The Only Brit in the Desert

Methinks it's a long time since I wrote the last entry, therefore sincere apologies to anyone who has been wondering what has happened since the close of the last entry, when I informed you that we were desert-bound.

Fear not - all is well.  I can't quite believe that I am writing this at my desk at home in Plumstead, south-east London, where everything is remarkably similar to how I left it all on Wednesday afternoon.  Sandi the fish is still with us - just - and my room still looks like there's been a natural disaster in a left luggage office, despite my having had a clear-out as I packed on Wednesday.  Ho hum.

The desert was blissfully electricity and internet-free, hence the lack of contact.

We spent Saturday with Salim the tour-guide, driving in his beige 4 x 4 across Oman, visiting all sorts of intriguing places.  A 600 year-old village, where we ate berries off the trees, marvelled at date trees and bananas growing above our heads and heard someone mowing a lawn further down in the village; the Nizwe fort, with its museum of Omani artefacts; we drove through miles of beautiful mountains.  I continued with the animal bingo of previous days, yet still failed to see a goat riding a bicycle, or any dolphins in the desert.

We picnicked in the car, after Salim had stopped the vehicle, put down a mat for us to sit on, then decided we should picnic in the car due to it being dusty and windy.  We climbed back into the car, thinking we would eat in the stationary vehicle, but instead, we continued to drive, eating our lunch at the same time, trying not to spill Coca Cola everywhere; Salim drove at 100 mph, whilst eating his lunch and texting on his phone.  All good.

Later, we pulled into a curious garage and a man approached wielding a gadget with which he let some air out of the tyres.  I'm not quite sure why he did this, but it's to do with the desert and the tyre pressure.  Ten minutes later, we were surrounded by sand, deep in the Omani desert.  We drove for miles, with Salim showing off his driving skills, going swiftly over dunes, where we often couldn't see over the top of the vehicle and just had to hope for the best.  We stopped on top of a dune and wandered through the glorious sand, feeling the warm, smooth sand on our bare feet.  All you could see was deep yellow sand, punctuated by nothing but the occasional camel.  Miles and miles of nothingness.  The quiet was something else.  Not a single sound detracted from the calm.

Salim drove us down to the Nomadic Desert Camp, which consisted of a series of small huts where travellers stay.  We were the only people there initially.  We thanked Salim and bade him farewell, then were placed into the care of Abdullah, whose brother runs the camp.  We were shown to our tiny hut, which was thoughtfully furnished with sand-covered beds and shelves. We took tea and water with Abdullah in a giant hut.  My heart sank as four white 4x4s arrived, containing unfamiliar, weary travellers.  Four new sets of people arrived and joined us in the tea hut. They were mainly German and a couple were French.  It was official - I was the only Brit in the desert.  

As time slid on, Abdullah told us it was time to go and find the sunset, so we bundled into the various cars - most of the new arrivals had come in their own cars - and went sunset hunting.  We stopped on a flat bit of desert, then climbed through the dunes, feeling the warm sand beneath our feet, and sliding down smaller dunes, watching the sun gradually sink into the sand. It was blissfully cool.  Apart from impaling my foot on a cactus, it was a beautiful experience.

Back at camp, it was time for dinner.  We sipped vegetable soup with our new friends, speaking variously French, German (I really should have done GCSE German, on reflection - hindsight eh?) and a splash of English.  Then we munched chicken off the bone, rice, delicious vegetables and scrumptious Omani bread.  This was accompanied by 'desert wine', otherwise known as a jug of water infused with mint and various fruits to make it delicious.  

A week previously, I had been leading a campfire at Brownie Holiday in Wilmington; now I found myself sitting around a fire in the Omani desert, bashing out a rhythm on a Omani drum whilst Abdullah and his friends sang along, whilst others sipped mint tea and munched on local dates.  The evening was magical.  

Bedtime came and we slept soundly in our tiny hut.  They had given us extra blankets to fend off the cold, which seems curious in the desert, but it's like a night at Cudham temperature-wise.

We breakfasted with our new group of friends, where we didn't even need to know their names to enjoy conversations.  We had many laughs about our shared experiences of being in Oman.  

Camel o'clock.  Abdullah and his friends obtained some camels from family members and it was time for a camel ride! I don't know if you've ever been on a camel, but they are very high off the ground. I was assured that this would be 'a short camel ride', but there didn't seem to be any short camels available.  
The experience of being on a camel is unique, although they all have bad breath and seem to be in need of extensive orthodontic treatment.  I think if I had a camel which was worth 1 million rial (about £1.7m), I would take it to the dentist.

I wasn't built to ride a camel, so 10 minutes each way was more than enough for me.  I have a new respect for those wise men who sat on camels for ages en route to Bethlehem - ouch!  

We packed our things and Abdullah drove us all the way to Muscat, via his family's camels so that we could see the baby camel who was 2-days old! Now this was definitely a short camel, but not quite ready for rides.  He was tiny and grey and suckled up to his mother, who looked both proud and threatening.  

