I have so very much to catch you up on…. The past two days have been an incredible whirlwind, that, though it seems impossible to explain in words, I’m going to try. To begin (sort of on a low note) I definitely have bed bugs. Classic bites, and they itch like before when I got them in Greece. This morning’s bites are just on my Right arm, so I think it might be the coversheet or something. Anyway, I’m using the 4th bed when I get back and we’ll complain Saturday morning. How can one person be so unlucky when it comes to bed bug bites?! But, that is not even a blip on the radar of the events that occurred. So let us begin… post bug bite.
Thursday AM Claire woke at 5:30 (why? No one knows, we went to bed at 1… weird girl) and I got up at 6:30, waking Trevor at 7. We packed clothes, food, and a prayer and ran down to meet one of the medical students from the night before, Musleh. We got in the car, drove to the campus and got a tour before picking up Emma, the Finland exchange student. The campus is pretty massive with several buildings and colleges. The medical school is connected to the Hospital on the back via a little bridge. There are 130 students, 50/50 male/female. Males live off campus and receive free education plus a stipend for the cost of living. Women live on campus for free next to a gym, and other amenities. They can’t leave campus though without getting permission from their father, or the driver, or another person… which is interesting. It basically means they can’t ever meet boys, and so sometimes they plan social programs that just “happen” to occur at the same place.
All the schooling is free here (which is insane) and there is no tax (which is doubly insane). There is no such thing as homeless in Oman, the government provides everyone a home, and I’m pretty sure Health care is free. There is a private schooling option, and I think there are private clinics (aka the government won’t pay for your rhinoplasty (nose job)).
The trip we took was 400 total kilometers, through mountains, true desert and more mountains. Through beautiful oases, the ocean, beaches, palaces and villages we travelled to the farthest point east in Oman to the place “where the sun first rises on the Arabic nations.” It was simply indescribable.
Emma (from Finland) is currently working in the Emergency department, where she says there are a lot of Sickle cell anemia crises, babies with vomiting and diarrhea, and a case of child abuse. There are no acts of violence, no shootings or purposeful stabbings in Oman. Very few people have guns, and to get a gun, you must go through this huge dilemma of ordering one, going through the screening, you have to have a good reason and it takes forever. Very few people actually do it. There are more car accidents here than almost anywhere in the world- they are second in the world for deaths from MVAs (Motor vehicle accidents). They don’t drink here. Westerners are permitted to bring a couple bottles, but that’s all. I couldn’t actually imagine a college experience without it. It’s amazing… and I kind of like the idea of not having it actually. Emma showed us pictures of some of the women who came in to the ER from the Bedouin tribes… they wear face masks, essentially. Beak like coverings that come to a point at their chin, and the right and left sides meet at the center in a ridge that protrudes outward… the eye holes are dripping almond shapes that also remind me of birds. They were much stronger colors than the typical black dresses (abaya’s). Ps. Apparently, it’s a new social trend to wear all black. To wear the colorful outfits is outdated, old fashioned and unpopular… interesting. I have so many thoughts to share about this, but I shall wait. The one thing I’ll add is that Omani women seem to walk with a certain grace about them, very smooth, never hurried, mildly shy, but graceful still.
We live nearer the sea North of Muscat, where it is flat, dry and arid… well, all of Oman (minus the few exceptions) is arid. But here it’s more like a baking pan kind of arid. The sun at high noon, is like a roaster in the oven and there is nowhere to hide but inside in the AC. As we drove, first there appeared a faint shadow, then a dark swatch, then a mountain. The dust it seems keeps the horizon fuzzy and unclear and so the mountains just creep at you out from the haze. But as we drove in, the mountains were not unlike the foothills in Colorado. Craggy, rocky, clear lines of rock ages reach up, as evidence of a clear upheaval of the tectonic plates that shoved the once-flat layers sky high. Add some pine trees and a stream, and I literally could have been at home. ((Ps. Trevor just did the lean and fart move on the couch near me… he’s reading his HP, I wonder if he even noticed, lol…)) As it were, the bushes just disappeared and were replaced by stone. Higher we drove through the mountains, until we reached a souk, or village market, we walked around some, but not too much, grabbed some breakfast (chicken hamburger, I just ate the chicken with ketchup –no corn!!) Wandering, we saw the markets for fresh veggies and meat and jewelry. They also sell the classic Omani knife which is held traditionally on a belt during ceremonies. It is the “Symbol of Oman” and is on the flag as well. We saw one man actually wearing the fully outfit (cane and knife and wrap on his head) to the market. Musleh said some of the older men do that to go out at all. I find it endearing. The cap is called a Masur, the knife a Hanjer and the white tunic-like outfit is called dishdasha. The cane is called asa (unless I heard all of these incorrectly J).
