Muscat, Oman - A Friendly Middle East

Vladia Jurcova

Luxurious complex of the Sultan's Palace and the gardens

The humidity and heat slapped me in my face as soon as I got of the plane. I arrived in Muscat in the middle of the night, so I did not get to see any of the city until the next morning. I opened my blinds and almost fell off my feet. The unforgettable blinding view in front of me will always be burnt into my memory. Sun pouring over acres of lush gardens, aqua colored water of the Gulf of Oman, a deserted pristine beach down under the cliff and typical white oriental buildings in the background left me speechless. Some kind of weird happiness caused by the beauty in front of me flew inside my body. In 2 minutes, I was wearing my bikini and covered with a sarong for modesty, I was heading for the pool and breakfast.

But I did not feel this way before my arrival. My new Omani friend, Abu-Jakub who I met on the plane, addressed my first concern about the fact that I did not book my hotel. Abu-Jakub explained that Oman is as safe as a deserted island. "You can sleep on the side of the road with your luggage under your head and no one will touch you!" he insisted. Well, I have to admit that made me feel much better considering that no one really knew where I was. After expressing my desire to travel to the Persian Gulf, my mother strictly prohibited me from leaving England where I was studying. That did not stop me and here I was in the unknown mysterious land of Arabs, Bedouins and camels, or at least that's what I thought.

Before the year 1970 when Sultan Qaboos bin Said acceded to the throne and started building a new, more educated and richer state, people of the Sultanate of Oman lived in the dark ages. Cut off from the rest of the world by the old cruel sultan, Qaboos' father, Oman was an isolated state without any health or school systems. Technology was prohibited as a tool of the devil and the majority of the population was jobless and uneducated living in fear for their lives. After his return from studies in England, young Qaboos recognized the poverty of his people and the poor standards of living to which they were subjected and decided to put an end to this suffering.

I must admit that Sultan Qaboos is loved by his people. Abu-Jakub told me,"He is not only intelligent and handsome, but also generous to his subjects." My friend Abu-Jakub, a great storyteller, told me several stories about the Sultan and his generosity. I wished I could meet this charming man with proud features and a white trimmed beard, but unfortunately that was impossible since the Sultan lived in a marvelous palace in absolute luxury, surrounded by hundreds of servant, Abu-Jakub called them slaves, and bodyguards.

After exchanging each other's stories, I said good-bye to my friendly acquaintance from the plane, promised to call and headed into the humid dark night to yell for a taxi. It proved to be an easy task and I felt much better about being alone. My smiling taxi driver took me to my hotel, which I picked randomly (because of the great service on my flight with Gulf Air). The Gulf Hotel in Qurum Heights, a quaint area of Muscat, is located on the top of the cliff overlooking the breathtaking views of the beautiful Gulf of Oman. Oman is proclaimed the best secret scuba diving spot in the world, but that and others were secrets I was just about to discover.

Crystal clear waters of a pristine beach nearby the capital of Oman

As it appeared Abu-Jakub became my faithful friend and guide. One day, he invited me for a trip to explore the countryside. On a Friday morning we took off to visit a small village of Nizwa, only a short drive from Muscat. Inhabitants of Nizwa are highly respected among Omanis. "These people are magicians," Abu-Jakub explained. "They can change you into a goat or donkey! Be careful not to look into anyone's eyes!" he warned me. His superstitious sister even donated one of the colorful traditional dresses, so I would not draw attention to myself. For the first time, I decided to cover my blond hair to be totally invisible. Hey, I already had henna and pitch-dark eye make up, very popular among Omani women, even my mother would not recognize me now.

When we arrived to Nizwa, we hit the souk, or market, first. Every Friday, cows, goats and sheep are auctioned at this busy market. Hordes of spectators stand by to watch the amusing bargaining between the cattle owners and buyers. There are storytellers telling stories about the people whom the local magician turned into donkeys.

As I was wandering through the souk, I lost my guide and my veil

and started noticing many glares from local men. Although Omani men proudly wear their dishdasha (traditional male robe) and turbans or small expensive embroidered hats, a lot of women wear a modernized version of the traditional colorful dresses. The dresses are no longer loose and modest, but rather formfitting and fashion forward. Many of these outfits hide mini skirts and tank tops, which the modern women wear at home. The strict black veils covering the hair were exchanged for colorful scarves that hang down their shoulders. Many women drive around in fast convertible cars and yell at handsome men who are sipping kahwa (coffee) or eating shewarma (special kebab) at local joints. A blond foreign girl in traditional dress was a rare sight. More heads started turning and a bigger curious crowd kept heading my direction. I knew I was in trouble.

