Author: Wandering Amerrickans

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.

I Know What A Left Means Now

When trying to decide which of the fifty or so camps to stay at in Wahiba Sands, I gave lots of thought to the experience I hoped we would have. There were “luxury” camps with permanent structures, a pool, table side service, etc and there were camps that are set up on a more temporary basis run by people who live in the nearby village. I quickly ruled out the big camps but there was some concern on both Jenny’s and my part that she and I would end up in a very small camp being the only guests and as two females alone in a camp in a place with no familiarity, we had legitimate reasons for worry. But I did the research and in the end Jenny trusted my judgment with the caveat that we could always just leave early if we got that feeling.

We started our morning with another hearty meal before awaiting the arrival of our guide for the day. We planned on a trip deeper into the desert with a stop at a traditional Bedouin home. Our guide, Faiz, came ripping into camp like a bay out of hell, pulled up alongside our tent, jumped out of the car and immediately began to apologize for being late. “No worries,” we insisted. We hadn’t even known he had been late and even if we had, we were enjoying the cool morning just looking at the scenery.

We jumped in Faiz’s car and off we went. Faiz is a fireman and works a two week on/ one week off shift. His week-off shift he helps out at some of the local camps, including Rashid’s. He trained in Qatar in a facility that also housed RAF and US military so his English is very good, which was quite helpful. He had been born in Muscat but moved to this area many years ago and clearly knows what he is doing in these dunes; he also drives like the wind. Five minutes into the ride he crests this dune and goes flying down the other side, “We go like we are in Dakar Rally,” laughing aloud.

We pulled up to a house, that was unlike most of the other camps we had seen as this one was made with small logs. When we left the camp around 10:00, our tent had already heated up to an almost unbearable temperature and we were pleasantly surprised that when we entered this house, it was was cool as the desert night. The home was occupied by three generations of Bedouin women. The young girls met us with traditional dress on, henna on their forearms and hands and a yellow paste on their face.

Faiz was happy to show us the decorations and photos that adorned the walls and Jenny was very sweet obliging the young girl, allowing her to dress her in a traditional head covering and face mask. Afterwards, she asked one of the women, who was also dressed in her traditional clothes, with all but her eyes covered, if she would henna her arm in a similar fashion as the young girl’s.

From here we continued on deeper into Wahiba Sands along what is known as the desert highway – a very hard pack “road” that is traveled at an astonishing rate of speed for people making their way through the desert (We were passed by a small pickup truck with a camel laying down in the bed). We eventually exited the “highway” up, and I mean up, a very large dune where we crested out on what felt like a sand dune plateau.

As we continued along, Jenny pointed off to the left to a very steep dune where there were tire tracks and stating that it was unreal cars can maneuver it. Faiz turned around and said, “It is no problem, I will show you.”

“Ummm..excuse me, what? We are not going up that are we?” I asked in disbelief.

Faiz quickly tried to alleviate any concerns I had, “Going up? No, We are not going up that. We are going down that!” And with that he took a sharp left turn. Once at the bottom he pointed out, “See, no problem.” And off we continued.

We came upon one of the luxury resorts and all I could do was be thankful that we had no chosen to stay there. There was nothing about the place that appealed at all – nothing – except for the group of camels that were hanging around outside their walls. Faiz drove right up to them and stopped. He grabbed a plastic bag and pulled out some pieces of bread (sort of a thin looking pita) and handed it to Jenny. The camels came right over and took the piece of bread right out of her hand.

Before we knew it, there were three camel heads in the car, two up front and one in the back. I was cracking up as their huge lips were smacking together trying to grab ahold of the bread. When the bread was gone and one of the camels gave a quick snort, we took off laughing.

A short bit down the road, Faiz stopped the car and told me to hop out, I was now driving. OK, I thought, no problem. He guided me along telling me to turn right or left, and all was going well (of course he had to remind me to slow down a few times) until he told me to shift the 4-wheel drive and take a right up the hill. We had been at this long enough that I realized that the uphill only meant one thing, there was a downhill somewhere but a quick scan of the dune from below showed no signs whatsoever of any tire tracks coming back down, but up I went. At the top he told me to go left but left was the direction I had scanned and I knew there was no outlet – at least there was no outlet…yet. And so it happened:

“Go left.”

