{Musings on a Summer in Muscat, Oman}
Arrival
Ever since my extraordinary summer teaching in Syria in 2009 (documented here), I had longed for another summer school teaching experience in some far-flung corner of the Middle East. 2015 was the right time as I had just ended a long-term relationship (amicably) and was seeking horizons new, travel adventures and a break from my permanent teaching job in Reading (which became fairly frantic each summer). So off I went with my large neon-pink suitcase, laptop, camera, excitement and nerves…
Upon arrival in Muscat (after a sleepless overnight flight) I wearily stepped out of the plane and thought I was stepping into a furnace – literally. I had never known heat like it and never thought I would again (Uzbekistan in July 2019 would prove me wrong!), and the sunlight was blinding too. With armpit sweat running down my body and damp hair sticking to my burning face I ran down the metal steps off the plane and dived into the blissfully air-conditioned transit bus. The heat-indifferent Omanis all looked at me with a combination of glee and sympathy and enjoyed smiling at me while saying ‘Oman very much hot.’ My first impression turned out to be a true reflection of the country – Omanis are extremely friendly, warm hearted, far more easy-going than other Middle Eastern nationalities, and it is painfully hot, but thankfully air-conditioning is everywhere and heavenly.
Like in China, Italy and Syria, I distinctly remember being picked up at the airport and taken to my residence. Oman, from the passenger seat, was a dusty vision of white; sharply-square whitewashed buildings, expensive looking white cars and white-robed men (many with distended bellies) wearing dishdashas. The vision was beautifully exotic, and I already knew that I had made the right choice in coming here. The contingent of summer-school teachers (6 of us and all girls) were initially housed in a hotel, known as ‘Safeer Suites’, conveniently close to the British Council school and offices, before being paired up and allocated more permanent housing. This was an excellent idea – it gave us the chance to acclimatise, settle in, and get to know one another before teaching commenced. I shared an apartment suite with a lovely Pakistani-Glaswegian girl called Faiza and we got on well despite our theological differences. At breakfast time all of us girls came together, and it was such a positive and supportive experience compared to the BC Syria – no competitiveness or hostility whatsoever, to my relief.
Accommodation
Oman was a different experience for me, compared to all other countries I had been to, because it was pretty much unnavigable by foot. Firstly, it was far too hot to go strolling around for any length of time and secondly, there were no pavements. It was clear that everyone drove (and/or got taxis) and prior to arriving in the country the BC had made it clear that hiring a car for three months would be the wisest option. But having only driven rarely (and only around Reading) I wasn’t about to go bombing around in a rented car in the Arabian Gulf! Luckily for me, Rachel, another summer teacher, had recently left Spain and was in the process of getting her license renewed in the UK so she too was not going to be renting any big white cars in a hurry either. For this reason, Rachel and I were paired up and designated the closest accommodation to the BC (from where we could easily get a taxi to work every day) – a shared penthouse apartment on the tenth floor above ‘RedTag’ clothing store in the Al Khuwair district. It turned out to be the perfect location – not only was there a supermarket around the corner, but there was also a Chinese restaurant on the ground floor and a Lebanese restaurant in the fancy hotel opposite! There was also a quaint little mosque right beside us and by leaning over the edge of the balcony I could spy on all the men coming and going for prayers – and what a beautiful, melodious echoing sound the call of prayer made five times a day. Unusually for me I didn’t mind being woken by it – rather that than by birds! It really is a haunting, unworldly sound and I used to love listening to it on the balcony while gazing out across the distant mountains and sea.
One thing about the accommodation that came as a surprise was that the Swedish landlady lived there too, along with a random English businessman who sometimes creepily sat in a chair outside our bathroom! The landlady turned out to be a mad, rude, unpleasant horror show of a human being who employed a sweet Filipino maid whom she treated contemptuously. Occasionally this lovely maid, called Lena, would randomly make us smoothies in the morning and I remember sipping every refreshing sip with a lump of guilt in my throat – I felt very uncomfortable. We later learned that the landlady had taken the maid’s passport away and stopped her returning home when her mother had died – shockingly awful. She also happened to be the mother of the actress MyAnna Buring who played Tanya in Twilight. On her Wiki page it states: ‘Buring has been noted as being very private about her personal life’, with a mother like that it doesn’t surprise me. Despite all this, living in RedTag was amazing – the location, the sweeping mountain views, watching the planes coming in across the sparkling Arabian Sea, the neighbouring mosque, the comfortable living quarters, having Rach next door etc. but I definitely do not approve of live-in maids.
