Photo updates

Righto - I finally got the opportunity to upload the photos from the mountain village trip, though the astronomy photos themselves turned out pants. No surprises there. Anyway, have a sift through... and I'll add the further photos from Muttrah and various snaps around the place when I can...

Astronomy Sessions & Mountain Village

Familiar Antipodes?

Well, I'm back in the Antipodes. Brisbane, Australia to be exact.

Since I arrived on Sunday, I've been going back and forth on deciding whether I like this city or not (read: below post). It's very similar to Auckland, trying incredibly hard to be metropolitan - knocking down the weird grey pebbled and brown sloped architecture and replacing it with tall, glass sterile buildings. It's population is similar in size to that of Auckland, but has a much more concentrated city centre - Adalaide Street bustles and streams with a continual flow of kids, teens, workers, mums and foreigners (lots of those from out of State). That flow is relentless in the outer lying streets where small cafes offer time-out from the hideous humidity and often ignore you as you realise you have to sell your right kidney for a small latte or espresso - the service here is appalling. And the coffee is average. I miss my highly trained baristas and friendly smiles.

Each day I'm in the city I tend to wander around, mingling in the crowd, being one of the kabillions of people swarming in and out of shopping centres, peering over the shreiking teenagers and wiping the sweat away from my forehead from the blistering heat. I forget how much higher up the Eastern coast of Australia Brisbane is than in relation to Auckland. Though I'm an avid fan of the Botanical Gardens on the edge of the river and always make a point of wandering down that way if I've ventured into town, spending some time under the trees in the shade, writing and observing the interesting beings wandering in and out of the sunshine.

The river is disturbing - snaking through the city centre and outlying suburbs in all of it's muddy brown glory. I'm not entirely sure how it manages to stay so filthy and gross, as Australians have massive fines for littering and the 'unlawful dropping of rubbish'... so it's not polution. Just... mud. And all other kinds of filth. Mmmm.

And the animals. Or, wildlife, as I should probably call it. Ants the size of cockroaches, cockroaches the size of rats, rats the size of turkeys, turkeys (yes, there is a turkey that roams the streets where I'm staying in Corinda), bats, toads (which are killing the native wildlife and are almost impossible to erradicate), all kinds of disturbing insects and creepy crawlies.... Euurckk, it's making my skin crawl just thinking about it.

The weather is, well, sub-tropical. Matt, his daughter Caitlin and I went down to the Gold Coast yesterday and experienced pretty much four-seasons in one day - from scorching 36'C to high winds to rain to hail. It was a fantastic day down south, though, Gold Coast really is like the auckland waterfront, just at the beach. The beach itself is great, safe and vast, spanning many kilometres down the coast, but once your off the beach back on the street, the situation becomes dire, dodging drunken kids and hawkers trying to sell you tickets to 'party tours - where a hook-up is guarunteed!' Hamilton, anyone? On the way back we had 'extreme weather warnings' blaring on the radio, echoing familiar sounds of the previous two weeks where huge storms battered Brisbane and damaged homes - lifting tops off and blowing out windows, dumping over 250mm of rain and lighting up the sky with over 400 lightning strikes in 20 minute spells.
The weather system itself is pretty cyclical though and a lot more reliant than Aucklands haphazard guess-work that takes place - it seems that the days are generally hot, clear and extremely humid, with that humidity rousing storm fronts that encroach on the city on dusk and usually having a slight downpour in the evening and clearing for the following day.

Maybe it's because of the large volume of Kiwis here, that it makes me feel like I'm in Auckland. People call Brisbane the capital of New Zealand. And that's no surprise, with average incomes higher here (just your standard street labourer is paid an average wage of AUS$60,000) however compulsory super is usually built in to the packages.
Hah. Compulsory Super. What's that? National lowering the mandatory company contribution by half? Here's to the future, NZ.
There appear to be more jobs here in Brisbane than any of the other Eastern cities in Australia (Melbourne, Sydney, Adalaide) though Queenslands unemployment rose from 2.2% to 4.6% in November, and will continue to rise with the recent RIO TINTO lay-off announcement. I'm no longer sure the Australian economy will be able to continue to be propped up by its natural resources... It's been riding the storm for some time now and the real effects are still to come...

