By Shynil Hashim
Chasing the South East Monsoon at Salalah, Oman.
It was all soaked when we hit the tarmac of
an old port town – Salalah, the land of frankincense. Pretty late into the
night, we were held captive in the Embraer 175 flight of Oman Air, making us impatiently
wait for our air-stair. The delay, thanks to the calming drizzle outside, was
in no mood to cease. The endless wait evoked mixed emotions. The sight of rain
brought in immediate happiness. However, this unexpected wait not only
frustrated us but also triggered in us a slight fear of our car rental company,
Budget, closing before we make it past passport control. The khareef season as we learnt later, sees regular
and additional flights full, hotel rents quadrupling and car rental companies
working round the clock allaying our unwanted fears.
Chasing the South East Monsoon at Salalah, Oman.
Khareef (Arabic: خريف, autumn)
is a colloquial Arabic term used in southern Oman, southeastern Yemen, southwestern Saudi
Arabia and Sudan for the southeastern monsoon. The monsoon affects Dhofar
Governorate and Al Mahrah Governorate from about June to early September. Towns such as Salalah depend upon the khareef for water
supply. An annual Khareef festival is held in Salalah to celebrate the monsoon
and attracts several tourists.
The air-stair arrived and we maintained our
decency to not butt in to rush for the door. As usually seen, passengers from
the Indian subcontinent have a premature evacuation problem that ends up tugging
their co-passengers in the ribs and occasionally spilling cabin luggage on to their
heads. If you are travelling into the region for the first time and have plenty
of the sub-continent’s men in your flight, beware to take care of your head.
Once we exited the shuttle bus, we hurried
to get our passports stamped. The frantic thought of the rental company closing
only resulted in longer strides to the immigration desk. I was the first
passenger to reach the counter. I held my 50 dirhams tight and ready to shove
it into the officer’s hands. However, upon turning behind saw no signs of
Shahid. I forgot that as foreigners we have to fill forms which Shahid had the
presence of mind to.
GCC residents are granted on
arrival visa at Oman’s entry points via road or air. If you are a dependent,
please ensure that your sponsor joins you or permits you a solo trip via
written NOC. Entry charges are OMR 5 per person. For land crossings, the exit
charges are 35 AED except at Hatta Border. Also make sure your car has Oman insurance for the period of stay and
a No Objection Letter in case you are using a rent-a-car service. Finally and
most importantly, your passport and resident visa should have a minimum of 6
months validity.
The car was a spotlessly red coloured 1.6L Nissan
Sunny. One look at all neighbouring cars told us of the fate that awaited our
Nissan. Most cars, if not all, were covered in thick monsoon mud that their
registration plates could be hardly traced.
With no internet access, relying on a nearly primitive method we enquired our way to Hotel
Darbat. Booking.com facilitated
securing a comfortable and spacious twin bed at 40 OMR a night though a better
bet (for cheaper deals) would be to call the hotel directly said the concierge.
Booking sites buy rooms at rates one third the price which in turn is sold to
us at fancy rates depending on the demand. It’s a win-win for both the customer and
hotel if they talk to each other directly during the high season. Already past midnight we crashed into our
beds winding the alarm for a 5am rise.
After a quick breakfast at the Pakistani
restaurant nearby, we headed southward for Shaat. During the khareef
season, it drizzles as usual throughout the day. Windshield wipers constantly
sway to and fro while the car’s body amass mud.
Dense fog, hairpin curves, a military check-post
and 80 kilometres away, Shaat isn’t a popular tourist spot. Even our hotel staff
wasn’t aware of the location. The deviation to Shaat from the highway features
as M100
on Google Maps. One should be careful about speeding 4x4s and camel herds
crossing. An unfortunate sight was a broken Corolla that rammed into a camel
whose belly burst open with its blood staining the road red. The Toyota’s roof
evidently suggested reckless speed, that too in dense fog, which sent the camel flying above it.
