Author: Wandering Amerrickans

Mama Mia x 2

Today was a no agenda day – we had tossed around some ideas last night but decided we would let the day unfold with no set plans and with the ability for everyone to sleep in with no alarms going off. I actually slept until 8:15 and the girls until about 10:00 – a win because I knew they both needed sleep!

I sat out on the balcony watching an older gentleman for a while, who was sitting down by the shore packing sardines into tin cans, carefully alternating layers between fish and salt. He was so absolutely methodical in his actions that it was something he had clearly spent most of his years doing.

We discussed breakfast but decided against it and opted for smoothies instead and hiring a rental car so we could see the island’s interior and the other main town of Komiza. 

The morning was hot, and we quickly realized that walking around the other village might not be so fun. We decided we would first go to a beach and cool off for a bit, then go to Komiza for a late snack when, hopefully, the wind had time to pick up and the sun had time to lay down. We picked up a little manual Fiat for a six hour rental and headed up (and I mean up) and over the hills.

The scenery was beautiful as we passed vineyard after vineyard with olive groves dispersed throughout. The total population of Vis Island is about 3600, evident on our drive – we were all so surprised with how few homes we came across and just how remote everything was. 

The rental agency had suggested a few beaches that we could access that were not too far off the tarmac as we were not allowed to take the car on the dirt roads. It was funny because I had to pay cash for the rental but I told them, we always use our credit cards for the insurance in case anything happens. Their response was, “Well, if anything happens, we will give you back your cash and then we will charge your credit card so you will have the insurance to cover the damage.” Hmmm… but I trusted them – the owner was the same guy I rented the apartment and chartered the boat through. 

The beach we chose was the other sandy bottom beach on the island, Stončica. We parked as close as we could get and then made the five or so minute hike down to the isolated cove. There was a small restaurant there, a few families, and less than a half dozen boats moored – perfect! The water was the warmest we had experienced thus far, maybe because it was pretty shallow for quite a ways out but it still gave relief from the blazing hot sun. 

After an hour or so, we decided to move on to Komiza which is a less touristed town as there is no ferry port there. The day was still hot but seemed to be even more so on this side of the island. We walked down to the shore and a bit along the sea until we spotted a restaurant right on the water that looked like it was a nice spot for a drink. As soon as we walked in, I recognized the location from an article I had read about the filming locales on Vis – it was another scene from Mama Mia 2 (the arch where they dine overlooking the water).

The waiter could not have been nicer, welcoming us and wanting to know where we were from. When we told him the US, he said he had just had a table of Texans in and he went and retrieved a small lapel pin they had given him that was the shape of Texas decorated with their flag. I explained to him the meaning of the flag and their motto of being the “Lone Star State,” and he responded the Texan flag looks like the Chilean flag – no doubt it does!

The view from taverna Konoba Jastozera was fantastic, the location perfect, and our lunch was delicious – a plate of various seafoods, including sardines and anchovies (we could handle the sardines but the anchovies were a no go), as well as a platter of grilled calamari and eggplant.

And a few extra photos from our brief walk around Komiza:

We drove back to town, refilled the tank with a few liters of gas and made our way back to the apartment where we relaxed for a bit before readying ourselves for dinner.

Dinner was at a lively taverna where we sat outside under a sprawling lemon tree. Since we had had such a late lunch we opted for dinner at 8:00 and to split a few items, including grandpa’s shrimp (I couldn’t resist trying his recipe, I thought it so sweet) and a whole grilled fish. The waiter brought a platter with a choice of three different fish in various sizes. We settled on the red scorpion fish and a side salad of cucumber, tomato, olives and creamy feta. Our meal was excellent and sweet Noella surprised us by insisting on picking up the tab.

The decision was made to bring our evening to a close with a cone of gelato while strolling along the water to the ferry port and back. We remarked how many people were still out, now after 11:00, including many younger people seemingly without parents – the relaxed lifestyle that comes with living on an island and everyone knowing everyone…so very nice.

A Mama Mia Day

I was up before my alarm went off this morning, but in all honesty, not by much. The morning was another glorious one but a bit hectic trying to get my blog done from last night (I just could not keep my eyes open), to making sure we arrived on time for our boat charter today. I figured since we were on an island, and I had read about some really cool coves, beaches and caves to go to, we would hire a boat as most of the places are not accessible by car or foot and the ones that are, are doubly crowded (and I think you all know how I feel about crowds now). This was a bit of an expense, but worthwhile I had hoped and for really not that much more money than joining a group tour, we could have our own private boat which meant we could stay someplace as long as we like, get the shade if we wanted, sit wherever we wanted etc. – all things I did not feel like fighting for.

We showed up at 9:00 on the dot and met our captain for the day – a cute, 25-year old named Ivan (pronounced like Yvonne). Ivan’s English was understandable and he was eager to let me know that everything we did would be up to us – exactly what I was after. We discussed the planned stops and then agreed that once we were there we would decide if we wanted to stay or move on; the only one that we had agreed ahead of time for sure on was the famous Blue Cave, part of the Vis Archipelago UNESCO Global Geopark created in 2019.

Our route today was a circumnavigation of Vis with a detour over to Bisevo Island where the Blue Cave is located. Our first stop was the submarine tunnel built by the Yugoslavian leader Tito during the Cold War. The tunnel is about 60 feet high and 330 feet long but was never used. It was quite a cool experience going all the way into it.

Our next stop was the small secluded bay Barjoška which was a filming location for Mama Mia 2. It looked a bit different as they brought in props for use in the movie, but either way, the cove was beautiful and it was the first stop, of many to come, where we enjoyed a brisk swim in a place we had basically to ourselves.

Next up was the Blue Cave (or Modra špilja). Because we were traveling with a local company, and not a tour operator from Split or one of the other islands, our tickets included a fast track. Ivan had originally told us he thought it would take us about 30 minutes before we could board the designated boats that are licensed to take you inside the cave, but we lucked out and basically hopped right in.

Our skipper was a funny gal, who gave us some insight into the phenomena we were about to see. From the seaside, there is a small opening that you can crawl into, there is an opening underwater and then there is the opening that is maybe five feet in diameter that allows for one small craft at a time to enter or exit with all passengers needing to duck their heads into the middle of the boat to clear the opening.

Upon first entering you immediately notice a very faint blue glow and I was thinking, “OK. This is not quite as exciting as the pictures make it seem.” But then as you turn a corner, the entire chamber of the cave is a glow in this stunning blue, so much so that Jenny turned to me and said, “Do they have lights on underneath the water there?” And in honesty, if I had not read about this place ahead of time, I would have said it certainly looked like it.