“Left?” (Knowing full well where that would lead us).

“Yes.”

And before I knew it I was sitting with the car on the edge of the dune and could not see any land in front of me.

“Go slow.”

Me looking out my side window, then out the windshield, then out towards the passenger window scanning for any sign of a possible exit, stating in total disbelief, “But, but, but there’s no, there’s no…”

“Yes. Go.” Faiz waved me forward.

Again, stammering my words “But, but, but there’s no road.”

“They are. Just drive slowly slowly”

And so over we went…

“Now you see the way,” Faiz stated, almost prophetically, as he waved his hand out towards the incline we were now staring down.

“Oh sh!t, oh sh!t, oh sh!t,” I say

“Mom,” Jenny whispered, “You can’t swear.”

Me, now barreling down the dune, took one hand off the steering wheel to cover my mouth and apologize profusely. Faiz telling me to break, me following orders, but before you know it the back end starts making a run at trying to beat the front end to the bottom first. All the while, ever-so-calm and positive Faiz is saying, “Don’t worry. Don’t worry” as we end up completely sideways teetering at a pretty good angle. Faiz calmly tells me to turn left and go (isn’t that what got us into this mess in the first place?) and just like that we come out of the dune and are back on what was certainly more solid ground.

Enjoy the videos…sorry i couldn’t beep out the expletives.

Following our harrowing stunt, we made a quick rest stop amongst a grove of shady trees where Faiz laid a small rug and offered us some fruit. We laughed about my turn at the wheel and chatted about various things but mostly Faiz insisted we need to backtrack to one of the wadis we had skipped as we would not have another opportunity on this trip to see one, and he insisted it is a must!

Back on the road again, the clock having gotten away from us, Faiz searched for a shortcut through the dunes, but every turn ended up placing us in a precarious situation. “You are like an explorer,” I told him, “searching for a new route back to Rashid’s.” He decided not too risk it, especially since we were only one car, as getting stuck without help would obviously not be a good thing. If we had been two cars, he would have done it. So instead, we did a little dune bashing, a term they use here for basically driving up, across, and down the dunes spinning out and fishtailing. At one point we hit a big dune, slid sideways and the spray of sand came over the hood from left to right and blew in through the open windows, kind of like hitting a wake with the boat and the water spray coming back on you.

When we finally made it back to camp, we thanked Faiz for a wonderful time. He turned and said, “You are most welcome. You guys are funny.” It was a great compliment to us and it was only later when he returned that I told him so and he clarified what he meant in that Jenny and I are funny together. We are not like a mother/daughter that argue and disagree. He said we are like best friends and our banter back and forth is funny.

Down in the food tent, Rashid had had his right-hand man Jaffer, make us some lunch. We were quite hungry and like everything we had been served, the meal was delicious. Jaffer is a friendly guy who clearly is a hard worker but only speaks very little English however, he was determined to try and have a conversation with us. Like everyone here, he wanted to know where we were from and how many years we were. He then proudly told us, “I am Bangladesh.” And then pointing to the skin on his arm, “I am black. My sister not.” He then turned his attention to Jenny and pointed to the skin on her arm and asked, “You have a problem? Your skin. It has a problem? Jenny and I both broke out in an uproar. Jenny tried to tell him she had no problem (though I could beg to differ :)) and that her arms were covered in freckles from the sun. He clearly didn’t understand until she said she was OK but he made it clear he had never seen such a thing before — “I don’t know it.” A redhead was obviously a new creature for him, and Jenny and I are still laughing about it.

Jenny and I took another stroll up the dunes to watch the sunset. We were sitting in silence enjoying the solitude when she jumps up to watch as a big beatle was making his way towards her. We marveled at just how far this guy had crawled, leaving a striking trail behind as he went along.

At dinner, the new guest were telling the story of how they too had missed the meeting point and that Rashid had come after them when he saw them pass. He said he had tried to wave them down, just like he had when he saw us pass. “But, like you, they did not see me wave.”

