An Introduction To Oman

Friday March 9, 2012

When my plans to visit Afghanistan were cancelled at the last minute I needed another destination accessible from Dubai as a replacement. Multiple people suggested Oman, so I paid a hastily organised six day visit.

Muttrah (Muscat), Oman

Oman is on the eastern side of the Arabian peninsula. The country has executed a remarkable turnaround in its fortunes in recent times. A generation ago it was one of the least developed in the world, with no high schools and only two primary schools [thanks to the Lonely Planet for that fact]. The locals have termed the current period a "renaissance" as it now boasts monetary wealth, terrific public infrastructure, and a highly educated population - all while retaining its traditions and culture.

Politically Oman is considered the most stable nation in the Middle East, with the Sultan famous for his "listening tours" of the country. He seems to enjoy genuine affection from his subjects for all that he has achieved in the past forty years.

The capital Muscat had always been a popular stopover for passing cruise ships, but the rest of the country has recently become accessible to tourists thanks to a network of new roads. It was eye-opening how many new expressways were being built.

The Suzuki that took me around Oman. I made it out without any dents!

From my previous visits to the Middle East the prospect of driving frightened me no end. However Oman is a sparsely populated country with many attractions being in remote areas - similar to Australia. Hiring a car made sense.

I'm glad to report driving in Oman was a pleasure. The drivers are certainly more civil than other countries in the region - just next door in the United Arab Emirates I live in fear as a pedestrian, let alone a motorist - and due to the low population once you're outside Muscat there is hardly any traffic on the expressways.

In racking up 1000km in five days I managed to visit three regions - Muscat, Nizwa, and Sur.

MUSCAT

Muttrah (Muscat): harbour in the evening

Muscat is city that is located in a strategically vital location - at least in ancient times - at the mouth of the Persian Gulf, where the Middle East meets Asia. Both for trade and diplomatic purposes Muscat was a city frequently visited by foreign ships.

In Muscat there is a glitzy, beachy part where all the luxury hotels and most of the tourists seem to be. I, of course, chose to stay in the old town - Muttrah; a beautiful harbour overlooked by old forts with a busy old souq (market), a lively morning fish market, and flanked by a lovely corniche.

Muttrah corniche

However, this harbour, with its shipping facilities, also hosts the numerous cruise liners that stop by in Muscat. Hence in the middle of the day there are many sunburnt Europeans getting about in inappropriately skimpy summer outfits (Omanis are too polite to tell them to cover up!) enjoying the corniche and the souq. On the first day I saw many middle aged British men giggling as they tried on traditional Arabic dress in the markets, then just as fast as they appeared they were all gone; back on the ship for their next destination.


SUR
Sur is a regional city close to the eastern tip of the Arabian peninsula. The newly built expressway from Muscat - which is so fresh the toll gates were not even manned - takes a gorgeous route along the coast. As strange as this sounds the scenery reminded me of Iceland; steep uninhabitable mountains on one side and the beautiful sea on the other, with the road wedged in between.

Ras al Jinz: newborn turtle shuffling to the sea

About 40km outside of the town, even closer to the eastern tip, is the Ras al Jinz turtle reserve. Green turtles return from all around the Indian Ocean to lay their eggs here in the middle of the night. Amazingly almost everyday this beach hosts at least one mother turtle. Our group was fortunate enough to see the entire act - laying eggs, burying them, and waddling back out to the sea. Unfortunately for the dignity of the mother turtle the guides shone torchlight up its cloaca so that we could witness the egg laying. Well, I suppose people film human births in hospitals these days.

Wadi Shab: entrance

There were also tiny baby turtles, just hatched, making their perilous first journey out to sea. If it weren't for the fascinated tourists scaring off the circling seagulls I don't know how those vulnerable reptiles make it to the water without being gobbled up. It's a miracle that we have green turtles at all.

Wadi Shab: tourists swimming

On the way back from Sur I visited the picturesque Wadi Shab. A Wadi is a river valley teeming with plant and animal life, and Wadi Shab is one of the finest examples of this type of oasis.



NIZWA
Nizwa was the ancient capital city of Oman, and these days is the major inland city. The Nizwa area is 150km inland, so again I enjoyed the view from driving. This time the terrain from Muscat was mountainous. Although the dry climate doesn't allow for lush plant life Oman does seem to have a lot of very steep and jagged mountains which are other worldly, as if a film set designer made them out of papier-mache.