The interior of the cave would be close to pitch black except for that underwater entrance I mentioned earlier. Because the water is so clear, the sunlight can penetrate far down allowing for a reflection of the white sandy bottom to come back up and then cast a radiant blue glow up out of the water back into the darkened chamber. The whole process and result was quite fantastic.

The trip through was quick, like really quick, and for 18 Euros a person it felt a bit like a rip off, even Ivan could not believe the price, but, it was stunning, and I had never seen anything like it before so it made it all worthwhile.

From here we headed to another cove for more swimming but this little cove was again, like nothing I have ever seen. As we motored in, I could see only one other boat tied up to the steep limestone wall and I thought well this is pretty but… Ivan said it got better for which I was confused because it appeared as though the small cove ended.

However, as we got closer, we could see it rounded the bend for another 40 feet or so – absolutely stunning! It was just us and the one other vessel but they had all swam before we got there so we had the water all to ourselves! It was simply gorgeous!

We lingered here, swimming and sunning for quite some time as the place was just too beautiful to move on from, before making our way to the next stop, another cave known as the Green Cave, but first we stopped at a few smaller ones:

Our timing arriving at the Green Cave was perfect as there were two boats full of people that were just leaving so were had the place to ourselves. Unlike the blue cave, the green cave we could swim into. What makes this cave so unique is the two-foot diameter hole in the top that shines a beam of light down into the water. The green comes from the algae that grows on the rocks on the ceiling and under the water. The experience of floating in the beam of light was a bit surreal, reminding me a bit of the movie “Cocoon.” Unfortunately, I could not safely bring my phone in here so this is one of those experiences delegated to our memories.

After so much swimming, we were ready for lunch so Ivan took us to a beautiful bay near the village of Rukavac, that had a charming restaurant overlooking the beach. We enjoyed smoked swordfish and smoked tuna carpaccio, along with a few salads, a fish sandwich, and a couple of drinks. I laughed when we docked and I asked Ivan where we would find the boat and he replied not to worry, “I will be in the bar…” At first I thought he was kidding so I joked, “Having some drinks, huh?” He replied in all sincerity, “Just one cold beer,” which I gladly bought him.

The next stop we were uninterested in making once we pulled up to it. A 2016 article in the British Daily Mail proclaimed Stiniva Beach, the most beautiful beach in Europe, and the word is definitely out. The place was packed full of boats – ridiculously so. Having seen the pictures I knew it is beautiful but the scene was too much and after having enjoyed so many quiet, peaceful locations, this was an affront to our experiences thus far.

So the last stop on our trip was Ivan’s favorite beach and one that was different from all the others as this was a sandy bottom beach – one of only two on the whole island. Smokova Beach was beautiful, only accessible by boat or a thirty minute hike down from the road, so there was only a handful of other people there. It looked like a giant swimming pool but was just as chilly as all the others stops. By this time, Noella had fallen asleep so Jenny and I jumped in and swam to shore. Jenny really loves to swim, especially dunking her head under, and here since it was sand, we could swim without our water shoes on as there were no rocks for the urchins to cling too! 

Our day wrapped up with Ivan dropping us at the dock closest to our apartment and him offering to buy us a beer if we ever return to Vis.

We enjoyed dinner at a pizza restaurant and then returned to the apartment where we stayed up talking until just about midnight.

Chim Chim Cher-ee

As the sun rose this morning, so did I. The instant coffee pack I bought yesterday answered all of my questions about what 3 in 1 meant once I poured hot water over it – apparently it includes coffee, creamer and sugar all mixed in one. Even if I don’t typically enjoy a sweet coffee, there was something almost sublime about this cup – sipping it on the balcony while listening to the faint hum of an outboard buzzing through the harbor. I enjoyed a slow start, finishing up my blog, checking in with Jenny making sure they were going to make their early flight from Rome (turned out they had been up before even I was awake) and fhen firmed up our plans for tomorrow’s boat ride.

By 10:00, I thought I should take advantage of the few hours I had before Jenny and Noella arrived. I set out in the opposite direction I had gone the last few outings back towards the main center of Vis. Vis is a bit confusing in that the island is named Vis and the main town is also named Vis. And with that, you might be wondering how we ever selected Vis. It is not the most famous of the Croatian islands; Hvar instead is quickly rising to the top of the “It” list for European Islands. Vis was chosen because Jenny said she wanted a Mama Mia moment. I honestly still do not know what that means, I have never seen the movie, but apparently Mama Mia 2 was filmed on location in Vis, and Jenny wanted to live that experience, so here we are, on and in Vis.

I made my way walking along the crescent shaped harbor back towards where the ferry dock is, noticing it was already hot, much hotter than yesterday with little breeze. I wandered past beaches filled with families, past the partially excavated Roman baths behind locked gates, the monastery which was built on an ancient Roman amphitheater, into a small church (no candles to light), and through the cemetery. I found it so interesting that the graves here are all marked with photos of those that eternally lay below the highly adorned grave sites. This cemetery has to have one of the prettiest locations, out on the tip of a promontory facing back towards the mainland.

I returned the way I had come and waited out the ferry’s arrival with a peach iced tea in the shade. An hour or so later, the ginormous car ferry arrived and my two intrepid travelers arrived – exhausted as all get out; not surprising after having taken 4 flights and been in, now, 4 countries in 8 days, not to mention the nonstop partying along the way. All they wanted was sleep, until they saw how beautiful the water was and then a swim was first on the priority list.

I had lugged hard-bottomed water shoes for all three of us from home as the beaches here are not sandy, they are stone and the water is filled with black spiny sea urchins.

We quickly changed into our suits, walked around in front of our apartment and enjoyed a lovely swim in the crisp, crystal clear water. Apparently the waters revived them and they decided not to nap, to shop instead, have an early dinner and then call it a day – smart thinking!

I always love showing up to a restaurant only to be told that they do not have a reservation for us. Thank goodness I had their confirmation email and with that, their attitudes quickly shifted, The restaurant was in a lovely terraced garden and while the appetizers were delicious, the entrees did not impress. Our waitress was our entertainment as Jenny quickly pointed out that she was the happiest person on earth and should really get a job at one of the Disney parks. Noella quickly dubbed her “Mary Poppins” and I broke out in a rousing rendition of “Chim Chim Cher-we” changing the lyrics to fit the dire state of our meals, apparently doing such a good job that Jenny took a pause and had to verify those weren’t the actual lyrics (maybe I missed my calling too).