“Oh, no. I actually saw you waving.” I responded.

“You did? Why then you did not stop.”

“Because,” I responded “You were there in front of the tent with the colorful furniture and I thought you were just trying to sell me a rug.”

Rashid threw his head back in laughter and let me know just how funny he thought that was.

Our evening ended with Jenny and Rashid discussing all the nuances of Arabic, her best approach at learning it and him expressing his surprise that Jenny was planning her masters program in Islam and the Middle East, He was genuinely curious at her choice and questioned whether she would ever find a job with that degree. Without going into much detail, Jenny eloquently assured him it would not be a problem…

When I started planning our trip, the only real request Jenny had was two nights in the desert. She didn’t care if there were activities; she just wanted to “vibe” in the desert and drink some tea, which we have done by the cups full. The tea here is an Omani black tea, steeped with cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, ginger and cinnamon leaf mixed with a decent helping of sugar – just delicious! I know her desires were met, but I also know we both had unspoken desires met.

The nervousness we felt seems like a long forgotten feeling having been easily replaced with deep contentment through the warm welcome extended by Rashid and Jaffar; the sincerity of the affable Faiz; the soft giggles coming from under the veiled-face of the Bedouin woman in response to my telling Faiz about Jenny’s tattoo. Neither of us would have changed a thing, except to maybe spend a day or two more with these truly wonderful people in this remarkable location.

Rashid Doesn’t Know Me!

Jenny and I both died yesterday, actually Jenny before me. After checking in, we never left our room. It helped that we got upgraded to a killer suite with a lot of room and an awesome view and that the bed was super comfortable.

Of course, just as I was getting ready to pass out and in true Dom fashion, I noticed I screwed up the reservation for the pick up date for our rental car BUT thank goodness I noticed it. Unfortunately, it was after the shop had closed, HOWEVER, the owner was awesome and after a few texts back and forth, and the offer of a small penalty fee on my part, we were back on schedule and he agreed to deliver it to me at the hotel at 8:00 AM.

I woke at 7:00 to make sure I was up in case he came early since I was so appreciative of him accommodating my screw up. At 7:50 our car showed up and I was pleasantly surprised at not only the condition of the vehicle, but the fact he had upgraded me for free when he learned I was planning on driving into the desert to stay in a Bedouin camp. He told me I would need something with more power than the car I had reserved. Again, kindness and consideration beyond what was necessary. When I asked him if there was anything I need to look out for while driving in Oman, he said, “speed cameras.” Oh boy…one of my downfalls, I drive with a lead foot so this was going to be a serious lesson in self-control, something Nasser was saying is one of the key components of fasting for Ramadan, so I guess when in Rome…

By the time Jenny and I got it together, stopped at the ATM for needed cash, the fuel station to tank up the car and tank up our snack stash, we were on the road 2 1/2 hours after my intended departure time – that meant we were cutting quite a few planned stops as we had to be at our destination at 3:00. And of course, five minutes into the drive, we took the wrong exit as Jenny tried to get used to the navigation system. The good news is it was not too much of a detour and we were quickly back on the expressway making our way south.

It wasn’t even 20 minutes later we started into mountainous terrain. The mountains were like waves in a rough sea with craggy tops successively getting higher in between dropping into the troughs of the sands. It must have taken forever to move a short distance as one climbed to the top, only to drop back down, before having to climb to an even higher top before continuing the process all over again.

The expressway was excellent and every few miles or so were the speed cameras I was warned about. We bopped along, listening to Jenny’s country music playlist, remarking on the incredible scenery. About an hour or so later we dropped down onto the coastline and enjoyed the varying shades of blue, the sea here offered.

I decided that we would cut all of the drives back into the wadis as these were going to be the most time consuming. I opted for a short stop at Bimmah Sinkhole, a natural limestone cavern that fell in and left a large hole in the ground with a natural pool. It is a popular swimming spot and on this day in the mid-80s, there were plenty of people enjoying the waters.