My caring host and guide, Abu-Jakub, found me and promised to show me a better market for my kind of shopping. I was introduced to the Old Muttrah Souk located in Muttrah, an ancient port, today, a part of Muscat that has not changed a bit over the centuries.

Small shops offered a variety of fruits and vegetables, animals, jewelry, souvenirs such as khangar (traditional dagger that is also featured on the Omani royal symbol) and fabrics. My eyes were blinking, "This is by far my favorite place." This was the real orient; a place where Aladdin would find his magic lamp; a place where bargaining is a way of life and every step takes you back to the past. "Why did you show me this souk a long time ago?" I asked Abu-Jakub. "I did not want you to get a wrong impression of Muscat. It's a modern city and this market is as old as the city itself." I wanted to scream, "But this is what I wanted to see in the first place." But I understood. These people are proud of their hard work bringing Oman into the 21st century and this hidden dirty corner of their city survived only because of their respect for traditions, not to be shown off as a tourist attraction.

White houses of the Old Mutrah

The new Muscat is a peaceful clean city free of the hustling, so typical for the other Arabic countries like Morocco. Muscat reminded me of Abu-Jakub, he was a real gentleman, so handsome and elegant in his traditional silk dishdasha. I would never imagine that I find a man in a dress appealing.

Although the month of July is usually very dry, we got quite a few showers during my first couple of days in Oman. Thanks to this rain, my next trip was really exciting because I was allowed to drive Abu-Jakub's brand new Land Rover Discovery across the green water filled wadis (valleys or dried out river beds) surrounded on both sides with perpendicular mountains. "Get it dirty!" Abu-Jakub laughed as I was showing off my imaginary formula one driving skills to Omani men. "Lets shoot some cans," somebody suggested when we got tired of riding in the car. We shot a few rounds from a gun (apparently also a popular pastime) and climbed the mountains while the servants prepared our lunch.

They brought a small goat, which they killed and roasted with garlic and spices. Alcohol is not allowed in Oman, so during the lunch Abu-Jakub played guitar and his friends were singing to keep us entertained. I was not sure how I was going to deliver them the bad news about my eating habits (a vegetarian is a word unknown to Arabs). "I don't eat red meat," I said, "I have to refuse to eat the poor little roasted goat." I almost cried when I saw their expressions. "We killed this goat to honor you as our guest, habibi," Abu-Jabuk said to me. Although they did not understand why I did not want to dance for them nor eat meat, they politely left me alone. The friendliness of everyone I met was contagious.

The Omani people are extremely generous and hospitable, and it was not long before I was invited to stay with Abu-Jakub's family in their luxurious palace-like-house full of servants; like a dream come true. Although this nation is very hospitable, Islam is a part of every day's life (Muslim pray 5 times a day) and modesty in clothing and conservative behavior is a must. I respected their privacy, but I could not pass by the opportunity to experience the fairy tale life and customs of the privileged inhabitants of this country. There are a few things that one has to be respectful of like taking shoes off before entering the house, always covering shoulders and knees by long loose garments and eating a lot while dinning because it is highly expected!

The women and girls normally ate separately from the men and boys, but if they had a special guest, like me, they were allowed to eat together. Women had their own quarters in the house. Their rooms were filled with gold, crystal, luxurious fabrics and Italian custom designed furniture that even the White House would be proud of. Most of the Omani women don't work, although this is changing because girls now are allowed to study at universities, at home, as well as, abroad.

My host's father had 2 wives. They lived in separated comfortable quarters, but brought up all their children jointly. "Don't they hate each other?" I asked Abu-Jakub. "Not really, they just have to get along and my father shares everything equally between them." Abu-Jakub's mother could not have any more children, so his father asked her for permission to take another younger wife who can give him more children. "Arabs love huge families; family and religion are the highest values," Abu-Jakub said. He also told me that Arabs don't understand how western children can put their aging parents in retirement homes. "It's unheard of in our world!" he said.

By every conversation like this, I learned more about the traditions of this proud nation. I was an ignorant when I arrived to this land of magicians and Sultans, but my open mind and desire to learn and explore brought me a lot of joy. My journey was almost at the end, and I knew that I would never be able to repay my hosts' hospitality. These people would give me the shirt off their back and never expect anything in return. They opened their hearts and homes to me and showed me their culture, religion and city, the way I would have never been able to experience alone. On my last day in Muscat, my charming prince, Abu-Jakub, was driving me to the airport where this amazing fairy tale started. Before my departure, our goodhearted cook came to say good-bye. He fed me well during the past weeks and cried when saying, "Please, come back, Amira." I was crying too, when I simply said, "Shokran."