The region around Nizwa is famous for its old castles and forts, plus it hosts some of the highest peaks in the country. I had hired a 2WD car so scaling the mountains was off-limits.

Jabrin Castle

If one was ever curious about the Arabian peninsula I can highly recommend Oman. With decent roads only recently opening up the country it has yet to be completely trampled by tourists. At the same time it's very easy to get around - courtesy of the British meddling in their recent affairs English is widely spoken and attitudes towards women are progressive.

Moreover although it is now modern and affluent the country has still retained its sense of heritage with no tacky skyscrapers dominating its cities - a delicate balance to achieve for any government.

Omani bread with cheese and honey;
samosas;
saffron tea

And finally the food! This is one of my favourite things about the Arabian peninsula. I adore Middle Eastern cuisine, but with the considerable number of Indian/Pakistani immigrants there is plenty of excellent curry to be found too. I visited a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant for Indian workers in Muscat and had a $1.20 chicken curry (with roti) which was one of the greatest I'd ever had.

Alternating between Arabic and South Asian meals is my idea of nirvana, and my swollen belly departing Muscat airport certainly was testament to that.

The Thing

Sunday March 18, 2012

In January when I mentioned that I was visiting Finnish Lapland my Swedish colleague Martin suggested I get to the treble border point of Norway, Sweden, and Finland (and no, not in an angry "Tony, why don't you p*** off to the end of the earth" way).

I was supportive of the idea but when I asked Martin if there was anything to see at that location his answer in his inimitable Scandinavian accent was "There is a thing there."

Right. How informative. A thing.

I asked again: A building, a statue, a cannon? "Tony, trust me. There is a thing there."

Two months later I arrived at the village of Kilpisjarvi in Lapland. It is the far north-west corner of Finland - and looks and feels like the end of the earth. As well as seeking the northern lights I came here determined to see what Martin was talking about.

Kilpisjarvi: The vast lake I had to walk on.

Being well within the Arctic Circle there was still plenty of snow in March. I knew the treble border was about 12km from the lodge I was staying at. Since I had no experience of driving snowmobiles nor cross-country skiing I asked the staff if walking was an option.

Fortunately walking was possible, albeit treading the snowmobile paths. Unfortunately the thick snow meant it would be a six hour round trip.

Yikes. I had completed six hour walks in Australia in fine temperate weather... but six hours of trudging through snow? I had not even walked twenty consecutive minutes in snow before.

But I had come all this way and minor inconveniences as lack of experience in the deadly local conditions was not going to stop me. The day after I set out with a hired pair of snowshoes.

I wasn't wearing the snowshoes but carrying them as a contingency, should I encounter particularly soft snow. For those that don't know snowshoes look like small skis or snowboards and help you stay afloat on top of deep soft snow.

My damned snowshoes.

Earlier on the trip in Kemi, in the middle of the town, I strayed off the footpath slightly and landed in thigh-deep snow. For those Australians not accustomed to snow: Imagine dipping both your legs in a huge pool of 7-Eleven Slurpee. It took me several minutes in wet jeans to wade eight metres back to the footpath. So here in the wilderness sinking and drowning in soft powder sounded like a terrible way to die, hence my backup equipment.

I started the walk at midday, knowing sunset was around 6:40pm. The weather was glorious at Kilpisjarvi - the sun was out with hardly a cloud in sight - which was why I was keen to take off, despite the late start.

But an hour in I was starting to wonder what I had gotten myself into.

Disturbingly there were no footprints on the trail. Apparently everyone else was cross-country skiing or snowmobiling. My legs felt fine but my arms were aching from carrying a load of water, food, and two snowshoes. And walking on soft snow was no picnic either - it was as strength sapping as running on the beach, but ten times worse. I was expending much energy to gain very little ground.

Hang in there, just 10km to go!

As I was walking on the frozen lake I occasionally looked back to see the warm lodge getting smaller and smaller - it was a sombre thought that every step I took was another I would have to take on my return trip.

I peered into the distance where a couple of cross-country skiers were gliding effortlessly across the lake. Hmmmm, maybe I should have tried that?

In the middle of the lake a group of snowmobiles whizzed past me, all having a great time with the Arctic wind in their hair. One of them stopped and the Nordic man asked where I was going. I told him the treble border marker, bid him good afternoon, and he took off.

