The last day in Oman...

Leila has finally given me the plague. She snivelled about three days ago, and I was mildly sympathetic, but brushed it off as probably a light cold. Now that I have it, I can confirm, it is definitively plague. We both slept badly, I was coughing like a chronic consumptive, and Leila was having to listen to this performance. However, it was our last chance to see the mosque in Muscat (whose opening times we slept through on the first day) so we dragged ourselves out of bed at seven, and started on the drive back to Muscat.

Certain parts of Muscat’s road systems from the air are beautifully complex, to the extent that some of it looks like Islamic art work- twisting yet symmetrical. The impression from the ground is less transcendent, especially if you are trying to negotiate it when you need the loo. This brings me onto the most important question of the trip where do Omanis go to the loo? There are hardly any public toilets, even at motorway service stations these were often closed. Most of the deserty countryside does not lend itself to much cover (as Leila once discovered) -  although admittedly your options would be less limited in this direction if you had a 4x4. The most baffling thing is quite a few restaurants we went to didn’t have loos..

We arrived at the mosque at 10.15am, just getting to see it before it closed at 11am. As we were taking off our shoes to go into the main prayer hall the conversation of the two men behind us caught my attention.

“I guess this isn’t very different from visiting Ely cathedral.”  Said one to the other. It turns out the world is an extremely small place and the men behind me currently live in Ramsey, having grown up in Chatteris. Like me they had spent a large amount of his school trips traipsing around Ely cathedral.

I disagree with them, there were quite a few differences between the mosque and Ely. Firstly, and most importantly the mosque was warmer. My main memory of Ely is largely shivering beneath a very thick duffel coat. Secondly rather than subjecting school children to hours sitting on stone floors whoever designed the mosque included a thick (and very comfortable looking) Persian carpet.

Exhausted from the early start we hunted down some elusive Omani Wifi, which turned out to be the local starbucks. It was almost lunchtime, and after we had both checked-in for our flights home we headed to Kargeen Caffe for a long lunch. Up to this point we hadn’t eaten much traditional Omani food (possibly with the exception of Shawarma). So we settled down for a feast of traditional Omani bread and Kabsa Dajaj which was a biryani like dish of chicken and rice which came with lamb soup and a cold sauce which tasted like extremely garlicky gazpacho. The plague was mildly improved by a strange Yemeni tea which consisted of crushed cloves and cardamom.

We were running out of time so we headed to Muttrah Souk as our last stop before the airport. I found some postcards, and a tiny chair and a large book was produced so that I could write them. I then sent a number of unfortunately totally illegible postcards. (Not helped by the man sticking a stamp over most of the writing in a couple of cases...) Having posted these, hoping that the sentiment it’s the thought that counts will be conveyed, I re-entered the maze of shops to try to locate Leila.

There was quite a scene going on inside the small shoe shop. Three Omani women were yelling in fast Arabic at the shop owner, who was cowering in the corner, Leila was standing waiting to pay for a pair of sandals. It soon transpired that the shop owner had attempted to rip off the Omani women, who had insisted on a refund. This refund had eventually been given; however, the unfortunate shop owner had then, without waiting for the Omani women to leave the shop, tried the same technique on Leila. The Omani women came to her rescue and were now berating him for his inhospitable treatment of foreigners. After five minutes of very fast, cross, Arabic Leila was allowed to pay the local price for the shoes. The Omani women watched the money being exchanged, and then left the shop shaking our hands on the way out.

It seemed a shame to have to head back to the airport to fly home- Oman has been a wonderful adventure. But we have definitely now worked out the Muscat road system, in the whole 25-minute journey to the airport, we were only slightly lost once.

PS. A couple of days later the plague has reverted to mild cold status.