After dinner, the girls hit the bed and I took an evening stroll. The lights along the harbor were lovely but bed was soon calling me too…

Perfection Already

It seemed more than fitting to set off from Boston Logan airport for this, my last trip to The Netherlands, for the foreseeable future. It was in this same terminal, almost three years ago, we put Jenny on an airplane destined for a town she had never set foot in, a university she had never explored and an apartment she had only seen via FaceTime. That was the height of Covid- borders were closed to everyone except those who had residence status, which she did via her student visa. Walking through those doors today, a whole lot of feelings I had back then – like I couldn’t catch my breath, like my head was spinning, like I was gonna pass out – came flooding back. Putting my 17 year old on a plane to Europe, knowing that, God forbid, if something happened to her, I could not just get on the next plane and go to her was, frankly, traumatizing. I did not have residency therefore I would have to apply for an exception, deal with bureaucracy all the while the time would be ticking. Sometimes I can’t fathom I got through that, but I did..we did, and honestly, I don’t want to go through something like that ever again. So taking some breaths and reminding myself I was on my way to meet her, in Croatia first, for a celebratory trip on her graduating from university and championing her way through hardships and heartbreaks, having perseverance of the most remarkable kind and on acknowledging her missteps and her need for self reflection. This trip would close out the chapter of her time in Maastricht but first we would spend the next eight days exploring Croatia.

Unfortunately, I was traveling solo as Billy was headed to Nashville for a meeting while Jenny and her friend Noella would be arriving the day after me, following a seven-day, whirlwind tour from Ibiza to Barcelona to Rome to Croatia. Logistically, this was the only time we could do this trip due to commitments beginning in July and the need to vacate Jenny’s apartment in Maastricht so unfortunately Billy misses out on the fun, but also the work at the end!

I arrived into Split about twenty minutes too late to get the first ferry so I figured I should just take it easy until the next ferry four hours later. I walked along the waterfront, chose a restaurant from the long line of them, had two Heinekens for breakfast, then a plate of beef carpaccio and fries for lunch (plus two sparkling waters to counterbalance my two beers). I chilled for a while longer, enjoying the great people watching, before heading to the ferry port to make the final leg of my trip to our initial destination – the island of Vis, the furthest inhabited island off the Dalmatian Coast of Croatia.

By the time I arrived at our first destination, almost 24 hours later, I had already traveled by car, train, bus, plane, shuttle, ferry and finally by my own two legs. Traveling is a chore, there’s no two ways about it, but it has delivered some of my most memorable experiences, molded some of my staunchest beliefs and developed some of my greatest strengths. So like the old adage says, “no pain. no gain.” All of course worth it when one considers the fun and adventures I have had along the way!

Our apartment for the next four nights is dreamy, sitting right on the edge of the Adriatic overlooking the small harbor with a few dozen sailing vessels moored and the old town of Kut.

After getting settled I headed out to pick up a few necessities and quickly decided against dining out for dinner but opted instead for a loaf of fresh bakery bread with some prosciutto, cheese and a bottle of rosé – an old standby meal for us when traveling anywhere in Europe. And besides, the view from our little balcony just couldn’t be beat!

At one point I looked over and saw this older, local lady fishing with a hand-line – to no avail.

After dinner, I could feel myself fading fast but also itching to get out and explore more of this seemingly charming island, and I am so glad I did. The island has been inhabited since the 4th century BC but many of the buildings from the 1600s are still standing and in use, adding a warmth and feeling of coziness. I wandered along the narrow “streets”, winding this way and that, climbing up and down hand-carved steps, peering over stone walls, poking my head through dilapidated garden gates, and stopping to admire the bountiful array of flowers.

My evening concluded by watching the sun sink over the hills while licking on a deliciously simple vanilla gelato cone – absolute perfection!

What You Think You Know…

4:00 on the dot we were out the door. Jenny did a fantastic job of navigating us in the dark to the parking structure where we were meeting the car rental representative to drop the car. He had already texted he was there waiting and he couldn’t have been nicer.

We entered the airport’s designated business class check in area and when we walked up to the desk the agent asked us what airline. When we told her “Qatar,” she said “Oh you are going to Amsterdam.” When we asked her how she knew that (we were actually going to Doha then switching flights) she said we were the last people to check in even though we were there more than 1 1/2 hours before departure.

We passed through immigration where my passport got the serious once over -page by page- with the officer wanting to know how long I’d be staying in Holland (not too sure why he cared) but my answer sufficed, and I received my exit stamp.

On to security, where Jenny and I were the only ones being screened. No need to take anything out of your bag just send it through. Now…we are used to traveling with Billy, AKA “The gadget guru,” whose carryon is always so full of every sort of instrument you can imagine that 9 times out of 10, he ends up in secondary inspection with 2 of those 9 times him having to try and explain to the officer what the item that got flagged is and isn’t for; he’s even had a few things confiscated along the way. An inspection officer at Heathrow nailed it right on the head once when he told Billy, “This is what we call a very busy bag.” So, secondary inspection is a right of passage when you are traveling with Billy, but never me, until today that is.

Jenny and I watched her bag pass through, my purse pass through and then we watched my bag take the dreaded detour off the main belt. The inspector came over, with two more officers joining him and all I can think is, Oh crap, they think the bag of za’atar mix is pot. Nope.

The guy looks at me and says,” What you have danger in your bag?”

“Dangerous?…Nothing.”

“No! What you have danger?” smirking at me.

Now my heart starts beating a little and I’m thinking, was the bag ever out of my sight? My palms start getting a little sweaty and I’m thinking did this smirking agent just set me up?

“Look,” he says, turning the x-ray monitor so I can see it, “What you see danger?”

I’m looking but don’t know what to look for until Jenny confidently exclaims, “That!” as her finger points to a long thin solid object.

“Yes,” he says smiling at Jenny as though she had done a good job.

Oh shit…

I look at him and say, “it’s a butter knife.”

“Take it out your bag.”

And I start unzipping all my exterior pockets because I have no idea where it is, until I finally discover the culprit. I pull it out like King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone, hoping my arse is not going to end up in Omani jail.

He looks it over, I told him I used it to make snacks cause I sure as heck was not about to tell him I used it to dig a cork out of a bottle of wine. He and the other two officers start laughing and tell me, “Ok. No problem.”

Boy how I love the Omanis!

A few steps away Jenny looks at me and says, “I thought you took it out of your bag last night?”

“I did,” I assure her, “but I had grabbed a second knife because I couldn’t find what I had done with the first one…” (Well now I know)

“Mom…” is all I got in return, followed by, “I can’t wait to tell dad.” Which she promptly did by text.

The truth is I took the knives for protection, back on arrival day from the W. I know, not much a dinner knife will do but it was better than nothing in my eyes at the time with all those voices were in my head /“you are two women traveling alone in a Muslim country”; we might be the only guests at the desert camp the second night; “it’s not safe to go to the Middle East…”

BUT knowing what I know now it was ridiculous – absolutely ridiculous! The Omanis are such a kind and gentle people, actually tolerant of every religion and belief. Unlike the high tensions and strict doctrines of the Sunni and Shia muslims of countries like Saudi Arabia and Iran respectively, Omanis are practitioners of a denomination of Islam known as Ibadi, formed some 50 years after the death of Prophet Mohammad. It actually predated both the Sunni and Shia dominations in both regions. Today, Oman is the only Muslim country in the world to have a majority of the Ibadi population. Had I known them, like I know them now, I would never have felt the need to have some sort of protection, though it did come in handy for opening the wine!