About 100m in front of me the group suddenly stopped. What's going on here? The man who asked my destination then circled back to me and declared "Come on, I will give you a lift."

Sweden on the left, Norway in the background, and Finland to the right.

This was my lucky day! I tried my best to contain my giddy delight, and expressed my gratitude in the most expressive yet simplest English I could manage.

A three hour hike one way all of a sudden became a ten minute ride. My face was numb from the cold air and my arms were sore from holding onto the snowmobile safety handles, but this was a sensational turn of events. As the magnificent lake scenery rolled past I kept thinking "How could I have possibly walked all this way?" I would have been stranded in the dark and been eaten by wolves. Nice doggies!

In no time we were at the tri-nation border. And there it was - The Thing, in all its glory.

I now understood why Martin described it as that. It is a block of concrete not shaped to look like ANYTHING, painted in yellow. It is almost abstract in its lack of utility. The only destiny this object had since its creation was to be the border marker between three countries at the end of the earth.

The Thing, me, and the Norwegian snowmobile man (photo from the Swedish side).

The Thing from the Finnish side.

As we rested at the marker I discovered that the group was an extended Norwegian family. My generous driver's daughter, her husband, and their kids were on the other snowmobiles. They were on a camping trip in the area and were out for a joyride on their machines, and made the short detour to the border point especially for me. Apparently they took pity on the foreigner plodding like a turtle on the snow.

The Thing from the Norwegian side.

The man's daughter told me about a fantastic show of the northern lights the night before, which I had excruciatingly missed. That's the way to do it, I thought. If you want to see the lights you have to be out camping so you can keep an eye on the sky constantly.

The family asked if I was touring alone. Upon learning that I was they reminisced about silly tourists from warm countries - one Italian bloke a few years ago walked from where we were all the way to Norway to a 1400m mountain seen in the horizon. I think they said he died, or had to be rescued - their English trailed off at that part of the conversation. I didn't press for details.

The group gave me a lift halfway back on the return trail before going off to have fun on their snowmobiles on the Swedish side of the lake. The remaining 1.5 hour walk back to the Lodge again emphasised how fortunate I was not to have to hike the entire return journey.

I arrived back satisfied that I met Martin's Challenge. Here's to you back in Sydney, Martin! [raises glass]

Chasing a dream

Sunday March 18, 2012

Having grown up in a warm country almost every mundane “cold weather” phenomenon fascinates me. I still get a huge thrill seeing snow, for example. However one natural occurrence exclusively seen in cold countries has captured my imagination above all else – the aurora.

Aurora Borealis, or the Northern Lights as it is also known in the English speaking world, is a magical shimmering light show seen in the night sky in regions close to the north pole. It is caused by solar winds being deflected by the earth’s magnetic field.

Although there is the “Southern Lights” – the Aurora Australis – Australia is not located sufficiently south for it to be seen easily. The aurora would certainly be never be seen in my home town of Sydney, where we are so far away from the south pole that a typical winter day is a gentle 17 degrees Celsius (63 degrees Fahrenheit).

Ever since I was a boy I craved the aurora. They’re swathes of green curtains fluttering in the dark night sky, as if the Gods were making their beds? How can such an amazing marvel exist? Descriptions and photos of it seemed otherworldly. It defied belief. In fact it all sounded so wondrous it felt fictional – as if someone was making it all up as a joke on gullible fools.

That little boy was determined that as soon as he had the means he would travel to the ends of the world to seek out the Northern Lights.

Kilpisjarvi, Finland - even the village web site says it's the middle of nowhere!

Twenty years later I’m writing this from the far north of Finland. I’ve travelled all the way round to the other side of the globe to be in the village of Kilpisjarvi, just 10km from the point where Finland, Norway and Sweden meet. It’s sixty-nine degrees north, about 400km within the Arctic Circle. From research I know 2012 is the best in a dozen years to see the aurora, and that March and September are the most suitable months of the year. I cannot be in a better position.

Despite all this preparation, exasperatingly, seeing the Northern Lights depends overwhelmingly on luck. For one the weather has to be fine, as clouds will obscure any light show. And of course one cannot practically stay up all night looking up at the sky in freezing temperatures – the success of the aurora hunter is dependent on the lights occurring while the watcher is awake and outside.

I have done all I can. The boy is here. Please let it come.