Khasab (Oman)

Since we're in the region we thought a side trip to the Sultanate of Oman was called for. In the early dark dawn our driver picked us up for a three hour drive to Khasab, Oman. Khasab is the principal town (make that the only town of any size) in Musandam Governate, part of the Arabian peninsula that juts northward toward Iran and forms the southern boundary of the Straits of Hormuz. The two border crossing facilities befit the seventh richest country in the world (UAE) and the twenty second richest (Oman) (according to Global Finance Magazine). Both were large, lavish, and mostly empty. In both there were many friendly, uniformed men who seemed to have little to do. Maybe it was our timing but given he remote nature of where they're located, it may be a local jobs program using oil money. In the UAE building we were there long enough to observe three or four Emiratis in traditional white robes appear suddenly one at a time from the second floor, make the rounds of the uniformed officers, shake each person's hand, then disappear just as quickly. Within two minutes another white-robed Emerati would appear, make the rounds shaking hands, then disappear. And so on. We could only wonder. It isn't that anyone seeking a visa was delayed as we were the only ones there. Our driver had our passports and was in deep conversation with an officer at the time. As an aside, I'm always queasy when I'm required to hand my passport over to someone such as our driver or at a hotel. The Omanis were careful to look at every national stamp in our passports. We had been warned that passport stamps from certain countries would be grounds for them to refuse us entry.

Immediately after the border crossing the terrain became very mountainous, remained so throughout Oman, and reminded us of Palm Springs. And goats were everywhere, in the streets, on the mountains, running wildly. We rode on a highway hugging the mountains on one side with the Persian Gulf on the other. We could see oil tankers heading toward the Straits of Hormuz. The rare populated areas we passed looked prosperous. To our eyes it looked incredibly remote yet it is the center of the universe for its residents. After another hour we reached Khasab, a quaint fishing village where dhows, ships inspired by ancient designs, ferry laborers to work and tourists to the fjords. When we arrived our dhow had not so we were driven to Khasab Castle for a tour. It was built by the Portugese in the seventeenth century to control trade and pirates.

Then on to our dhow trip. There are no seats on the dhows. In keeping with tradition, after we removed our shoes we lounged on cushions placed around the perimeter of carpeted decks. Fortunately for me, there was plenty of shade. Fortunately for all of us, we were a small group of 5 on a large dhow so we could spread out. The crew was an Omani in traditional robes assisted by an Indian fellow who, every few minutes, offered us sweet tea with rose water, coffee with cardamom, and fruit. The fjords were dramatic, the atmosphere peaceful. The scenery was beautiful, a little like Lake Mead in Las Vegas, and dolphins swam alongside us. I took a video to show our granddaughter of Terry waving to the dolphins (who I named Flipper and Sushi) as they seemed to follow her waving hand pretty closely. Bedouin fishing villages hugged the shore. The villages had around fifty people each. They are so remote the Omani government ferries their children to school for the week, returning them on weekends, and supplies the villagers (who lack electricity) with fresh water. We were warned against taking photos of the village women and were asked to remain modest "in behavior and dress" when visible to villagers. The dhow stopped near a fjord in crystal clear water that we thought dropped more than 20 feet. We were offered snorkeling gear but passed. We thoroughly enjoyed relaxing on the gently swaying dhow in the most remote area we have ever been (yet roughly a mere 40 miles from the Coast of Iran). We threw bread to the fish and watched the schools gather. There were beautifully colored fish in crystal clear water. On the quiet return to port, and just in front of us, our captain (probably in his sixties) pulled out his prayer rug and, facing west, completed his prayers, touching his forehead to the deck several times(some Westerners think Muslims face east to pray but it is always in the direction of Mecca, in this case due west of Oman). When I see this I am struck by how deep religious devotion is in this part of the world. No doubts, no embarrassment, no explanations for public prayer. I am also struck with the contrast to trends in the West, for better or worse. The day was far more relaxing than we expected but after a three hour ride back to Dubai we were glad to see our hotel and enjoy high tea that included Arab and English influences.