Lovely Oman

I am in Oman spending the weekend, and I stay at this 5-star hotel that stinks like tourist and expat, mainly Brits and Germans, and surprisingly also many French. Many of them live here or in the UAE and they usually spend their weekends with their families in resorts. Then you have the tourists who come to the Gulf and they lock themselves in luxurious hotels. They might think they will get the flavor of the Gulf by talking to waiters?? Unfortunately most of them are from Pakistan, India or the Philippines.

It annoys me quite badly. Those people who come here and they go straight from the airport to their hotel, usually using the shuttle service of the place they stay at. They spend most of their time by the pool or in private beaches drinking beer and cocktails, like they would back in Europe. Some of them will be brave enough to leave the hotel and visit the souk and the palace of the Sultan, but they will go and return by taxi and most probably won’t exchange a single word with anyone, not even the driver. Breakfast, lunch and dinner back at the resort, it might not be safe to eat out…

Don’t get me wrong, I do love the luxury and services of nice hotels, but I like it just as much as I dislike these people who are not interested in interacting with locals, and learn about their culture.

I am in the hotel thinking all of the above, and I suddenly feel this urgency to get out of here. I talk to this Mohamed guy who became my friend last night when I checked in, and with the concierge, and we plan my day so that I can see and do as many things as possible, keeping in mind it is Friday. Friday means it is prayer and family day, not too many places open today, and most of those that do will remain closed until 4 pm. No museums today and of course forget about visiting the Grand Mosque. But I am here today, not tomorrow, nor yesterday, and I will make the best of it.

My driver is this young guy, who speaks really good English. I ask him what the word is for that hat Omanis wear, and he answers cap, but what I want is the Arabic word. It is kimah, pronounced like keema, with a long i. I tell him I prefer the kimah to the headscarf that Emiratis wear, because the neighbors seem more arrogant. He smiles, but doesn’t say much. Omanis have mixed feelings about their neighbors; there is some admiration, almost jealousy, because of what they have achieved. The UAE after all is a very similar country, both have plenty of oil, surrounded by the sea and the desert… and even though Oman has grown and developed in a quite amazing way in the last 30 years, not too many people outside the Gulf know about their country, because they have no 7-star hotels, no fake islands, and no ridiculously tall buildings. Some other Omanis are happy with their country and don’t envy the Emirates at all, they have maintained their identity, their culture, their customs, and that is a must for them.

As soon as I get out of the car I realize I like this place. It is much more than what I had expected. It reminds me to the Northern Emirates, in the neighboring country. The mountains that surround Muscat are gray, almost silver. The sky is bright blue, and so is the sea. I see no desert around me, but I can foretell it is not far, because of the colors of the houses, the streets, their clothes. The mosques are beautiful, I have always liked them, and there are many here.

I am amazed with the greeneries and plants and flowers all over the place. That is, all over the place around the palace of the Sultan. It is absolutely beautiful. But what truly surprises me is the amount of birds I see. There are so many, everywhere. They are all different, in color, size and shape, and they sing. I can’t remember if I have ever heard a bird singing in my 10 months in the UAE….

I decide to take a walk around the palace, and I suddenly leave behind the nicely paved streets to get to dusty and tiny ones, surrounded by houses that don’t look as beautiful and luxurious as the ones I could see just by the palace. These are real houses, for real people. I only see men in the streets, and not too many. There are also kids; one of them has spent the last three minutes looking under a car. When I get closer I realize he is trying to catch a wise cat that is hiding there. When the kid hears me he turns around and just then the cat runs away. I try telling him, and he keeps repeating cat, cat! But he obviously doesn’t understand. He then asks me for some money, but I won’t give him any. However, I have candy in my purse, and I offer some to him. His eyes shine but he repeats one rial please. I don’t have any change, and I offer candy again, his eyes still shining, he decides to go for it. Just then some older kids join us and they also want candy, so I give it all to them.

It must be their mum who suddenly appears through the door of a house a few meters down the street, she starts yelling and they all disappear in a second. She stares at me with a look that I fear, so I turn around to leave, but then she says do you want tea? And even though I am sure she is not talking to me, I turn around, only to discover that she is now much closer, offering her hand. I grab it and follow her. The house is very humble, and it seems to me like her husband must be a fisherman. There are nets in the entrance and it smells like fish. There are old carpets in the ground and she invites me to take off my shoes and sit in one of them. The picture of the Sultan is framed and up on the main wall of the living room. Her English is very basic, and she is happy to learn that I am not American because then my English cant perfect either. I choose to use a broken English to talk to her, so that she doesn’t feel bad about hers.

Her feet and hand are swollen; the rest of her body is covered by her abaya. I can also see her face, but I can’t tell how old she is. Her eyes are brown, and she has used henna to emphasize them. Our conversation is really basic while she pours some tea in a couple glasses. We both drink and it is very hot, just like the day. It is 95 degrees outside. She explains to me that the hot tea will keep my body cooler, and then I can keep walking around. Once I am ready to go I offer her some money, and I say it is for the kids, but she refuses to take it and she says that now we are friends. I think she is also saying that one day I can pay her back, when she comes to Spain. We both know that will never happen.

I keep walking, not towards the cornice. Every car that drives by hunks at me, they must think I am lost. The city wall is on my way and it certainly looks like it has been built recently, probably for tourists. There are some stairs that I climb only to discover a beautiful view. While there a soldier with uniform and a gun comes to talk to me. He is happy I am Spanish and he starts asking questions about football –soccer­­-, because he really likes Barcelona. He seems a bit embarrassed when I tell him I am from Madrid, but he quickly realized I don’t mind that he prefers the rival city. I am actually quite amazed that everyone knows my country and some of the cities, even if it is just because of football. The truth is in Spain not many people would know where Oman is, and imagine asking them about the capital!

Along the cornice I see many men just walking around or simply talking to each other. There are not too many women around but I am not surprised about it, I know this is how it usually is. There are also kids with their dads fishing, they are no fishermen, they are just enjoying time with each other and probably do it for fun, even though it would be great to catch a nice fish for dinner.

The smell of the sea is very strong and intense, and the water is fierce. The heat is starting to really heat my head now, after over 30 minutes walking around, but that tea did help, I could have been feeling this way earlier.

I can see ahead a group of Pakistanis laughing quite hard and when I get closer to them they show me a huge sea urchin that looks really annoyed. They are all taking pictures of it and I wonder if they know that in France people eat them and they are supposed to be delicious….

When I get back to my hotel I go straight to the beach, the public beach, because I don’t want to be sitting in deck chairs surrounded by all the expats and their loud kids running all over the place. When I get there I am absolutely astonished by what I see: the tide has gone out and all I can see are guys playing football. There are hundreds of them, everywhere, left and right, of all ages and different nationalities, but no Europeans. Most of them even have the full gear, with shirts and pants of Barcelona, Madrid, ManU, Arsenal or Brazil. They all seem to be having a great time, laughing and running around.

And as such, I am the only woman in the beach and none of them has even realized. They are just enjoying themselves, while I enjoy looking at them. The sun is coming down, and as the light is fading I realize I love this place.