Crime here is similar to Auckland, if not slightly increased. There is a large pacific island community in Logan, that is experiencing the exact same problems as South Auckland - youth gangs and gang murders. Just last week an Aboriginal was killed in an unprovoked attack when walking through a park by group of islanders.
Queensland cops seem tough, taking a hard line on anyone - foriegners and locals alike. There are heavy penalties for a range of things and they appear to all be enforced.
There are cops on the beat everywhere, but many think this seems a bit redunant with the increasing gang and organised crime that Australia is being hit with.

The public transport system here is fantastic though - efficient train and bus systems that are clean, tidy and always on time. Peak times are a bit cosy, rubbing up to the lad or lass next to you due to absolutely no space, but people are generally tolerant and understand the situation. And it's surely no Tokyo railway system, having guards literally push and squeeze you in so they can close the doors. But with the growing population, this could be a sign of things to come...
There is success with that idea though, if you're in to that kind of thing - I was on the train back from the city a couple of days ago and unfortunately had been messing around and had to take the 5.10pm train, which was -packed- with commuters. As I got on, I plugged in my earphones and lowered my shades so I could watch and observe people, without, well, without making others (and myself) feel awkward, I guess. Anyway, a young lad and young lass were crammed up against each other. The young lad looked quite awkward and was trying to look the other way, while the lass looked as though her heart had just fallen out of her mouth and was trying to subtly attract the lads attention. They played games of awkwardness for a couple of stops before their eyes finally met and they both laughed nervously. By this stage the train was beginning to clear out a little and some space was available, but they were still locked up close. Before long they were chatting away and finally before the ladd got off they exchanged numbers.
Hah. A random piece of train romance for you.

OK, so maybe Brisbane isn't like Auckland, but i'm still not sure if I'm sold on this place - despite it being busier (which I guess I am looking for), easy to get around and a semi-tolerable climate, it still has this lingering sense of familiarity. It's potentially a good place to bring up a family, with residential sales and rental being the most affordable in Australia, but as you know, I don't have the wife and 2.3 kids, so this isn't a major factor for me.

Back to the drawing board though? Not sure, as I think I stated below, I have to go where the jobs are. I don't think I can continue to progress as a person, by staying in New Zealand. Auckland, for sure, but New Zealand as well. It's time to move, it's time to go and time to see the world some more... But I'm certainly realising that Australia isn't the solution to all my problems, and has very similar problems to New Zealand. Thanks to the New Zealanders? Also not sure...

Mass ramblings from the bunker

Well, I made it back to Singapore last Friday night, after a rather uneventful day. Though, I did start it off with massive anxiety and deep concern that I was going to miss another flight, though through no fault of my own this time...