The day Rachel and I moved into RedTag is one forever burned in my memory. Noll, the nice BC director, escorted us to our apartments and kindly attempted (attempted being the key word here) to manoeuvre Rachel’s enormous suitcase. As he huffed and puffed his way in, Rachel squirming, I thought I heard the sound of clanking bottles – as it turned out, Rachel had stocked up on duty-free bottles of Vodka at the airport! No wonder the case was so heavy! And that incident was the start of many mad, comedic, naughty, knicker-wetting classically brilliant Rach-Bink moments in Muscat!
Teaching
Most of the teaching that took place at the BC was focused on young learners and a morning timetable, but myself and Faiza (stating prior to arrival that we wanted to teach only adults) were part of a very small group of staff who taught the adult classes on an afternoon/evening basis. This couldn’t have been more perfect for me. As Rachel woke up early each morning (I can still recall the comforting sound of her hairspray drifting over from the room next door) I was left to lie in bed until late, leisurely watching films and TV series whilst hiding from the morning heat, then find some lunch and later in the afternoon catch a taxi to work. It was nothing like teaching in the BC Damascus – the offices were deserted, and I sometimes had the whole staffroom to myself. The students themselves were wonderful; mainly Omanis but also a few from Iran, Yemen, Syria, Sudan, Egypt and even Ukraine. The afternoon classes were slightly more ‘studious’ – many of the students had got time off from their jobs to learn English so they were often business types with the expectation that they’d make steady progress, pass the end of course tests and graduate to the next level. But the night classes were a whole different ball game – some lessons were pure raucous chaos and more like a social club! Most students were tired having come to class straight after work and my last class of each day ended at 11pm! I had one group which included three Egyptian guys – possibly the cheekiest boys I’ve ever taught – scraping chairs, speaking in their own language, arriving late, leaving early, silliness, quasi-flirty cheekiness, general mischief-making etc. When it came to class tests it was pandemonium – shameless cheating, not sitting still and not taking anything seriously! That class also included a pair of Omani ‘wild women’ – in their late 30s, divorced and outspoken who came out with classic lines like: ‘teacher, today my son bad. I late because I beat him,’ after which she proceeded to demonstrate how she did actually ‘beat him’, which set off a whole chain of classroom debate surrounding the ethics of child punishment. I was always thoroughly exhausted after that class – but loved it all the same. Having taught for the BC in Syria and Middle Eastern students for years in the UK, I myself didn’t experience any profound culture shock and as I was already quite familiar with Omani religious beliefs, views on animals, women’s roles, relationships, family, culture etc. the teaching was comparatively straightforward and always enjoyable.
The generosity and thoughtfulness of Omani students and people never ceased to amaze me – as thank you gifts I received Prada Candy perfume (they found out it was my favourite), Omani honey (a local delicacy apparently), dates (of course), a beautiful ring (!), a gold necklace of my name and on my birthday one of my classes turned up with pizza, soft drinks, an enormous ‘Happy Birthday Bianca’ chocolate cake, flowers and one of the girls painted my hand with henna (on that occasion I’m glad there was nobody around in the BC to ask me why I was having a party when I should have been teaching)!! Fun times.
Social Life
Because Rachel and I lived together we ended up socialising together, eating out together, planning trips together etc. and we soon became best buddies. After she finished teaching midday, she would often head to the Intercontinental Hotel with the other girls and use the gym and fancy pool. I tried it once, but it was definitely not my thing (aside from the absolutely enormous cinnamon latte I had which was twice the size of my head and utterly delicious!). But come the night (she would sometimes meet me after class at 11pm) and weekends we’d explore the restaurants, malls and bars of Muscat. Sometimes we went out with Tanya (another fab summer-school teacher) and sometimes Neil would drive us around. Neil was an Indian guy living/working in Oman who became a friend of ours after we randomly met him with Tanya at an ‘Inter-nations’ event (an expat organisation existent in most countries around the world). He drove flashy cars (I think he had two big black ones) and worked in the petroleum industry and soon started regularly socialising with us and the other teachers. Muscat is a comparatively small capital city, so for expats and non-Omanis it can be a relatively close-knit community – which for obvious reasons can be good and bad. I remember Neil and Rach picking me up after work and the three of us cruising around the city listening to music and eating ice-cream. It was the first time in years I had gone out at night, danced in bars, stayed up into the early hours and socialised with a group of friends – it felt like I was reliving my university days all over again. It’s important to state that life in Oman gets going at night simply because it is cooler. But when I say ‘cooler’ I do literally mean that in a comparative sense because still, at 11pm leaving the BC, I experienced eyeball burn! The fumes from the cars didn’t help matters either.
