Sweaty

We saw an article on Sky news a couple of days ago with a reporter standing on Brighton beach holding a thermometer stating that the temperature had already reached 26C (gasp). It was expected to reach over 30C. Hee, hee, snigger, snigger, what a bunch of girlies. The maximum temperature in Muscat today was 44C with heat index of 53C. Tonight's low will be 30C with a heat index of 48C. That's proper weather.

Packet of pinces please

Good news for those of us in the Seeb area. Just across the road from the fish market there is a shop selling pince's (with a free apostrophe).

It is possible that something has been lost in translation as the Arabic wording مكعبات الثلج means 'ice cubes'. You have to admire the translator's sense of humour.

A proper bike shop

While waiting in the dentist last week, I read an article in an old Oman2day magazine about a new bike shop in Muscat. Having visited a few scabby bike shops in the area, it came as some relief to find Oman Bicyle, located in Al Khuwayr on Al Maha Street behind the Radisson Hotel. They must be relatively new as Omantel hasn't had time to screw-up their website (www.omanbicycle.com).

Camel on a stick

The camel meat in Lulu looked superb as the butcher took our kilo of lean red meat to be minced for koftas. Together with onion, parsley, cumin, coriander, thyme, Cayenne pepper and egg the mixture was left to rest in the fridge for a few hours until our guests arrived. At the appropriate hour, I wrapped the meat onto skewers for a short blast on the barbeque to accompany rice with pine nuts and sultanas, and a small tomato salad. In case this was not enough for everyone, Sarah rounded off the evening with a good old fashioned trifle.

So that’s covered mutton, goat and camel. What next?

Goat

The butcher in Carrefour remembered us from last week as we enquired about the Tanzanian goat on display. ‘Did madam enjoy the mutton last week?’ he enquired on the incorrect assumption that madam did the cooking as he hacked our chosen lump of goat into pieces on a band saw.

After cutting out the bones with the help of three cats, the meat was left in a low oven for three hours with red wine in accordance with a Portuguese recipe, filling the house with a delicious aroma. The rich dark gravy contrasted nicely with pomme mousseline (or runny mashed potato as I would call it with my French aunt) and some nice vegetables.

Next week, camel.

Grammar, syntax...and semantics

Saloon: a room or establishment where alcoholic drinks are served over a counter.

Salon: a shop where hairdressers and beauticians work.

It’s not mutton, it’s old lamb

After rummaging through Elizabeth David’s French Country Cooking recently, I felt the need for gigot aux flageolets. At Carrefour we discussed the apparent paucity of mutton on the shelves with the butcher. ‘This is mutton,’ he advised, pointing to the Indian lamb. ‘But it says lamb?’ ‘Yes, sir.... we call it lamb for the locals.’ I purchased the two-year-old lamb and turned it later that evening into a rather fine gigot with caper sauce and proper French Carrefour flageolets. Prince Charles would have been proud.

New shoes

The Prado was sitting in the drive at a rather unusual angle last week due to a puncture, probably caused by building site debris. This was therefore an appropriate time to replace all four tyres which I’d been putting off for a couple of months.

With usual trepidation I headed for Wadi Al Kabir to a shop recommended by a well-seasoned colleague. Unfortunately, a stack of cars piled up in front of the premises forced me to head to the area where most of the tyre shops are located. The place looked like the pit lane of a racing circuit minus the health and safety rules. At one of the shops I have frequented before, we agreed a price and the guys proceeded to whip off the wheels and set to work, slowed down only by my request to check the dates on (yes, of course all four) tyres. Further complications arose as I wanted them to scrape the tar and grit (collected last year in Salalah) off the inside of rims, before they were balanced. If looks could have killed.

Half an hour and a handful of cash later I was testing the balancing on the highway. Pretty good actually. I was a happy boy.

The Turkish House

Our former landlord and wife took us to dinner this evening to celebrate the end of our tenancy. The car park outside the Turkish House in Al Khuwayr exceeded its capacity forcing us to squeeze into a space in one of the side roads. The restaurant is located in two separate parts – one facing the main road which was full of rather dismal looking diners; the other tucked down a side road was bursting at the seams with customers from every nationality.

We found a table in the corner where we took stabs in the dark with the unfamiliar Turkish menu. The waiters brought salad starters accompanied by huge freshly-cooked breads which flopped over the ends of their baskets. Our main courses comprised mostly of chicken, although judging by the huge amount of food being served to the table behind, we should have tried the lobster and fish.

A popular, cheap and unpretentious restaurant with excellent excellent service. Damn good – a place to take visitors perhaps.

Toasty

It’s been a little warm over the last few days. The temperature reached 44C today and the heat index at the moment is 46C. According to Weather Underground (see 'current temperature' link) the maximum temperature on record for today is 45C, so we’re getting near record levels. The forecast is for 46C on Monday. Add another 10-15C to obtain the temperature inside my tin car after work. Deduct about two degrees from this total to get the temperature on arrival at the house after a 45 minute drive with the ineffective air conditioning on full blast sucking all of the power out of the engine.

These temperatures are exceeding those in our new oven, which is so pants it won’t even bring a pan of water to the boil. It’s on the developers’s to-do list.

House update

Sarah got into a bit of a tizzy yesterday morning regarding her perceived lack of progress in turning the house into a home. With nothing better to do, I spent the entire weekend fixing over thirty pictures around the house and there is still a pile leaning up against a wall somewhere. A cluster of six Japanese prints took several hours wrestling with templates, rulers, tape measures, a spirit level and a keen cartographic eye to ensure the arrangement was within a tolerance of +/- 1mm.

The neighbourhood is expanding as more houses are finished each week. The level of sand and dust is also increasing and Sarah spends much of her day tutting and rubbing the floor with her Vileda mop (which makes a good surfboard for the kitten). To be fair, Sarah’s doing a grand job of creating a home within my ‘you’re not spending any more money’ restrictions.

Meanwhile the previous landlord has just phoned to ask how the watering system works as all the plants are dying. I mentioned to him months ago that there was a leak in the system which caused the pressure to drop throughout the day forcing the pump to activate with teeth-shattering brusqueness. Combined with the regular power cuts which reset the controlling computer, he’s beginning to realise he might have to spend a bit of the obscene amount of rent he has accumulated over the last three-and-a-half years.