Back in Abdullah's car, I stayed awake almost the whole way back to Muscat.  We stopped and Abdullah found me some Omani Coke lids, for which I was very grateful.  If you are a regular reader of my travel adventures, you will know that I endeavour to find a Coca Cola lid from each country I visit, as they have the name of the country where they are bottled written around the rim of the lid.  Strange habit, but it makes me happy.  It has to be real Coke though, none of this Diet malarky.

That evening, we wandered along the beach at Muscat, perplexed by the Brits Abroad patronising the Intercontinental Hotel, who wandered in their mis-shapen bikinis along the seafront.  You just don't do that in Oman.  It is culturally appropriate to cover up - but these clowns had failed to do so, so we gave them disapproving looks and walked on.

A final meal and a few souvenirs later and we were back at Muscat airport where our adventure had begun a few days earlier.  We said goodbye to P, then proceeded through three sets of security, deposited our bags, sipped coffee, then we were back on the plane, Abu Dhabi-bound.  I slept through the first leg and most of the second - I'm great company on a plane (!) - then was awakened by a typically-delicious BA breakfast.  An hour or so later and we were gliding down the M4 and soon back home.

What an adventure! Back to reality now and am organising myself before a night of Guiding this evening, then returning to work tomorrow.  

What have we learnt? You can do a lot in a short space of time, if you want to - use your annual leave wisely; laugh with new friends and old; respect the culture you are in; try new things; embrace everything.

Thanks for reading.  Until next time.

Keep it Rial

Today was wonderful.  We breakfasted outside, on the terrace, sipping freshly squeezed orange juice and munching croissant, with a pot of real coffee.  It being February, this was a treat.

We bundled into the 4 x 4 and drove through a stupendous rocky landscape, playing ‘animal bingo’ as we went.  It’s a great game – you should try playing it.  You get 1 point for a goat; 5 points for a donkey; 10 points for a vulture.  Half a point for a cat.  20 points for a dolphin or camel.  400 points for a woolly mammoth etc.  I saw many, many goats – I decided that you get double-points if the goat is doing something interesting, such as climbing a tree, being herded, standing on top of a van, being hit by a car, or riding a bicycle – we saw three of these at one point – can you guess which three? 

Goats are perplexing.  To whom do they belong? Which goat-herd can actually identify all of their goats? High on the hill was a lonely goat-herd… How do the goats know where to go? There were hundreds of them around today, wandering lonely as a lonely goat-herd.  I plan to ask the trusty guide we have hired tomorrow, all of my important goat-related questions.  No kidding.

Here, people drive their 4 x 4s onto the beach, to lay claim to their bit of beach, then you set up camp and enjoy the view.  It makes sense to have a 4 x 4 here, in a way that it doesn't make sense to have one in BR7 and the surrounding areas.  

It was actually cloudy today and warm but not stifling, therefore pleasant.  We were poised to erect a tent, but it was too windy, so we opted for comfy foldy-uppy chairs.  I paddled in the sea, making footprints in the sand and being intrigued by hermit crabs burrowing into the sand.  I then bravely decide to go swimming in the Gulf of Oman, which was fairly warm.  To avoid offence, I was obliged to wear shorts and t-shirts over my swimsuit, which weighed me down and reminded me of doing life-saving swimming when I was 9.  But overall the effect was pleasant, gave me some thinking time and meant I could say I had swum in the sea.

After changing behind a thoughtfully placed giant rock, we bundled back into the car and headed to the souk.  The souk was a bustling maze of a market, with traders gently trying to persuade you into their tiny shops, which were laden from dusty floor to ceiling with all manner of souvenirs one can live quite happily without, along with more pashminas than I have ever seen in my life and an abundance of local silver.  I was pleased that the friend with whom we are staying knew where I could purchase thimbles, to add to my very large collection which is a glorious record of my adventures since I was 7.  I purchased two – a china one shaped like an Emirati man, and a silver one (not real silver, obviously), with ‘Oman’ written on it, and a camel.  I suspect that both are mass-produced in China, but that is not the point.

A sweet coffee and a wander later and we were back at the house.  We headed to D’Arcy’s, a cosy nearby eating establishment, for butter chicken and sumptuous lime and mint juice.  I have never tasted this juice in my life, but it was gorgeous and very aromatic.  We came home and enjoyed a few cheeky glasses of Sauvignon Blanc (my favourite wine, in case you’re buying me a bottle for any reason) courtesy of Heathrow duty free.  My friend and I reminisced about old times, whilst others tried to understand what we were talking about.

Tomorrow will be very exciting as we are desert-bound and will be spending the night at a desert camp, in a little hut.  I fear that the blogging will have to wait till I return from the desert, so have patience and the instalment will be here very soon.  Goodnight all. 