The second stop I opted for was to take a drive through the coastal town of Sur and see the dhow boat factory. The GPS took us off the highway sooner then need be, but Jenny said she was actually happier with this side trip over seeing any of the wadis as we were driving through areas that showed a real town. The funny thing was we were gobsmacked at the houses being built – opulent (and I mean in an over-the-top, borderline gaudy sort of way) McMansions crammed in one after another with flashy gates and added facade decorations. It was so interesting because most of what we had seen in Oman really had a sense of understated elegance to it.

The dhow factory was a quick stop in just seeing the carcasses of fading ships and a few that were still floating. At one point I wanted to take another look so I decided to take the roundabout back around and when I pulled over and waved the other cars by, the first car in line quickly pulled over and was getting ready to exit his car when I continued on. Jenny told me I needed to stop waving at people as a way of saying sorry as they think I am in need of help. Lesson two in self-control – stop being an apologetic driver.

Back on the expressway, we came across our first, “what the heck” moment when we came past a group of camels. Of course that required a stop to the side of the road, and unlock Iceland where there is not even four inches to pull over, Oman’s highways have huge breakdown lanes. We had a great laugh as Jenny tried her hand at camel talk and actually got them to swing around and giver her their full attention.

As we got closer to where we were supposed to meet our camp hosts, we had a small glitch in communications as well as exact pin drops on our map, causing us to pass the meeting spot. As I was turning around to head back, a car pulled in right behind me almost blocking me from moving. A man rolled his window down, welcomed us to Oman and asked if we were OK. I guardedly told him we were fine. He exited his car and walk towards us, asking me where I was from and where I was going. I told him we were from the US but even more guardedly was elusive as to where we were going and that I had just missed a turn. I think he sensed my bit of uneasiness, though I was trying hard to hear the words of Nasser, he held his hand to his heart, welcomed us again to his country, bowed his head, backed up, turned around and left. This was exactly the kindness in offers to help that Nasser had told us about.

A moment up the road, another car heading towards us flashed their lights, slowed down and rolled their window down; it was our camp host Rashid. He had seen us pass by and waved at us but we failed to stop and so he was coming after us – too funny. We pulled into the drive, next to a larger SUV with an older fair-skinned gentleman who was attaching a GoPro to the outside of his windshield. I checked with him as to what camp he was going to and when he named our planned camp, Jenny and I both let out an audible sigh of relief that we indeed were in the right place.

Rashid pulled in behind us, got out of his car and to our total astonishment grabbed my hand and shook it (shaking hands with the opposite sex is not done in the Muslim world). When I told him my name and that I had been the one texting him like mad and then apologized for being a “crazy American,” he astonished us even more with his complete and utter delight that we were Americans. He emphatically and excitedly proclaimed, ”I have only had four of your kind stay with me before. You make the five.”( I had to think about that one for a second…).

When he assumed that we would be leaving our car and riding in with him, I surprised him by telling him that I was actually planning on driving in. He first questioned the car but I assured him the rental agency had given me this car with the belief that it would be fine for the desert trek. He then questioned my ability to handle the conditions when I told him I was confident I could handle it he told me that the guide would stop and switch cars with me (he was driving a Jeep Wrangler) when the hard part came. We both chuckled, me at him for his lack of confidence and him at me for basically calling out that lack of confidence.

Tires deflated to the proper PSI, and off we went in a three car caravan with the seemingly austere GoPro-toting Austrian (who had driven in the deserts of Namibia before) opting to take the rear. A few miles in, the hard-pack flats started to give rise to softer hills and Jenny started to feel queazy as the car slip-slided though the sands. Nothing could be done at this point so she had no choice but to grin and bear it.