Back on line

Never said this before and probably won’t say it again, but I’m quite impressed with Omantel. It's taken a bit of badgering, but after only one week we have a new account and phone number with ADSL on what is still a building site. Well done.

Japengo Café

There’s rarely such a thing as bad sushi (with the exception of the Marjan in the Hyatt which was dismal) so we decided to try the Japengo Café located on ‘Love Road’ (yes, really) near the Crowne Plaza.

The moment we arrived something was bugging me – the name seemed familiar. The restaurant is part of a chain with several branches in Dubai serving Japanese dishes fused with everything from pizza to Lebanese cuisine. I would normally sell my children for a spot of sushi, but sadly the sushi prices seemed extraordinarily high. The four of us plumbed for Nasi Goreng, Sin Chow Noodles and a curious stir fry in a basket thingy – all good. A nice stylish place with good service and good food for most tastes. Probably not worth re-visiting, for the sushi anyway.......ooh, I feel a need for a trip to the sushi night at the Sheraton Qurum Beach.

So where have I seen this before? Now I remember, La Jolla in San Diego. Same name, same style. Apparently, Bin Hindi enterprises claim to have created the Japengo Cafe concept. I can only conclude that they must be connected with the San Diego branch because it’s awfully, awfully similar.

Omantel.....efficiency?

I pulled off the highway at precisely 7.00am as instructed by the lady at Omantel to confirm the appointment for the telephone engineer today. No reply. Tried again. Still no reply. I continued my plod to work when the Omantel lady called me from the office (at 07.10am?) to remind me to speak to the engineers. ‘I have tried, but there’s no reply.’ ’Don’t worry, I know someone there, I will call for you to confirm the appointment,’ she said confidently and she gave me the engineer’s number.

A few hours later, with no apparent action at the house, I called the guy and quickly realised that we did not share a common language. I think I ascertained that someone would be at the house today. Sure enough, a few hours later, Sarah informed me that someone was digging up the drive and playing with bits of wire.

When I returned home the Echo fell into the hole left by relocated paving stones and bits of pipe. A swift call to the engineer provided reassurance that ‘phone connect tomorrow’. It was all going very well.

Out with the old

We checked the inventory with the landlord, who seemed quite chuffed that we were leaving the dishwasher (even though he bought it). Finally, we reversed out of the drive for the last time after three-and-a-half happy years to start afresh in the less sophisticated environs of the city.

Light entertainment

Two men turned up today with a small bag of spanners to plumb in the new satellite dish. Half an hour later, I was channel-hopping to find out what Showtime had to offer before losing the will to live in the realms of the free-to-air channels. Sadly no more comedy from 'Fux News' or MSNBC's 'stupid things that Fux News did today'. On the bright side we now have Comedy Central's Daily Show with Jon Stewart and the Colbert Report, the Antiques Roadshow for the lady of the house, and quite a bit of footie. Nothing too challenging there.

I smell of lemon Jiff

Although worker ants in blue overalls were crawling over the compound for at least half an hour beforehand, the sound of drilling, grinding and reversing lorries did not commence until precisely 6.00am. Considering that many of them were working into the night and probably had about as much sleep as me, it’s a wonder they have the energy to climb their wobbly scaffolding and repaint an entire side of a house in two colours in a morning.

In Azaibah and in spite of the landlord’s statement that we ‘didn’t need to clean the house’ we cleaned the house. I don’t know why. It’s still not finished so we’ll have to come back again tomorrow to do the cupboards and dig up a few more plants. Sigh. Back in Al Hail and suffering from complete exhaustion, we dined heartily on our fist meal in the new house: haricots en sauce tomate sur pain grillé.

Out of Azaibah

The sound of tape being stretched around large boxes echoed around the slowly emptying house. The cats were hiding under the car while Abbey the kitten had been locked in a room with a sign declaring that entry was forbidden (like the vicious bunny). The crew’s (token) driver napped on the sofa while the rest of his colleagues worked their arses off. The lorry was bursting at the seams like a Richard Scarry cartoon jumbo jet (held together by a snake you may recall) causing the boss to declare that they would have to make two trips. I looked after the old house while Sarah directed traffic in the new.

Meanwhile my quest for something to eat produced scrambled egg cooked in a cup, Branston pickle and a can of beer. Yummy. I entertained Abbey while waiting for the movers to return. Two hours and lunch later, the chaps finished packing and the house contained only scraps of paper and the landlord’s hideous furniture. As darkness fell I drove to Al Hail to spend my first night in our new home.

Moving the Hanging Gardens

This morning we went to the new house for the initial inspection before being handed the keys. Apart from the usual scratches and blemishes, we were drawn to one particular feature – the bathroom mirror lights. In an otherwise tastefully equipped and decorated house, the developer must have popped down to Ramez for a bulk consignment of the most hideously nasty light fittings which have, wait for it, flashing red, green and blue lights at each end of the fluorescent tube. We unloaded a few boxes from the car and headed back to Azaibah to continue packing and to wait for the gardeners.

They arrived at 3 pm but had to go away again because they forgot the truck. A short while later, the chaps returned with a suave guy with nice hair and a tight tee-shirt who, along with his driver, watched the gardeners load the truck in outrageous heat and humidity. With all the plants loaded, we drove (very slowly) to Al Hail leaving the front garden looking like an empty petrol forecourt as it did three-and-a-half years ago. I still think the landlord thinks we’re leaving the plants.....it will be a nice surprise.

At the new house, there was chaos as the truck reversed into the drive where a team of men were trying to erect a car port. There was visible horror on face of the man with the nice hair as he realised that the gardeners were nowhere to be seen. His moment of panic ended as they arrived to unload the truck, watched, once again by the driver who must have exhausted himself driving all that way. To be fair, the main with the nice hair did pull the pots to the back of the truck, but I don’t think he broke sweat. The site workers looked on with amazement as the contents of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon were placed around the edge of the new garden....or perhaps it was the site of a woman working. The driver departed as soon as the truck was unloaded, leaving the gardeners to finish the job. It was time for tea.