There was just beginning to be enough light after takeoff to see the northern and eastern parts of Oman as twilight was gaining ground. I could see those craggy top mountains from above and they were just as awesome from above as they were from the ground.

I am one of those people on planes, that some love to hate. No matter if everyone else has their shade closed, mine is open, my cheek pushed against the pane, nose smashed down trying to see every last bit of the ground beneath me. I then cross check it with the “flight map” on my TV screen which runs the entire length of my trip so I know where I am looking, and today was no different.

Arrival in Doha was a shock. It was dark when we came through on our way to Oman so seeing it for the first time was crazy. What Doha is to Muscat; sun is to snow – they could not be more opposite. The skyscrapers, amusement parks, manufactured beaches, and outrageous villas are all the complete antithesis to Oman. Doha is flashy, Muscat is understated; Doha leaps forth from its environment, Muscat blends in. There was nothing about Doha that appealed.

Seeing the world from 37,000 really is amazing, so is the fact that we flew right over Baghdad and Mosul; something I could never have imagined doing not that long ago. What was more amazing to me were the snow covered mountains in Turkey. It took us an hour to clear them!

Once at the hotel in Amsterdam, Jenny asked me about our trip, had I really enjoyed it and would I ever want to return. She asked if it rates up there with some of our favorites like Myanmar and Peru. “No doubt,” I told her. Oman has to be the best trip we have had for person to person exchanges. The people in Myanmar were wonderfully friendly but in a different way and there was very limited exchange with them due to the language barrier. In Peru, it was the children in the mountain villages who we had the most exchanges with – their excitement and happiness needed no words. But the person to person interactions we had with the Omanis – their genuine interest in us, their enthusiasm for Jenny’s studies; their curiosity on our choice to come; their willingness and wanting to help – all unmatched by any previous travels.

Not once, did we get a bad vibe or feel like we were unwelcome – even the kid who shooed me away from my parking spot did so politely and with a smile. We never once felt disrespected for either being female or for being a westerner. We encountered nothing but genuineness, kindness and conviviality from every single person we had the true pleasure of meeting along the way.

What we thought we knew; we didn’t. What we have tagged the people and culture of an entire region, is incorrect. I, we, walk away from this trip enlightened. Oman is not the Middle East and the Middle East is not Oman but a different perspective was born from this trip, and for that we are grateful.

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…”

Goats, Guns and More Guns

6:30 came fast this morning but Jenny rallied and we were up and out the door at 7:00. Last night after dinner, Abdullah offered to take us to the best ice cream place in Nizwa (turned out it was his uncle’s, haha, but the watermelon ice cream was delish) and show us where to go in the morning so we would be able to make a beeline for the goat market.

The “market” is basically an open space with a pavilion in the middle and a ten foot or so wide path that surrounds it, with small metal posts in the ground surrounding that. There are steps running around the pavilion that act as benches where people can sit. When we first arrived there were lots of people milling about with goats and cows tied to the posts. There were hundreds of people there and maybe only a handful of women, though there were more westerners than I was expecting.

Soon thereafter the crowd started to disperse to the seats under the pavilion and then standing on the outer edge of the path surrounding it forming a distinct path in between.

Someone in the middle of the pavilion starting shouting something in Arabic and a few minutes later the market began, starting off rather tame before the totally fascinating chaos ensued with men dragging their goats round and round hoping someone will want to buy them.

Buyers stop them to feel the goats hind quarters, check for pregnancy, check their teeth, lift their tails and if they have teats, check their milk. If the buyer wants the goat, they are given a price- the buyer can accept it or counter – if the seller doesn’t like the counter, he keeps going shouting out the number hoping someone will offer him more.

Some people sit on the ground, a rather precarious position to take, so they can get a better look and feel for the goats. As the sellers pass, and if they want to get their attention for a better look, they throw a stone at him. I was amazed that within all the chaos and noise and and bumping into each other that goes on, they could feel one small stone being hurled at them, but they did. The march to sell went on for a good hour, with some sellers never relieving themselves of their animals. Of course Jenny thought it sad, especially for the old guys who seemed to be giving it their all.

The whole spectacle had been fascinating and we really don’t think we missed out on much without having a guide. The process as to what was happening was obvious except for what the sellers were shouting as they walked around but Jenny was able to clarify that for us. I could have stayed for hours taking pictures and just watching the people but that was not an option today.

When we had had our fill of livestock noises and smells we continued on to the fruit and vegetable market, which was rather unremarkable, except for the fact that we stumbled upon a scene that absolutely made Jenny’s day. This old guy sitting up on the counter, eating bananas and as Jenny said, “just vibing.” We are still talking about him and wondering just how many bananas he had eaten.

We continued on to the other market that I was interested in seeing, the gun market. Sellers come and display their weapons, including the traditional Omani Khanjar, a type of dagger that figures prominently in their crest. Buyers pick up the guns and even shoot them with some sort of blank in them. It was very interesting, there were other westerners there but no women buying or selling here.

Jenny and I grabbed a fresh squeezed watermelon juice and took it to sit on the roof of the little cafe where we had gotten “Oman’s Best Ice Cream” last night; it was great too because I had a bird’s eye view over the gun market. The older gentlemen who delivered our juice asked the requisite question and then told us he had been to the States, to Lubbock, Texas of all places for a symposium of sorts but he didn’t like it much as it turned his skin white, it was so dry. One would think that Oman is bone dry, but there is definitely some humidity here and of course, the closer to the Arabian Sea you get, the more humidity you will find. The southern part of Oman, along the Yemen border, actually has a monsoon season and there the mountains get very green.

Our last stop was the souq. Going to a souq can be an overwhelming experience, typically with the shop owners hollering at you to buy their wares but the souq we went to with Nasser had not been like that and we were glad to see that this one was not either. Jenny and I loved all the spices and teas that were available, of course we loaded up on some, but we have very limited space in our bags to overbuy. When we took our goods to the counter and the man started tallying them, the one man said to the other ,”Sabah” to which Jenny responded, “Seven.” Both of their eyes grew wide and said, “You speak Arabic?” Jenny told them she knows her numbers and maybe a bit more. The one coyly said, “You live here? I have seen you before,” And lightning-fast Jenny responded, “Haha…I have heard that one before.” It was all done in good humor and we all had lots of laughs.