Taxi's in Oman are somewhat of a problem at the best of times. Actually, no that's not entirely true.. It just seems that everything in Oman runs at a snails pace. I think I mentioned this before, but it's like a sleepy version of Dubai.
Anyway, I had booked a cab with one of the 'reputable' cab companies, especially seeing that my flight was at 5.40am. Which would mean I would need to be up at 3am, to catch the cab at 3.30am.
I would later learn that that was pushing it a bit tight. Hah. In true 'Andrew' style, eh?
So I was outside, waiting for a the taxi patiently. The seconds turned to minutes, which turned into a quarter hour then half an hour... and by this stage it was about 4am. I had a confirmation call from the company and in my sleepy state, called the company and asked what the status of the cab was.
'Mr Andrew?...No, no Mr Andrew, we don't have a pick up for you'
'But, I spoke to you before...is this Mohummed?'
'......Yes.....How did you know my name?'
'OKokokok... Can you please send a taxi to my address in Qurum?'
'Yes Mr Andrew. Right away.'
'Thank you.... and, uh, I kinda have to catch a plane, it is rather urgent...'
Strangely enough there was the odd car that would come down the quiet, 'suburban' street, that houses many of the Royal family - the Sultans Uncle and Cousin, all within a few minutes walk from Gill's apartment. One particular car - a large 4WD with Arabic hip-hop booming from the vehicle, drove down the road, slowed at the speed bump, then raced to the end and turned around. As it came back towards me it slowed, as I looked on, wondering if this was the Taxi. Rather strange Taxi if you ask me, but, stranger things have happened while in Oman.
The truck passed me slowly, then stopped. The back window came down with the electronic buzz piercing the evening night and a curious face popped out.
'Are.... You OK?'
'Oh, hah, uhm, I'm just waiting for a cab I've ordered'
'Oh.... If you want a cab, you'll probably need to get to the Hotel down the road, they don't drive up around here...'
'Oh, yeah, hah, thanks, I've pre-ordered one... Well, I thought I had... But thanks!'
'No worries... Hope you get to ... I guess the Airport?'
'Yeah, thanks.... Hope so too!!!'
Wow. Friendly. Or crazy. I mean, what else do you do when you're a teenager in Oman? Drive around at 3am? Well, I guess it's not far from the youth of NZ....although there were no bottles being thrown from the car.... Still, it was nice of them to check!
That's pretty much how things are in Oman - the people are friendly, they are generally courteous and certainly always smiling. I felt safe, even standing out on the road (despite it not being a main thoroughfare) at 3am. Safe, ranging from when I was up in Sohar, to my friends at the Shell and the Al Fair carpark.
It was, in my experience, a far cry from Malaysia, where people appeared to have a massive chip on their shoulder, or a blatant disregard for foreigners. There was also this sense of anger, though I couldn't really establish who it was aimed it, or why it was there. Quite a few times I tried reaching out but it was just looked at with a confused and almost disgusted look.
Anyway, at this stage of the night I was really beginning to get paranoid. The night was getting hotter (or my body was trying to deal with the stress, one or the other...) and time was ticking on.
So I decided to shed my two bags and run to the Crowne Plaza, which was down the road. I sprinted there, remembering how much I've missed running (man, didn't think you'd ever see me say/write/think that, did you!) and that the training I did before I left really helped me get around. While running down the hill I noticed a minibus turning into the hotel. Was that going to the airport? Should I go and check? Or should I wait for the cab? I stood there, literally putting one foot forward, then pulling it back after each thought went through my head and I battled what to do. Damn brain! Must of been the lack of sleep. Yeah. The lack of sleep. That's it.
Seriously though, looking back that moment in time, those few seconds of a million thoughts and endless possibilities racing through my head, getting insight into potential avenues and analysing what is behind each door that could potentially be opened....that situation has been the curse of my existence for the last year or so. My complete indecisiveness... and... probably my OVER thinking of things.
I have been somewhat lost and lacking direction for quite a long period in my life (since things started tumbling down around March), and the global panic has been powering the f.e.a.r. and anxiety. But taking it back a step that anxiety in decision making also had an effect on day-to-day situations.
How am I moving that problem forward? (Yay, corporate catch-phrases!) I'm not entirely sure, I figure I just need to do something and stop over thinking things.
I remember going to see my GP for stomach related issues, probably four years ago. He started asking peripheral questions about my mind-state and what's going on generally. I said I was getting a bit scratchy with life and that I was bored and not sure what to do. I had endless options, as I often do, but I wanted to ensure I was doing the right thing. I didn't want to mess up, or miss out, or worse yet, fail.
He looked down at me, with a wise gaze and asked me a question:
'OK, Andrew... So, a rocket is leaving earth and heading towards the Moon. How long, as a percentage, is it actually on course, or, pointing towards its target?'
'.......................75% of the time?' I stammered out.
'Lower....'
'.......................50% of the time?'
'Lower....'
'.................okokok, 35% of the time?'
'That rocket is only pointing towards it's target 25% of the time. The rest of the time it's travelling a course which needs to be corrected, as a goal, or target, is hard to point towards from a distance. So this rocket is constantly correcting itself on its journey to the moon.'
I sat back in my chair and thought about this. 25 percent! That... isn't a hell of a lot at all.
Thinking about this now is helping me process my confusion. Firstly, I wasn't entirely sure what my 'goal' or 'target' was. After much thought and, probably over-analysis, I have some ideas to work towards. But the key factor to helping me resolve the anxiety, is what I do end up doing, doesn't have to be for the rest of my life. I've been so caught up in 'this is what I have to do', and looking at the long term, that I lost sight of short term and all of it's pleasures and enjoyments. So I can do 'something' and not feel so bad about it.
So at this stage, I've decided to go back to the stuff that I used to enjoy - process/analysis and improvement. There is some study that I can do for accreditation in a methodology called Six Sigma, which is all about the application of a set of statistical methods to business processes which improve operational efficiency. (For all the stats geeks out there - Six Sigma is a statistical term that equates to 3.4 defects per one million opportunities). So, basically a sum of what my last few years were, amongst other things, at IAG. And the more I think about it, the more it kind of fits in. This is because I've decided the greater goal, as I realised when I arrived in Melbourne, is to eventually get out of the business world, and go and learn how to grow grapes. I know that sounds funny, but I couldn't think of anything better than being a wine maker. And the idea of process improvement (which is a core part of my working skill) would be ideal for the manufacturing industry - hell, Six Sigma was designed with the manufacturing industry in mind.
So, this is the plan for now. Start with getting certified, get some money behind me again (travelling on the $NZ is useless - I don't recommend it to ANYONE), make use of this whole UK visa thing later in the year, travel, continue to see the world... all the while studying, somehow, somewhere, probably extramurally, viticulture. Inching my way towards the moon, by each and every experience that I have.
The final thing about all of this is that I've accepted that it's OK for plans to change, as well. This particular travelling experience has reinforced that. I don't think that's a cop-out, but one of the things that I wanted to learn from travelling was to be a bit more resilient. Things change, and I what I need to continue to learn is how to adapt to them, and roll with the punches.
Anyway - the taxi - I ended up deciding against going down to the hotel, as deep down, I think I felt that the Taxi would arrive. I listened to my gut and my gut was right. I sprinted back and as I was running down the road, the cab passed me and stopped. I got in, went and grabbed my bags, and as we hurtled down the empty streets, dimly lit with orange lights and a blazing moon, I took in the last of Oman and quietly laughed to myself. Everything is going to be OK.

