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Muscat
out once in a while - 06/01/05
After the usual cold and dreary, hectic yet fun and full of fat
Christmas in the UK, I find myself back on the road once more.
Last Sunday I left Britain through Heathrow Terminal 3 and was
escorted via Gulf Air into warmer climes. At the time I was not
sure I was ready to leave and I felt like I left lots of
unfinished business behind me. However the glamour of
aviation soon caught me again and I found myself in a strange
conversation with the guy from Karachi sitting next to me.
I told him I was from Norwich which he misunderstood as Norway
and I spent the rest of the flight evading or fraudulently
answering questions about the weather, the daylight hours and
the language ("Of course I can speak Norwegian but I
haven't lived there for 10 years and everyone speaks English
anyway"). One point that made me smile was his first
question "What is your good name?". For
those of you who have either travelled on the subcontinent or
read "Are You Experienced" by William Sutcliffe you
will be aware that this is a question that you get asked every
five minutes whilst in country. And still I don't know what a
'good name' is!
Anyway, I digress, eventually we reached Muscat, capital of Oman
and we were ejected into 18c heat at 7:30 in the morning. By the
time I had passed through customs and immigration it was up to
the mid-20's so I sat outside the terminal soaking the rays and
letting Norwich sweat out of me. I eventually found the energy
to wander up to the main highway and, after consulting a
friendly policeman, flag down a micro (mini-bus). The
driver Majit was incredibly friendly, but also incredibly
reckless, and I sat up front getting the lowdown on Oman as we
sped towards the Muttrah district. I found a cheap
decent hotel room, even better after they discounted it, and
passed out for several hours, awaking surreally first to the
buzz of CNN and later to the canned laughter of Seinfeld.
My first sortie into Muscat involved walking along the Corniche,
a road that lines the port through Muttrah and along the old
walled city of Muscat. At the entrance to the old city is
a giant gate, pretty new but designed to reflect a classic
arabian style. Inside the city is a hotch-potch mix of narrow
winding streets lined with tailors and laundries, giant freeways
six deep with executive motors, mosques, palaces, hotels, residences
and offices. Somehow though it all seems to complement
each other. At around 4:30pm it seemed that every male
under 25 appeared in the streets in football kit and I was
surrounded by a cacophony of shouts of "Beckham,
Beckham!"
My next venture involved walking from Muttrah to the CBD in the
Ruwi district. Most of you will be familiar with a
business district somewhere in the world, the mix of old and new
high-rise buildings, functional not
fashionable or at least not for long. This is where Muscat is
different. Within the CBD there is not one tall building
and the architecture is spacious and efficient but with an
arabesque aesthetic. This may be arched
windows, minarets or domes but they all remain faithful to the
traditional styles of the country, indeed of the region.
Old City Gate, Muscat
I walked back to Muttrah via
the Souk, similar to those in Morocco with their tightly packed
stalls all offering the same wares, but of course in friendly
and cordial Oman there was no room for over-zealous touting or
general aggravation.
I planned also to visit the
Qurm district, home to beaches, shopping centres and posh
residential areas but in the end I never made it, I was enjoying
relaxing in Muttrah too much, strolling the Corniche, stopping
to sit and soak up the Sun, eating sandwiches (well Chapatti
wraps filled with salad and the meat of my choice) and drinking
chai, in fact just getting myself acclimatised and prepared for
India.
After three days I got a Micro back to the airport, although
this time the drivers English was worse than my Arabic, which is
saying something as I am not exactly the worlds most cunning
linguist. I knew it was a lost cause when I remarked that there
was "a lot of traffic tonight" as we were caught in a
snarl-up involving five vehicle transporters, around 500 micros
and probably 5000 cars. "Where?" he asked.
The most impressive trait of Omani's one found was the
friendliness and welcome one received. I could not
enter/leave my hotel or buy anything without finding oneself
engaged in a conversation about Oman, England, India (there are
lots of Indian workers in Oman, especially from Kerala),
football, films, music or in fact any other subject imaginable.
On my last night I nearly didn't make it to the airport because
I was chatting at the sandwich 'coffee-shop' with Hamil and
Hassan about Africa.
It didn't exactly end gloriously though. After scrambling
through the melee at the airport (it seemed as though i was
already in India) I checked in, spent my last few rials and
waited to board. We boarded slightly late but I was not
concerned. However once we were all aboard the Captain
announced the flight had just gone mechanical and we were
grounded for an hour because of a problem with one of the inlet
valves that pressurize the cabin. Fortunately they left
the doors open and so I passed the time sat on the steps
outside. This did however mean that I missed the
complimentary drinks! This did not matter however because we got
served our evening meal, spicy chicken curry (natch), at 4:15am.
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