Shifting the Sands
We woke up at dawn the following day and drove straight to the Nizwa cattle market where we found an auction already in progress. As buyers sat on a platform in the middle of a roofed square, goatherds paraded their stock. Monies changed hands and gnarly animals went home with their new owners. The auction square sat next to a souk where silver jawbreaker bracelets, decorated daggers, frankincense burners, and local produce were popular, and next to it was the 17th-century Round Tower Fort, now a museum. After a light refreshment of honey-soaked nuts and iced coffees, we departed for the dunes of Wahiba, stopping briefly at a Bedouin tent. Although nomadic, the Bedouins kept tents that were havens of hospitality and desert style. We sat on carpets laid out on the sand as we admired an extensive collection of brass trays, camel skulls, fabrics and glass cabinets groaning under the weight of crockery – a bit de trop, yes, but then again, these were the people who wore flowing dishdashas, fringed scarves, and hand-embroidered caps when the temperature was hitting 40° in the shade. Our final destination was the Desert Nights Camp, a huddle of climate-controlled, Wi-Fi enabled tents in the middle of the sand dunes. It supplies whatever the guests may require, from fantastic food to warm shower, and leaves the rest to Nature – its primary attraction. Here, breakneck-speed ascent to the top of the dunes, followed by sudden 15-meter drops kept everyone in high spirits. It was a singular thrill. Cocktails and dinner, with entertainment provided by local musicians on ethnic instruments, ended the night. But just as we thought it was going to be eerily quiet in the middle of the desert, party music from the next camp ripped through the air. When it eventually died down before midnight, a flurry of beeps announcing text messages followed. DJ Avicii has died. In his hotel room. In Muscat.