25 is the new 24

The 'tubes are incredibly slow today. Unfortunately I've had to come back to the ole regular 'net cafe, already it's scared me of eating the data on my USB - the only copy of my photos... I was hesitant about using it, but unfortunately my CV is on it. Pesky technology. Or, actually, from what I can see - pesky lack of equipment maintenance.

Blah. But enough complaining.

I've had my flights to Brisbane confirmed, as you know, this Friday. I have also had my return flight to NZ confirmed, which is on Sunday 14 December. I fly in around 10.20pm I think.

That is, all pending how things go in Brisbane. I'm going to try and spend some time looking at jobs, etc. The thought of picking grapes down in Barossa Valley sounds kind of appealing...

Yesterday was, well, another day really. Great to talk to you mum and Amanda, and Dad for calling the previous day!

I decided to head up to Sohar, which is about a 2.5 hour drive North from Muscat. I went and visited the two people that I can talk to in Muscat - the petrol pump attendant at the Shell out in al Sarooj, and the guy who cleans cars while you shop at the al Fair supermarket.
Except, when I say 'talk', I don't mean it in the traditional sense. Neither of these two guys speak English, so it's always a mish-mash of gestures and smiles and waves... But to be honest, the smile is enough. And I'm sure they love the tips. Hopefully that's not the only reason they wave and run to my car when I arrive.....

I've been craving personal contact and the lack of human interaction is driving me a bit balmy. I have however been perusing through the books in Gills apartment and found one written by Jeremy Clarkson, which is a bit of a laugh. As soon as I pick up the book and start reading, I hear his voice run through my head as he spiels on about the machines that he considers 'have soul' as they are flawed, and therefore have an element of human characteristic. Unfortunately that particular human characteristic is 'failure', but it's human, nonetheless.

Anyway - the drive up to Sohar was pretty epic - cars passing me that must have been reaching speeds of 200km/h. I saw a herd of goats nearly get wiped out in one single motion... luckily the car skidded to a stop as the goats just looked on as the driver must have just about had a heart attack. That'll learn ya, won't it. Well, probably not, but, it's a nice thought...

I got up to Sohar at about 4pm. I thought this was the best time as things shut down in Oman in between 1 and around 5, give or take an hour depending on where you are, or if the camel racing is on. Which I actually got to see, not in person unfortunately, but on the telly. I know, I know, but I didn't realise they didn't have riders. They just round'em'up behind some gates, then let them loose around the track. Half of them ran the other way, the other half scatter and scuttle out on to the track. It was hilarious! A few stood there and had the 'what, you want me to RUN that?' look on their, well, camel faces. Spitting or chewing idly while their friends all ran amok.
The trucks on the side of the track drove next to the herd and had large speakers mounted to the roof of their vehicles. Which is fascinating in itself, because if it actually works how I think it does, the camels must identify their owner/trainers voice, amongst the other ranting and screaming owners/trainers and respond to those voices via commands - when to start speeding up, no - don't stop, no - the other way, no - don't chew your harness, etc etc... So there goes my theory of Camels being stupid.
The other interesting thing was there were no numbers used as identifiers on the camels - and I can now read/recognise Arabic numbers, so would have picked up if they were present... But the only way you could identify them apart is by the colourful little harness that is strapped to the hump. Which a few of them thought looked quite tasty and turned their long necks and started devouring them..
If only I could understand the Arabic commentary over the top...
I'd certainly like to see an actual race, that's for sure. Hopefully it wouldn't be offensive if I sat their in hysterics...

