The Most Beautiful Town in Oman
Checking into our hotel last night, the first thing Jenny said is, “I sure hope there is no earthquake.” We have continued to read reports on the devastation from the quake that hit Turkey and Syria so it has been in the front of our minds and truthfully, I hoped so too. We were on the third floor of the building, reached by one set of stone steps carved from the mountain and a second set built by man.
I took an early morning walk this morning to move the car and see the village before the tourists arrived.
This town had been, for the most part, an abandoned village not long ago. The buildings made from stone, mud and timber in the ceilings, having fallen into disrepair, until one man, who had kept his home in a livable condition opened it to guests and before he knew it, it was full all the time. Others soon followed and now it is a mecca for both global tourists and Omanis as well.
They say that Misfah al Abriyeen is the most beautiful village in all of Oman, perched on the side of the mountain high above the wadi below with agricultural terraces descending down to the cliff’s edge. The terraces are oases in an otherwise brown and arid environment, irrigated by the falaj system that runs down and across watering the bananas, dates, mangoes, papayas, tomatoes, etc. that grow here.
We woke to a beautiful view out across the wadi and decided we would take a hike to the other side. The temperature was already rising but we figured we would have quite a bit of shade from the palms to help offset the effects of the sun.
We made our way through the old passageways, many more like tunnels, down steps carved from stone. The stone that was not frequently stepped on maintained its rough brownish color while the spots where your foot would naturally fall were worn smooth, black and slick.
Jenny told me that when she was young and had created her “town” in the woods adjacent to our home, in her mind she always pictured a place like the lush terraced gardens we were walking through. She had imagined a place that was vibrant green with tropical plant life, something our deciduous forests and snowy winters could never provide.
As we descended lower into the wadi, we happened across a group of people, one guy and three girls, with the guy clearly knowing the area. Jenny and I had paused to look across to see where the trail went when the guy told us we should go over to the other side. He said the view, looking back at Misfah, was the highlight of the area and was not to be missed. He though, had seen it many times and was sending the girls ahead to climb up the other side while he waited for them in the shade. He told us he had lived in Oman for four years now and each February has gotten subsequently hotter. It should be cold now he said (though I think cold is relative if you are in the Middle East) but it was almost 90 degrees.
Jenny and I continued on down to the wadi floor and back up the other side, happy to enter back into the shade of the palms, stopping at the falaj to fling cool water on ourselves and rub down our exposed arms. Once we got high enough, we could see Misfah and we both agreed the guy was spot on – the view was great!
We contemplated going up higher and meeting up with the road to return to town but the amount of sun exposure that way seemed too great so we chose to return the way we came, and really going back up all those steps we had come down was not so difficult especially since we had lots of shade.
After checking out, Jenny and I decided to try and grab something more to fill our bellies as breakfast at our hotel was slim pickings. There was a coffee shop on the very top of one of the buildings, maybe six stories up so we hoofed it up there (me with my twenty five pound pack on) laughing along the way at the signs they had posted on each floor (Ready to start the challenge? was floor one; Yeah, we know, but you are almost there was a floor somewhere in the middle; If you made it up here, consider yourself fit! was of course the top floor). Once on top, we found a charming spot, with a decent breeze but food was basically a choice of pre-packaged potato chips or slices of cake. Oh what the heck, we earned those calories so a frappe and a slice of cake it was – both of which were delicious along with the view and the donkeys braying down below for entertainment, it made a nice break!
After leaving Misfah, we headed to Al Hamra, this also an abandoned mud village, also slowly being brought back to life. Thing was there were two parts to Al Hamra, the old quarter and a totally new area but Google maps didn’t differentiate. We took a turn trying to find our way there when we ended up stopping to look at the map. A man walking towards us was watching us clearly trying to decide if we needed assistance. I rolled the window down and greeted him. He asked if he could help us and I told him we were looking for Al Hamra. He seemed puzzled and said we had found it. But then I explained we were looking for the mud village and he quickly understood. He told us just to keep going but first he wanted to know where we were from. “America,” I announced. “Oh? The United States of America,” he replied, stunning both Jenny and me. “Yes,” I confirmed. “The good ole US of A.” He told us he has a good friend that lives in California, hence, I am sure, why he referred to that way. “Welcome to Oman. The roads are all connected here. You won’t have a problem. Good Luck.”