The last souq we went in to was the antique souq, I wish I could have been certain at the age of things, as I would have gotten something, but that is not my field of expertise. This souq was a bit dark and mostly deserted except for a group of four men sitting outside of one of the shops. The one kindly invited me in, I thanked him and told him I was just looking to which he said, “no problem, you can still only look but you can see it better” – it was all very friendly, not pushy nor creepy at all. One of the men sitting opposite him asked where we were from (of course) and when I told him, “America,” he, like the others, were very surprised and also assumed we had come from somewhere else and not straight from the States. He wanted to know why we chose Oman and how we had even known of it. He liked we had spent eight days, touring around from place to place.

I made mention of it before, but both Jenny and I have reiterated this, Oman is nothing like Jordan and certainly nothing like the Middle East is portrayed to us. The people are highly educated, considering it is a developing country. Everyone of them knows where America is, clearly how far away it is, and they all know where the Netherlands is. We have not felt uncomfortable in the slightest bit – not once! The men do not stare you down, if some do a quick double take, that is it. They do not turn their heads and watch you walk by and none of them call at to you. Jenny and I were talking in the car about how they have got to be the friendliest people we have ever encountered traveling, a true genuine friendly. And the crazy thing is we have had no encounters with women, not one.

When we returned to the hotel to grab our bags, Ali came to ask us how we liked the goat market. We got to talking about languages, since I was so curious how is English is impeccable, and he was saying that Arabic is like poetry; it is one of the most beautiful languages there is. When he learned that Jenny was studying it, he was surprised and pleased (and that is also remarkable, every man was so pleased to hear that Jenny was learning Arabic – they all loved it). He told Jenny about the Sultan Qaboos University for languages, it is a program that is strictly meant for Arabic as a second language, of course this piqued Jenny’s curiosity and before you knew it, she had looked it up – It is an eight week course, living in Oman to submerse yourself in it. Something tells me, this is in her future and to be honest, I would be more than OK with it, after having experienced what we have had.

Our first stop today was Bahla Fort, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The fort and settlement, owed its prosperity to the Banu Nebhan tribe (Nabahina), who dominated the central Omani region and made Bahla their capital from the 12th to the end of the 15th century. From there they established relationships with other tribal groups of the interior. Bahla was the centre of Ibadism (a branch of Islam), on which the ancient Omani Imamates were based and whose influence can be traced across Arabia, Africa and beyond.

The next stop was one that was going to be a detour to reach but one that I really wanted to go to and also another UNESCO site. The Al Ayn Beehive tombs are a protohistoric archaeological complex and represent one of the most complete and well preserved ensembles of settlements and necropolises from the 3rd millennium BCE worldwide.

As we got closer to where the site was, according to Google maps, we saw one sign for it and that was it but we caught our first glimpse of the tombs up on the hill.

Ali had said it was difficult to find the path as from the main road t you must cross a rather large stone-strewn wash, then a date palm plantation and then another wide stone-strewn wash. Our first attempt to find the road ended up in a dead end so looking at the satellite view of the map, we tried another “road” across the wash. This brought us closer but still not near enough. I exited the car and climbed up a bit to see of I could tell where there might be a better way. As I was out scouting, I noticed three men climbing the hillside behind us, placing something amongst the rocks but they were not close to the tombs. I then saw a small tour group of westerners being lead across the wash so we jumped back in the car and figured we would be able to see where they parked.

Back on the main road, we could see where they had crossed the first wash and parked their caravan of cars. Following suit, we parked and head down the only path we can see through the date palm plantation, we came to the other wash but found ourselves on top of a cement wall, maybe seven or eight feet high. Jenny sat down and was contemplating jumping when all of a sudden a shot rang out. Jenny was clearly upset by it but I told her the guides, and the other Omanis that we had seen earlier on the hillside, did not seem bothered by it, so I thought we would be OK. Two more shots rang out and Jenny said, “Mom, we are hearing gun shots in the Middle East. I think we need to jump.” So jump I did, with Jenny following behind. We crossed the second wash, gunfire still ringing out, and made our way up the hill to the tombs.

I wish we had had a bit more time to explore them, but I had decided our best plan of action was to stay close to the tour group and their guide and leave when they left. Only problem was the other guides, the ones that had stayed back with the cars, foiled my plan though by driving the cars right up to the base of the hill that we had climb to reach the tombs.

When the group started heading down, we beat them to it – we had youth on our side snd could cover a lot of ground. When we got to the bottom, the guides that were there waiting, wanted to chat about…where we were from. He asked if we were German, I told him American, and he told me that Americans were the best. I told him, ‘For sure. We are a lot more fun than Germans,” He laughed and wanted to know where we were going next. I told him, “First, we are going to try and make it back to our car without getting shot (he didn’t quite understand what I meant) and then we are heading to Misfah AL Abriyeen.” He seemed pleased with our plan and we hastily left to try and scale the wall to get back to our car.

Once safely in the car, my navigator asked for the final destination, I told her, “Misfah” assuming the map would show the rest of the name and she would select that. Leaving the wash and getting ready to turn on the main road, Jenny told me to turn left. I told her I thought it should be right, but she said left, so left I went. As we drove along I kept saying it didn’t seem right, that somehow we were going to have to get back over the imposing mountains that were running along our right side but we continued on for a good 30 minutes before the GPS told us to take a left on to a dirt road. Insisting it could not be correct, I pulled over and took a look at Google Maps, we were not going to the right place and in order to get to the right place, we were going to have to take a dirt road through the mountains – not happening…so I turned around and we started the long drive back to where we came from.

When we finally reached Missfah Al Abiryeen, the sun was just setting. The village was unlike any I have ever seen, and certainly unlike any place I have ever stayed, including the inn.

After dinner, Jenny and I took a small stroll through the labyrinth of passageways. We we’re definitely looking forward to what daylight shows us of this charming town.

What Goes Up Must Come Down

We had another epic night’s sleep, followed by another filling breakfast and were on the road by 11:30. I got directions from the front desk on a stop I wanted to make, and was glad I did because it was not where I thought it was.

In our hurry to get to the hotel two days ago, there was much I had not noticed or paid an overt amount of attention to. On our ride down the mountain today, there was more time to take it all and absorb just what an incredible drive it was. I also was able to notice more of the road conditions or the lack there of. You got to love when the temporary Jersey barriers have been run through or pushed over the edge and then never replaced.

Our first destination was Wadi Bani Habib, an abandoned village half way down the mountain. We descended a hundred or so stairs down into the wadi before crossing over to the old village. The construction on the side on the hillside is really quite remarkable. Most of the homes have fallen into disrepair but some of the original architectural styles are still evident. And although it is abandoned, non-muslims are still not allowed in the old mosque.