We sat under the super-efficient air conditioning unit with camping cups of PG Tips before showering and heading back to Azaibah via City Centre. The staff of the Noodle House weren’t exactly rushed off their feet as they served us and the only other couple in the entire shopping centre. We took on more than enough carbohydrates for tomorrow.

Moving on

Sadly, the time has finally arrived for us to move away from Azaibah to a new house in a compound approximately 20km west of Azaibah in Al Hail. Most of the arrangements have been made and if the house is finished (more on this later) we should be moving on Tuesday. Sarah and I are slowly packing things into boxes while trying to be quite ruthless as we know that we have accumulated a considerable amount in Oman (particularly ladies' shoes) on top of our original allowance.

We drove to the satellite TV shop to disconnect our current service and start a new contract with something that can’t be any worse than ‘Leading the Way’ Orbit. The incompetence of the woman that served us contrasted nicely with super-efficiency of her boss who rescued the situation before the bruises on our foreheads became too large. We departed with full confidence that the hopeless lady would inform the engineers not to come before Wednesday.

Kitten for adoption

The kitten has developed into an incredible source of entertainment over the last few days. She is climbing, running, nibbling, eating and drinking heartily and performing the inevitable results at the other end in her cat tray.

Sadly we must put her up for adoption as we cannot accommodate any more animals. She will make a superb cat for the right family. If you are interested, please email the address in the 'question or comment' section.

Cat fostering

A recent addition to the Azaibah cat community has decided to make use of the high quality services provided by this establishment. Circumstances dictated that we had to take the tiny kitten to the vet to check its condition and discuss our options as we can’t accommodate any more long-term customers. The cat is about two-and-a-half weeks old and with a bit of a clean-up, she should be fine. After antibiotics, water and a drop of baby milk, it has made a remarkable recovery and is chasing and nibbling everything. Akhi is walking around with her bottom on the ground and Koofi seems to be sulking. I reminded him that this was how he started.

Red tide....still?

Can it be? As I approached Azaibah beach this morning, there was once again a distinct smell of tinned crab meat emanating from an enormous red patch just off the shore. Eew. This was first reported on the same beach in November of last year. The solitary fisherman with four rods seemed unperturbed.

Bag of rocks

The weight and number of April’s cases had definitely increased as I attempted to lift them onto the trolley at 4.30 this morning. The savings made from importing vast quantities of dates and rocks into the United States will almost certainly be offset by the excess baggage charges that will probably be incurred on the internal flight. Good job she didn’t take the bits of tree.

The airport was virtually empty and the Qatar check-in staff didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. Unlike the gentleman that took time from looking at his watch to ‘assist’ April and Gail with their case by slamming it with great force onto the conveyor belt. I guess he believed this would hasten the aircraft’s departure.

We waved them goodbye as they disappeared into immigration knowing that they had had a wonderful time in Oman.

Afternoon tea with the ladies

April and Gail’s last day in Oman began with a couple of hours of leisurely shopping for dates, halwa, Omani sweets and frankincense. Sarah took them to a local Omani supermarket where the prices were so cheap, they just had to buy more to make it seem worthwhile.

I don’t remember volunteering for the next activity, but at 2pm I found myself driving the Three Shopateers plus Lou and Jan to the Al Bustan for afternoon tea. There were no paint fumes or drilling noises as there were just before Christmas, so we took our seats and selected our fancy teas. The sandwiches were a tad on the small side as were the scones, and sadly the cream was not real clotted cream. Nonetheless there seemed to be plenty of things for the girls to talk about.

We finished the afternoon with a tour of the hotel. Our guide showed us the theatre, one of the ballrooms used for weddings and a couple of the guest rooms. The gardens have improved considerably after the renovations with impressive new pools, some of which are accessible directly from the rooms on the ground floor. I spotted an electric buggy near the beach, but it didn’t seem to be picking up expired leathery-skinned Europeans like it did when we stayed a couple of years ago.

There was still an opportunity for one last shopping trip to the souq on the way home. I sat this one out in the car. To my relief, after only half an hour, the group returned with the required incense burners. Surely there would be no more time for shopping?

I wonder what I will do with all the Brownie points I have earned this week?

Billy goats Gruff

Under cloudy skies, we wandered over to the restaurant for breakfast just before 9am. The temperature was around 20C making conditions perfect for the gallery walk. After checking out, we drove to the scruffy village of Al Khityam at the start of trekking route W6.

The villagers were ready for us, offering bargain prices for string, bracelets and rugs. There were some intense negotiations before all three ladies came away with things to hang on walls. Clutching several large banknotes, the crusty gentleman was pleased to pose for photographs.

On the trail, the three Billy Goats Gruff clambered over the rocks while chatting about ladies’ problems and knee operations. We stopped occasionally to admire the wonderful views of the mountains which had been given more depth and texture than usual due to the strong shadows from the clouds. As we returned, we stood to watch three Egyptian vultures soaring gracefully above.

The village children were still peddling their wares as we reached the car and I made a hasty retreat before the thought of buying something else was even considered. Back at the Jabal Shams Travelling and Camping Centre we were treated to an unexpectedly good lunch of rice, chicken curry and vegetables. The waiters brought us a pot of freshly brewed Omani coffee and three big lumps of halwa. We could not have asked for a more typical Omani meal for our guests.

Back on the mountain road, I thought the ladies were joking when they asked to stop at another scratchy string stall. They were not. More bargaining ensued, some of which was conducted in German to fool the rather astute young girl with an excellent command of market stall English. She drove a hard bargain, requiring April to perform increasingly exaggerated theatrical responses to the young girl’s outrageous prices. As we got back into the car, my heart sank as I knew there were at least two other stalls on the mountain.

All the other stalls were thankfully closed and we returned to the bottom of the jabal without spending any more money. We continued to Nizwa and onward to Muscat on almost empty roads.

After freshening up, we spent the evening around an excellent piece of brie as a light rain shower bounced off the metal car port roof.

No more Nizwa

Having travelled to the Bedouin ladies yesterday, it was not necessary to visit their coloured string stand after breakfast. We settled the bill and after a period of luggage amnesia, we pulled out of the camp towards Nizwa.

We reached Nizwa at 12.30 with only 30 minutes of official shopping time before everything would normally close for the afternoon nap. The shopkeeper in the largest shop, who to his credit and my amazement confessed that only 20% of his stock was from Oman, the rest from India) smelled profit from Gail and April and extended his opening hours.

