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By Linda Pappas Funsch Special to the News-Post Having completed our initial orientation to Oman in the capital city of Muscat, our band of National Council on U.S.-Arab Relations adventurers set out away from the picturesque coast to explore the rugged interior reaches of the sultanate. Skirting the formidable Jebel Akdar peak at the center of the arid Hajar mountain range ("the backbone of Oman"), we made our way toward the ancient capital of Nizwa. En route, we stopped at the impressive Fortress at Nakhl, strategically positioned on a hillock above a town of the same name. Faithfully restored in recent years, we explored its many battlements, climbing up to the watchtower for breathtaking views of the communities below.
At last we arrived in Nizwa, one of the two sites of our original Ford Foundation research project in the 1970s. Years ago, I recalled clearly, the trip we had just completed in a few short hours took the better part of a day. But then, unlike now, there were no "superhighways." Located deep in the heartland of Oman, the fortified town of Nizwa has a rich history. In 630 A.D., the town was visited by an emissary of the Prophet Muhammad, persuading its ruling family to convert to Islam. In the 14th century, the renown medieval traveler and chronicler, Ibn Battuta, wrote of its "… beautiful bazaars … (with) mosques … large and scrupulously clean." Returning to this legendary town after an absence of 32 years was quite a shock. Viewing miles of paved road, new hotels, restaurants and even a redesigned souq (market), I recognized little of that once remote and fabled outpost. Happily, the great and impressive fort of Nizwa, dating from 851 A.D., remains standing. Recently renovated, this magnificent structure, testament to a succession of mighty Omani rulers, once again stands proud and impregnable.
The relatively recent discovery and production of oil in Oman has provided the government with the means to create an important and long-overdue national infrastructure. As we wove through small towns and villages, however, we came to appreciate very quickly that water, scarce and precious, remains the country's most valued commodity. Centuries ago, before the modern Christian era, Omanis adopted an ingenious system of water management, known as the falaj. This ancient system of underground irrigation channels or tunnels, dug by hand, runs for miles throughout the towns and villages, carrying water downhill from the base of mountains by gravity flow. Involving both engineering skills and social cooperation, the falaj networks are clearly visible today as they continue to be an effective way in which to utilize and preserve this life-giving resource.
Venturing further into the Omani heartland, our group left the towns and lush oases of the Hajar mountain range as we headed into the desert. Our destination was Al-Areesh, a camp where, as part of our "cultural immersion," we would spend two nights among the Bedouin. The Wahibah Sands is a long stretch of ridges of rolling dunes, a "sand sea," running 120 miles from north to south and 75 miles wide. It forms the eastern extension of the fabled Rub al-Khali ("The Empty Quarter"), the world's largest desert expanse. Approaching Al-Areesh in our four-wheel drive vehicles, we knew instantly that this would be a unique experience. The campsite was dotted with small barasti huts, fashioned from palm fronds, in the custom of the local Bedouin. While our accommodations were Spartan, to say the least, the setting was fantastic.
There is something magical about the desert. Vast, unbroken expanses, as far as the eye can see. Deafening silence. Solitary figures far off in the distance, a child tethering his camel, perhaps, or a shepherd tending his flock. So very peaceful. Arranging our sleeping mats on elevated outdoor platforms, we gazed intently at the star-studded desert sky. Almost mesmerized by its crystal clarity, a multitude of constellations, many bearing Arabic names, blazed brightly above. Amidst such a spectacular scene, sleep would not come easily.
As morning broke in the desert, we were awakened by the distant sound of chattering in the valley below. Bedouin women had gathered to display their unique crafts for the visitors of Al-Areesh. Here was our first opportunity to interact personally with people whose exotic appearance and fabled traditions had, until that moment, eluded us. Sporting costumes of many colors as well as tribal burqas (face masks), their hands were decorated with intricate henna designs. Lest this cultural veneer suggest a shy or retiring demeanor, these Bedouin ladies proved to be engaging and persuasive entrepreneurs. In many parts of the world, the act of bargaining takes on the appearance of a high art form. It is no different in the Wahibah Sands of Oman. While negotiating for the best price, both buyer and seller have the pleasure of engaging in light, and sometimes sustained, banter, knowing all the while that any sale will ultimately serve the purposes of both. Thus we came to know, and enjoy, our neighbors.