We drove along until we came to the village but saw what looked like a viewpoint across the way so we continued on to there. We parked the car and headed across the street to get a better look.
Behind a small square building there was a tarp folded up with a cement block holding it down, sitting on top of the tarp was a scrawny maimed kitten that began meowing in a raspy voice when it saw us. Jenny immediately jumped into action picking up bottle caps and filling them with water. The kitten, crazed with thirst, barely let Jenny fill the the tops with the water it was obviously desperate for. I am not sure how many top-fulls it drank but I think at least 10. Jenny, the girl with the big heart, was pleased as punch that she could help the poor thing.
We drove back to the village and took a quick look around but it was hot and there was no breeze; we also still had a 2 1/2 hour drive in front us to return to Muscat and it was already 2:30.
The drive back was beautiful, if you like mountains, which we do, so we really enjoyed it. I do not think I have ever seen so many shades of brown at one time and so much variation in the topography of mountains.
As the amount of traffic on the road grew, so did the level of craziness of the drivers. Mix that in with the highway only being two lanes with heavily loaded trucks blocking up one of them, and it being under major construction with constantly shifting lanes and my defensive driving skills were kicked into high gear – poor Jenny white knuckled more than a few times but I appreciated her turning to me after a few close calls and saying, “Mom, you are a really good driver.”
As good a driver as I am, Jenny is as good a navigator and while driving in Oman certainly presented itself with some demanding situations, so did trying to navigate with Google Maps. And as much as some of the road conditions presented me with many challenges, so were there for Jenny in the sense that Google Maps had not kept up with the construction of new highways in Oman, especially in and around Muscat. More than once, we followed the GPS when road signs were pointing elsewhere and Jenny would say, “That highway isn’t even on the map!” And so it was coming in to Muscat to get to our hotel. The road to it wasn’t on the GPS – we could see it; we passed it pointing at it. “There it is” but the GPS failed us. In the end, it turned out OK as we drove right through Muscat Cricket Club and they happened to be playing a game. It would have been fun to watch for a bit, but other things called.
We finally got to the hotel, entering through the exit – the guardsman laughing at/with us, “No problem. Welcome!” he said. We pulled into the parking lot and Jenny excitedly pointed and said, “Oh my God, Look!” pointing at all the cars lined up with the “Tour of Oman” placards displayed on the sides of the cars and the designations of “Press,” “Doctor,” “Television,” etc.
The Tour of Oman is the Middle East’s Tour de France. Crazy thing is I had just been asking Nasser about this a few days ago (though he knew very little about it) and telling Jenny on our way up to Jabal Akhdar that The Tour usually climbs that road. Billy LOVES the bike racing, my father got him hooked, and Jenny just couldn’t wait to text him pictures.
Jenny and I were prepared to ask for autographs if we saw any of the riders but alas, we never did. It would have been so fun if we could have brought something back from it for Billy!
We had thought about maybe going out our last night, but that thought quickly dissipated when we gave thought to traffic, darkness, GPS challenges and a 3:30 AM alarm. Instead we decided to have hot showers and dinner at the hotel. I was excited to learn I could even order a proper glass of wine, as most of the trip was a dry one, except last night when I broke down and used a butter knife to dig the cork out of a bottle of wine I had been carrying with me since I bought it at the Duty Free in Doha on our stopover. My husband referred to me as McGyver, I might say it was desperation, either way it tasted damn good!
As we were about to leave the room, I heard The Call to Prayer, a now familiar, but no less intriguing sound. Jenny, who was facetiming with her boyfriend Seb, put him “on hold” so to speak, threw open the sliders and asked both of us not to say a word, so she could “hear it, just one more time…”
Wandering Amerrickans 