Meeting the locals

“I know who you remind me of.” There is an ominous pause from the Omani man , I get the feeling that this is not going to be complimentary.

“Mr Bean.” At this point I really hope I have misheard.

However, there is no mistaking the phrase: “Yes, you could be Mr Bean’s sister.” Leila can’t control herself at this and falls about laughing. I reply (trying and failing not to sound too haughty) that I am not Rowan Atkinson’s sister.

 We are walking through yet another beautiful oasis, this one is more inhabited than the last, and there are donkeys tethered at the wadi banks. I’ve always thought that donkey brays sound a little odd, but the sound of two donkeys echoing off the canyon is not dissimilar to an approaching alien invasion.

 We had been walking for the last few minutes with a local man who was swimming in the wadi after work. It finally transpires that he was in fact an Omani policeman, but as he assured us- a friendly policeman who preferred becoming people’s friends to issuing parking fines.

It had been a day of getting to know local Omanis, which had begun at breakfast. Given Sur's proximity to Mumbai, and large population of Indian migrants, breakfast had been in an Indian café that served exceptionally delicious (and enormous) dosas. Working our way through the large Indian pancakes (washed down by Masala chai) we got talking to the man on the next table -Mubarak. He had lived in Sur his whole life, and gave us a history of the city, Sur has been a centre of trade between India and Africa since the 6^th century. At one time it was under Portuguese rule, and the centre of the slave trade. The British Empire banning slavery diminished its importance, as did the opening of the Suez canal. Today it is renowned for still producing Dhows, which are large elegant wooden boats used for fishing and transporting goods. As we were leaving the café Mubarak (or Mu-Mu) offered to show us around the ship building yards- he said to come and find him in the second café along the sea front later, where he would be playing dominos with his friends.

This is exactly where we found him an hour later, sitting in the shade of a tree in front of the sea, playing dominos.

He greeted us like long lost friends, and we set off to be shown the dhows. He then produced his parents- in -law boat and showed us around Sur’s harbour. In another country this level of generosity would have appeared strange (or even creepy), but at every turn in Omanis have been desperate to show us their country. The harbour was spectacular, and the dhows surprisingly elegant (especially one which had been bought as a yacht for a Qatari family.) He showed us where the local turtles like to feed. (There was one enormous turtle happily munching in the shallows.) On returning to land we joined him for Chai Karak (spiced sweet tea), and then had to turn down a long list of invitations to go snorkelling for turtles, and to go and meet his wife and children. However, we did promise to return to Sur to visit him.

We then headed up the coast road, and stopped to have a look at the ancient city of Qalhat. This is largely a pile of rubble on a small hill above the sea. However, up until the sixteenth century it was a ‘medieval Dubai’, and covered more than 60 acres. The last remaining building is a mausoleum to Bibi Maryam, who had ruled the city in the 1330s, what is left is a quaint building with moulded arches, and a dome which has long since fallen down.

Returning to the ever reliable portable air conditioning unit we headed up the coast to the Wadi Shab, where we met the loquacious policeman (with obviously deficient eyesight). Then (with me still sulking about looking like a relation of Mr Bean) we headed onto the final stop for the day was the Bimmah sinkhole. Local legend has it that this crescent of blue water set deep in the rock was formed when a star fell from the sky. There was a rather dull scientific explanation of what actually happened, but I’ve already forgotten this and the star theory seemed much more plausible. We had supper in Quryat (which massively beat the previous evening’s dinner option of crackers and plastic cheese) with a deliciously spicy shawarma and large pomegranate juice. Finally we reached where we were staying, which was a traditional Arabian house in a fairly remote (but fortunately easy to find!) village. There was no internet here, which definitely contributed to the slight delay in this blog post appearing...