Unfortunately his prices were ludicrously high - he was not willing to offer more than 10% discount and after almost an hour they came out almost empty-handed. I was losing the will to live. We sent them back in for the most important items and they succeeded in knocking the chap down a little further. I decided at this point that I never want to visit Nizwa again.

Batteries were recharged with a picnic at Falaj Daris before we drove to Jabrin fort. We didn't realise that the fort closed at 4pm until we sauntered out at 4.30pm escorted by one of the staff hastily drying his hands on his undergarments to unlock the gates of the fort. The group of visitors loitering outside the fort were obviously not aware of the unusual opening times either.

The ruggedly beautiful scenery on the road up to Jabal Shams was enhanced by heavy cloud hiding the setting sun. We passed a few unusual scenes: a group of lycra-clad Omani cyclists training on the steep mountain roads, a man dressed in shades of purple with matching purple accessories and a blind man tapping his way down using the edge of the road as a guide.

All of the stalls selling coloured string and scratchy goat-hair rugs were closed so there was no delay in reaching the Jabal Shams Travelling and Camping Centre. In addition to the new rooms, there is now a dazzling array of new white canvas and additional path lighting. We went through the usual pleasantries with the owner who once again offered us discount for the new rooms in line with the price he’d previously quoted on the phone.

With a strong Germanic clientele, the restaurant felt more like an Austrian ski lodge than an Omani mountain top resort as we tucked into our evening dinner. April and Gail struggled with Internet technology afterwards before we retired at some ludicrously early hour.

The three wise ladies

After a brief period of handbag amnesia we set off for the Wahiba desert via Bidbid. As soon as we arrived at the Al Areesh camp, the staff began to panic as they had forgotten to organise the extended camel ride. This did not look good for Maison Tours.

While waiting for the camels, we were entertained by a French family making four attempts to drive up the hill into the camp. A short while later the grumpy camels had been saddled up and the three wise ladies lumbered into the distance. They were taken to a Bedouin house (belonging to Abdullah's mother) and enjoyed delicious dates, watermelon and coffee. Inevitably there were plenty of coloured string products at special discount prices.

There was not enough time to return to the camp by camel so a car collected them just before sunset for the dune drive. The driver's finale was an attempt to drive up the steep dune behind the camp which he did not achieve. He coolly reversed to the bottom and dropped April and Gail at the gate as if that had been the plan.

While queuing for dinner, an insect somehow made its way into April's underwear. During the resulting hysteria, April overheard one teenage boy claim she must have been 'shit-faced'. We British have a way with words.

The musicians fired up after dinner and we relaxed in the majlis with the sound of rhythmic Omani drums and oud. A small French boy stole the show running circles on the carpet, falling over occasionally due to dizziness and some sort of kick boxing manoeuvre.

We slept under the stars.....well, initially at least.

A day with the ladies

Kapilla drove April and Gail to Nakhal with his two girls to get an idea of how locals relax at the weekend. After visiting the fort, Kapilla drove through the palm plantations to the wadi at Ath Thowarah where much of Oman was congregated.

While the girls played in the water, April and Gail became a great source of entertainment for the local ladies who were able to chat without the distraction of men. One woman obviously thought they were in need of some beauty treatment, inviting them to her parlour in Barka and even offering to drive them back to Muscat afterwards. April and Gail were treated to something that most tourists and probably expats rarely experience – the warmth and friendliness of Omani women in their own setting.

Oman goes to Wadi Shab

Recent cumulative lack of sleep was not improved by the sound of a fox snuffling in the camp, donkey rumpy-pumpy at 2.30am and a group of locals that needed to shout to each other before sunrise. The moon was also too bright.

I did not have the heart to wake Gail who wanted to be up early to get the good photographic light, nor did I want to be the subject of verbal abuse from April who had expressed similar desires I feel she did not really mean. During breakfast, the smooth surface of the sea sparkled with reflections of the strong morning sun broken only by the occasional head of a turtle as we warmed croissants over the remnants of the morning fire. It was quite idyllic.

As the heat of the morning increased, we packed the camp and headed for Wadi Shab. Driving down the steep section of old road into the wadi, (in addition to an area of red tide in the sea) we noticed a huge number of cars brought, no doubt, by the new road which cuts across the mouth of the wadi like an ugly scar. The recent rain turned the area under the bridge into a mud bath and we had to wade into the first section of the wadi past groups of picnickers that wanted to stay dry.

The plants and trees were a luscious green after the rain and the pools flowed with fast-running clear water. Groups of boys clung to every available space on the rocks around fires and barbeques to cremate lumps of meat and fish inside parcels of foil.

There was almost a holiday atmosphere among the people as we clambered over rocks and the fast-flowing falages. Sarah took April to the cave while I discussed the joys of living in Oman with a not-so-local on a day out from Al Hail.

In the late afternoon we walked back in the shadows past the same groups that were showing less enthusiasm than earlier in the day. I walked on to get the car to eliminate one mud treatment for the ladies who were soon enjoying well-earned sandwiches in air-conditioned comfort.

I managed to stay awake on the drive home by inducing hyperglycemia with chocolate and sweet drinks.

Bottom scratching in Fins

While shopping for food, the three Muscateers were sidetracked by a handsome gentleman in the Amouage shop that seduced Gail into buying one of his highly valued and highly expensive products. The mosque group were again spotted at a secondary expedition in the Al Fair supermarket.

I rushed home from work to find ladies wrestling with chickens in preparation for camping. With the usual items packed into the car, we pulled out of the drive as April was getting comfortable with her iPod, headphones and pillow. She was asleep before we reached the Grand Mosque and we didn't hear a sound until just before Fins.

In Fins village, there was a brief pause to photograph a few goats that had found a good bottom-scratching wall before we arrived at the deserted beach. The sand was smooth and slightly crusty after the recent rain and there was a faint whiff of red tide in the air. There was no time to lose - sun shade, tents, collect wood, light barbeque, drink beer. April and Sarah spotted dolphin as they bobbed around in the sea before mandatory sundowners.