A few more miles and the sand got looser and deeper and the dunes got bigger. We bottomed out a few times but we kept on moving until we got to the final climb when we both said, “Oh boy,” Jenny leaning in towards the gear shift to avoid the rather large drop off on her side when midway up, we came to a dead stop, like we had hit a wall. Luckily Mr. Austria maneuvered around me as I quickly threw the car in reverse, got to some flatter land and took aim at the hill again following a different track. We crested the hill, blew past Mr. Austria (who had actually stopped and gotten out his truck thinking he was going to have to come and help me), and pulled in to the camp where I gave the guide two big thumbs up, receiving them in return along with a big smile. Getting out of the car I cajoled him in a half-joking but matter of fact way by asking, “I did well?” “Sorry. No English.” Jenny, who had already perched herself on the stable ground of the tent’s deck, hollered over in Arabic, “Jamil.” He turned, smiled and said, “Ah Jamil, Yes you very well.” Jenny and I figured the guide must have been confident in my driving and did not feel the need to switch as Rashid had suggested he would. Ahhh….Sweet Redemption…

The sun was getting low in the sky and the others (there were now 6 more) decided to go dune bashing to watch the sunset. After our ride in, Jenny decided staying with two feet on the ground was how we would watch it so we climb up the largest dune we could see. The view was beautiful but there was a larger dune, a few dunes over that blocked the horizon so Jenny saiid we needed to climb that one too. The view from there was breathtaking so we plopped ourselves down and just took it all in; that is until the inner child in Jenny came out and she proceeded to slide down the dune – feet first then backwards and then she rolled down the dune log-style, delighting in its softness and beauty.

And just as the sun was setting in the west, the moon was rising in the east – truly spectacular.

We sat around the fire for a bit waiting for the rest of the guests to return, and I had a hardy laugh when I learned the Jeep driver got stuck and had to abandon his vehicle; maybe Rashid should have had me driven!

Feb 3-4, 2023

Kindness Abounds

Our decision to travel to Oman, was met with not only questions of safety but with questions on my sanity. There were the obvious concerns of travel to the Middle East as an American, but when friends and family found out it would be just Jenny and me traveling, they were more stunned. When they found out we were renting a car and driving around a good swath of the country, they called in my sanity. When I tried to alleviate their fears, they were quick to insist that women alone in the Middle East was a recipe for trouble. 

The thing is, I am meticulous about making sure we are as safe as possible wherever we travel to. I research everything about our destinations ahead of time, but most importantly I don’t fool around when it comes to our safety, especially when Jenny is along. I learn all the scams to watch out for – in Paris it is the gold ring scam; in Barcelona it is signing a petition scam; in Lisbon it is the taxi fare scam; and in Buenos Aires it is the bird poop scam – funny thing is I could find nothing for Oman. I read blogs, forums, and State Department alerts from the US, UK and Australia, yet still I couldn’t find anything we needed to be on alert for, except for crazy drivers and flash floods – both familiar and manageable (and some might even say I fall into the former category).

The narrative surrounding the Middle East has been deeply perpetuated for us as Americans, and while I fully understand there is truth to it, I have NO choice except to find an alternate opinion. Jenny is planning on getting her master’s in Islam and the Middle East. She wants to work for the government or an NGO or whoever it ends up being, she is going to focus on the Middle East; I have no choice but to come to understand it and get to know it, so that I can have some semblance of peace when she begins her career. Does it scare me? Yes. But not like it did… Did our trip to Jordan open my eyes, my heart and my mind? For sure! Do I hope delving deeper into the Middle East begins to assuage my nausea-inducing concern? Most definitely, and I am ever so slowly getting there. So I am hoping our Oman trip unlocks another misconception, disproves another falsehood and brings me to another level of comfort. As they say in Arabic… “inshallah”

In as much fun as Jenny and I have traveling together, there is always a sadness when we travel without Billy. The three of us have always been, dare I say, a perfect pack. This trip falls during Jenny’s school break and had no wiggle room for dates, thus with obligatory meetings along with other planned get always, Billy could not join us. But we love and appreciate his encouragement and enthusiasm for us to have this opportunity, and if he was at all nervous he kept that to himself! 

This trip was not a guarantee until the day before I left. I have been having some issues with my ears and wasn’t sure I was going to be able to fly, let alone handle all the travel this trip entails. T -24 I made the decision we were going. I finished booking hotels, confirmed with guides and gave Jenny the word. My trip began Feb 1, driving to New York where I boarded my flight for Frankfurt then connected to Belgium, arriving Feb 2. I had one entire day solo in Brussels before meeting Jenny at the airport Feb 3 for us to fly onto Doha, Qatar where we would layover for two hours in the middle of the night and then continue on to Muscat, Oman arriving bright and early at 4:30 AM. I had a guide picking us up, dropping us at the Sheraton so we could shower, cat nap, and grab breakfast before he picks us back up a few hours later at 9:45 to start our 1/2 day tour of Muscat and then he will deposit us at the W where I imagine we, me especially, will feel half dead! From the time I will have left home to the time I step foot in Oman, It will have been 57 hours… Yowzer! 

