Mixed feelings

At only twenty kilometres of Fujairah lies the border with Oman. That’s too easy. There is a much more difficult road and, like most cyclists know, more difficult equals more beautiful. From Kalba a brand-new road leads through the rugged Hajar Mountains to Hatta. In Hatta one can also cross the border with Oman. So, up to Hatta.
The major advantage of the new tar road becomes clear quite fast: there is not a lot of traffic. Steadily we climb and it takes quite a while before we have to stand on our pedals, gasping and working hard to keep a bit of speed. Looking back we see the dark blue Gulf of Oman merge into the light blue of the cloudless sky. After having crossed the first hills there is nothing but treeless mountains, in hundreds of shades of grey and brown. The last climb to the second tunnel ascends with 16% and sweating like otters we look out over the conquered altitude. Friendly we decline the well meant offers to take a ride with a car.

Cautiously we ride through the tunnel on a small footpath at the side. Fortunately the tunnel, that’s dangerous for cyclists, is illuminated very well; after the tunnel and climb our toil is rewarded with a unforgettable descent. We pass some villages that are just as new as the road and for which the hill tops have been flattened in order to build on a safe height from the wadi (riverbed).
We cycle through four different emirates, that are scattered over the country like islands. The level of maintenance of roads and villages shows the wealth of an emirate. After arriving in Hatta we have climbed almost a thousand metres, enough for one day. Carrying an extra ten liters of water in our store bags, we find a ramshackle house behind a little hill. The tent fits just next to it. The local children have no problems finding us and when their curiosity has overwon their shyness, our tent and petrol stove attract a lot of public once again.

With an unexpected free exit stamp of the Emirates in our passports we cycle to the borderpost of Oman. Three applauding immigration officers await us at a new, white marble palace, the most beautiful immigration office we ever saw. But that’s what you pay 120 dirham for. Oman, our 30th country!
With a tough headwind we cycle out of the mountains through hundreds of wadi’s, back to the Gulf of Oman. In a small shop we are not allowed to pay the bread: “You are my friend!” The people are nice.
On the face of it there seems little difference with the Emirates: the same dusty villages, small shops with huge, colourful signs, garbage on the streets, big tar roads and a lot of construction sites. On the other hand we see that most people wear traditional clothes here: the khandura for men, the abayah and shayla for the women.

Oman is the country of castles, fortresses and watch-towers. Every village, small or big, has at least one old fortress and is being guarded by old, mostly dilapidated towers on the nearby hills. In Sohar we visit the castle that is situated next to the sea and serves as a museum at the same time. The traditional dhaggar (dagger) that hangs at a wall wins our interest over the dizzy information about the geology of the country. In the best bookshop of Sohar, the Shams Al Awloom, we find the best map of Oman, though distances and heights are not provided on it.

There are not a lot of through roads in Oman and going to Muscat we follow the busy road that goes from east to west. Fortunately large stretches have a parallel road where cycling is peaceful and quiet. Unfortunately we face a hard headwind every day. In the afternoons we often eat in one of the small restaurants; two plates of biriyani rice with mutton, chicken and vegetables only costs three and a half euro and is very tasty.
At night we sleep behind one of the walled in plantations, in a wadi or in an old shed that’s no longer being used. Just like in the Emirates the government of Oman aims at the rich western tourist, so the prices of the scarce accommodation are relatively high.

The city border of Muscat starts at about eighty kilometres before the centre. Nearly a full day we cycle through new suburbs and city districts, along the marvellous Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, dozens of roundabouts and more excavations and construction sites. Still with a nasty headwind.
The old centre of Muscat is situated in the mountains of the northeastern part of the city and looks like one big excavation site where a new palace for the sultan and several government buildings are being constructed. The bay is flanked by two enormous castles; in the old days Muscat was an impregnable fortress. After a long search we find a hotel for two nights at the corniche of the Muscat harbour, eight kilometres back.

In a short time we’ve built up a love-hate relationship with Oman. The drawback of this beautiful, partly undiscovered country is the lack of affordable accommodation and the scandalous way the Asian people, who do the dirty work, are being treated. We really feel gloomy about all the wrong information we have, which has led to a mistake in our planning. The Oman visa is valid for only thirty days. Oman and Yemen are much larger than we imagined. To reach Yemen in time we would have to race to the south. Visiting Yemen in a good way and on our pace would take three months. After that we would have to race back the same way to the Emirates, because the Saudi embassy told us that Karin, being a woman, is not allowed to cycle in their country. A woman is not even allowed to drive a car there, let alone cycling. A big disappointment. At the time we would return to the Emirates after racing through Oman it would be summer on the Arabian Peninsula and we would be roasted alive.

We have to skip the south of Oman and the whole of Yemen of our list. For the time being.