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.