From here the real descent down the mountain began, in 4 wheel drive and never leaving second gear. There are constant warnings about speed and a bunch of runaway truck ramps, meanwhile I was getting passed on hairpin turns. It is quite evident now why Oman has such a high car fatality rate.

Down at the bottom, we high five for a road trip well done for both me driving and Jenny riding but the queasiness was setting in forJenny so we stopped for lunch. We also needed some more snacks so we went to what we thought was going to be a supermarket, turned out it only sold fresh fruit and tea. Because we did not want to leave empty-handed, we decided to grab two boxes of tea that we can’t get back home. While waiting in line to pay, this cute older Omani, who was maybe five feet tall and seemed to appear out of nowhere, asked us if it was our first time in Oman or had we been before. He then wanted to know, f course, where we were from. When we told him he replied, “Well you didn’t come here all the way from the US. You must have been somewhere else before.” When I assured him I had traveled here from the US, he was quite surprised I would make such a long journey just to come to Oman. He then told me to please, “go back and tell all of your friends that we want American tourists to come and visit Oman.”

The only other stop planned was for Jabreen Castle, which was constructed in the late 17th century by Imam Bel’arab bin Sultan Al Yarubi. It is different from other Omani forts because it was not built as a fortification, it is more of a palace constructed in times of peace by a ruler who was passionate about science and art. Jenny and I had a great time exploring this place going up one staircase and down another until Jenny managed to find us our way out.

Our stop for the night was the town of Nizwa, I knew that our hotel was deep in the old part of town and navigating there with the car was going to be tricky, but I was not prepared for just how wild the drive in would be. The second we reached the area of the old part the chaos ensued. Jenny did a great job navigating with the limited information we had from the inn and using Google Maps. The “streets” were only wide enough for one car but they were actually two-way roads. We managed to get as close as possible to the inn before we texted for help on where to park. I somehow managed to find a sliver of free space to sit and await our rescue.

As we were sitting there, nose in to a wall that was maybe two feet off the ground (see above photo) this cute younger guy walks along the top of it, bends over so he could see us through the windshield, says, “Excuse me,’ while simultaneously using both hands to shoo me away, out of my waiting zone, so that the delivery truck I had parked next to could get out (how in the world the truck even got in there in the first place was a serious mystery). The good news was I was able to squeeze behind him and continue to wait until finally Ali showed up to take the car and park it.

The guesthouse is very cute, with some very nice touches. Many of the old buildings in Nizwa are being restored and revamped by private citizens. This particular project was one taken on by a family who inherited the uninhabitable building after their father died and have done a remarkable job bringing ti back to life. It is definitely a family affair with the adorable 8 years old son of one of the owners welcoming me to the hotel.

Jenny and I decided to walk through some of the old area before returning to the hotel for dinner. The town was bustling with families on foot, kids on bicycles, people on motorbikes and scooters, and cars all trying to share the same tight space. We walked up to Nizwa Fort, an imposing fortress that stands guard over the old town and decided to enter. There was a lot going on inside but the liveliness and — was a nice contrast to the serenity we had experienced at Wahiba Sands and Jabal Akhdar. It was fun to spend time in a town that was full of locals, doing their normal thing.

The whole reason we came to Nizwa, was to see the goat market tomorrow morning and when I had originally read about it, I though perhaps seeing it with a local would be best. The guide I had lined up backed out at the last minute and offered for a friend to take over. I initially declined saying I thought we would be fine (since after talking to one of the families that was at Rashid’s place with us) but Jenny (who usually does not like the idea of getting a guide) said maybe we should, so I agreed to use his friend.

Talal was rather insistent that we meet tonight versus tomorrow morning before the goat market and in hindsight, thank goodness as it was not a match made in Heaven. Frankly I should have recognized that fact when we kept insisting yesterday that we would meet today and tour from 4-8 no matter the fact I kept saying (politely) that ain’t happening. He ended up meeting at the fort, close to 6:15 and holy smokes, it went downhill fast. No matter how I tried to explain, we were not interested in anything this evening, he continued to try and “guide” us. My hangriness (yes I, like Jenny, get hangry after I pass the point when the stomach stops rumbling and the shakes start to set in); I even showed him my shaking hand as we climbed the stairs to the top of the fort and listened to him tell me I was feeling tired because we snack and don’t eat food out of the refrigerator. Anyhow, my savior Jenny jumped in and finally put an end to it; empathy be damned. He then insisted we should just go have tea and I told him that was not happening, I was going to eat dinner and that was that. Long story short, while finally having dinner at the hotel, I sent a message that we would not be in need of his services tomorrow – that our ideas of a guide were not similar as we were not the type who wanted in depth information (I think we know what the heck a well is). Jenny and I decided, no matter what, we would be better off ourselves negotiating the markets then risking never making it past the door as we received a lesson on what a goat even was.

We Could Hike OR Drink Coffee

This morning we slept in… a lot! It was almost 9:00 by the time we woke up; I guess all the traveling and early mornings caught up to us. The first order of business was breakfast and boy did they serve up a hearty one here. I had planned on taking a hike while we were here as it really is the only activity available and with the incredible scenery, why not! We spoke to the front desk who provided us with a map of a local hike that is about three hours and seemed to cover some interesting areas.

Because the sun was out in full force, Jenny and I decided to forgo the initial part of the hike and just drive to the trailhead, instead of walking from the hotel. We parked the car and began following the marked trail when Jenny brought up that it seemed a bit isolated, as in, there was nobody else around. She clearly was feeling uneasy about that and rather than push us into something that would have been uncomfortable, I decided to pull the plug on the hike and instead go back to the resort to take the small nature walk around the property.

On the return trip, I saw a pull-off to the side of the road that looked like it had a great view, so I made a quick detour in there. The view was stunning and while scanning the mountains across the valley, I noticed what looked like an abandoned village. There was also a large communications tower next to it and Jenny said that the road out to it must be paved. We hopped in the car and decided to go take a look.

The road up to it was indeed paved but my oh my was it steep. The village we could see perched from the other side of the valley was actually a bit bigger and had more modern homes built back aways from the cliff’s edge. The village streets were empty, except for the almost mystical appearance of an elderly gentleman wearing a high turban walking with a cane. We passed him and gave a small hand wave but received nothing in return.

Jenny and I parked the car at the dead end, next to a huge earth roamer, so we could have a look around. The first thing we noticed was the building we had seen from across the way. It was clearly not abandoned but newly built, It was a small outdoor complex, behind low adobe walls and metal gates; we also noticed the German people walking around inside. The complex looked like it could be used for religious purposes, as it had the requisite fountains to wash before prayer, but did not appear to be a mosque. It had two outdoor pavilions built with typical Middle East ogee arches and a low bench running along the base of the interior walls. Even though we had seen the other tourists in there, we did not enter out of respect.

