|
“These people are magicians,” my mysterious prince from the land of Aladdin explained.By Vladia Jurcova
General information:In general, a visa (cost 6 rial and lasts one month) is easy to obtain at the border or the airport as long as the visitor is coming from a stabilized developed country. My lovely room at the Crown Plaza Hotel (used to be named the Gulf Hotel, address P.O. BOX 1455, Muscat, Oman 112) overlooked the beach and pool, and a cost of 30 rials (1 rial = 38 cents) included generous Arabic breakfast and great service. Gulf Air flies to Muscat from New York and Miami, more info on www.gulfairco.com Most of the taxi drivers are of the Indian origin and speak English. Many people speak English, although Arabic is an official language. The hottest months are June, July, August. Temperatures may be reaching 112F (winter months about 85F). The streets are the most of the day abandoned as many of the local businesses closed at noon due to the heat and humidity. In summer, the locals come out at night to walk and picnic on the beaches and hang out in the air-conditioned shopping malls. For information about the local attractions and trips contact: Omani Travel & Tourism Bureau, tel: ++968 701 085, fax: ++968 789 843 and email: niche@omantel.net.om There is abundance of pristine beaches around Muscat accessible by car or boat. Surfing and scuba diving facilities are available. Scuba diving is amazing. Amira – Princess Shokran – Thank you Habibi – Dear
Images by Galen Frysinger and Vladia Jurcova |
|
TM
The
humidity and heat slapped me in my face as soon as I got off the plane. I
arrived in Muscat in the middle of the night, so I did not get to see
anything of the city until the next morning. I opened my blinds and almost
fell of 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
astonishing 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 first concern about the fact
that I did not book my hotel was addressed by my new Omani friend,
Abu-Jacob who I met on the plane. Abu-Jacob 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 have to admit that Sultan Qaboos
is really loved by his people. Abu-Jacob told me, “He is not only
intelligent and handsome, but also generous to his subjects.” My friend
Abu-Jacob, a great story teller, told me several stories about the Sultan
and his generosity. I wished I could meet this charming man with proud
features and a white nicely trimmed beard, but unfortunately that was
impossible, since the Sultan lived in a marvelous palace in absolute
luxury, surrounded by hundreds of servant, Abu-Jacob called them slaves,
and his private bodyguards.
My decision to visit Oman was not just an act of random
craziness of a bored college student. During my studies in London, I was
“adopted” by my lovely neighbor Natasha. She was of an African-Italian
origin, but most of her life, she spent in Muscat. Listening to her charming
stories, I fell in love with this unknown city and longed to see it. My
friend’s husband, Hussam, was an Omani, and not only that, he used to live
the glamorous, rich life of the Sultan’s personal bodyguard. His dream life
changed when he fell in love with Natasha and married her in secret without
the Sultan’s permission. He had to leave the Sultan’s services. Their love
story took them to London, where they both were getting an education in
order to go back to their beloved Oman and start their lives over. 
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
immediately 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 other the secrets, I was just
about to discover. 
In a short time, Abu-Jacob 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-Jacob 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 her 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 at 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 story tellers telling “true” stories
about the people who were turned into donkeys by local magicians. Children
listen in fear, and adults listen in disbelief, but I could sense that they
all believed the old wise story tellers. Magic was a part of their life, and
they were respectful of it. Since I did not understand the story tellers, I
took off to check out the local handicrafts. Omani women wear hundreds of
heavy bangles on their hands, and I was dieing to buy several of those. I
was also longing for the traditional birka, a glittering, embroidered
facemask worn by local ladies, mostly by the older generation in the rural
region. 
As I was wandering through the souk, first I lost my
guide, then and my veil, and started noticing many glares from local men.
Although Omani men still 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, but these extravaganzas can be seen only by the eyes of their
husbands. 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-Jacob, 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 had not changed a bit over the centuries. Small
shops offered 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 didn’t you show me this souk
a long time ago?” I asked Abu-Jacob. “I did not want you to get a wrong
impression of Muscat. It’s a modern city, and this busy 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. 
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-Jacob, 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. Muscat is also a very young city, and thus the
architecture is surprisingly modern and preserved considering the damaging
forces of the nature. This city is a pearl, a green oasis in the middle of
the desert. Parks with cool waterfalls and refreshing fountains; flourishing
manicured gardens; flowers and lush greenery adorning highways are the pride
of the local inhabitants. Beautiful landscaping is in constant war with the
sand blown from the desert which surrounds the city. The only way of
expanding Muscat is out into the desert, and I noticed many abandoned houses
on the edge of the city, which owners lost the battle with nature. On the
other hand, the desert and its enormous sand dunes represent one of the
popular pastimes for the Omanis. 
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 especially thrilling because I was allowed to drive
Abu-Jacob brand new Land Rover Discovery across the green, water filled,
wadis (valleys or dried out river beds) surrounded on both sides by
perpendicular mountains. “Get it dirty!” Abu-Jacob laughed as I was
showing off my imaginary formula one driving skills to Omani men. “Let
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),
climbed up the rock wall of the closest mountain, while the servants
prepared our lunch. 
They brought a small goat which they killed and roasted
with garlic and palatable oriental spices. Alcohol is not allowed in Oman,
so during the lunch, Abu-Jacob 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 considering 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-Jacob said to me. Although they
did not understand why I did not want to dance for them (Omani women
typically entertain their men by dancing) nor eat meat, they politely left
me alone. The friendliness and courtesy 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-Jacob’s family in their luxurious
palace-like-house full of servants. What a dream come true. Although this
nation is very welcoming, 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 privilege 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 last one, unfortunate eating, proved to be real
trouble in Oman; as a European woman always on some kind of dietary
restrictions, I failed to satisfy my host and his father. They felt like I
never ate enough and used to send me more food in my quarters, in case I was
shy to eat in front of them. Although the staple of the Omani diet is
marinated cooked meat and rice, they also served a lot of grilled chicken,
fish and salad. My favorite dish was khapsa (rise and chicken cooked
together in tomato sauce), it reminded me a lot of Italian risotto or
Spanish paella cooked with Indian spices. Many influences in Omani cuisine
came from India as many cooks in Oman were Indian or Philippines. After each
meal, kalwa (very sweet pistachio and honey sweets) and kahva (strong
bittersweet coffee) were served by the servants. 
Women
and girls normally ate separately from men and boys, but if they had a
special guest like me, they were allowed to join us. 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 fact is changing because girls, nowadays, are allowed to
study at universities in Oman 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-Jacob, thinking how western women would feel about this
arrangement. “Not really, they just have to get along, and my father
shares everything equally between them.” Abu-Jacob’s aging 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 our highest values,” Abu-Jacob said. He
also told me that Arabs don’t understand how western children can put
their aging parents in the retirement homes. “It’s unheard of in our
world!” he said.
Every conversation with Abu-Jacob lifted the veil of my
ignorance more and more. I learned so much about the traditions of this
proud nation. I was totally unaware 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 their
last shirt of their back and never expect anything in return. They opened
their hearts and homes to me, and showed me their culture, religion and the
city, the way I would never be able to experience alone. On my last day in
Muscat, my charming prince, Abu-Jacob, 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
whispered, “Shokran.” 