then we descended slightly into what Musleh called the “true desert.” We saw camels, he must be right. Apparently worth a lot, these camels just hung out in the shade by the road, eating off trees. We also saw (a ton of) goats and a few donkeys. The scene was this: sand. Sand, bush, scraggly tree, sand, bush, sand, goat, sand. Sand, camel crossing sign, sand, sand, sand camel, bush, sand. For forever. Well, for a long time anyways. There were some houses intermittently and very rarely a village would pass by. Most entertaining was that as we were driving, all these American songs kept streaming off his playlist – Taylor Swift included. “Welcome to Oman! Let’s listen to some pop music.” But it was fine; I prefer it to the classic Omani music, honestly. I’m trying to like the Arabic pop and the older music, really, but it’s going to take some time. Maybe it’d help if I could understand anything. Sooner than anticipated, we reached the other mountain range and we started climbing again. They were not Colorado mountains. These were rockier, sandier, deader, with colors ranging from white, to yellow to black. One whole peak, perched of the slope of another yellow mountain, was entirely black sand, it was fascinating. They were harshly cut out of the horizon and were inhospitable to most growth. The heat here was lessened by the indirectness of the sun, but somehow, the mountains seemed harder, tougher, and sharper. We stopped for photos and were greeted by highly annoyed goats. These goats had beautiful long coats though and interesting faces… still the typical apathetic expression and similar bleating though. Again we drove until out of the mountains, we came upon a valley full of Life. This was Wadi Beni Khalid. This Village sat in the Wadi (expansive dry bed where water goes in the rain) of Beni Khalid, the Tribe was Muslehey and Musleh’s grandfather was the head of this tribe. We went along the roads that Musleh grew up on, saw his uncle’s house and went past it to the Oasis. On the way, bundles of palm trees burst from the sides of the mountains, watered by their irrigations channels called “fallaj.” These brought water from the Oasis to the city and watered the greenery on the way. They were beautiful. We arrived at the parking lot and began our long walk. Omani women don’t get into the water because of their conservatism, and so the park was full of men. There was a handful of women on one side of a pond, but they stayed fully covered in the shade. The oasis was this river that streamed from higher in the mountains, collecting in pools and ponds until it dispersed at the bottom into the fallaj and to the city. We went on a trek to avoid the men and allow us girls to be able to get into the water as well. The rock was porous and full of holes ranging from pencil eraser size to baseball to small, rolled up child. Claire said “And now we are walking on the moon.” And I died laughing. The favorite phrase of the day is “How are you?” and we heard it called to us approximately 2,985,387 times, give or take 2 or 3. The response, by the way, if you ask the question is always “fine.” I say good or great, but here or in South Africa, everyone is fine. Ironic that in the US, if a friend says they are “fine” my response is, “Oh no, what’s wrong…” But here, it’s how they learn English I think. We walked on stone that was slick in some places, and sweet Musleh, who had warned us, fell twice. Gratefully he was fine and none of us were so busy trying to answer nosey tourists’ questions that we were distracted and fell too. Eventually we found a pool behind a rock that was farther away from the men. Claire and Emma got dressed while I was taking some photos. When I went to go get my suit on, wouldn’t you know it, the men followed us up. Sigh. So I was dressed until they left. Emma boldly stepped into the pool while the guys were playing at the pool downstream and working their way up to our pool. I sat stubbornly on the side. Trevor and Musleh (who’d gone to give us some privacy) returned and talked to them, I think Musleh asked them to move on, because a few moments later they all moved past to other pools. I felt more nervous now getting in than I had before – there were guys on all sides, and I was unchanged and I felt bad for exposing Musleh to our bare, blindlingly pale Western skin and styles. Alas, I was convinced to get in and I walked back, across a stream to change. I got the