After the horrors of the past fifty-odd days of our new Trumpian dystopia, I figure it’s time for a bit of a respite. I’ve diddled around for years with plans for a diary – or series of diaries if there is interest – about the Sultanate of Oman, a Persian Gulf country, where my wife and I lived and worked for twenty-five years. Soon after our initial arrival in 1988, we discovered it was a remarkable country with extraordinary people and traditions, not to mention splendid desert and mountain scenery, a thousand miles of pristine beaches, great diving, excellent marine fishing, and a large and very cosmopolitan expat community. After a year or two, we found we had fallen in love. If I may, I’d like to show you a bit of it.
Located to the east of Saudi Arabia with a 1,300 mile coastline on the Arabian Sea, the Sultanate of Oman is a well-governed and peaceful exception to the rule –- in the West, anyway -- that Arab countries, by definition, are hotbeds of terrorism, torture, and mayhem . Prior to 1970, when the present sultan took over from his father in a bloodless palace coup, the country had been effectively cut off from the rest of the world. The father, Sultan Taimur bin Said was fearful of virtually everything foreign and he made sure that the world was kept out. For foreigners it was an unknown and forbidden patch of land on the Arab Peninsula; for locals it was a desperately poor, and even more poorly developed, country that offered its citizenry little. That is no longer the case, all thanks to a UK-educated young prince, Sultan Qaboos bin Said, who loved his people enough to affect real changes.
When we arrived in Oman in the 80s, there were only three ways you could get an Omani visa: a job, a resident friend, or an invitation from an Omani. Even then, the formalities were daunting for many would-be visitors. Thirty years on and everything has changed. Two-week tourist visas are available on arrival at airports, seaports, and land borders. Though not free – they cost 10 Omani rials or about $25 – you’re not likely to regret spending the money.
I first arrived in Muscat, the Sultanate’s capital, in October, 1988, with a contract to teach English at the new Sultan Qaboos University. Fresh from six years in Saudi Arabia’s dour, sprawling capital city, Riyadh, I was amazed at the obvious differences. Although Oman was clearly not as rich as the Kingdom, it was far more liberal and laid-back. Women were not relegated to small compartments at the back of public buses; I saw no women in all-enveloping, black abayas; and women were as apt to be sitting behind the steering wheels of Toyotas or BMWs as you would men. There was no sign of women wearing niqabs, the eye-concealing scarf tied over the standard hijab as worn by Saudi and (some) Kuwaiti women. Although I did eventually see niqabs out in the much more conservative countryside, there were eye holes at least. But wherever it went, clearly, this was a different world. Indeed, it often seemed difficult to believe Oman shared a planet with Saudi Arabia let alone a border.
Fishing in Oman
Fishing has sustained the peoples of the Arabian Gulf for millennia, and Oman is no exception. All along the coast, hundreds of small, 20 foot fiberglass skiffs powered by (mostly) Evinrude outboard motors head out to sea in the wee hours of the morning and return to port just after sunrise. (There are no huge, commercial factory fishing vessels here.) Primarily, they are after yellowfin tuna, king fish, grouper (known locally as hamour), sardines, mackerel, and shark, but you find many other varieties, some rather exotic, for sale.
Omani Bullfights
Among the quirkier Omani traditions is their version of bullfighting. Unlike the brutal corridas of Spain and Latin America, this version sees pairs of bulls pitted against one another. Owners place ropes around on back and one front hoof, and when a fight is started the bulls run at one another and butt heads. Whichever animal falls forward on its knees loses. Occasionally one of the bulls will pull loose and try to run off. This happened to my wife and me one time. The bull bolted and headed straight for the audience! We moved very, very quickly, let me tell ya!
This is all for now. If there is interest, there are lots more photographs where these came from. Btw, the gold the girls below are wearing is all quite real — minimum 18k, the minimum quality that can be sold in the Gulf.