"Wow that looks like the tool they used in Egyptian mummification." Said Leila looking excited at the mysterious equipment just produced from the back of the car.
There are times I wish I had such a creative imagination- sadly all I could muster is "Unfortunately I think it's a towing hook Leila."
The Nissan saloon car the hotel manager had been using to drive across the desert is well and truly stuck in the sand. We have sat here for about ten minutes driving back and forth and deflating the tyres.
It would be fair to say the hotel manager wasn't having the best morning. There had been a vague air of fawlty towers when we arrived at the hotel last night, but increasingly it appeared that Basil was on holiday and had left either Manuel or is vague (and slightly hopeless) younger brother in charge. The hotel proudly advertised 45 minute camel rides in the front lobby, we thought this sounded rather fun and happily signed up for one. Arriving at breakfast the hotel manager looked rather panicked when we said again that we were really looking forward to going on a camel ride this morning. He came gingerly over to the breakfast table a few minutes later to say that unfortunately the camels had moved, due to the new motorway being built, but we could still go, but just half and hour later.
We then set off to locate the camels in his Nissan, listening to a long monologue about how expensive petrol is today in Oman (it is a pricey 28p a litre- it used to be 22p...) There was also a rather long speech about local date production, including a memorable line about how in Oman they have so many dates they feed them to animals, but still manage to sell them to the Indians for lots of money.
It soon became apparent that the hotel manager had little to no idea where to find a camel. We visited two very interesting desert villages before he enlisted the help of his friend. His friend pointed straight off the road, and we headed into the desert. We drove for two kilometres, skidding across the loose sand at times, before arriving at a small shanty town camp with a beautiful camel standing outside.
The hotel manager spoke animatedly and quickly to the supposed owner of the camel. Finally he turned back to Leila and me.
"You can only sit on the camel today, not ride it. Very special camel. Sorry no ride." I was vaguely up for this, but Leila definitely felt the rights of the consumer were being affected and protested that the poster had mentioned camel ride, not sitting on camel.
This was interrupted by the arrival of a younger looking chap, who joined in the animated Arabic. The hotel manager was beginning to look more and more sheepish.
"Very sorry, not possible to sit on camel today," he began. "This is a racing camel, and apparently he is dangerous, he throws his rider, this man, off every time he gets on."
I'm not a camel expert, but looking at the physique of the camel (and the fact that unlike its free roaming compatriots it appeared to have a stable) this seemed likely to be true. So instead of going camel riding we got to pat a very handsome racing camel on the nose. Returning to the Nissan we told the driver we were quite happy to go back to the hotel having at seen a camel, as he seemed a little flustered. He insisted that he was going to call his friends to find another camel. We headed back towards the road; but on one of the sand skids we headed into a deeper part of the sand, and the car became stuck. This at least gave the hotel manager some time to call his friends, he chatted away as is his friend deflated the tyres . The towing hook had been produced as a 4x4 had been spotted on the horizon. We were rescued from the sand with great efficiency, and headed back onto the road. The hotel manager finally gave up on the camel hunt, and we returned to the hotel.
The next adventure was a trip to the very beautiful wadi bani khalid. This is a river valley with clear fresh water flowing through a surprisingly green canyon. We swam, and dodged the ticklish little fish who seemed intent on nibbling toes. They were the same species that sometimes appear in English spas offering a 'natural' pedicure. They certainly seemed to think my feet were very edible.
As dusk fell we left the desert and headed on the long drive up to a turtle reserve on the coast. We drove through a spectacular mountain pass, where the only suitable soundtrack seemed to be excessive repeats on riverdance. (Much less annoying when you can't see Michael Flatley...)
Fortunately the turtles were a little more organised than the camel debacle. A party of twenty people headed out into the dark beach with strict instructions not to switch on their torches, but also not to stand on any baby turtles, which led to a few tricky situations. The beach alone was spectacular, miles from any town or village the stars were so clear you could see the Milky Way. The edge of the waves rolling onto the beach were phosphorescent, and left glittery spots on the sand. We were shown the turtles laying their eggs and covering their nest with sand. (This looked extremely hard work.) These turtles were enormous- about 1.2m in length. They were green turtles, and all returned to the same beach where they were born to lay their eggs. Apparently
The sand temperature determines the sex of the turtle and those born nearer the sea tend to be male, and the ones further away female. Each nest contained about 100 eggs, and in the season 30,000 nests are made on this one beach. Unfortunately only 1-2 baby turtles out of about 1000 survive to maturity- quite a few are eaten by foxes!
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