes. The islands were minute, just small low lying sandstone outcrops sticking out of the water, some eroded enough to have sandy beaches. No inhabitation. Underwater, it was a dream.

Our first dive (15m) was the Juan West Wall, where we spotted our first turtle (my father had never seen one and this was his ambition), shoals of yellow snapper and jackfish, lobster, blue triggerfish and a very good selection of soft and hard corals. The second dive at Walid Junn (15m) started off with a problem. We stepped off the boat and had been told to follow the reef to our left. Underwater, we found no reef. Dad and I swam around looking for it and after five minutes finally came up and flagged the boat over to pick us up and drop us on the reef. We bagged another turtle, lobster, a crown of thorns starfish, six lionfish. The strangest thing were the millions of tiny fish everywhere. It was like being surrounded by midges underwater. We spent an hour underwater on both dives.

Such was our praise about the diving and conditions, Ceri decided to get cover for his teaching and come and join us the next day. The Instructor, Sol, who had taken us out the day before, had also done his Scuba Diver Instructor Course at Dive Asia in Phuket, Thailand. All 3 of us had been trained there. Small world.

While Ceri offered to take over some novice German divers, dad and I dropped to 18m at ‘Huyat Run’ and clocked another turtle, more honeycombed moray eels, lots of soft purple coral. The highlight however occurred in the last 10 minutes as we rose to five metres. It was sunny and shallow and suddenly I spotted a huge cuttlefish, then a second. They were both males, doing a courtship for a dull looking female. Their flanks shimmered in the sunlight. They are like octopus but with a long straight body (we used to pick up cuttlefish backbones on the beach). I took endless photos with my underwater camera as I was allowed to get closer and closer. It was one of those moments. On the surface, my dad said “I know I wanted to see a turtle, but those cuttlefish are the best thing I have seen underwater in thirty nine dives”. The photos are brilliant (for me).

On the second dive at ‘Police Run’ we dived down to 19m and swam through a cavern. Looking out for my dad, I fell on some black sea urchins and had my skin pierced by spiny black needles. I could feel the poison rush through my bloodstream and numb my leg. My father had done the same thing on a previous dive and been pierced in the wrist. It took days for his black tattooed scars to disappear. We bagged three turtles, a shoal of baby cuttlefish, and great close-ups of lobsters peering out of holes. It was a surprise not to see a huge moray eel until late into the dive.

What can I say about the diving? I know my descriptions are boring but Oman is really one of the best countries I have dived in…even just for the coral, let alone the marine species. After the “Shopping Trolley” diving of Egypt in the Red Sea, it made a pleasant change to see so much healthy marine life and few divers around.

The great thing about Oman is that even if you have no interest in diving, and you have your own vehicle, there is plenty to see. After the first day’s diving off the Dimaniyat islands, we headed inland towards Rustaq until we reached Nakal constructed in 1750. This imposing golden sandstone edifice had obviously been rebuilt, but it looked marvellous. Surrounded by mountains it overlooks the small town of twisty lanes off the main highway.

With three days left after diving, we decided to visit Nizwa about 150km south of Muscat. There were wonderful vistas of the twisted mountains ranging in colour from yellows and oranges to purples. The occasional watch tower stood on peaks. Where water was present, groves of palms surrounded the peaks. There was an excellent, fast road with little traffic. At one point a policeman overtook us and smiled and waved at us.

Nizwa’s main landmark is the large blue domed mosque. We took off our shoes and sneaked in to find it empty apart from a cleaner who was hovering the vast carpet. Next door stood the Nizwa Fort with a large round tower. Up the road lay the souk (market). Supposedly, this is the most impressive sight in Nizwa, but today it was deserted, save for a few fruit and vegetable sellers. Surrounded by small empty shops (mostly tailors), it appeared that the arrival of supermarkets and hypermarkets were destroying the traditional markets. It was a real let down. I guess it gets publicity because if you are on a tour group, this is the best nearest thing to Muscat for a daytrip.

We got out of Nizwa faster than we had anticipated and headed into the flat desert which lay south of the mountains. It was obvious by the endless cracked mudflats that rain had fallen this year, but had been dried very quickly. There were just miles of flat, barren landscape with nothing growing. Few hamlets. Minimal traffic.

A round circular trip took in a couple of forts at Bahla and Jabrin. Not as impressive as Nakal but their isolation made them stand out. I’m not sure if any of these forts are open to the public. You used to require a permit from Muscat but maybe not now. We were happy enough to view them from outside. On the way back to Nizwa, we came across our first wild camels crossing the road. I also spotted a couple of dead ones by the side of the road - roadkill? It had been an illuminating detour into the interior which stretched hundreds of miles south.

The following day, while Ceri taught, we popped down to the Grand Mosque for an early visit on a gorgeous sunny day. This formidable complex is less than ten years old and did not get mentioned in the guide books. You can visit it between 8 and 11.30am and it lies just off the main highway, south of the airport. You can’t miss it with its tall minaret.