A full moon shone brighter (and given it will be gone in the morning, probably for longer) than an Omani light bulb over the camp as we ate animal parts before adjourning to the fire. A few smores and Westolls were enough to take the ladies to the end the day.

Muscat in a day

Our friend Lou joined Mrs. M Tours for the ‘Muscat in a day’ programme which had the effect of increasing the giggliness and squeakiness of the group. This was not one for the lads.

At the Grand Mosque, they enjoyed the dressing up. During the tour, Sarah noticed another group of ladies being led by a palates acquaintance who was hosting Scottish friends that lived in Australia. They were apparently on a world tour.

A gentleman from Kashmir charmed them into spending enormous amounts of money in his shop in the souq. More girlie shopping followed, including picture frames, runners, pendants and khanjars. I said this was not one for the lads. The group from the mosque were not far behind.

Tired, hot and sweaty, the four Muscateers took lunch at the Marina....as did the group from the mosque. The day’s activities finished with a photo call at the palace.

As the weather is still so wonderfully cool in the evening, we took April and Gail to the Shafaq barbeque which this week featured a particularly fine ratatouille. We did not notice the group from the mosque.

The tour begins

April and Gail Slept until midday. Mrs. Maison Tours commenced immediately with the Oman Dive Centre.

The ODC boat was suffering from a spot of engine trouble forcing it to return to shore for a new driver (?). This gentleman took them to a fairly useless location devoid of fish and coral, so Sarah requested they relocate to somewhere more suitable. He had no choice but to oblige.

They swam like little mermaids. Gail adopted a technique of laying motionless on the surface of the water to attract curious sea creatures which was working well until the men started thrashing around frightening all the fish.

A short while later, they were on dry land with sufficient daylight for Sarah to drive back within the speed limit. Our guests were treated to a carbo-loaded meal for tomorrow’s punishing schedule.

April arrives

April and Gail arrived this evening from America. April is Sarah’s alter ego; wise in the ways of pills and potions and gardening (she is a specialist in juniper blight fungus). April’s mum, Gail, had some of the finest wood on the east coast of the United States.

The airport was filled to capacity as we arrived just before 11.00pm. Hundreds of cars stood in stationary lines to enter the main car park while other vehicles tried to squeeze into any remaining space rendering all movement impossible. One chap was unable to decide which of the two car park entrances to take and so took the average of the two, ramming his go-faster spoiler into the kerb. It made a nasty grinding sound as he reversed into the queue to take make a second attempt at the barriers.

An hour after touchdown, April and Gail arrived through customs with big smiles disguising the relief to be in Muscat after travelling for around twenty hours. They needed tea.

Ooh, don't like the look of that

After 76 days battling through icy gales without a toilet and eating freeze-dried food, Oman’s Mohsin Al Busaidi completed his voyage to become the first Arab to sail non-stop around the world (with two Frenchmen and two Brits making up the numbers it would seem). According to the Oman Sail website (if it ever loads, Omantel), the ‘Musendam’ crossed the finish line just after 3 pm and more-or-less hung around outside Muscat until somebody important was available for the arrival ceremony in the evening.

In the late afternoon, Sarah went out to sea with Ian and Jan to form a welcoming flotilla of one boat as the impressive trimaran bobbed around motionless outside Mutrah harbour. As darkness fell, a storm with lightning and heavy rain forced Ian to turn the boat back to Bandar Ar Rawda marina through a hazardous fishing net obstacle course.

Meanwhile on the corniche, I stayed nice and dry while waiting for almost two hours for the Musendam to arrive. The salt-encrusted crew of Ian’s boat arrived with seafaring tales just before the excitement began. Actually, there wasn’t much excitement. The woman that had been cackling over a loudspeaker for more than hour tried to whip the small crowd into a frenzy as the boat drifted into Mutrah harbour with all the pomp and ceremony of a children’s birthday party. No tugs squirting water, no boats blowing horns........ Our minds turned to food.

The small Thai Basil Restaurant, located in the Midan hotel in Ghubra, has a minimalist but colourful decor and elegant staff. We found the Thai food quite superb - perhaps the best we have eaten in Oman, and certainly the best value for money. We shall return.

Laminated camping lists

'I have always thought that we were well organised when it came to camping expeditions in Oman, but a while ago we were impressed by friends that had a laminated checklist in their camping equipment. This week we had a request from a reader for a similar item to replace a list which their computer had managed to lose. Clearly there is a demand, so I have placed an editable version on Scribd which can be downloaded here (select 'Dowload' to save in pdf or Word and create a free account). The list does not include 'pump operated shower with a rose that sticks on the roof of a car' as suggested by the reader above.

Wadi Al Abyad and a tin hat

A public holiday provided the opportunity to visit Wadi Al Abyad with friends. The wadi lies along the middle of the Ar Rustaq-Nakhal loop and the village of Al Abyad can be approached from the north via Highway 1 or from the south a few kilometres past Nakhal. Unfortunately my navigator had failed to advise me that we were supposed to take the latter route which resulted in some extraordinarily bad language from Mrs. Pottymouth.

We turned off route 13 to As Sibaykha where the paved road turns to concrete and then to coarse gravel and rocks. The palm trees along the edge of the wadi looked a little sad with their brown branches as we clanked through the heavy shale. At the end of the driveable track we left the cars to walk through the wadi that eventually reaches the village of Al Abyad. We passed the white calcite pools which give their name to the wadi and continued along the stream accompanied by the unusual sound of running water. I spotted a scouring pad and box of detergent by the edge of the stream, suggesting that the white pools may just be deposits of washing powder rather than a natural phenomenon.

Our hike was terminated by a few locals playing with an air rifle. Not wishing to be used for target practice, we ambled back to the cars and drove to the shade of a palm tree for sandwiches (after first removing an abandoned disposable nappy - nice). An hour later, the sound of live ammunition echoed around the valley as an old chap in another group entertained small children with his rifle. When all was quiet, we made a tactical withdrawal out of the valley.

It’s always preferable to drive anywhere in Oman between 2-4pm (local post-lunch calorie storage time) and thirty minutes later we were back in Muscat for a nice cup of tea.

Homeward bound

Ann and John spent their last day in Muscat taking in as much of the warm sunshine before returning to London on the midnight flight. If they return next year, it will be to a different house.....watch this space.