And that was the thing about Oman (and Syria once upon a time), in the middle of a fairly strict Islamic society there were pockets of expat fun, partying, general revelry and very un-Islamic carryings on. It also wasn’t a ‘dry’ country like its neighbours, and residents could purchase liquor licenses and buy alcohol in hotels and bars. One ‘moment of revelry’ stands out more than others – one weekend Rach and I ended up in some fancy walled villa-like house in a fairly remote district of the city partaking in a pool party – my first, and probably last! Huge speakers were perched on the edge of the pool, there was a DJ and a few random people were dancing in bikinis! I never in my wildest dreams thought my time in Oman would encompass a pool party! Other weekends consisted of the girls coming over to our apartment for drinks, drives out to interesting restaurants (one place called ‘The Cave’ was particularly notable), regularly eating out at TGI Friday’s, meandering around enormous malls, trips to Starbucks, the occasional party somewhere random and frequenting my all-time favourite coffee shop: Nestle Toll House, which had the most delicious over-priced iced lattes which I lived on and gorgeous doughy cookies (I think that by the end of the summer my raving about the place had started to get on Rach’s nerves!).
Travel Adventures
Despite the thrill and madness of the nights out and socialising, and aside from the satisfying teaching and lovely students, the highlight of my time in Oman was undoubtedly the places I visited and the weekends adventuring beyond Muscat. Oman, beyond its towns and expansive coastline, is primarily barren mountains, vast rolling golden deserts and palm-tree-lined wadis, bespeckled here and there with grand castle-forts and crumbling, old, often abandoned villages. Truly the stuff of romance and fairy tale! But, unfortunately, exploring such dreamscapes in the height of an Arabic summer in 40+ degree humid heat was often ‘challenging’ to say the least i.e. excruciatingly unbearable! But I did as best I could – usually by jumping in and out of air-conditioned vehicles in long, floaty, white cotton dresses, and furiously snapping pics and admiring the dramatic vistas before my camera (and hand) melted. The only good thing about such intensity of heat was that, unlike in other countries, there was no real risk of heatstroke – it was simply impossible to be outside for any extended period of time.
The castle-forts in Oman I visited (Nizwa, Bahla, Jabreen, Al Hazm and Al Rustaq) were always well preserved, beautifully situated, and impressive, although sometimes right beside them or behind them were random piles of rubble with rotting sheep carcass and animal detritus scattered about. On a few occasions there were dodgy, leery men lingering around, attempting to take photos of me or exhibiting lewd gestures (Oman, like most Gulf states, employs many labourers and workers from the Indian subcontinent – largely poorly educated men from villages with no experience of western women). But, no trip to Oman is complete without exploring the castles, and when floating along the battlements, stepping through enormous spiked doors or gazing up at the fantastical edifices, I truly felt like a princess in an ancient Arabian fairy tale!
The abandoned villages scattered across the country I explored (Al Sogara on Jebel Akhdar mountain, Al Hamra, Bahla and Fanjah) were just as stunning as the forts, and since first visiting North Africa I have been obsessed with traditional doors – old, ornate, crumbling ones leading to vacant spaces, rubble and secret places. I also love what you can find among the ruins…rusted keys, bits of old books, children’s shoes and the odd stray flower breaking free from the piles of broken plaster and sunburnt stone – fantasy fodder for the wild imagination. Abandoned mud-brick villages and deserted towns never fail to inspire me, and they were definitely worth the long drives, heat and sun exposure.
My absolute favourite place in Oman, however, was definitely the limestone sinkhole known locally as Hawiyyat Najm which translates as ‘the deep well of the (falling) star’, since legend has it that a meteorite created the turquoise water-filled depression. How romantic! Located a longish drive away from Muscat and only a few meters away from the sea, the water is crystal clear and gorgeously warm. It’s rather unnerving when you first put your feet in, as hundreds of little fish appear and start gently nibbling at your skin – a free pedicure (Rach wasn’t impressed)! But then, you can just float…gazing up at the craggy rock face of the crater and letting life’s cares drift away. It truly is the most calming, beautiful experience and my ‘go to’ place when in the dentist’s chair or waiting for a late bus in the pouring rain in dripping Devon!