It was strange to enter a new mosque. I had visited the mosque in Casablanca, Morocco which was the newest, largest in the world in 1998, but not inside. I was so used to seeing old ones, such as those in Iran, with hundreds of years of history behind them. The exterior of Muscat’s Grand Mosque were vast courtyards of smooth light coloured granite and adjoining gardens. While there were armed guards outside, no one was searched. Inside, the main section was the largest chandelier I have ever seen. It looked spectacular and there were two smaller, but still huge ones, on either side. Four massive pillars near each corner supported the structure, which left the impression of an endless decorated carpet stretching forever in all directions. As the most impressive thing to see in Muscat, I can highly recommend it.

Ceri had offered to take us for an adventurous four wheel drive across the mountains to Nizwa. We headed south from Muscat and started to climb rocky roads into Wadi Hedlik. This was a protected area, surrounded by 2500m high mountains and where nomadic locals stayed for half the year. There wasn’t much water in the wadi. Herds of goats munched on whatever they could find. We headed further south over passes into Wadi Bani Auf which had more water and some random settlements. It was a world away from the coast. Just walls of towering, twisted, jagged mountains all around us, dwarfing the primitive track we were following over the mountains.

To get out of the wadi, we had to climb a horrendous track of huge boulders which had obviously been broken up by the rains earlier in the year. Ceri gritted his teeth and put the beast into the lowest gear and we crawled up over the real bumpy trail while dust blew into the vehicle. It took forever, and Ceri was concerned with the sunset arriving. We made it up to Snake canyon which looked awesome; like a crack in the earth’s crust. We peaked over an edge to an entire settlement that was hidden from the world; cramped brown sandstone houses built by the side of a mountain surrounded by palm trees. You wouldn’t know it existed unless you found it.

From the Nizwa side, the government was gradually building a new road up to this settlement so we eventually hit tarmac and Ceri could relax. It was marvellous scenery that unfortunately you won’t see unless you hire a 4-wheel drive. More herds of camels were spotted in the desert section outside Nizwa. On the way home from Nizwa, we started to notice police cars at every junction. We had only seen one car in eight days and now we counted five or six. The Sultan was obviously returning from somewhere and the tradition, security wise, is to shut the road down until he and his entourage has passed. Ceri was worried we would get diverted off the main road and told to wait for up to ninety minutes until the cavalcade had passed. We roared towards Muscat passing twelve sets of police cars and escaped the Sultan. Ironically, Ceri was more worried about having a dirty car than about speeding. The Sultan, as top dog has plenty of wealth. In the Muscat harbour, we saw his large cruise ship. Next door was moored the support vessel which was even larger, accommodating a helicopter pad and multiple floors to drive on vehicles. The two sail together, so theoretically he can sail anywhere around the world forever. Even more ironically, the Sultan is rumoured to be gay and has not appointed a successor. It could messy in Oman when he pops his clogs.

On the final day, we did a final tour of Muscat to take some photos, followed by some retail therapy. Oman imports everything but many things seem to be very cheap, especially electronic goods and clothing. Ironically, Muscat had a Carrefour French hypermarket up the road from Ceri’s which we had visited on a regular basis. I was able to buy decent work shirts for £1.40 a pop and even found decent underwear Not many people probably fly to Oman to replace their underwear collection but I did!. I also bought a couple of ‘dishdashas’; loose fitting, floor length shirt dresses – the traditional clothing for men which the majority of Omani men seemed to wear. We bought so much stuff we had to buy another cheap suitcase.

A quick word about the Omani people themselves. They were some of the politest, cordial people I have ever met. We met noone with an axe to grind about the state of the Middle East. They appeared to be just friendly, modest people who seemed to appreciate how lucky they were. An example, was one late afternoon when we were sat outside a café drinking coffee. A local walked up with his coffee to the next table and then politely coughed “Do you mind if I smoke?” I guess the Muscat population is rapidly westernizing with the original Arab culture beneath it. There may be some antagonism to the ex-pats who often live like kings but we saw none of it. The women were either dressed in traditional black cloaks (some with veils) or bright printed dresses wrapped with even more colourful shawls and veils. Many wore jeans and blouses. It was a real mish mash of Muslim and western dress.

Reluctantly, we had to leave. Ten days after arriving, Ceri dropped us at the airport for the 3pm flight back to London. It had been a marvellous holiday. Great diving, spectacular mountains, a comfortable lifestyle and a generous host. Ceri had done us proud and hopefully we can repay the hospitality in the summer when he (read and weep) gets his 3 month summer holiday.

You will not have met many people who have been to Oman, but I thoroughly recommend the country. Once word gets around, many tourists will do it as a side trip from Dubai just up the road.

Oman Roadkill: 2 camels, 1 donkey, 1 dog