OMAN: RIPE FOR THE PICKING
In Oman, tourism is a more subtle affair than in its glitzy neighbour, Dubai — just how Simon Horsford likes it
I T was Eid al-Adha, the second most important festival in the Muslim calendar, and were with our guide, Mohammed, in a wadi surrounded by pomegranate trees sharing a dish traditionally eaten during this family celebration. Sitting on a rug, we used our fingers to scoop out the mushy arisa — goat mixed with rice and served with ghee and a date sauce — which we then followed with dollops of sticky sweethalwa and glasses of mint tea. The meal had been prepared by Mohammed’s father; Mohammed himself had killed the goat the night before.
Such generosity was a feature of the Omanis we met on our journey to Muscat and the Jabal Al Akhdar mountains, a trip that was also something of a return for my wife, a Caroline, who had spent six years in the country as a child. Tourism barely existed in the early ’80s and it was an eye-opener for her to see how the country has embraced it in subsequent years. Unlike the in-your-face glitz of Dubai, however, tour subtle affair and Sultan Qaboos, who has ruled since 1970, seems determined to keep it that way.
Not that they are holding back on the development. New hotels are being built, and on the drive from the airport you can see the outlines of the new airport terminal (scheduled to open later this year). But with prices high, particularly in hotels, mass tourism is not the goal here. And traditional culture is not forgotten amid the building.
Springtime is an ideal time to go to Oman (although we were there in October). We began in Muscat, where evidence of the quietly imposing sultan was everywhere, from the flamboyant Al Alam Palace, which is used only for official functions, and the harbour, where his yacht (apparently the third-largest in the world) dwarfed the local dhows and fishing boats, to his picture, which could be seen on countless buildings and signs by the road. Mohammed led us to Muttrah souk in the old town, just off the croniche, the coastal road, which leads from the fish market to the main part of the city. Here we wended our way through the throng of Omani and Indian traders selling Omani silver, gold, carpets, dishdashas, kummah (embroidered caps), textiles, household goods, frankincense ( used as a perfume) and spices. Bartering was friendly and pressure-free and we mulled over our bargains at a nearby cafe with a qahwa (delicious Omani coffee flavoured with cardamom).
Next we peeked into the temporary fish
market — inevitably a new one is being built — where large tuna, shark (the severed fins on display make a depressing sight), lobster, kingfish and grouper are on show as the local traders gut their produce and do swift earlymorning business.
In the heat of the day — the high 30°Cs — we made for the magnificent (and cooling) Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, which was completed in 2001. It is vast, covering some 416 000m², and brings together a number of Islamic designs under one roof. The detail is astonishing. The carpet, for instance, is a giant and triumphant piece of work, which took 600 weavers four years to make.
To get a sense of Oman’s history, culture and craftsmanship, we also visited the Bait Al Zubair museum, which outlines the country’s seafaring past, with galleries devoted to Omani dress, daggers, firearms, old maps, jewellery and swords.
Back near our hotel, we stopped in a café for a glass of deliciously sweet mint tea to people-gaze and inadvertently watch something akin to a cruise-by as the sun began to set, the locals showing off their flashy cars: Porsches, Mercedes, Ferraris, Lexuses and fancy Jeeps — all brand new. That’s another thing you notice: no one ever seems to drive anything second-hand in Oman. Back at the InterContinental bar, which was about to shut for the Eid festival, I watched a couple of the guests in dishdashas playing pool, but declined an invitation to take them on.
The following day we headed off towards the geologically spectacular Jabal Al Akhdar (the “Green Mountains“), which jut into the sky away in the distance. En route we dropped into the beguiling and historic town of Nizwa. The souk was closed because of Eid (although later in the day a children’s market was open, selling toys, games and sweets) and so we wandered around the sand-coloured buildings and the old fort, while a traditional Omani band played in the courtyard.
Off again, we headed into the mountains. The aforementioned lunch, 2 000m up in the Jabal Al Akhdar, we took in Wadi Bani Habib, below ancient houses carved out of the rock. Our hotel for the night was the spectacularly located Sahab on the Saiq Plateau, with views through the wadis to the desert.
After drifting through Jabrin and its must-see restored 17th-century castle with its finely painted ceilings, we headed through the Western Hajar, a forbidding region of summits and canyons, passing various sites of a longrunning rebellion that took place in the ’60s and ’70s, including the remains of a crashed Hawker Hunter jet.
With a new driver, Ali, our goal was the natural amphitheatre, Wadi Nakhr, the Grand Canyon of Oman, a vast 1 000m-deep limestone gorge. If that was stunning, it was matched by our drive the following day when we traversed the Jabal Al Akhdar range along a rough, single-track road often not much wider than the car to Wadi Bani Auf. Be warned — you need a head for heights for this journey, but it is breathtaking.
Lolling by the pool of our beachside hotel back in Muscat the following day, we couldn’t have been further from the savage splendour of those mountains. That’s the beauty of Muscat — it has so much to offer and doesn’t boast about it. — © The Daily Telegraph