Ooops - slight little segway (haha, segway) there. So the drive up, yeah.

I made it to Sohar and soon realised that driving to Sohar from Muscat is like driving from Auckland to Hamilton. You get to Hamilton and wonder why you did this to yourself? It was dull, full of shopping malls and unfortunately because of the long stretch of beach, stunk of the foul smell of the red-tide.
I did manage to man-up and put the smell aside and wonder down the beach which was quite peaceful. Every now and then someone would stop, say hello and shake my hand, which was really nice! They must have known it was my birthday... I did manage to get the memo out in time but must have missed Muscat....
The city coastline stretches about 10km probably... and I was at one end looking down in the dusky haze and every 50m was a pack of young lads who had squared out a football (not soccer, thanks) field and were kicking and fooling around with a football. Some games more serious than others, but this was the case as far as the eye could see. It was quite a sight.
Again unfortunately I avoided getting out the old camera, as cameras at beaches are a big no no. Especially with the large amount of women perusing the local talent. What? They were out of the kitchen? I know, I was as surprised as you.
Soon, the call to prayer began and I wandered back to where I parked the car and made my way to the Fort, which is apparently the only reason to come to Sohar. Needless to say I was pretty miffed when I got to the fort to find a sign on the large doors:

'closed for renovations - 01/01/2008 - 01/01/2009'

Sigh.

So I got some real brief (and not terribly good) snaps of the sunset and the exterior of the fort, before rounding up my stuff and heading back to Muscat.

The drive back. Man. The open road, with crazy-fast (and, mostly incompetent) drivers, with their full beams on. Fun times.
I guess I should actually explain the driving here in a bit more detail. Drivers here have about the patience and skill of a 16 year old with a Porsche. They are impatient (will sit on your tail-pipe, whatever speed you're doing) and flash their lights or honk their horn to tell you to move outta the way. The women are probably the worst. And that's not a gender knock, either. They are actually completely oblivious of anything else on the road. And that's a dangerous thing, especially as everyone here drives brand new SUV type vehicles. SUV vs my car? SUV win.
You have to drive extremely defensively, and it helps to have eyes in the back of your head. Oh, and have developed advanced mind-reading and ESP would be handy, too.
Whenever I get in the car, I take a moment to prepare myself. Clear my head and thank the universe that I've made it this far... and just a few more K's would be nice too, thanks.

So, given that little background summary (which doesn't include what ELSE on the road you have to deal with - people wandering across 6 lane highways with their families, goats, etc) you can somewhat understand my anxiety of driving back in the dark. I sat in the slow lane (doing 120km/h mind you) and played dodge'ems with cars in my rear-vision mirror. Now you don't see it, now you do... and it's flashing it's lights madly on your backside. Which I found hard to comprehend... what lane do you move into if you're ALREADY in the slow lane? The dirt? Actually, I should have just gone off-road. I would have liked my odds with the goats better...

I had some great music to keep my company there and back. I've been crankin' some really crap pop music, but actually been quite enjoying it. Busting out some Natalie Imbruglia (hot), Eminem (not funny), Right said fred (actually not sexy after all), and some Linkin Park, for that little angry streak. Well, their remix album, which isn't as angry sounding. But specifically 'my december' (or how the cool kids spell it 'my dcmbr'). Also been churning through some quality tunes from Gomez, Regurgitator, Depeche Mode, JunkieXL, Rolling Stones, Bush, Voom and Pink Floyd.

But I made it back in one piece and I cracked open a beer to celebrate, not only the fact that I was still alive and managed to make it through the day, but I made it through to my 25th Birthday.
I chucked some steak on the pan, hoed down some stir-fry vegetables and proceeded out to the point, a little place above the rocky foreshore where the lights of Muscat twinkle in the distance and proceeded to get quite drunk. By myself. Is that bad? I am thinking about the next time I can drink.... 12 steps here I come...
I managed to find some more beer in the cupboard so I suitably raided that.
Man. I felt like I was 17 again, having found someone to buy me beer (or, in this case, finding beer) when I am not allowed to drink it (well, you know what I mean...)
I then proceeded to email people and rant and rave via the tiny keypad on my phone. Danger, danger. Alcohol and technology don't mix. For those who I have offended, I apologise.