Just after the check-post, before Shaat, is
a cliff on your left hand side that overlooks a gorge. Look down and one could
see fluffy clouds almost floating by your feet. A place above
the clouds perfect for photo enthusiasts including narcissistic selfie takers.
Deviating into Shaat, the signboards
promised the sea view point we were in pursuit of and a bonus sink hole that we
didn’t plan. The view point as seen in photographs was a cliff which like the earlier place has clouds floating in mid air. The place was covered in dense fog that reduced vision to less
than 10 metres. We waited for nearly an hour for the fog to clear but to no
avail.
Traversing to the sink hole opened up
scenes as in fairytales. Trees of the same species but never the same
character stood lost in time. They were moss-covered and had a thick
undergrowth of grass. Their pristine beauty looked like it was the first day of
creation of planet earth, inspiring you to pen poems even if you don’t have the taste or ability for such literary hardships. Pictures and words only tell half the story. In the midst of
this heavenly experience, we were in no mood to photograph or talk but to soak in it completely.
The characteristic symphony of little birds chirping and tweeting in the mist
elevated the feeling of being inparadise. Not a decibel of noise. If there was a
paradise, here it is in Salalah, what probably resembled Eden garden, where
the leaves are fluorescent green, fresh as how mint would taste while the
morning dew slowly drenches you. Never making you shiver in cold but yearning
for more and more and more. One could spend hours, perhaps even days, simply
sitting and staring into yonder without even without the typical company of a book and its
partner - the tea glass.
(please watch in HD)
On our way back, the
highway runs on the edge of a cliff that overlooks a beach. The signage read
Fezayah. Let’s say it was chance that made us stop at the cliff. The beach looked interesting, and even better was the route, a winding dirt
track, that offered to take us to the turquoise waters. Downhill the track,
contrasting images were to unfold. At least a hundred camels were grazing in
the green forest which had been a desert mountain until a few weeks back. A
pleasant mismatch. The ship of the desert now anchored in an amazingly different
terrain. Further downhill, we saw a herd of cows nibbling grass off a carpet of
green. Negotiating all this, we finally reached the beach. An unexplored shore, rich in pebbles
and fossils of fish, whose only visitors were us and a bunch of Saudi men who
drove 2500 kilometres from Riyadh. They generously offered a share of their
lunch which comprised of grilled fish, khuboos and some superb tea under the
shade of a large balancing rock. Even in the absence of a common language, we
exchanged our Instagram profiles and vowed to stay in touch there. We bid
goodbyes to our new friends and the beach. As we left, we dawned on an inner
conflict - whether we should make Fezayah popular to our immediate world
or not. Disturbing images of plastic waste leave in us a fear even as we share the
virgin beach here.
An Omani Riyal is approx 9.51 AED
or 2.59 USD. Each Riyal constitutes 1000 baisa. Food for the car and fuel for
the body are relatively (compared to UAE) cheap in Oman.
Turned off by the crowd, we didn’t visit
Marnif Cave and Mughsayl’s natural fountain. These are very close to this
beach. We were told that underground gush of water jets out of a blow hole creating a splendid
fountain. Pictures on the internet confirmed the same. The cave
opens to majestic views of the Arabian Sea. We regret not going there and all
travellers are advised to make these destinations an essential part of their
itinerary.
Our first day was coming to a close and we had already got our airfare’s worth though Wadi Darbat was yet to be experienced. Having
spent considerable time basking in nature’s glory at Shaat and Fezayah, we had
to drop Nabi Ayoub’s Tomb which apparently stood on the top of a hill. In the
Bible, he is referred to as Prophet Job. In and around Salalah are tombs of
holy men who seem to be of gigantic build much like how folklore goes about the
height of those men from ancient days. After Maghrib prayers at the Salalah Grand
Mosque, we went back to the hotel for a quick shower. Already exhausted but with
still a couple of hours left to hit the sack, we decided to visit the local
souq.
