Omani Dune Hoons

Omanis are renowned for being mild-mannered, polite and friendly but put them behind the wheel of a vehicle and meek Mohammed morphs into Crazy Kumar. The Jekyll and Hyde phenomenon reaches Mark Webber heights on the magnificent new expressways despite a 120kmh limit. But it is in the regions of Oman referred to as the “recreational sand areas” that crazy desert cowboys really let their mussars fly. And with petrol at less than 40 cents a litre why wouldn’t they open the throttle and guzzle gas like there’s no tomorrow! The dust never settles around these guys who cram numerous friends and family members into their brand new Jeeps, Toyota Landcruiser Saharas and other top range 4WDs and hoon up and down dunes with the sole intention of getting bogged so your friends in can haul you out.  

Alas this madness is not restricted to designated recreational areas. It was to become apparent a little later that it is far more fun to rev the bejeezus out of your vehicle and tear around like headless chickens in the desert proper where tourists are encouraged to experience the “silence of the sands”.

By comparison, the naive visitors in hired 4WDs approach desert areas of Oman with trepidation. We had pre-booked accommodation at the 1000 Nights Camp in the remote desert area called the Sharqiya  Sands, 40km from the nearest settlement. Having done our homework and armed with a map provided online by the camp, we pulled into the last fuel stop to deflate our tyres before the omnipresent gibber plains dissolved into sand. Immediately there was a tap on the window. “Hello, hello. Good guide. Me Sayeed. Good guide, good guide. I take you to camp.” Fortunately we had read about and expected an offer like this and negotiated half of Sayeed’s going rate. Another 4WD pulled up and the crafty Bedouin pounced, co-opting Dutchman Harry and nephew Jasper into our convoy. Harry admitted to never having driven a 4WD off-road before and was grateful for some hasty but reliable instruction from Andrew.  Meanwhile, Sayeed had ejected Jane into the back seat with a “sorry sorry” and took command. “Tyres, this way, this way, not here.” With Harry and Jasper in tow, we were directed to a tyre repair shop. 

Oh Allah be praised, shades of Montenegro, but this time to deliberately deflate the tyres for better traction in the sand. All set? Not quite, as Sayeed insisted on some Omani coffee before departure. Forever value-adding, he led us to a modest concrete shack where our party of four was introduced to coffee-bearing mother, reclining-on-couch grandmother and giggling sister. Next came a tray of dates, sticky Omani halva and fresh fruit. Did this hospitality come at a price? Of course, for next in the procession of family members came another sister with an assortment of handicrafts.  Sayeed encouraged us to take photos and this we did because handicraft sister was bedecked in the very strange Bedouin “beaked” face mask. The large mass of a brother in the doorway expedited sales of hand-woven bracelets, table runners and mobile phone pockets and, after some impressive haggling from Jane, and with no more relatives in the village for us to meet, we were able to take our leave.     

Once more in the car, Sayeed re-established control and started punching at the car radio. The volume control was a particular favourite and Omani pop music permeated the cabin.  “Music good, good.” The vast emptiness lay ahead – golden dune after golden dune, a few tufts of marram grass and the odd camel or two. Occasionally there was a fenced pen, for camels or goats, and a humble shelter. A rough gravel track was evident but Sayeed enthusiastically directed us away from this. With his hand gesturing wildly right, he would yell “Left, left” and hit the hazard light switch to indicate to Harry following behind  a change in direction. More gesticulation from Sayeed: “Stop, stop. Low range, low range.” In areas of very soft sand or going up a dune he would reach across Andrew and punch the  "second start" switch on the dashboard to stop the tyres from spinning hard. He would then smile broadly revealing a mouth of misshapen teeth and repeat (just in case we had forgotten) “Good guide, good guide”.

With a constant eye on Harry’s car in the rear vision mirror, Sayeed offered yet more driving advice and we deduced fairly quickly that his English did not include the word “right”. All directions were vocalized as left or straight. The hand gesture was the key. He boasted he could also speak French and rattled off bonjour and merci beaucoup but his face went blank at the mention of left (gauche) let alone droite (right)! Getting the picture? This entertaining journey had already been worth the $30 guide fee.

We had wondered, in our naivity, how many vehicles would be in the area as there were two camps other than ours. Most camp visitors are delivered by private tour agencies in sedately driven large 4WDs.  By far the majority of vehicles on our turf were the aforementioned boys in toys and Omani families looking for challenges far greater than those offered by the recreational sand areas. Consequently we were assailed by these “other vehicles” hurtling pell mell along the sand and up dunes in total disregard of traffic.

Keeping to the left or right does not apply in the desert; you pick a line, go for it and pray to Allah that there is nothing coming in the opposite direction. To his credit Sayeed kept a careful lookout for “the crazies” and motioned to Andrew to stop if he sensed approaching danger. He’d click his tongue, shake his head and mumble intelligible insults.

