Up from sleep I stagger at
dark o'clock, determined not to miss the camels, thanks to the crazy timing of
early morning departure. What I really want is to greet the sunrise slowly,
lazing in my princess-in-the-desert bedroom tent. The giant green insect
watches as I do the necessary hygiene (sorry sir, for occupying your
bathroom). I get to see what my tent looks like from outside, in a murky
pre-dawn. The camp is silent. Wishfully, fruitlessly, I hunt for some coffee.
Where is everyone? We are supposed to be leaving in half an hour.
At the reception area I find
two of our couples who are racing back to Muscat at any moment. They insisted
on touring the renowned mosque there, which was mentioned in the
original itinerary; its visiting hours close at 11 a.m. Good luck. Our
itinerary/agenda has been re-shaping itself.
But here come three camels
dutifully at 6 a.m. They have no saddles, just a blanket tied on with a rope.
Good. I am taken on what is very likely a well-worn route through part of the
camp. Fifteen minutes? But try as I might, I can't communicate that I want a long
ride ... all around the camp.
Arriving back at the dining
area, I see a bit of activity and am directed to the hot water and instant
Nescafe. Nescafe? The place is still deserted except for a couple of staff.
At 6:45 I chance upon Mahmoud and ask where is everyone?! Sleeping, he shrugs.
I thought we were to leave now! Oh, that was changed to 8 a.m. ... (moi: silent expletive).
As fellow travellers trickle
in for breakfast, they tell me they called a meeting with Mahmoud after dinner,
after I went to bed. Evidently the promised itinerary was far too ambitious,
and today we could start the day later and do most of the things on yesterday's
agenda. No-one wanted to wake me up to tell me (not knowing of my
ultra-early-bird plan). There is something absurd about this.
I have coffee at the same
table as last night, feeling a bit uncharitable flummoxed by now,
especially since yesterday's backseat chatterbox comes to sit with me.
Orange-papaya juice and a tasty bean dish help. Then I go for another camel
ride. Same circuit, same language barrier, lost confidence in my sign language
skills. The hazy morning light makes for poor photography. At least I can see
the extent of the camp where I would like to spend more time.
Our group readies for
departure The chatterbox beats me to the front seat beside Musa. Fair enough. I
am in the back with one of the ship's speakers and his wife. The man has lived
in Bahrain and other Middle East places; his lecture on pirates was greatly
informative and entertaining. Goodbye, 1,000 Nights Desert Camp. We didn't do
you justice!
Going down the dread
sand mountain is not so intimidating in daylight. In fact, I suspect we are
going around it which indicates there was another route. Heart,
be still (ditto mouth)! We head into the Hajar Mountains, spectacular scenery
as we travel upwards and then down. Am losing track of which direction we are
taking, where is my map. Two hours later we arrive at Wadi Bani Khalid which we
learn from a sign or two, not that Mahmoud or anyone tells us anything. We
unload in a parking lot where he suggests a "20 minute" stop, then
promptly does his disappearing act.
Somehow someone understands we
are to follow a tricky footpath along a wadi watercourse that has a bit of
running water in it. Interspersed with fallen rocks, a partial trail has been
constructed, partly with a cement curb that in many places is the only narrow
way to advance. It's a challenge in balance and concentration, especially since
the sun is in full blistering mode.
Along the way we pass an
impressive buffet tent ... is it for our lunch? Is it for a special occasion?
Is it for ordinary visitors to partake, like pay as you go? How do they get the
food here? No answers available.
Finally at the oasis pool,
it's a lovely setting of green pools where Omanis come to picnic and swim. It
looks like our leader and drivers scrambled ahead to sit in a pavilion way
over there drinking coffee. The pavilion looks almost inaccessible from
here. It's too hot to try hiking over there. Over an hour has passed by the
time we straggle back to reassemble at the jeeps, seeking elusive bits of
shade. My nemesis -heatstroke - feels close.
Thank goodness Musa turns on
the A/C for us as the drivers confer with our leader. Suddenly Arab pop music
bursts loudly from the front seat, on and on and on. I of course love it;
chatterbox woman is frantic to stop it, pushing every button on the jeep
dashboard making me choke with helpless hysterics ― it's the ringtone on
Musa's phone. For most of the day's journey I am on the sun side of the jeep so
I'm grateful Musa rigs up a shade on the window next to me. It takes an hour of
A/C before the sweat stops dripping.
What's next? Some sightseeing
in Muscat was on the list. Where is lunch to be, we wonder. It's about five
hours since breakfast. We extract from Musa that we are 150 miles from Muscat.
He may also have explained unforeseen detours or some roads being closed. It's
a long drive southeast where we find ourselves not at Muscat, but at Sur on the
coast. For a while on the coastal road there is dramatic scenery, the slopes of
the eastern Hajars, gigantic slabs of rock plunging into the sea. But pit stops
have been abandoned on this endless drive and now I can't even find a photo to
borrow that adequately shows the dramatic route.
When is lunch? Two hours after
that most of us are starving and stiff from sitting, hoping a restaurant will
materialize overlooking the sea. Nope. Not until we reach Muscat about 3 p.m.
and stop at the Jungle Restaurant. It has a salad bar buffet, then we are
served a couple of curries. And fruit dessert. Slow motion and lingering took
an hour and our ship is sailing at 4:30. I am impatient for the promised visit
to the souks at the harbour, although I have been there before.
The only instance when Mahmoud
stuck to his timed stop of fifteen minutes.
The ship did not leave without
us J
Brenda's desert adventures ...
this is one expedition that promised much and unfortunately delivered less. As
a trial run, the camp itself is exemplary; it's the intermediary tour company
that needs to re-think the itinerary. Oman is a friendly, progressive country
of awesome sites ‒ with great distances between. Luckily I've seen many,
but not enough of 1000 Nights Camp! Wahiba Sands Desert, returning in 2016.
© 2016 Brenda Dougall Merriman
No comments:
Post a Comment