Husn Souq is typical Middle Eastern market
aplomb with scents of spices, food, barber shops, handicrafts, garments and
most things tradable. A strong aroma of frankincense, bukhoor and perfume hit
you as one enters the market. Bargaining skills are a prerequisite if you intend
to purchase. While buying frankincense, we learnt that only Omanis are allowed
to sell this merchandise. This nationalization must be due to heritage reasons.
Frankincense, a resin obtained from its tree, is considered to be Oman’s gift
to the world. By leaving it to burn with charcoal, it produces an incense smoke
that is normally used in traditional households and establishments. It is also
believed to ward away microorganisms and germs thereby keeping the air
purified.
On our second day, also being the last,
after having missed an alarm by an hour, we set out for Wadi Darbat at quarter
to seven. Middle Eastern habits tend to encourage staying up and waking up
late. With very little trace of cars, in any direction, we cruised at top speed
comfortably. Light rain and Shahabaz’s ghazals played in the background
while we engaged in some serious conversations disgusting our home state, as
usual, for the lack of effort for conservation of nature.
The highway to the wadi runs northward and
parallel to the sea. The landscape and its color are very desert-ish along this
road. However it was noticed where there was a slight slope or inclination, like the edge
of the road, a layer of bright green moss or grass covered it. Perhaps this incline
traps water from the monsoon fog which causes the hue. A signage instructed us to turn left for the
wadi. From here the uphill drive to the mountains of Dhofar starts. As
the road wound and a few curves later, one is taken back by the surprisingly sudden
change in landscape. A magical transformation from the desert to an almost tropical forest happens in less than a kilometer or two. The fog thickens, drizzle force the
windshield wipers to sway, headlights and hazard-lights signal caution and we
roll down windows to breathe in air as fresh as a daisy.
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| click to enlarge |
Having spent quality time at the wadi and
still not satisfied enough, we headed towards Mirbat. Somewhere in the highway
is a road that takes you to the mystery hill also known as magnetic hill. Once
again, thanks to the lack of a signage, we lost our way to the old city of
Mirbat. We are grateful to our stars for having landed us in a place that froze
in time. The old city of Mirbat houses a castle which is now a museum. Further
down the road are dilapidated houses, alleys and decades old shops. We even saw
stray dogs, a sight we rarely encounter anywhere in Arabia. While some houses
were abandoned, the others were still breathing. A walk in this small maze of
buildings brings you sounds and sights its past. The Mercedes Benzes and an abandoned Guatemala made GMC
school bus suggest modernity and tradition living well in harmony.
Mirbat is a town by the seaside where dhows
are anchored in high seas waiting with baits that fetch their daily bread. Being from
Dubai, we were only used to seeing these vessels holding cruise parties that
served food with blaring music, gleaming
light and fizzy drinks.
The magnetic hill is 600 metres away to the
left (when driving from Salalah) just before the lone Al Maha petrol station.
From this junction, Mirbat is roughly 11 kilometres. There is no signage to
mark the exact magnetic point. And again thanks to that, we lost our way to a
scenic drive up the misty mountains. On our return, we had to enquire for the
magnetic point which is in front a waiting shelter. Shift the gears to
neutral and the momentum gathers up to 60kmph as the road flattens.
The last major stop in the trip was
Sumhuram, a partially restored port town on a hill that overlooked a lagoon
which also functioned as a natural harbour then. History suggests that the town
traded frankincense with India, Africa and China. As the sun signalled a close,
we could see camels replenishing their water tanks from the old harbour.
It wouldn’t have been complete had we not
tasted Salalah’s tender coconut water. Being a Keralite, it was only innate to
yearn for this natural drink that is bottled and tamper proof sealed from high
rise plants. Unlike Southeast Asian varieties, the Arabian one fizzed a bit.
The government owns farms that cultivate in large numbers crops like plantain,
coconut and papaya. Kerala, are you listening?
After we parked at the airport and unloaded
our backpacks, the sight of heavy dirt on our car signalled a gratifying trip.
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