No write-up of Oman would be complete without a mention of the deserts, beaches and wadi bashing! Of course, there were some stunning beaches (Yiti Beach was my favourite – which you had to drive over a mountain to reach) but it was too hot to swim until late afternoon when the sun had started its descent. On one occasion Tanya drove Rach and I to the beach to go snorkelling. Aside from Tan’s swearing and cursing on the roads to get us there (always a brilliant experience!) once we arrived Rach and I soon realised that the beach was a boiling pit of scorching hell – the sand burned our feet, the water was not even remotely refreshing as it was simply too hot (!) and the direct sun made us faint and sick after 5 mins – so we ran back to the car and ramped up the air-con while we waited for Tan (obviously far braver and more heat-resilient than us!). Evening and night swimming was always the best option!
The Omani desert (Sharqiya Sands) was dramatic, golden, windy and scorching, but sadly littered here and there with the inevitable bits of plastic and the odd nappy – an unsurprising sight in many ‘wild’ places of the world these days. I remember driving over frighteningly high dunes in a 4×4 with a crazed Omani man from the local village who then invited us back for tea and dates in his little house – nothing feels quite so good as warm cardamom tea after a day of dune bashing and camel spotting in clothes wet and sticky with sand and sweat.
In the whole of that summer, one of the days that stands out for me was when my student-friend Jamal took me to his hometown of Al-Rustaq – known for its hot spring, stunning 13th Century fort, honey, wadis and oasis-like scenery. He took me wadi bashing in his family’s lovely red jeep – splashing and bumping through the ravine lined with towering mountains and palm trees. It was not a ride for the faint hearted – my bones were literally bashed to pieces. Luckily we ate pizza after, not before! We also visited the fort and strolled around the little town. In some ways it reminded me of the day I spent in Palmyra, Syria in 2009 – feeling incredibly far away from home and yet so intensely alive, happy and grateful to have lived in such a time and given the opportunity to experience such magical, far-away, breathtakingly beautiful places.
One weekend I was able to fly to Dubai to visit my Iranian aunt and cousins. They live there in a duplex apartment (complete with internal elevator!) in ’23 Marina’ which was, at the time of completion, the tallest residential building in the world – and boy was it a bit unnerving going up and up to reach the 70th or something floor! Like wadi bashing and the Middle Eastern heat in summer, tall buildings are not for the faint of heart! It turned out to be one amazing weekend – and what a contrast to Oman! Instead of low-rise traditional-style buildings there were futuristic towers piercing the sky, and everywhere the worst of modern material excesses. My family took me out for lunch at The Atlantis Hotel, showed me the sights, cooked me delicious Persian food and even introduced me to the Bastakia Quarter, which has traditional housing and yellow stucco buildings with wind towers (built for the wealthy textile and pearl traders from Bastak, Iran, hence the name). Dubai was thankfully slightly cooler than Oman so it was more pleasant to stroll around – I remember walking arm in arm with my lovely cousin Sanam and enjoying the fresh breeze drifting off the Persian Gulf.
This excursion aside, I of course spent much time exploring Muscat itself: the labyrinthine Mutrah Souk, the 16th-century Portuguese forts looming over the harbour, Al Alam Palace (home of the Sultan) and the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque – which was definitely grand with its blindingly bright white marble! I loved meandering around such places wearing the traditional Omani dress I had spotted in a shop window – it looked very much like the romantic costumes worn by the ladies of Qarth from ‘Game of Thrones’ and it certainly wasn’t cheap!
Altogether I saw some spectacular places that summer, loved the teaching and met some amazing people, but the highlight was definitely the friendship I developed with Rach and the madness and fun we had – wetting myself with laughter outside a mosque and her experiencing a scary pain in her head from laughing stand out! And there was our bizarre bus tour around the city and the trip we took to the town of Nizwa where we had no food or drink…and the sheer madness in supermarkets! There is an intimacy that develops between people who share a living space together – so it is no surprise that aside from staying close to the three girls I lived with at uni, I have continued a close friendship with Rach long since that unforgettable summer faded into memory. We even went on holiday to Zanzibar together in 2017 (another fantastic experience!) and on the journey back I stopped over in Oman with her for a few days. I was lucky enough to return to my favourite spot, the fallen star sinkhole, and to revisit my favourite café. Oman is definitely a country worth exploring in depth and my summer teaching there in 2015 remains one of the most precious experiences and adventures of my life.
‘So much of who we are is where we have been.’ – William Langewiesche