bottoms on when the boys came back. I quit. Returning (painfully across the stones) to the pool, I thought, well, I have my tank top on, I’ll just get in to mid waist (preserving my bra that I hadn’t had a chance to change) and be just fine. Ha. It worked for a grand total of 5 minutes before I lost my footing and fell in all the way. Crap. Now I had to wear my tankini top for the rest of the day. –facepalm– But the water was cooler, and the experience very neat. There was a point where the pool streaked out over a rock wall and under another, so it made for a neat water slide experience. The rocks were rounded and little, which sort of gave an experience similar to a painful, torturous hot rock massage when walked on, but were fun to look at under the water. I collected some rocks because the algae turned the stone into beautiful shades of color. We soon packed, got redressed, and made our way back. My flip flops, when wet, made for a treacherous return. My feet slipped in and out and so it did some serious skin damage… a similar situation happened at the Dead Sea in Israel and I broke my shoe completely, forcing me to walk on the sharp salt path until I could get help – even then, the blisters were difficult to ignore. Alas, we made it back out, without much more damage, and back to the car. OH! I peed in a hole. A porcelain hole, but a hole none-the-less. Without toilet paper, I might mention. This was no better than just peeing behind a bush.. maybe worse. You are in a smelly bathroom, which three stalls, behind a closed door that does nothing but make the tiny room with the porcelain hole into an oven. At least outside, peeing behind a tree, there is wind and you don’t feel so claustrophobic. There was a hose of water, a bidet of sorts??? But I refused to use it... I learned enough about weird water bacteria and diseases to want to put any water “down there.” -Shudders- I’m glad it’s over, and I know now to avoid restrooms outside main city centers or big restaurants. Anyway, back to the car. There was a group of children there that have learned if they stay near the tourist centers, they can get free cash from unsuspecting visitor who think they are giving charity to poor kids. I grabbed a photo, but that was about all that happened then. We left, took a photo op at the Visitor center, and went to Musleh’s grandfather’s house for lunch.
The house was magnificent- cut in the traditional multi-faceted Omani style, it was large, with many outdoor tunnels and halls to other parts of the house. The doors were this incredible dark stain with detailed carvings and patterns. One door had a smaller door cut into the center, which was totally neat. He led us to the guest greeting room (called Mendes?) which had seats lining this 30 by 20 foot space. The floor was covered in mats, the stain glassed windows draped by fine linen and the high ceiling was decorated with traditional appearing mats of grasses, almost like bamboo. We had a traditional Omani lunch. Starting by sitting on the floor, we placed a mat of plastic down and Musleh cut up fresh apples, bananas and oranges. Along with Halua (a fruity, buttery, Rose-flavored Omani sweet, we drank Kahua (Arabic coffee). Fresh dates also were brought – be sure to eat the dark ones, they are the sweet, ripe fruits. Then they placed a huge, single plate of rice in the center and drizzled chicken soup (full of potato and carrots) onto it (I think it was called Salona, or Soba in the States). With your right hand only, you grab some soup, rice and chicken, make it into a ball and eat it at your fingertips. We were terrible at it. But the food tasted amazingly. There was salad too you could add in that made the meal perfect. We really felt like children – making messes, incapable of ball-making, it was absurd. We chatted for some time, then Musleh’s cousin came to give us Henna tattoos for the wedding. It took a long time, and this demure, sweet 19 year old could hardly speak English (or was too shy to risk it.) The pictures will do this one justice I think. She looked like she was in pain by the end, after being curled up and pinching the henna for 6 full tattoos. But her orange wrapped outfit was stunning, and her art just as much so. After we were finished, Trevor eventually joined us and we waited and waited in this room. Sometimes Musleh came by, sometimes other women would too. One came with a smoky perfume that she placed under our