Our biggest driving challenge was soon to come. Approaching a large dune was a signpost to the 1000 Nights Camp. It was pointing up.  We found this on our little map and duly noted that the alternative route was marked with a skull and crossbones! So up it was but not quite yet because a large Landcruiser was bogged ahead of us. Forever the good guide, Sayeed directed Harry to remain stationary at the base of the dune while we went ahead to help. “Fast, fast,” he directed as we surged up the dune. The bogged Cruiser was axle deep in the sand which was not surprising given it was packed solid with Omanis –front, back and rear. How they get so people into a car is beyond us. Sayeed ordered the men and children out but the veiled women, obviously not averse to some hooning, stayed put. The good guide relieved the tyre pressure and dug around the wheels. Then, with the men and some extra helpers who had arrived in the interim, he pushed the vehicle out of trouble. Mission accomplished, Sayeed raced down to the bottom of the dune to instruct Harry to go “fast, fast” up the slope. The mini convoy was now back in its stride and it was not long before Sayeed decided we could manage the final 12 km on our own.  “Good road, good road. You go,” he said. After a last-minute plea for an extra few rial because he was such a good guide, he disappeared on foot into the sandy wilderness.

What an experience it had been with this pinch-faced Bedouin. We wondered how many times a day he would perform this service with the Omani coffee-handicrafts value adding. Our trip with him took 1 ½ hours. Not surprisingly the unaided return journey the next day took only ¾ hours including two wrong turns!   

The downside of Sayeed’s entertainment was arriving at the camp nigh on sunset. We raced up the dunes for some sunset photos and caught the glowing, orange orb just as it glided from view. Phew, what an afternoon! 

The 1000 Nights Camp is remote, no doubt about that, but has a swimming pool, hot and cold running water and electricity, albeit intermittent which plays havoc with the much publicized free internet facilities. An open-side central building houses a restaurant and lovely cushioned lounging area, small library and games collection. Above it is a conference hall.  The much publicized “silence of the sands” is to be savoured in the idyllic little oasis flanked by Bedouin style tent accommodation.

The tents of thick woven camel hair type fabric are mounted on carpeted concrete slabs with roofless but nicely tiled bathrooms attached at the rear. The camp does not run to air conditioning or ceiling fans but the cross breeze (if there is one) wafts gently through windows and the door which guests are encouraged to leave open. Beds are comfortable and there are chairs, a table and bedside furniture. While it is not exactly authentic with sequined cushions or veiled belly dancers,

it’s a reasonable attempt to provide what’s advertised. Everyone was looking forward to nightfall which we mistakenly thought would end the reveling of the cowboys in the adjacent dunes. But even at 2am some of them were still trying to melt their engines and burn their brakes. Convoys of headlights were visible on the dune peaks – all that was missing was doof doof music!

Guests at 1000 Nights are treated to the Omani equivalent of a hungi, and a  banana leaf-wrapped lamb was ceremoniously exhumed from a smouldering pit to be offered as part of a lavish and very nice bbq buffet. Soft drink, water and an array of coconut and cardamom flavoured sweet treats, beautiful fresh fruit and hot drinks completed the picture.
After dinner we were entertained by Bedouin dancers with the women in beaked masks as worn by Sayeed's sister. It was very repetitive and a bit hard on the ears but at least women were playing an active role despite looking like medieval hunting hawks in leather helmets.

We shared many travel tales with our new Dutch travelling companions. Harry was treating nephew Jasper to a Middle East holiday to celebrate his 18^th birthday and the beginning of his physiotherapy studies. They stayed on at the camp to go camel and quad bike riding. They promised to rescue us if they found us bogged on the outward journey!      

The Lovibond tour of Oman was not yet complete as the famous fortress town of Nizwa and coastal Sur remained on our list before the return to Muscat and a visit to the souk.

Nizwa is an historic and attractive town two hours inland from Muscat. Its 17^th century fort is a must see and we were fortunate to happen upon a ceremonial display of swordsmanship and chanting. The fort buildings are open to visitors and the most popular features are the “murder windows” and the towers from which boiling date oil was poured upon invaders.

Sur lies on the coast and also boasts an historic fort or three. It is the centre of traditional dhow building. There was some low tide maintenance activity occurring on dhows beached in the port evidenced by the toxic anti fouling paint leaching its red oxide into the lovely aquamarine sea. Not to worry because the otherwise very pretty beach was choked with plastic bottles and other refuse.  Near by a herd of urban goats was foraging in garbage. Sad but true.  Goats roam all over the place and are pretty neglected and folorn looking.   

We braved the manic evening traffic in Muscat to head to the souk. After the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul we knew we could handle the Arab stallholders. However, much of the merchandise was the same with an Omani emphasis on knives and daggers, “antique” brassware, camel souvenirs, fragrances, clothing and incense.   

It’s been quite a journey and it’s been good to share our travels with blog followers. The Greek Islands remain a highlight although Montenegro and Oman have certainly added a wonderful dimension and variation. And who could go past Paris? We hope you have enjoyed the ride.

Until next time, cheers Jane and Andrew.