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desert and the treeless mountain terrain represents the alien heat-blasted backdrop. It is a barren, scarred landscape but with a raw beauty all of its own.
For an aerial view of it I had hopped into a two-man propeller aircraft at the Al Jazirah Aviation Club on day one. The cost was £80 for a 20-minute flight.
Flying in something so small, over flocks of flamingos and turtles in the waters of the Arabian Gulf, was a fun ride.
From there I could see my hotel on Hayat Island, the five-star Intercontinental Resort and Spa, with its beautiful white private beach.
The airy 351-room hotel caters for families with a kids and teens club, but there is also a haven for grown-ups in the adultsonly Club Intercontinental space, complete with its own pool and the restful spa with its grand hammam and 10 treatment rooms.
The Intercontinental has a choice of three top-class restaurants with both regional and international offerings. New York-inspired No-ho Bar and Grill, Lebanese Levant and Nar, and catch-all, all-day Saffar where the fish machboos, a spiced rice dish, and fareed – a tasty vegetable stew with flatbread – give a flavour of Emirati cuisine.
Two years old, the hotel represents the modern side of Ras Al Khaimah.
For a more traditional view, I took a trip to Al Jazeera Al Hamra – a pearl-fishing village just up the coast dating back to the 17th century.
The houses are made from the building materials available in the area at the time – in this case coral and beach rocks – which have proven to be remarkably sturdy. They are simple dwellings but with some surprisingly advanced features. The merchant Abdul Karim, who lived in the village’s swankiest house, had an early example of air conditioning to combat the sweltering summer heat with his four wind towers.
Abandoned en masse in the late 1960s when the locals decided that Abu Dhabi’s oil industry promised a better future, it has been carefully restored to preserve the pearl-diving past of the area.
The industry died out as the black gold rush hit the UAE but it is being revived in nearby Al Rams at the Suwaidi Pearls Farm. There, visitors can learn about the old days and the hardships divers used to endure on their four
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It is a barren, scarred landscape but with a raw beauty all of its own
month-long periods at sea. They would dive up to 200 times a day to collect the oysters which may – or may not – have contained a single pearl.
Their careers started at 15 but ended early in their thirties because of the salt damage caused to their eyes.
The modern method of pearl production – farming racks of oysters raised and lowered into the sea on a fixed platoon – is a lot less invasive but maybe a little less evocative.
These attractions – and a desert safari in the Al Wadi Nature Reserve to see the Arabian oryx and its splendid curved antlers – are the slower-paced pulls of Ras Al Khaimah.
But for many visitors it is the adrenaline opportunities which draw them to Oman’s near-neighbour.
Quad biking in the desert with curious camels as spectators and hiking through the scree-strewn mountain valleys from the Bear Grylls Explorer Camp is fun, but for the really serious stuff you have to head to the top of the mountains.
If you don’t fancy Jais Flight then Jais Sledder – a curving rollercoaster
ride with sharp bends and some extraordinary views – is a slightly less hair-raising alternative.
Once you are strapped in and trussed up on the zipline, though, you really have no choice but to let gravity take hold.
It is noticeably cooler at this height. My palms, though, are sweating. “Ready, sir?”.
Deep breath.
“OK, let’s go,” I say.
He gives me a gentle push and I’m off. I let out a crazed laugh as I hurtle into nothingness.
I know I am travelling fast from the noise of the wind rushing in my ears but the land is so far below me – 750ft at some points – that, looking downwards, it doesn’t actually feel like I am moving at high speed.
It is like being in an aeroplane only without any fuselage as I fly for 1.75 miles, the road beneath like toy-town Tarmac, to reach the platform suspended across the gorge at the end. I say reach – I pull to a stop 40 feet short of the landing pad.
There is a moment of panic as I hang there suspended in mid-air, motionless.
“Hello,” calls a friendly voice, echoing across the emptiness.
“You see that blue rope next to you?”
I do.
“Grab hold of it and pull yourself in.” I remember then we had actually
been told we might need to do this at the safety briefing beforehand. For some reason – brain shutdown possibly – it had slipped my mind.
I take hold of the rope, do as I am told, and before long I am safely back on solid ground.
Afterwards, slightly punch drunk, I ask the lady behind the counter whether 56 ranks as sort of an age record for this sort of daredevilry.
Unimpressed, she informs me that, actually, an 86-year-old has done it. The hissing noise is the sound of my tyres deflating.
Would I ride Jais Flight again? It was exhilarating but… honestly, no chance.
Would I return to Ras Al Khaimah? In a heartbeat.
He gives me a gentle push and I let out a crazed laugh as I hurtle into nothingness