I met Jenny at the airport this morning and after big hugs and my utter shock that everything she needed for the trip was packed in her school backpack, we giggled about how strange it was for us to meeting in Europe to begin a trip elsewhere.

Back in November, I was able to score us some great mile redemptions to fly Qatar Airways business class. Qatar is consistently rated one of the best airlines and our flight demonstrated exactly why – it was a real treat indeed. Unfortunately our flight was pretty rough, at one point I had my hands covering my drinks just hoping the plate of food they had just deposited minutes earlier was not going to end up in my lap. Jenny likened it to being in a bowl of Jell-O; neither of us too happy about it.

Beginning our descent into Qatar, we flew over Saudi Arabia and the tiny island country of Bahrain. Jenny was quick to point out the bridge that links the two and what she deduced must be the border checkpoint in the middle of it.

Landing in Doha we were met by one of the things Jenny hates most while traveling, parking on the tarmac and being bussed into the terminal, “Not a good first impression,” were her exact words! This quickly was rectified by designated business class busses that whisked us away before the rest of the plane was allowed to depart and honestly it was very nice because the flight was full and the busses were going to be jam-packed (But I’ll admit it was a bit bougie – though not as much as the passengers that were being picked up at the bottom of the stairs in chauffeured driven Audis).

Entering the Doha terminal we were struck by not only its size but its complete feeling of being anywhere but the Middle East. It felt more like Paris with Jenny remarking, “It was such an international group of people.” It certainly wasn’t anything like we experienced when we flew into Amman. 

We had two hours to kill before boarding so we headed to the ridiculous first class lounge which was also cavernous, understated in its elegance with mesmerizing indoor water features and a completely over-the-top, gratuitous, dining experience. We stuffed ourselves with cooked to order filet, pasta with wild mushrooms, chocolate soufflé topped with a delicious beet sorbet and an oversized crème brûlée. I only hoped that the next flight was not as bumpy as the last one otherwise, there was going to be a problem!

We touched down in Muscat at 4:12 AM in the dark. Upon entering the terminal there was no one to be seen. A gentleman, who had been traveling in first class with us, turned to me when I said how empty it was that it certainly wasn’t like the chaos at Doha. He was obviously Middle Eastern but dressed in a western style, baseball cap included, but was quick to chat with us, asking if we were transferring on to somewhere else and surprised when he heard that Oman was our destination. When I told him we were staying eight days and would be getting a car to drive around, he seemed genuinely surprised. Did we have friends there, he wanted to know. Turns out he was Omani, lived in North Carolina for five years, his son is currently at UPENN and he is a professor of economics. Mohwar was a very friendly guy and we would have loved to continue the chat if it had been possible but we said our goodbyes as we entered immigration, where we managed to crack a smile from the customs agent – a good start!

And just as our guide Nasser had said in his email, “I will wait for you at the information desk, you too [sic] won’t miss tall, dark and huge guide.” He was, and he wasn’t joking. We had our own BG if needed, but it turned out Nasser was already much more than that.

The streets of Oman were empty and the buildings pitch black which made the Magnificent Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque stand out all the more as we drove upon it. Nasser pulled over so we could get a nighttime photo of it and let us know we would be retuning to the same spot tomorrow.

We pulled into the Sheraton, where Nasser proceeded to pull out a box of flowers and handed them to Jenny, “The scholar. Just invite me to your graduation,” he cajoled her. Oh wow…what an incredibly kind gesture. I had mentioned in an email that Jenny was studying Arabic and going for her master’s in the Middle East and he took this incredibly gracious step to welcome her to Oman…unreal!