For sheer adrenalin rush, few experiences can compare to "dune bashing." While our original itinerary contained a fleeting reference to this activity, few in our group could have anticipated what this modern desert sport would entail. Climbing aboard four-wheel drive vehicles, manned by young Bedouin boys, we set out from camp late one afternoon toward a ridge of undulating dunes in the vast desert of Oman. Seat belts fastened tightly, we had little inkling of what lay ahead. With tires deflated to permit maximum traction, our teenage guide floored the accelerator, ascending the first of several steep mountains of sand with lightning speed. Once atop the summit, barely able to comprehend what had just happened, we raced down the other side of that precipitous, seemingly vertical formation. The desert dunes of the Wahiba, seemingly inert at first, had, for us, suddenly come to life. After enjoying several turns at this exhilarating roller coaster ride, we paused in the midst of this spectacular landscape to catch our breath and reflect on the beauty and wonder of the desert sunset. With our initiation to "dune bashing" completed, we celebrated our desert adventure that evening back at Al-Areesh, as local musicians entertained us with song and dance.
Exploring the interior reaches of Oman, our group of travelers visited many towns which had developed around lush, green oases. Passing the omnipresent groves of date palms, we observed in virtually every settlement the intricate and well-regulated distribution of water from the falaj networks. Unlike nomadic peoples, whose transient lives focus largely on the basic necessities of life, village folk enjoy a greater division of labor and specialization of industry. In Oman, certain villages are identified with specific products. The legendary "pit-weavers" of Al-Akdar are admired throughout the land. In this village, while yarn, freshly dyed with deep blue indigo, hung to dry, we observed senior weavers instructing their young apprentices, crafting cloth with rich colors and characteristic designs. Placing his loom on the ground, the weaver adroitly produces cloth from a pit dug below the earth, providing greater mobility for himself and for the treadles. In Oman's famed pottery capital, Bahla, we found potters busy at work, as they created, with impressive ease and dexterity, a rich assortment of bowls, urns and vessels.
Popular images of the Middle East do not generally include the sea. With more than 1,000 miles of coastline, Oman has a long and illustrious history of seafaring. Seafaring is integral to Omani culture, being reflected in many local customs, including dress, cuisine and music. Even before the dawn of Islam, Oman's seamen were acknow-ledged masters of the sea. Tales of fantastic voyages and splendid sailing vessels figure prominently in its people's accumulated heritage. In 1498, during the western Age of Exploration, the legendary Portuguese explorer, Vasco da Gama, employed an Omani mathematician and cartographer to serve as his navigator around the Cape of Africa to Calcutta, India. Employing the compass and the astrolabe, an Arab invention used for measuring the movement of the stars, Omani sailors ventured great distances, exploring foreign lands and even establishing colonies in portions of the Asian subcontinent, the island of Zanzibar and the East African interior. This legacy helps to explain, for example, the surprising appearance of Swahili, an African language, in the sultanate today. In addition to Arabic, the predominant language of communication, English and several languages of South Asia are frequently heard throughout the country as well.
Before flying to the northernmost reaches of Oman, to the Musandam Peninsula, to continue our adventure, we stopped at the port city of Sur, south of the capital of Muscat. Sur is an ancient coastal town, renown in its day as a center of international trading and shipbuilding. It is here that Oman's trademark dhows, traditional sailing vessels, were constructed to ply the waters of the Arabian Sea, Indian Ocean and beyond. Along a creek in Sur, we observed Omani shipbuilders working patiently in the searing heat to complete construction of a handmade dhow. While the demand for these vessels has diminished in recent decades, the completed product stands as a thing of great beauty, recalling Oman's proud seafaring tradition.