More balls

Leaving Ann and John wrestling with DVD equipment, we set out for the Grand Hyatt for what is probably the best social event of the year in Muscat, the Thin Red Line Ball.

There were the usual ladies in new slinky frocks, expensive hairdos and nice nails while the chaps recycled the same dinner jackets and black ties, occasionally with crust still visible from the last outing. Mrs M. looked stunning in a black Spanish Flamenco dress with layers of ruffles fashioned by local craftsmen.

A bugle call signalled the move to the Afrah Ballroom and the start of dinner. The band played music and stirring regimental marches at volumes which rendered normal speech impossible as the waiters whizzed around delivering poached salmon ravioli, beef tenderloin and Florentine Feuillet courses while topping up glasses with smooth efficiency. We finally massacred the cheese table which I later noted appropriately resembled a model of a 19th century military campaign.

The port flowed very nicely and George produced something from his sporren (Gaelic for ‘purse’ by the way) designed to inflict nasty headaches (ask Alex).

After the superb pipe and drum finale, it was time for the ladies and one or two gentlemen to strut their stuff on the dance floor to seventies disco-era hits such as Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’ and various Village People classics. The opening bars of Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’ always seems to create unnecessary amount of excitement - last year’s Mama Mia film has only served to whip middle-age people up into even more of a frenzy at such events.

Our carriage awaited in the early hours of the next morning to take us home to sleep off the excesses.

Pills and potions

John has now completed a tour of all the chemists in Muscat.

The wrong sort of cheese

The Shafaq was crowded and windy. A gaggle of Sarah’s girlie chums sizzled in the warm sunshine to top up tans for the ball. Despite an incident with feta cheese, everyone had a relaxed time. So relaxed that a snooze was required before dinner, forcing Koofi to complain vociferously at 6pm about the lack of Snappy Tom.

We returned to the Shafaq for the popular evening buffet. Sadly it was not around the pool but in the dining room where they keep the more clueless waiters and barmen with the urgency of turtles. Sarah has found a substitute for the once legendary chocolate mousse in the form of ‘umm ali’ - a creamy Arabian bread and butter pudding. Very tasty.

Milk, cat litter and a tiara.

This shopping day included the purchase of accessories for the forthcoming ball. Apparently, a tiara was high on the list of requirements - can’t wait to see that. Also purchased by Ann and John were industrial-size quantities of vitamins to prevent the resurgence of colds which will develop into full blown plague in wintry London if not knocked on the head sharpish.

As Monday night is normally Quiz Night, we went to the Crowne Plaza to boost our usual group of four to six, which is still about half the size of most of the other teams. We only go for the quizmaster’s sarky comments about our poor performance because we haven’t got a clue about 60’s music or British television that collectively we have not seen for many years.

Sunbed etiquette

Thick low-lying cloud in the early morning gave way to crisp sunshine that was perfect for a day at the Dive Centre. Every sun bed was in use with the exception a few which had been audaciously reserved by a group of German tourists with towels. While taking notes on this story, I recalled the same practice being performed by Ann last Friday morning – there must however be an acceptable duration of unmanned towel reservation.

With the sun at maximum strength, shelter was sought under a palm tree where Sarah nagged her poor father about the need for exercise to improve muscles forcing John to pace up and down in waist-deep water just to get some peace. He received a gold star for good work.

After a day of essentially horizontal activity, everyone seemed to require a snooze back at the house while I went to the Muscat Book Exhibition to look at books. It is rather quaint to see that some people still use these blocks of printed paper.

On my return, I had five minutes to don some dining slacks before we headed out to the Mumtaz Mahal. The restaurant was packed with customers trying to talk over the musicians that wailed in incomprehensible yet melodic tones. The food and service were excellent, although we now have even more leftover boxes filling up the freezer.

Don't forget the dentist

Shopping, dentist, Chedi. All part of the Maison Tours' experience.

Sunbed logic

Ann began the morning by placing towels on the one vacant sun bed. During breakfast, she switched towels to another bed using some form of mother-and-daughter logic I have observed (but not understood) many times in the last thirty years.

With bellies full of beans, the sun lovers cremated on the hot sand as the temperature rose to the mid thirties. Meanwhile I scrambled around on the rocks frightening crabs and one local fisherman who suddenly appeared from behind a rock as if he was up to mischief. The water was beautifully clear.

We checked out at 12 o’clock and cooled down in the restaurant before consuming some extraordinarily good fish biryanis.

Back in the car, the air conditioning brought the temperature down to 38C as we approached the road around Sur which was lined with flamingos loitering in the shallow waters of the estuary. The rest of the drive was effortless thanks to the new road which took us from Ras Al Hadd to Azaibah in two-and-a-half hours.

Avert yours eyes

Our weekend trip to the Turtle beach resort in Ras Al Hadd began with a cash-point crisis at the Sultan Centre where Lloyds rejected attempts to access John's money despite advanced notification. With a back-up plan in effect, we continued along the new Sur road to picnic in Fins. Although the highway is now officially open, the toll booths have not been completed and there is much debate in the office regarding the cost and how to avoid payment. The sea looked wonderful in Fins - various shades of opal faded to clear water which gently lapped the pale sand along the shore.

An hour later we pulled into the Turtle Beach resort for a spot of sun before dinner. We must have stepped into a fashion time warp as there were a few Europeans sporting skimpy Speedos and one chap wearing Daniel Craig ‘Bond’ swimming trunks. Thankfully we were distracted by an incident with John and the resident Moray eel.

After sunset we dined heartily. I am sad to report that the chips were not up to their usual high standard. At 8 o'clock most of the guests disappeared to spend a few hours on an unlit beach observing the private parts of turtles. Fortunately we did not have to go on this occasion.

Hot yellow thing in the sky

Sarah took Ann and John to the Shafaq pool so that they could begin to recognise the hot yellow object that is rarely visible in England during the nine months of winter as clearly demonstrated by their pasty skin and head colds.

The girls forced John to walk with them on the beach which was greeted with minor grumbling. An evening at the Mumtaz Mahal that night soon cheered him up.....wait, no, that was last week’s visitors......so, when are we doing the Mumtaz?......I’m so confused.

