I tried unsuccessfully to discover the name of a particularly nightmarish species of fish with a long snout full of needle teeth.

fish to eat themselves but they’re not allowed to sell any.” The market also ensures that the freshest fish is reserved for locals. “When the fish is landed it comes here first,” Ali said. “Only if no one buys it here does it go to the export company for processing.” Oman does, in fact, export a lot of fish, It is the third biggest source of overseas earnings, behind oil and gas, though income from tourism is rising fast as the country’s reputation as a fascinating and friendly haven in the Middle East starts to spread.

But to judge from the bustling crowd at the market, the Omanis, who have traditionally been a seafaring people, still eat a lot of fish.

They also seemed to have a more conservative approach than the crowds at the souk, most wearing traditional dress and many preferring not to be photographed.

For instance, when I gestured with my camera to see if it was okay to get a picture of a young mother with a small boy in tow as she haggled over the price of fish for dinner, a turn of the head indicated that she was not.

A few of the older stallholders also gently held up their hands at the sight of my camera, but fortunately the old chap with the white turban, whose massive fresh kingfish eventually won the shy housewife’s approval, grinned at the idea of his picture being taken.

And the powerful young man in a white skullcap who got the job of cleaning and gutting the selected fish, then slicing it into great red steaks ready for cooking — one of a row of fish cleaners who work at the market — also gave a quick nod of approval.

Traditional dress also predominated at the adjoining fruit and vegetable market though much of the produce is imported because, according to Ali, “A lot of our land is very rocky and no good for growing.”

But he was able to point out some magnificent pink pomegranates, saying proudly, “These are grown in Oman.” And he snapped up some bunches of local white radishes explaining, “My mother loves these.”

What definitely wasn’t locally grown, however, was the kiwifruit. Nor, unfortunately, was it grown in New Zealand. Instead, bizarrely, I found an old man with a white turban and equally white beard presiding over a stall piled high with consumer packs of “kiwis”, grown in Iran.