skirts and shirts to give them a beautiful essence. She did this to a man and a boy that came in too. We then washed off our henna and waited some more. Then Musleh came, sat, and with encouragement from us, left to go shower and prepare. So we waited some more. Then the waiting was so very, very over. Musleh came and announced they had found clothing for us to wear to the wedding, and so they brought in these beautiful outfits. Emma wore red, Claire wore orange and teal, and I was in full teal. We did NOT look Omani, but I certainly felt better. Then, without a chance for really taking photos were were rushed into the party room – a 12 by 50 foot room where there were couches and a stereo and dancing at one end, and sitting at another. It was only us and close family/children there at first, but it was apparently time to dance. They made us dance, and dance and dance. And we are terrible dancers. Well, Claire and I are, lol. Emma had enough African dance classes in her that she sort of just took off and went wild. I’m a little too self-conscious to really let go and I wanted to see them, learn from them before I go hog-wild and “get low” wid it and offend them all. Claire is just uncomfortable with being the center of attention, and man, we really were. At some point we were pushed back out and to the door where the bride was to come in. We all gathered in the hall when she arrived. She was beautiful. Wearing bright colors (pink, I think) with detailed gold jewelry and designs on her clothing, she had her face covered with a sheer lime green veil. Unlike bouncy, beaming, bossy American Brides, she was demure, almost sad, completely refrained. It was interesting. She whisked passed us and then straight upstairs, until I saw her at midnight. For the rest of the evening, it was more dancing (seriously?!)… but there was this beautiful, large and in charge woman of African descent who always livened up the dancing. She’d sway in with a high Arabic trill and do an incredible sassy bouncing dance. She was my favorite, with a smile that could light up the night. The little Omani girls were so hesitant about dancing in front of westerners, and we were hesitant about dancing in front of them, so the beginning was awkward. Then they found out that we were absurd and could be silly too. I made friends with this little girl (11 months maybe) and flirted with her much of the night. Emma tried the same thing on this boy and he cried terribly, it was sad. Finally, some truly great dancers got up and showed us how to do it. They were of African descent as well, with more of an Ethiopian shade, and they wore Abayas – all black with black head coverings. Underneath, we could see evidence of beautiful dresses (and at one point one of the women unbuttoned her abbaya to use more as a cape and we could see her gown). Apparently, Oman also has an unfortunate history with having African people groups as slaves, and these women were from that time period. They brought some serious soul to the party though. The Omanis do have house maids though – here they had one from Philippines, Indonesia and Nepal. After dinner (beef with rice), these women gathered outside and began playing drums and singing and dancing to some traditional songs. They are so spirited. They remind me of my Ghanian African Dance teacher and all the things he talked about while dancing – it’s never a true dance until you put some juice into it, some soul into it. Then you could just move slightly, but still enrapture an audience by your spirit. Emma, Claire and I were then brought into the men’s room to eat more bananas, oranges, Halua, apples and dates with Kahua (remember those words? J ) and to chat with Musleh’s Father, Uncle and family. It was such a good night. Trevor, dressed in his Omani garb, had been confusing people all night. His dark coloring made people believe he was actually Omani, until his mannerisms (not shaking hands with every person in the room, or bopping his nose against another man’s nose (apparently a form of greeting for some people)) or his greeting in English gave him away. Apparently they just talked for that whole time in that room, mostly in Arabic, so Trevor had NO idea what was going on, but he enjoyed it so tremendously. What an insight into the culture we experienced!! I’m grateful to the women who knew enough English to talk to us and help us understand what to do and when and about the culture.