Avoiding winter blues

Ann and John arrived for their third trip to Muscat in as many years. John appeared through customs in a wheelchair pushed by a porter who received a tip which will probably pay for a new set of tyres on his Toyota Echo.

We had them home in minutes for an initial briefing from Mrs. Maison’s Tours during cheese and nibbles.

A fond farewell

I don’t think they really wanted to leave, but Holly managed a sweet little wave as they disappeared into immigration for the flight back to London. That’s Maison Tours’ motto.....'always leave ‘em wanting more'.

Better get the washing machine on, the next group arrives on Tuesday.

Only a few more hours of sun left

While I was half way through my first day back at work, Sarah was rounding up the troops for their final day in Muscat at the Oman Dive Centre. Andy took Holly out in a kayak while Katie made the most of the only sun she will see until the British summer in the third week of August.

In the afternoon, Sarah and Andy snorkeled in the chilly waters near Bander Al Khiran. The sea was even too cold for the fish that were clearly somewhere nice and warm. It was reported that Sarah wimped out after half hour due to the cold and Andy was apparently forgotten by the boatman who was having trouble with the anchor. It is almost certain that Sarah will have been looking at her watch every five minutes by this point and upon their return, she threw everyone into the car and raced at barely legal speeds to arrive home before sunset.

That night, the last supper was held at the Mumtaz Mahal. Holly had only to flutter her eyelids to get non-spicy poppadoms which she ate with a northern English accent. The rest of the family enjoyed the food, ambiance and one of the best views of Muscat. It was eventually all too much for Holly as she fell asleep in Katie’s arms and had to be carried to the car past three redundant car park attendants.

Back at the house, Andy recorded Holly’s snuffly walrus impression on video, doubtless to be played back for prospective boyfriends, birthdays and weddings.

A remarkable performance

Katie and Sarah were allowed a lie-in this morning while the three of us went for a walk on Azaibah beach. We were invited to take coffee and dates with three weathered fisherman who had little to do due the continuing lack of fish in the seas around Oman and UAE. They pointed out that the dates were good for virility (a claim made for most foods I have noticed) citing their wizened companion with thirty children as evidence. Difficult to argue in the face of such strong empirical evidence.

As customary, we took our guests for Friday lunch at the Intercon’s Musendam restaurant. Andy surpassed all expectations returning five (correction, six) times to the buffet, discovering in particular the joys of the sushi bar and shwarmas. We take pride in having introduced him to pickled ginger, an essential Japanese accompaniment. Sarah just had several plates of puddings and will almost certainly complain about being heavy and spotty tomorrow. Andy waddled to the car and was asleep by the first set of traffic lights.

There was little movement in the Maison household in the afternoon as everyone prepared for the final push tomorrow. Don’t worry about me though, I’ll be fine at work.....

Farewell to the desert

After breakfast, Katie and Holly went for a camel ride and then purchased bits of spangley string from the Bedouin stalls before the ladies popped back home to check their email and sip a frappacino. We collected our packed lunches from Desert Discovery’s Al-Qabil rest house before heading east again to Wadi Bani Khalid.

The waterhole was packed with locals laden with aluminium pots, sacks of rice, charcoal, meat and vegetables in preparation for weekend barbeques. There was even a large group of Omani Girl Guides busily constructing fires and washing vegetables in the water. While boys played mischievously in the water, one young French girl outshone them all by jumping and eventually diving from a bridge. Andy also could not resist and plummeted crucifixion-style into the depths of the green pool.

We ate lunch in a terraced field of young corn shoots behind the car park. The arrival of every car was heralded by the sound of squeaky wheel barrows pushed at great speed by local boys hoping to earn obscene amounts of money from gullible tourists.

On the journey home, Holly entertained with games of rock-paper-scissors which she was confusing with the alternative marshmallow-fish finger-stick version which I taught her last night. We did not spot a single accident on nutcase alley (route 23 to Bidbid) and were soon home to wash away the desert crust.

Oh no, Nizwa Fort

We left the house exactly to Maison tour's schedule and reached Nizwa by 12 o'clock to visit the fort. They have done a really good job of improving the signs and exhibits - there are even lighted steps and posters describing the 'pitfall' traps on the stairs leading up to the main tower that were designed to catch unsuspecting marauding invaders that actually managed to get past the cannon, guns and boiling date jam. Outside the fort, Katie honed her haggling skills to purchase two water pots (which will make a nice jigsaw puzzle for Andy when they get home) and a coffee pot.

Although Sarah was showing visible signs of panic due to the time, we picnicked at Falaj Daris before heading eastward to the Al Areesh camp in the Wahiba. On arrival Sarah brusquely dealt with the new European reception chappie to greet the owner Salim and ensure that Abdullah was available for the dune drive.

We had time for a cup of tea during which Holly demonstrated the intellectual thought processes of a four-and-a-half year old; was the floor under the sand?, where was the sea?, which one is my hutch? Half-an-hour later, Abdullah was flinging them around the dunes in a Toyota. All the cars stopped at the top of dunes to watch the sunset, after which Andy, Katie, Holly and Sarah walked back down to the camp.

Nibbles, beer and the last samosa turned into dinner which was heartily enjoyed by all. We adjourned to the majalis and the rhythmic sounds of drum and guitar. Other tourists tried to mimic Omani dance movements while we sat with typical British reticence until Holly ceased to function. Andy and I slept outside on our respective bed racks soothed by the sounds of a snuffly hippopotamus emanating from Miss Morris.

Holly steals the show

It was unusual to find several coach-loads of tourists at the Grand Mosque this morning. Large groups were herded around by guides with numbered bats exerting little control over their flocks. Although Holly was allowed into the grounds, she had to wait outside of the main prayer halls where she audibly stated that she had spotted a zebra. There were plenty of smiles when Holly was around, particularly from the Omani ladies.

There was even more attention at the souq where a shopkeeper took her photograph and one nice chap gave her a beetle in a walnut shell toy. The municipality had obviously had the idea of recreating the odour of an ancient souq for the tourists off the ship by flooding the main thoroughfare with drain water. Foreigners turned up their trousers and even the locals held their gowns off the ground to add to the effect.

Our guests made the most of the shopping opportunity with a haul that included a lamp, sunglasses, camel leather sandals, armfuls of pashminas and a jingly frock for Holly. What seemed like hours later, we drove to the marina for a wash and lunch.