The multi-tasking man of Muscat

I was poised to fill out my visa application form with the genuine address of where I am staying, so was perturbed when I realised that the visa application process consisted of a local man, speaking through his iPhone headphones to an overly tolerant woman, taking new arrivals' passports and scanning them into what looked like a awkward cashpoint.  There was no question of why we are here, where we are staying, and none of the marriage proposals I have had when arriving in so many countries over the years.  The man who stamped my passport asked if my travelling companion was also called Helen.  Why would you ask that? There was a point when most people in my life were called Helen, but I have now limited the number of friends with the same name as it gets too confusing.  

We glided through to baggage reclaim where our bags awaited, then into an arrivals hall where hundreds of people awaited travellers.

Guess who is coming to Muscat tomorrow? That's right - the one-and-only guitar-strumming, thinking out loud, Ed Sheeran! Yes, really! We are trend setters.  Where we go, Ed Sheeran goes.

P awaited, and we drove home, seeing the Grand Mosque lit up in all its splendour.  There are plans afoot to build more mosques so that everyone is within 10 minutes of a mosque. The HSBC building looked as palatial as the grand mosque.  I suppose it depends how fast you walk as to whether you can get to a mosque in 10 minutes.  I wonder how they are working this out.

A cup of Yorkshire tea and a homemade cake later, it was time for bed.  

Goodnight faithful readers - stay with me and await tomorrow's adventures!       

Behold, the driverless transport pods of Heathrow

‘Oman? How d’you spell that?’ Those HSBC staff are sharp, I thought to myself as I attempted to inform my bank that I was going abroad, as one does. 

‘O-M-A-N’, I duly replied, ‘An O, then a Man’, I helpfully added, wondering how else it could possibly be spelt.

I am currently many thousands of feet up in the sky, over the Persian Gulf, on the first leg of the flight to Muscat.  The week so far has been chaotic, but lots has been achieved – I have run Brownies / Guides / Senior Section for 70 children and young people, after attending Brownie Holiday as Kitchen Assistant, which was a whole new world! I saw residentials from a whole new angle.  I’m usually running round with a clipboard of non-sensical spreadsheets, trouble-shooting and organising, but this role enabled me to partake in a different way.  I taught Brownies to butter toast; I peeled a lot of potatoes – badly, according to the Caterer; I had a lot of thinking time whilst washing up and sweeping the floor.  I made Angel Delight, remembering back to when I first made it at Guide camp in Cudham, when I was a little Guide.  All of the Leaders made their hair into bunches.  I had three tiny bunches, which looked interesting and is not something I often do.

I’m leading a campaign to attract new volunteers into Guiding locally and have written four more articles this week – last night I was overjoyed to receive an e-mail from a real live person who is interested in volunteering! I have submitted a bid to Comic Relief for a proposal for the charity I run; I have done an interview on BBC Radio London which I was expecting to be about pregnancy discrimination, but was actually about the electorate’s confidence in a pregnant potential minister.  I have nailed the critical jobs which can’t wait till next week, including a proposal for the Region’s 2016 Senior Section Centenary event, authorising Maternity Action’s manifesto for the general election, made a few eBay sales, paid all the staff (the right amount eventually!), so now I am going to have an adventure in… Oman.

Granted, it’s a long way to go for a few days and – in case you’re wondering – I will be back for the usual Monday evening Guiding meetings on March 2^nd.

Why Oman? ‘Not exactly Brighton, is it?’ somebody said.  That’s true.  I haven’t been to Oman before, but I do know that it is quite different to Brighton.  Brighton is not in the Middle East, for a start.

My dear friend P, with whom I went to Newstead Wood School from 1994 – 2001 is living there at the moment, so I am going to visit!  

The day began in the morning, when I woke up in an airport hotel.  The planes were inches away, practically in the room with me.  There were three options my trusty travelling companion and I could go for to reach the airport: one can take the free bus; one can pay £4.50 single or £9 return to go in the magical shuttle bus; or one can pay £5 each single, so £20 altogether for 2 to get there and back) to go in a freaky purple driverless pod thing! It was a difficult decision, but we opted for the free bus.  I don’t like the idea of a freaky purple driverless pod.  I always like to thank the driver – whom does one thank in a driverless pod? ‘You go on the DLR’, my travelling companion pointed out.  ‘That doesn’t have a driver’.  Indeed, I thought to myself, but it does have a ready supply of workers in luminous jackets who wander through the carriages, opening mysterious boxes and pressing buttons, which reassures me in the absence of a driver.

The free bus, which we caught just outside the Heathrow Boxing Club, along with a number of families who seem to live within the Heathrow perimeter, and many airport workers, took about 5 minutes and we were soon queuing to deposit our bags.  We had checked-in online, a concept I will never understand – how can you definitely know that you will arrive at the airport? What if the world ends in between you checking-in online and arriving at the airport? What if Jesus chooses to return in those intervening hours? Did no-one think of that?