We walked around the outside and over to the cliff where we could see the abandoned houses, but to our astonishment, the small simple mud houses were not abandoned at all, as there was laundry drying on the roofs. The little village was overrun with goats, but people still clearly lived there. Not wanting to be intrusive, we stayed on the outskirts and did not enter the main part.

We walked back toward the car but stopped to take a better look at the complex, peering over the wall and discussing what it might be used for. We got in our car noticing another mystical elderly man walking with a cane and a distinct slight limp slowly making his towards us. Despite the 73 degree temperature, he was dressed in a traditional dishdasha (the long collarless dress), covered over by a very heavy jacket in a desert camo fatigue print, bulky black ski gloves, ear muffs and an emerald green tasseled turban woven high and loosely on his head. I gave a simple wave like I had to the previous man and just like before, received nothing in return. When he got closer, he gestured at me and when I rolled the window down, he spoke to me in Arabic. Turning to Jenny in hopes she understood anything he said, she greeted him with, “As-salaam alaikum.” He greeted her in return and motioned towards the pavilions we had just been peering over the wall at.

We exited the car and followed him as he continued to speak to us in Arabic. He unlocked the gate, and gestured for us to continue to follow him up into the larger of the two pavilions.

He then proudly waved his hand from left to right to show us the view. Jenny and I both let out an audible gasp, partly because it was deserved and partly because no matter the language barrier, we knew he would understand. I then turned to him, smiled and held my hands to my chest. He seemed genuinely pleased at the fact we clearly were in awe of the magnificent view down to the wadi that was easily a thousand feet or more below us. He continued to ramble to us in Arabic, all of which we did not understand until he said something that Jenny did understand, followed by, “Biritania? iinjlizia?” (British? English?) Jenny responded, “ ‘ana ;amirkiun” (I am American) “ Ahhh… ‘amirkiun,” he confirmed with a smile, said a few more unknown words in Arabic and then asked another question Jenny understood, “Qahwa Omani?”

Jenny said he wanted to know if we want Omani coffee. I had read about how total strangers would invite you into their homes to share coffee and dates with you, so I knew that this was something that was part of Omani tradition. We also knew it was rude to decline their hospitality but even more so, this was one of those rare opportunities that Jenny and I relish, a chance meeting to share something special with someone special and we would never have passed on it -ever! “Na’am,” Jenny responded. The man smiled, turned and then walked over to the small building where we had seen the other elderly gentleman disappear into.

A few moments later he emerged carrying in one hand, a bag and holding a brass tray with a yellow plastic bowl on it while steadying himself with his cane in the other hand.

He reentered the pavilion where he had left Jenny and me, and waved for us to sit up on the surrounding wall. He placed the tray between us, pulled a metal container of dates out of the bag and poured fresh water into the bowl. He motioned for us to rinse our fingers in the bowl and then offered us some dates and continued to due so. unto we declined them.

He then pulled three small porcelain cups out, rinsed them in the bowl and poured us each a cup of Omani coffee. He talked to us more in Arabic pointing up to the mountains and down to the wadi far below us. He pointed to the dates, and up the valley and down the valley and then to his knees. We imagined he was telling us how the dates grow in the wadis, and how he would collect them but no longer can because of his age and physical ailments. He noticed our cups were empty and offered us another round, which we both gladly accepted. We told him our names, though he never told us his, and he asked if I was Jenny’s mom (Jenny understood this).

When Jenny had finished her second cup, he again offered her some more, but this time she politely declined. He rinsed her cup and put it back in the bag, followed by his cup then mine. He seemed content; content as we were just being in the moment.

He looked at Jenny’s phone and made a motion for a picture. He then unzipped his coat and taking it off, laughed and said, “You army.” He unwrapped the green turban and much to our surprise he was wearing a smaller more tightly woven one in a lighter shade and fabric, but he left his ear muffs on. He motioned for me to stand next to him and then for Jenny to while we took turns taking a picture. He then wanted to see them. He appeared pleased with the photos, drawing his hand down his long beard with a chuckle, then gesturing to the picture and outstretching both of his arms and said, “Amrika,” Jenny and I both agreed he was telling us that somewhere in America, his picture would be hanging and you know what? He could not have been more correct. This wonderful kind man’s picture will be hanging on our wall, no doubt about it.

We thanked him in Arabic and then turned and left, both of us walking back to the car in disbelief. Jenny turned and said, “Well, we could have gone for a hike OR we could have dates and coffee in a gorgeous setting with a village elder.” Holy smokes, we were both blown away by the experience we had just been so lucky to share.

When we walked back into the hotel, the front desk agents asked how the hike was. We told them, we had not made it to the hike that we had had a far better more rewarding experience than any hike could have brought us.

Jenny and I decided a light snack would be good, so we grabbed a table and then had a very nice conversation with the hostess who is from Myanmar. We told her out of all the places we have ever traveled to, it was our favorite and we meant it. She seemed surprised we had been there, and even more so when we told her all the places we had been in the country. She told us how much she loves it too, but she has no idea if and when she will ever get to go home due to all the political unrest – so very unfortunate. We often count ourselves lucky for having been able to travel there when we did, because I imagine it will be a long while before tourism of any kind can safely resume.

After lunch, we took a small walk out along their nature trail. The geology of the area is fascinating, at least to someone like me who loves that subject, but even Jenny was amazed at the fact these Hajar Mountains, the tallest on the eastern Arabian peninsula) had once been under the sea. The rocks are limestone, a type of sedimentary rock, and as such are littered with hundreds of thousands of fossils.

Back at the hotel we enjoyed a happy hour drink overlooking the canyon. We talked again about our luck and the situation we had found ourselves in. Jenny said if there were ever an incentive to learn Arabic, today had provided it. She was happy she could understand a bit, but imagined what it would have been like to have shared a conversation with him, though she did say it still might have proven tricky because he was assuredly speaking in a dialect that was far different than the Modern Standard Arabic she is learning. Even so, I understand her thoughts.

I have always said that one of the things I love most about Jenny and am always inspired by is her ability to connect with people, no matter where we are. Her deep desire for us all just to get along, to respect one another and each other’s beliefs and cultures is one of her greatest assets. She has had quite a few beyond-memorable interactions over the course of our travels – from the women in the remote villages of Myanmar, to the trinket seller in Jordan ; today’s experience was undoubtedly right up there with the rest of them.

Peace and Serenity

I woke up about an hour before sunrise this morning and decided to try and catch it as it rose over the desert. I found a nice spot to sit and absorb the silence and serenity while staring out towards the east slowly, slowly, slowly watching the horizon shift colors. It was all so peaceful until the new guests who arrived yesterday came storming out of their tent without a thought in the world that others might still be sleeping or trying to enjoy the peace we were lucky enough to find ourselves in.Two days prior, we were relieved to find out we would not be the only guests staying over Monday night but at that very moment, I wished we had been.

