The Mists of Salalah

Our second day in lovely Salalah began with breakfast in the only restaurant open in the resort. I must report that because it was the beginning of Ramadan, the restaurant was already out of a lot of the regular things you get on the menu – our choices were quite limited. But none the less, the coffee was great!

The tour guide rocked up at 9am ready for our trip. Yet again we were starting with the 80km drive to the other side of Salalah… I would love to tell you about the first part of the trip, but I was motion sick – oh joy. Curled up in the foetal position on the back seat, deep breathing, praying that the motion sick tablet would kick in soon and that we’d arrive at our first destination asap.

I am pleased to say we did, I made it!!

Our first stop was at Job’s Tomb. What I found most interesting about this first stop was that our guide – Salim – was explaining the prophets of Muslim to us. Did you know that many of the Muslim prophets are also saints in Christianity? Yeah, bit of a head spin. Well, it was for me at least!

Oh, and here are the female ‘facilities’ at the Tomb. I chose to hold it…

I won’t tell you about every bit of the tour because there was a whole lot of driving!

The next stop was at these amazing blowholes. It was basically the coast/cliff edge which the waves crash up against and force air and water through holes in the rock. It reminded me a lot of the Twelve Apostles on the Great Ocean Road in Australia. The landscape was just beautiful, I was more than amazed by it all.

This is a grate over one of the blowholes.



We then went onto a wadi that had a cave with it that apparently people lived in once upon a time. Actually there was one spot that still had pens for cows or goats (see picture below)! And we drove passed a goat herder on the way there and saw another one up in the hills next to the wadi. Oman is a contrast of the modern with the antique, it’s intriguing and mystical.



We visited a few other spots such as another wadi, a 70-year old frankincense tree, the Hilton in Salalah for lunch (our guide was fasting so he didn’t join us) and then headed back towards the resort. There was a museum fort that we were supposed to visit but unfortunately it was closed – my partner was very disappointed by that. I should mention that at the Hilton, we had to have lunch behind curtained windows yet again. It was quite interesting actually – there were about 3 other parties other than us, all Westener’s (for obvious reasons). You can see each person covertly checking out the other people, trying to work out what accent they have, see if they are a fellow Aussie or Frenchmen or where ever it is they are from… And if you get busted looking at another person, there is the sheepish smile and understanding nod.

Anyway, we went to an archaeological site – the Queen of Sheba’s Temple. We were actually able to walk around in the site and touch things. This would have been roped off in Australia – look but do not even think about touching, for your own protection of course. Interesting to note there was no graffiti or vandalism of any sort here, only a bit of rubbish (probably due to the lack of garbage bins).

Our final stop was at the fishing village of Mirbat. The most amazing part of this village was the backstreets which we did a quick drive through – passed the original souq, some beautiful old doors, kids playing in the street… It had a bit romance to it all – until you reached the fishing part of town and then the smell permeated your nostrils.

You might be wondering why I called this entry ‘The Mists of Salalah’, well rather then me explain it, I’ll leave you with this picture…

Rights or Oppression?

I just read a news story (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-11020700) about a judge in Australia who has ordered a Muslim woman to remove her niqab (head and face scarf) when she gives her testimony in a fraud case. The reason given by the judge was that the jury should be able to see her facial expressions as she gives her account. It was not the story so much that has made me write this, but the comments from the variety of different people - everything from support for the judge to support for the woman to calling Australia a 'bigot nation' (no mention of the French however, who have just passed a law completely banning the burqa).

I have to admit that prior to leaving Australia, I would have whole heartedly agreed with the removal of the facial coverings of these women, considering them to be forced into wearing it by an oppressive religion and oppressive male-dominated society. Now don't tell me many of you reading this would also have agreed, let's be honest with ourselves here.

Now however, after living in the Middle East, a purely Muslim part of the world, my views have greatly changed.

When you do see the women of Oman, generally at the department stores, they wear a long flowing black dress as the standard garb, edged with some sort of sparkling thing (it wouldn't surprise me if some of the 'sparkles' were actually swarovski crystals) and with varying headress from just covering the head, hair and neck (hijab) to covering the head, hair, neck and face (leaving only an eye slit) or a complete covering of the face with a slightly transparent veil. Sometimes even full length gloves are worn. Sounds oppressive, right? Well actually...

These women walk around with an air of.... I don't really know what the right word is, but it is like they are seperate to everyone else around me. It's almost an ethereal quality, one that I wish I possessed. As a Western woman, I move out of the way of these women, they do not and they look you up and down - just like what happens in Australia - but here, my westener's clothes just feel tacky compared to them.