9:45 came fast…too fast but before we knew it, we were greeting Nasser again and heading out to start our tour. Our first stop was the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque which was only open to the public until 11:00. We hit a bit of a snag in roads blocked due to the Oman Ironman Race being held but Nasser pulled a couple of turns, talked his way past the cops and got us to the mosque with just enough time to do a condensed grand tour.

When it opened to the public in 2021, the mosque had the world’s largest chandelier measuring a staggering 14 meters and holding around six hundred thousand Swarovski crystals. But the Reflective Flow chandelier in Qatar now claims the title. It also had the world’s largest single piece carpet, which is now the second largest single piece carpet in the world until the Sheikh Zayed Mosque in Abu Dhabi snatched the title (I think the rest of the Arab Peninsula has some Oman envy).

The mosque is the country’s tallest structure, with an imposing 270-foot minaret. The mosque has four other smaller minarets, and together the five towers symbolize the five pillars of Islam: profession of faith, prayers, giving of alms, fasting and pilgrimage.

The mosque was an incredible sight and along with the beautiful and peaceful grounds. Nasser did a wonderful job giving us the history while playfully quizzing our knowledge about Islam and Muslim history.

Our next stop was the Mutrah Souq, a labyrinth of narrow alleyways packed with vendors selling everything you can imagine. The souq is more than 300 years old and still going strong. Unlike other souqs with aggressive vendors and notorious pickpockets, this was a very laidback experience with none of the aforementioned hassles to contend with. Did I mention Oman is very safe? The only bandit was Jenny, who made off with a shiny new gold bracelet, bought at the market price per ounce of gold, negotiated down 20% by dear Nasser – an overdue token of our pride in her for the stellar grades she received last semester during her law minor.

As the day was warm, we were hungry and beginning to fade, we skipped a stop at the National Museum (though I do think unlike many museums, we would have really enjoyed this), made a quick stop to see the palace from the outside and headed for lunch.

I had asked Nasser ahead of time, if he would please consider joining us, my treat at a traditional Omani restaurant, and if he could please select a location.

Upon entering a completely nondescript front door, we were led through a set of swinging doors to a private room where we kicked our shoes off before entering to a small space with a wall to wall Persian rug on the ground, a 3’x3′ plastic cloth on top, about six throw pillows, a box of Kleenex, salt and pepper shakers and a bottle of hot sauce. Nasser suggested we order a traditional lamb and rice dish with a lentil soup starter – perfect Jenny and I both agreed.

We had wonderful conversations again about history and traditions – Nasser explained how he watched us carefully, gauging how fast we ate so he would pace himself to not finish too far before us or after us as to not let the company feel rushed or slowed. He said in Muslim culture, the prayer comes after the food, teasing that it is that way so people with rumbling bellies like Jenny didn’t have to wait so long to eat and that the prayer is not rushed.

Oman food is heavily influenced by the spices that came from trade with India and now the large Indian diaspora. The unique things is that Omanis eat with their hands. Nasser gave me a lesson on how to scoop and pinch the rice with my fingers and then using my thumb push the pile into my mouth. I gave it a whirl a few times but figured we would be there until sunset if I had to try and eat my plate of food that way so I quickly retreated to my fork. When we were finished, Nasser asked Jenny if she would give a Muslim prayer, to which she responded that she wasn’t too sure of one but she would love to hear Nasser do it in Arabic, to which he obliged.

The last stop was another kind and unexpected one, Nasser stopped to buy us ice cream – saffron for Jenny; Mango for me; and he chose coffee. The ice cream was delicious and a perfect call!

Again, Nasser walked us into the hotel to make sure there were no problems and that we got checked in alright. He let me know that I should not worry if anything happens to my car and at least three people stop, all they want to do is help, nothing more and not to panic.

We made spontaneous plans to meet up again on our last day, when we return to Muscat. Before coming, I had read about the unbelievable kindness of the Omanis and their desire to share their life and culture with visitors, and clearly I read correct. Jenny remarked how we did not receive any of the strong stares from the men we had like when we were in Jordan, and except for a group of teenage girls in abayas that were obviously taken by Jenny, watching her and smiling intently, we never felt on display and certainly never felt uncomfortable or even out of place. Our introduction to Oman was more than we could have hoped for and certainly not what we were anticipating. It was a very easy going feeling today, of course it could have been because we were with a local, but if tomorrow and the next day prove to be even 1/2 as comfortable as today was, I think that will be a win!