The final leg of our "cultural immersion" in Oman began with a short flight to Khasab, the main coastal town of the Musandam Peninsula. Here, at the far eastern tip of Arabia, barren limestone mountains rise dramatically from the sea. Separated from the rest of the sultanate's territory by the United Arab Emirates, the importance of the Musandam Peninsula, both to Oman and to an oil-hungry world, is immeasurable; for here, between this rugged land mass and Iran, separating the Persian Gulf from the Arabian Sea, lies the vital Strait of Hormuz, through which more than 60 percent of the world's petroleum passes. Modern pundits have aptly termed this waterway "the jugular of the world's economy."
Before boarding a dhow, which would take us through the fjords of Musandam, we explored the region around Khasab, the provincial capital. The inhabitants of this land belong to the Shihuh tribe. For centuries isolated in their remote mountain strongholds, their language is quite distinct from that spoken by other Omanis, incorporating elements of both Arabic and Persian. Prehistoric rock drawings at Tawi, depicting boats, houses and men on horseback, attest to ancient settlements here. At almost 6,000 feet above sea level, the Jebel Harim is the highest mountain peak in Musandam. Designed for neither the acrophobe nor the faint of heart, our ascent up the steep and winding mountain range was a true test of fortitude. In the course of our precipitous climb, our caravan of four-wheel drive vehicles navigated narrow trails and hairpin turns, without benefit of either asphalt or guardrails. Along the way, we spied inhabited caves and small farming communities. At one point, stopping to examine sea fossils perfectly preserved on the side of a mountain, thousands of feet above the ocean, we marveled at this testimony to the seismic activity from an earlier, perhaps Jurassic, era. Reaching our destination at last, we alighted from our vehicles to enjoy spectacular views, simultaneously, of both the Persian Gulf and the Gulf of Oman.
Finally, our long-awaited journey aboard an Omani dhow was at hand. Our group of travelers boarded the small vessel for a leisurely two-day journey among the crystal-clear waters around the Musandam Peninsula. It was immediately apparent to all aboard that this would be an experience like no other. Our crew of three, all named Muhammad, oversaw both the navigational and culinary requirements of the journey, eager to make this experience as comfortable as possible. Weaving in and out around the majestic fjords, we glimpsed the occasional settlement, nestled within the base of these barren rock glaciers. In the distance, Iranian traders headed toward the coast in speedboats to trade with Omanis in Khasab. While many in our group took advantage of the opportunity to swim and snorkel in these pristine waters, others were content merely to contemplate the many varieties of tropical and sub-tropical marine life from the deck. Before sunset on the first day, we approached Telegraph Island, the most famous landmark of the region. On this desolate island, the British government built a way station in the 1860s to protect and maintain a telegraph line stretching from Basra, Iraq, to India, their "Jewel in the Crown." Telegraph Island, a remote and lonely outpost, was manned for only 10 years. Abandoned long ago, only a few bricks and partial foundations remain.
In the early morning hours, stirring from a restful sleep on the deck of our dhow, our senses were awakened by the enticing aromas wafting from the hull below. Muhammad No. 1, making ingenious use of a small gas stove below, had prepared a sumptuous, multi-course breakfast for all the "ancient mariners" on board. Thus fortified, our dhow headed for the remote fishing village of Kumzar, the farthest outpost in the Musandam. As we waded ashore to reach this ancient settlement, children waited to greet us. There, against the backdrop of a school building and health-care center, young Kumzaris of both sexes were eager to engage us in conversation. Dressed as scouts or sporting their school uniforms and backpacks, they rushed to inquire about our nationality and impressions of their country. At one point, one member of our delegation produced an American-style football. While this was an object considerably less familiar than the omnipresent soccer ball, the young, spirited Omanis anxiously awaited a turn to try their hand at this foreign curiosity. As we boarded our dhow for the return voyage to Khasab and beyond, to our own homes in the U.S., we waved to our young friends on shore as that remote community gradually disappeared from view. I could not help but marvel at the changes that had transformed Oman since my first visit over three decades ago. Here, at the most distant reaches of the Sultan's realm, youngsters could look to a future which would have been unimaginable to their grandparents. Their vision of the future, filled with promise and opportunity, is surely the essence of the new Oman.
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