It is also a choice that is made by the women as to what level they go too with their garments. They are not forced, they choose. And from what I have observed, their husbands respect their decisions.

Women are most definitely not oppressed here, at least not in Oman, they are held aloft as sacred and special. We talk of the death of chivalry in Australia, not here.

The City of Salalah

I had heard and read a lot about the city of Salalah, which is at the southern tip of Oman. It’s the second largest city in the country (after Muscat) and a holiday destination for many locals. Salalah is marketed as a tropical oasis, that has festivals and entertainment and is the home of frankincense. Sounds interesting, right?

Anyway, we fly down late on Wednesday evening – the day before the official start of Ramadan – and arrived at the airport to be driven to the resort. I should mention here that the boys omitted telling me until that moment, that the resort was an 80km drive from Salalah… Arriving at 10.30pm that night, we were directed to dinner before the restaurant closed at 11.00pm. We were all hoping for one last alcoholic beverage before Ramadan began because alcohol is not allowed during this month – even for Westerners’. Horror of horrors, we discovered that the resort had already stopped serving alcohol!! No problems, we’ll just raid the mini bar when we hit our rooms.

Therein lay the next shock – all the alcohol had been removed from the mini bar! Our dry month had begun earlier then anticipated.


(This is a view of the back of the resort from the beach - it was a great place to stay and because it was off-peak there were only 25 guests staying at the resort!)

Thursday, being the first day of our weekend, we decided to catch the bus back into Salalah and hit the souq and the museum. So off we trundled, 80km back into town, hoping it was worth it.

Hmmm….. Most of the city was shut. I should clarify that although it is labelled a ‘city’, it doesn’t really qualify as one, even with its 180,000 residents.

The souq was an experience, it was mostly run by Indians with Indian-made products, but we did manage to snag a few items – traditional Omani headwear for the most part. We also picked up an entrepreneurial guide who decided to attach himself to use and be our taxi driver.

Disappointingly the Frankincense and Archaeological Museum was shut, even though the sign said it was open. So we headed to the Crowne Plaza for lunch (Western hotels still put on lunch behind curtains, for those not partaking in the fast). Can I just mention here that the Crowne Plaza is the epitome of gawdiness! It was hideous. And lets just briefly mention the cranky waiter we had, he must have been fasting, no one is that rude on purpose!

After lunch our taxi driver picked us up for the trip back to the resort, yep that’s right, an 80km trip in a taxi. We had previously found out that the trip would be about 15 rials ($45 Australian), which to us was pretty reasonable! Well, that was until we arrived at the resort anyway. Turns out that because there was no one returning, we had to pay for that trip also, so our $45 ride suddenly jumped up to a $90 ride… Ouch! Needless to say, we did not tip.



(The end of one of the alleys of the souq looking towards what I think is a residential area)

Oh I forgot to mention the spate of bad luck did not start (nor end) there. My partner had a shower before we left that morning, I was lying on the bed and got up to get ready, only to step into a pool of water! The drain in the bathroom had backed up which flooded the bathroom, then flowed into the room (where I discovered it and damed it with a towel or two) and then it flowed out under the door into the hallway.

This is my improvised dam.

We each scored a pair of Marriot slippers for our troubles!

Later in the afternoon however, there was a blackout when the generator went down, oh and just before dinner the fire alarms started to randomly go off throughout our section of the resort.

Salalah was not exactly living up to its potential.

But that was the first day, I’ll tell you about the following day once I’ve recovered from this one!

Homesickness (Part 1)

I’ve made this part one because I’m sure that I’ll be writing about it again somewhere down the line.

It’s been just over 2 months since we left Australia. Most of it has been good, some has been difficult, some has been boring…

Homesickness is a natural part of leaving your home, it’s hard enough just leaving your hometown to move to a new place for work or something else – which I’ve done several times over – but leaving your home country is a whole other thing. The little things you wouldn’t have thought about twice in Oz, are glaringly obvious here. It’s strange how the human mind works.

I’ve been watching old episodes of the Australian TV show ‘Blue Heelers’ and every time I see the countryside, I dream of home. Trees, greenery, grass, rain… There is one yard we occasionally drive passed here which has a lawn and set of swings – it has to belong to an expat.