During the time the bride was preparing at the house, the men of the wedding went to the Mosque to pray. At the end of the time there, the religious leader declares him Husband and his wife as Wife, and he goes to the tent he prepared for her to be with her and gather her… more on this later. Back at the house, eventually, the bride was to come down, so we all rushed to the hall to see her come down the stairs, still veiled to singing, vocal ululating and trills. Still somber, she got in her car, we got in ours, and we went in a procession to the husband’s tent. And I sincerely mean a *procession.* Travelling in a parade of about 20 cars perhaps (we were right behind the bride as security), more and more cars would hear our honking and cheering and come to join – so much so that by the end, there were probably 40 or more cars, busses, motorcycles in the procession, all honking and screaming and singing. Upon arrival at the tent, the bride waited until the people had gathered, then got out. To a traditional song, the walked up the path to enter the tent, still veiled in green and surrounded by well-wishers offering traditional prayers and blessings. The men shot off guns into the night sky (which I was not expecting, I jumped in the video I took), and the women followed into the tent. We all sat to each side of this tent – the bride at the front on this broad based, U-shaped bench, while the African Omanis sat around the center playing drums. There was a red carpet leading into the tent. After what seemed like a long time, the women had gathered, sat down and settled. Then, with fanfare, the men burst into the tent throwing their smallest bills – Bezahs – into the air. I gathered 4 of them. Finally the groom entered and went to his bride. He finally pulled back her veil and sat at her side. With a cheer, the music began again from the Women, and people came up individually to send their blessings to the husband and bride. I gave my four Bezahs to this little four year old, and he smiled like he won the lottery – best idea ever!! We left and talked to Trevor, Musleh and his friends for some time before heading back to the house. We changed, washed faces and brushed teeth, may or may not have broken the toilet (it simply wouldn’t flush!! And NO, it was not because of anything clogging it… thanks for asking). Then, at 1 am, we left to go to the beach. It was my stubbornness that kept me awake that night. We were all exhausted. I decided that one of us had to stay awake with Musleh to help him stay up, and it was good, because the one time the conversation lulled and I fell asleep for a second, I woke with a start to find Musleh almost directing us off the road. I quickly asked him a question and brought us back to center. Gratefully, I’m an obnoxious interviewer when called upon. Too many questions led to great discussions about suffering and childhood and burdens of life. I also asked Musleh to think of himself at his best, and what animal he felt represented him best – to which he had no real answer – but I will help him think of one. He said he’d never been asked such a question before… haha, poor guy. We settled on Peregrine Falcon but it is up for debate. Trevor said Bald Eagle and I think I agree. I then went through the Desert Scene – which is my favorite analytical process. I’ll tell you if you wanna know sometime. Finally… finally, we arrived at the beach.
The Conservation was closed when we arrived, it was 3 am in their defense, but still – it meant we unpacked the huge mat Musleh brought, unrolled the sleeping bags and laid down. I was feeling horribly nauseous (I hadn’t slept and don’t do well with no sleep) and so I grabbed some chips, banana, etc. As I was eating, I watched the electrical wiring snapping, cracking and sparking ahead of me. Claire asked if maybe it had something to do with the humidity or salt in the air, and I thought it was a good question. It was kind of like fireworks and almost sounded like a fire crackling. Apparently the foxes could smell my food too because they came investigating. We saw them when we arrived up on the hill, then again curling around the cars to get a better look at them. Trevor scared them once and I thought we were done with them – how foolish I was. I was laying with my head towards the edge of the mat contemplating life when a shadow fell across my arm. Yes, indeed, the fox was back and less than two feet away. Thankfully he was skittish and so dashed away and my first movement – then I kicked the nearby trashcan and sent him running. Perhaps now I should put the food in the car, eh? So I did, and rested, until 3:50 when we packed the stuff and headed inside. It was still very dark, and while we waited for a worker to report there were actually turtles on the beach, I used their bathroom and had the wonderful surprise of an actual toilet – I did a happy dance. With an affirmative from the turtle man, we were instructed by our leader to turn off the flash (or else scare them away and ruin their egg-laying process) and we headed into the night. Claire was on a high level of overwhelm at this point – over sensory stimulation, no sleep, paranoia about her first camping experience ever being in a parking lot in Oman with several fox attacks made Claire sort of on pins and needles. But her regaling me with tales of how we might die here in the desert made for an entertaining walk (she forgot to mention the scorpions and poisonous spiders, but I didn’t educate her that those were highly likely ways of dying out in the desert…) The entire conversation made me laugh hysterically in my rest