The Weather Finally Caught Us

Our ride out of the valley came at 10:30 this morning. The same driver showed up to take us out at brought us in. I figure he had another day and a half under his belt so they probably assumed he was a pro now and let him come in leading another trainee.

The day was clouded, threatening to rain but the clouds were high enough still at this point that we could see all that we hadn’t been able to see when we arrived. But as soon as we got to our car the skies began to open up and the rain began to fell.

We had planned on stopping at Seljalandsfoss, a beautiful waterfall that you can actually walk behind but when we pulled into the parking lot there were two huge tour busses; four tour vans and dozens upon dozens of cars. Looking out at the falls we could see a line of people cued up to get there turn walking behind the thunderous water – definitely not our thing and so we kept on driving.

We had no plans for the day and as it turns out that was probably a good thing. The weather turned bad quickly, with lots of rain, wind, and heavy cloud cover. We considered a few stops but with the weather none seemed appealing except to make a stop for a real sit down meal, which we did at a cute restaurant where we enjoyed burgers and fries and split an Oreo pie.

Jenny decided that since we had the time and we were in Iceland, we might as well take a quick look at Reykjavik and the famous church that is there. So we made the 40 minute drive there and literally pulled up in front, snapped a few shots and continued down to the waterfront where I stopped for another photo.

Exhaustion hit Jenny fiercely all of a sudden, she had not had a good night’s sleep the last three nights and she started to feel queasy so I suggested we just head to the hotel to give ourselves time to decompress, repack, shower up and for me to do my proctored covid test.

She agreed and proceeded to pass out within minutes on the drive back. Once in the room, she immediately fell asleep again for another hour or so before finally waking. It was at this point that I decided to get my covid test over with. This is where things went south real quick…

After four attempts at trying to get the app to work properly and get through to a proctor, I finally did only to be told that the test kit had expired and there was nothing they could do. Scrambling to find another option was fruitless – either the test centers were closed or they had no more appointments for today. The soonest I could test was 8:00 AM tomorrow morning, less than two hours before my scheduled departure. To say this put a huge damper on the end of the trip would be a massive understatement. I was beyond upset.

Jenny and I did go downstairs and have a fairly enjoyable dinner before calling it a night. We talked about our favorite things we did and about Iceland in general. I think we are in agreement with all the things we loved – the whales, the black church, the drive out to see the puffins (and the puffins too), the seals, the walk on top of the volcano, the hike yesterday, the sheep farm, the drive back into those two secluded valleys and the incredible scenery. Iceland is a beautiful place but I don’t think it called to us like other places have. We certainly would return to hike and stay put in one area longer than one night but there are other places I would rather return to for that. But perhaps once we are home and we have had time for it all to settle in and we come down from the whirlwind of circumnavigating the island, our feelings for Iceland will be stronger but I don’t think it would ever be like Patagonia to us though.

It is funny because we got to talking about how much bigger Iceland feels than it appears on a map. So to try and give us some perspective we did a little comparing to the US – we were stunned at what we found. Take a look:

So…as for me getting home…well that remains to be seen. It is going to be an ugly mad dash tomorrow morning. I have to drive Jenny to the airport at 5:00 AM, then wait until 8:00 AM to get my test; return to the airport to drop the car off; walk from there to the terminal; get in line to check in with a dozen or so other flights leaving with an hour on either side of my departure time and I will have one hour and five minutes to accomplish this. I will be honest, I am usually pretty optimistic but I am not feeling so much now.

But, I do not want to end what was suppose to be the final blog on a sour note. Once again, I loved spending time with my girl – she makes me laugh a lot. I always love seeing the world through her eyes and having her point out the things I have overlooked. We missed having Billy with us, there were so many things he would have enjoyed. The fact that my teenager is still willing to spend her week vacation with me, makes me so happy. That fact she tells me she will miss me… well… I think you all know…