Missing friends and family has been hard too, especially because – as a female – I relied a lot on them for advice and just for a chat. Now I have to wait for emails, facebook and MSN, all with a 6 hour time difference. And don’t get me started on the postal system… Isolation is something that I have dealt with before, I had no choice but to deal with it and become independent but again, I was in my home country and was able to do things like walk down the street or drop down to the shops just to get out of the house. I know that I should get out more here but you know, I’m quite happy being on my own – so many people just don’t understand that.

But I’ve gone off track.

The hardest thing I have dealt with so far is not having animals around me. During my period of isolation last year, I had my two cats with me, Mish and Tom, now I have me, the TV and my laptop. I recently had my birthday and my sister-in-law who is taking care of one of my cats sent me this picture of him…






…When I saw it, I just cried! See what I mean about homesickness??

And whenever just the smallest thing goes wrong, all I want to do is go home or tell someone.

I read a website that said it can take up to 2 years for homesickness to dissipate entirely when you move overseas!! 2 years! That’s crazy! And the advice the website gives is to keep in contact with friends and family at home… I think I can manage that.

So family and friends, be prepared to be inundated with emails communique from me!

Nearly ruined in Ruwi!

So we decided to go into Ruwi today, which is a suburb of Muscat, but chose the worst possible time to go.

Our reason for venturing into the madness that is Ruwi at lunch time, was to go to these very secretive shops that we’d visited the week before. I say secretive because they are hidden down and alley, through which you have to dodge dripping air-conditioners whilst pressing yourself against the buildings as some random taxi drives passed, and then into a small shopping complex that looks like it was built in the 60’s and then just left to its own devices. Needless to say, I love the shops there!

Anyway, back to the story. Ru

Ruwi is full of Indians, Pakistani, etc. (and the odd Omani) and they all decide that at lunch time, driving is great! You know when you see those shows on TV of streets in towns of third world countries that are chockers full of cars, trucks, people, bikes, goats…? Well, that is what it was like today. Circling the block took about half and hour. At one point, I believe there were about 6 cars trying to get into our lane, right where we were.

Reasons for avoiding Ruwi at lunch time:

1. Crazy drivers.
2. Everybody has right of way – all the time.
3. What are you talking about – 3 cars can fit in that parking space!
4. Expect to be cut off, forced over and to give way when you have right of way.
5. Hazard lights equal ‘I can do what I want with my car’
6. If you have an accident, don’t move your car to a safe location, stop where the accident occurred and argue with the other driver – even if it is in the middle of an intersection at peak hour.
7. The horn does not make cars move, no matter how many times you honk.

I wasn’t even driving during this time, but it takes two to navigate!

My advice, if you absolutely must go to Ruwi, do it before 10.30am otherwise, avoid at all costs. It is an experience.

A Change of Pace

One of the first things you notice (once you’ve sort of settled in) is the difference in the rate that everything moves here in Oman. I put it down to the heat but I’m sure there must be other underlying reasons.

Before you can start work, you have to get your residency visa which means dealing with Government departments and PRO’s. A PRO or Public Relations Officer must be employed by every company that employs expats and basically they are there to deal with the Government departments. This does not mean however, that things will move more quickly for you and there can still be language barriers and all sorts of fun things to deal with. But this all said, obtaining my partners residency visa was the fastest on record apparently (for his company anyway). I think it took 3 weeks from memory, whereas his work colleagues took 4 to 6 months! I have a feeling some of this came down to my partner’s persistence…

The other thing you notice is that nobody moves very quickly here, literarlly. I mean, when walking down the street – wait, nobody ‘walks’ down the street here! – everybody drives everywhere. So, when they walk through shopping centres, the pace is quite slow. This I think is a direct result of the heat here. It’s summer at the moment and with temperatures being constantly in the high 30’s to mid 40’s with 70+ percent humidity, it gets warm very quickly. Why would you want to move quickly really?

Interestingly, the women all wear long black dresses and scarves that cover their head and hair, usually with something sparkling along the hemline. You would think that they would swelter in their outfits, but no, they look very serene and quite often, elegant. There is an aura of confidence about these women, particularly the younger ones.

But I digress…

The entire city shuts down for a few hour during the middle of the day – again, due to the heat – and starts up again at about 4pm. A big shift for someone like my partner and me is that everything happens at night. From sunset onwards people go out shopping, they go to the movies, and they eat late. An example of this is at the cinema, the final showing is at 11.30pm! In Australia, this would be the end of the movie when the cinema was closing. I doubt that we will change for this, like my partner said, he’s still got to get up in the morning and go to work.

Just another adjustment when you are an expat!