deprived state – such fun. We walked for a long 10 minutes and went from stepping on rock to pressing through soft sand – glorious! And we saw our first turtle making a nest! Further on down the beach was another turtle covering her eggs… well… that’s how it appeared. Actually, she had already laid her eggs and covered the next and had dug out another hole to fill-in in a similar manner – Camouflage at its best! Some other good facts: Green turtles are 30-120 cm long and 90-150 kg and can live to be 80 years old. Though a female turtle will lay 100 eggs every two weeks for three times, only 2 of 3 of thousands of turtles actually live to adulthood. They can stay underwater for 5 hours before needing to surface. We watched her as the sun rose and I have some incredible photos of her moving into the water on the beach. Then, out of the blue, someone found a baby turtle struggling to get to the water from farther back on the beach (meaning warmer temperatures, and most likely a female). She was brought forward and we watch her approach the water, get tumbled by the surf, pushed back up the beach and fight to get in again. The five of us were with a group of about 9 Indian Tourists who were driving me absolutely insane. Talking loudly, not covering the red light on their cameras when they took a photo and so red lighted this poor turtle again and again. Going in front of her, playing in the water….I was highly annoyed. One of them picked up the baby turtle and helped it get into the water. I was miffed until I realized I wanted someone to do that because the poor thing was exhausted. She probably got eaten 5 minutes later, but it made me feel better for the turtle that at least we got it in the water. Lol. I went to get one final image of the baby turtle when a huge wave came rolling in. I thought it’d only go to my ankles, but no… it definitely reached above my knee. Dang it. I really didn’t want to get wet. –Sigh of Frustration!! – Oh well. Walked back slowly (the sand on my salt covered legs chaffed like you wouldn’t believe) and rinsed off at their outdoor hoses. I forgot to mention that it was actually cool there, temperature wise. The winds was obnoxiously powerful, (it stole a sleeping bag bag and rolled my stuffed sleeping back far away), and so it kept the earth cooler (at least at 5:30 am). Like I mentioned before, this place is where the first sunrise kisses an Arabian sky, and it was beautiful. The girls changed and washed faces, brushed teeth, etc and we got back in the car.
The rest of the trip home is a series of snap shots for me – since I didn’t sleep at all that night to keep Musleh up, I was dead tired. I fell asleep often, waking to new places or new conversation, and the moments I was conscious is either blurry or extremely, painfully hot. We went and had breakfast – they got coffee, I should have, but I was falling asleep at the table – Musleh doesn’t eat breakfast and so vomited it up moments later – again it was stupid chicken hamburger – mine with no bread makes it incredibly lame – the hot sauce helped though. And back into the car –slept – then we were at a beach, sleot – then we were at Sur and wandering past mosques, etc. Slept. Stopped at a museum for boats and got out and wandered some of the replicas they had outside. Slept. Lighthouse? Claire told me about this one later. Slept – mountains that were right along the sea. Slept. Now we are at an asteroid crater – beautiful blue and green water! Quite deep. SO hot. I said “when it’s this hot out I just want to stand and roast. Maybe just fall asleep” Claire replied “It sounds like the heat just makes you want to give up and die.” Hahaha…yes, I guess that’s quite right. Walked to the bottom, then back up to the car. Slept. Then suddenly we were in Muscat at the Sultan’s palace, walked and chatted with the guard and took pictures of the old Portuguese forts that rise up alongside the palace. Walked back – stayed awake – saw the huge mosque under construction, saw the grand mosque (hope we go there), and drove through the souk we’d been to with Abdul. Claire mentioned: “Oman is sort of like the moon.” A few minutes later, “Oman is also like Tatooine.” Nice nerd moment, Claire, classy J. We finally stopped at a Zanzibar restaurant – it was closed for prayer at noon – so we fell asleep and decided we’d wake at 1. Ironically, when I told my body it was time to sleep, It couldn’t do it! So I curled up, changed my thoughts and passed out. Too soon it was time for lunch. It was African and Middle Eastern food and it, again, was amazing. I got Arsia – this concoction of smashed rice and chicken topped with date sauce – incredible. Also I got curry potatoes and Tamarind juice.
After a long trip, we arrived back at the apartments. Trevor passed out, Claire showered and washed some clothes, then passed out, I blogged for approximately 5.3 minutes, and then I passed out. It was 2 or 3. Then I woke at 8, showered, then Trevor woke at 9, read. Banana and bed at 10, Trevor then later, and Claire woke at 3, then 4, then 5:30 and woke up for good. I got up for good at 5:45, and Trevor 5 minutes later. I have to say I have never slept so much so consistently in my life before ever. I have also never stayed up all night (oh.. I just remembered a time… oops…) well, I haven’t but once before. I also cannot remember a time when I was so very tired. It’s like if I stop moving for more than 5 minutes, I fall asleep. I’m up and happy when doing stuff, but exhausted waters run deep and so I fall into unconsciousness so easily now. Oh well.
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