We dined around the pool at the Shafaq in the evening, where once again, Miss Morris was popular with the waiters. Andy ate for England.

We slept for England too.

Holly conquers Wadi Shab

It was a beautiful morning on Fins beach – slight haze holding back the morning sun, a light breeze, motionless sea and a beach peppered with crabs repairing their dwellings. A fox wandered along the sand and a small group of camels ambled past to nibble on the juicy shoots in the bushes behind our camp.

With everything back in the car, we headed for Wadi Shab taking the new exit off the highway. Suitably slathered in creams and potions, we plodded at Holly pace (similar to Sarah speed) to the pool before the cave. The water was covered in brown crust, which was apparently from plant seeds which would normally be washed away by rain and human activity. Undaunted, Sarah forced her way through to take Andy to the spectacular cave which most tourists never see. Meanwhile, while I chatted to a local chap about his experiences in Scotland, I met the grumpy ‘guide’ that gave me a lecture a couple of years ago after our group politely (at first) declined his services.

When they returned, we shared sandwiches and some of Holly’s soggy crusts before heading back to the car past a number of gortex-laden Brits from some expensive hotel. Somehow, Holly made it all the way back with barely a whimper. This was an impressive performance for a small child which has become the yardstick - if a four-year-old can get to the end of Wadi Shab, anyone can.

The drive home was very quiet both on the road and in the car with the passengers engaging in long periods of snoozing and the occasional snore. With the car unloaded, we barely had enough energy to consume a take-away before everyone’s energy reserves ran out.

Five go camping

The Morrises slept very well last night, particularly Holly who managed to get over 13 hours of sleep. After a swift breakfast, we bundled them into the car among a stack of slightly smokey camping equipment to place them two hours later on Fins beach. Conditions were absolutely perfect. With camp established, we played in the sea, chased crabs, built sand castles, collected wood and got generally grimy in the sand.

Around four o’clock, an Omani drove to our camp site asking if we had any rubbish. This is a major development (see 26 Nov 2008). I showed him a pile of pile of rubbish collected by previous occupants and he donned a thick rubber glove and cleared the area! Incredible. It doesn’t cure the root problem, but it’s a step in the right direction.

As the sun dropped behind the mountains, we fired up the barbeque and prepared the usual substantial fire. Andy had the time to educate Holly with one of life’s valuable lessons concerning the selection and use of a pokey stick. She will do well.

Under thousands of stars the bottle of port slowly evaporated forcing early retirement.

The Morrises arrive

While waiting for Andy, Katie and Holly to appear arrive through customs, we observed a new trend as some passengers pushed their worldly possessions in cardboard boxes wrapped in ever more sophisticated patterns of multi-coloured sting and rope. Clearly, they were not heading for the Shangri-La – you can spot them a mile off; nice European families towing two or three children behind a mountain of suitcases to meet their charming representative who will help relieve them of large amounts of cash for that genuine Omani experience with the least amount of effort. Eventually our guests appeared for their first experience of the Middle East for little more than the price of a box of tea bags and a bottle of late vintage port.

A short breakfast later, we headed to the Shafaq pool to reinforce the 25-degree difference between Bristol and Muscat. Holly reminded us of how life used to be with bossy little four-year-old girls (yes, you Flossie). We played in the pool and on the beach before jet-lag eventually crept up on Andy.

That evening, Holly the ice-cream monster finished dinner with a full belly before her batteries failed only moments before mum and dad. Everyone was excited by the prospect of an early departure for camping tomorrow morning.

Back soon

It was the perfect Omani beach camp morning - blue skies, cool temperatures and little wind. Perhaps the only thing missing was the usual hum of outboard motors as fishing has yet to resume on the north coast.

Just as Steve was commenting that Ian’s catch was not much bigger than his sardine bait, Ian pulled out a 50cm flat-headed fish which according to ‘Reef Fishes - UAE and Gulf of Oman’ was a type of Platycephalidae. Fortunately their spines are not venomous as the beast pierced his foot during the initial struggle.

Breakfast was devoid of one of the traditional cooking smells due to an oversight by Lou who must add the word ‘bacon’ to their laminated list of camping equipment. However, after returning from his triumphant hunting trip, Ian preceded to fill the camp with the delicious aroma of sausage and egg.

A few lazy hours later, it was time to pack everything away and return to Muscat. The sadness was lessened by the knowledge that we will return with visitors in a few days. Oh well, if I must…..

Camping at last

We met friends at the Wadi Aday petrol station for the ninety-minute drive to Fins. The scenery after Amrat changes weekly as chunks of rock are removed to make way for the new road temporarily decorated with lines of red cones and nonchalant workers with red flags.

The sea was back to its more traditional opal colour after several months of red tide. White horses danced as a stiff wind turned our sun shades into kites requiring additional ingenious methods to ensure they stayed attached to the ground.

As watches do not dictate the start of any meal, I called an eleven o'clock lunch leaving tent construction until the wind abated. Ian and Steve chewed strips of South African jerky (don’t think I’ve written that before) while Sarah and Lou chewed the hind legs off several donkeys. Behind the camp, a teenage camel nibbled on bare vegetation.

The afternoon passed slowly as camping afternoons are supposed to pass. The fierce heat of the sun was held back by a heavy haze which later turned to cloud over the mountains behind. It began to get nippy requiring the commencement of fire activities and a little something to warm from the inside. Ahhh....

Red Tide latest

This morning Azaibah beach looked quite splendid.

No sign of the Red Tide. Shoals of tiny fish were visible in the clean shallow water for the first time in months, while further out, other clusters made the sea shimmer as they made their way eastward. Numerous fishermen from the Indian community with little more than fishing line, a carrier bag of smelly bait and a blunt bloody knife were outnumbered by pairs of Herons playing in the surf.

Towards the fishing boats, a group of boys played with the shell of a washed-up jet ski, while another team, uninhibited by common sense, wrestled with half a canoe in deep water. A fishing boat was being pulled back up the beach over well-worn bits of wood by a rusty Toyota Landcruiser while men dressed in nice white dishdashas from the management sector of the industry chatted on mobile phones.

Life seems to be getting back to normal...