Yesterday when Rashid returned to camp after having met this group in town, he came to greet Jenny and me to ask about our excursion with Faiz, and when we tried asking him about the new people he had just arrived with, he smiled, looked at us paused and said, “Well…” To which I responded, “Not everyone can be crazy funny Americans!” To which he laughed hard.

At 9:00 the guide showed up to lead us out of the desert. We went to say goodbye to Jaffer, who looked at us and sweetly said “Goodbye my American sister. Good bye Mama.” We gave him a little something for all his delicious meals, and for his wife and children who were back in Bangladesh and wished him well.

Once out of the sands, the guide took us to refill our tires and sent us on our way. And can I just say, I was 3 for 3 for driving through the sands and not getting stuck! We stopped to fill the tank again, just to be safe and check our directions to Wadi Bani Khalid, the spot that Faiz had insisted yesterday we backtrack to.

The road up to Wadi Bani Khalid was steep and clearly maintaining the blacktop in the mountains of Oman is a full time job as the geology seems to be some sort of conglomerate rock that is easily washed out. There had been heavy rains here last week and the effects of them were obvious.

There had been signs pointing towards the wadi, as it is a rather popular attraction for tourists and locals alike, so when Jenny said to take a right turn I was surprised. There had not been a sign showing it but Google maps was showing we should. Both Billy and Jenny hate Google maps but I had read it was the most accurate of the programs to use, so that’s what we were doing.

The road turned straight into a lush oasis filled with date palms and tall dark grass but the path quickly narrowed, like really narrowed, and I told Jenny this could not be right.

I had seen pictures of Wadi Bani Khalid on line and there was no way that this road led to it. We continued straight obviously heading into a village when I stopped because I did not care what the maps was saying, I knew this was not right. A villager was walking towards us, looking at us as we sat blocking the road. He waved us forward, smiled, and welcomed us to Oman. When I asked, “Wadi Bani Khalid?” He smiled and motioned we needed to turn back around and keep going because it was “under,” as he pointed up to the cliffs. He kindly opened the gates to his home and had us pull in there where he directed me around so we could head back out. Google maps was right, we were in the village of Wadi Bani Khalid but we wanted the parking area for it, who knew.

Another mile or so down the road we came to a parking area lined with white SUVs and a bunch of westerners milling about. Jenny claimed, “Well, I think we found it.”

We headed up the trail and came across our first falaj, an ancient water irrigation system in use in Oman since 500AD, which we followed towards the canyon. We popped out into an open area with a large pond full of fish and surrounded by date palms. This wadi (valley) is one of the most developed in Oman with bridges and picnic pavilions, but still is quite beautiful. A true oasis in the desert that makes for a real feast for the eyes with the contrast in colors.

As we clambered over the rocks, trying to make our way further back into the rugged canyon, a boy maybe Jenny’s age stopped to show us the way and to of course ask the standard questions. He was complimentary of Jenny’s Arabic and of course surprised by her ability to speak any at all. When he learned where we were from, he got a huge smile on his face and said, “Americans are very good people. I have not met many but all that I have are very very nice.” It really is astonishing to me that we, as Americans, are always portrayed by so many other western populations as being poorly thought of from the developing countries yet everywhere we have been and people hear where we are from, all I ever hear is praise. Seriously, the next time I hear someone disparage us in that regard, I am going to tell them they don’t know what the eff they are talking about.

Last night, when Jenny and Rashid were talking, he too had been surprised to learn she was studying Arabic. She explained to him, “If I am going to understand the people and their culture then I need to know their language.” Rashid, was pleased by that and told Jenny he can’t wait for her to be fluent so when she comes back to Oman and gets lost and someone pulls up to her, she can start rambling in Arabic and send them into shock. He thought it so humorous, demonstrating the looks people would have to see this western girl rip them in Arabic.

Jenny and I enjoyed some time in the shade, out of the blazing sun, and watched the waterfall and the children frolicking in the water.

Walking back to the car, we stopped for some cold water and freshly made watermelon juice. As we were pulling out of the parking spot, this adorable boy looked at me with wide eyes and pointed up. I had placed my watermelon juice on the top of the car and was driving away with it still there. I stopped and grabbed it, thanked him in Arabic, to which I received one big thumbs up!

Driving in Oman is really not that different feeling than driving in the US. The tales of crazy Omani drivers are true, I don’t think I have ever been tailgated as much and seriously within inches at high rates of speed. They pass when they want (forcing the oncoming cars to move half their car over into the breakdown lanes), even around blind corners. The thing that is most familiar to the US is all the big gas-guzzling vehicles and their obvious love for American-built trucks. I guess when the cost of fuel is so low, the fuel consumption rate is a non-issue.

The rest of our drive was fairly nondescript and non eventful until we reached Birkat Al-Mouz at the base of Jabal Akhdar. Jebel Akhdar (which translates to Green Mountains in Oman- kind of a misnomer I think) was going to be our destination for the next two nights.

I pulled over to the side of the road to check the car manual on shifting in manual mode as I can drive stick but I have never used a manual automatic and I knew it was probably something I was about to need. The drive up is meant to be quite an experience; one that is only allowed with a 4×4 vehicle. We stopped at the police checkpoint where the officer asked where I was from. When I answered “United States” he looked at me puzzled. When I said, “America,” he responded “Ah…America.” From now on I am just going to reply America when asked because it seems everyone only knows our country as that. I handed over my license, he jotted down the information and checked my car was 4×4 then passed me through.

The road wasted no time going from a small incline to something most likely against code in the US, with hairpin turns like I had really never experienced (except for maybe the mountain pass in Slovenia). All I can say is thank goodness I read the manual because there was no way my little Nissan was going to make it up there in only the drive mode. Poor Jenny was really getting car sick but insisted we keep moving, of course she was a bit dejected when she saw the hotel was 50 kms from the start of the climb, but she was a trooper and when we pulled into our hotel at 4:00, we both were ecstatic.

As usual, for a rather extravagant stay, I had used points to book the room – otherwise I can assure you, this would have been out of my budget. The Alila, is really spectacular and it has spectacular prices to go along with it… The free room and breakfast allowed for us to accept the prices for lunch and dinner, as well as try and stomach the cost of a little booze. The hotel is perched literally on the edge of a canyon, built with materials befitting the natural beauty of the area. It is elegant yet understated with top notch service and super comfortable rooms. BUT with that, I have to say, that I love that we all are just as comfortable and content staying in a tent with no A/C and an outdoor bathroom, with no hot water than we are staying in an over-the-top luxury hotel.

Our day concluded with a long hot shower, a beautiful sunset, and a delicious dinner before both passing out.