Hehe.

So two more days. I'll probably come back and rant about the Mountain village I went to with Randall & Co after star-gazing (or trying to) the night before at Ghubra Bowl. I thought of you, Kate, as we were getting a guided tour of the skies and peering through the telescope looking at Venus and Jupiter. Also because the particular place where we went to - the bowl, is surrounded by mountains that are kabillions of years old (yes, remember, it is a word) - I can't remember how old, but they predate the Dinosaurs. And having a guided tour by a (quite eccentric) palynologist is extremely fascinating!
I just 'wikied' 'palynologist' and it says:

'One who studies palynology.'

I'm stumped. Thanks. Amanda, did you write that? (It's 'Stating the obvious girrrrrl!!!')

But for those who are interested, a palynologist is one who studies plant pollen and spores. Since pollen may be preserved thousands of years it can be used to reconstruct the plant ecology of the past. (Thanks, Google, I know I can trust in you....)

Right, kids, time to go grab some food...from....somewhere.... I might have some Lebanese tonight. There's this fantastic place called 'Automatic' that is down the road and they do the best shish-kebab and kofta...stuff. Yum. Making me hungry just thinking about it.

So yeah. Keep the comments coming, I love hearing from you all... write me some mail if you feel inspired... even if it's just telling me that you're doing the washing or cleaning the car...
Hah, reminds me, I must be lonely, I went to google maps to have a look at the 'street view' and I was greeted by Argyle St - Awesome! If you haven't already looked at the new street view on google maps, make sure you do! Actually, Amanda, let me know the address of Mums new place and I'll view it from the road! How cool is that!

See - it's genius like that that makes me want to be apart of the IT industry. Sigh. Anyway, a rant for another day, no doubt. Hopefully I'll have some proper time in Brisbane. Or, the 24 hours I have to spend in Singapores Changi airport. Where you book the hotels 'by the hour!' Mmmm... Interesting....

Right, this is goodbye, fo' real. Till next time.

A quick rant

I'm having a real mare. Trying to get out of Oman has sent me into this impotent rage... I feel like I've been chasing my tail, so close to reaching that (painful) victory that is so close, yet so far...

It's taken me a full Omani working day (read: 10 hours... makes us in NZ seem like lazy slackers) to 'actually' book a flight. 6 Turkish coffees (yum), 3 cappuccino's (yuck) and the best ham I have eaten all year (probably because it's forbidden...) later, I am booked and confirmed to Singapore on Friday 5 December. It's a bit on the steep side, but the alternative was to take a leisurely stop in Mumbai. Fireworks and gunfire included. Personal security not.

Now to either change my existing flight from Singapore to Australia on Qwaaaantas, or cancel it and book a new flight, on a quality Arabian carrier (no, that's not an oxymoron). Decisions, decisions.

Anyway. I was about to rant about the hardships of traveling but when actually thinking about it (and not throwing my toys) it goes part and parcel with the whole 'experience'.

So I have 5 days to get in as much as I can... hopefully avoiding this wretched net cafe and it's photo swallowing computers. That's right. It ATE my photos. Well, not all of them, only a new uploadable set of a stunning sunset from above Qurum.

So unfortunately you lot won't get to see my latest excursion - geeking out with the Scientists in the Ghubra Bowl and the Mountain Village of Qoot. I'll rant at you sometime this week about it, once I've found a 'safer' computer.... and hopefully some nicer coffee.

I need to find something to do for my birthday too. I managed to find some 'contraband' in Gills cupboard. By 'contraband' I mean 'beer' and by 'some' I mean 'one'. So I'll be celebrating making it to my quarter century with a can of Heineken. Either that or sleep. Which is the more healthy alternative. And sadly sounds just as appealing, as much fun as I am.

Great. 25 years. And here lies the quarter-life-crisis.

I'll leave you with a photo of me and a new friend I've made - Skully. He's great. Except, he doesn't really talk much....

From Drop Box

Getting in contact

p.s.

I'm sticking around, least for another two weeks while Gill is in Miami.

As it's ridiculously expensive to call you NZ folk, I would love to hear from you, so why don't you give me a call?

Just a thought. No pressure.

Gill's home number: +968 245 71773. Remember that NZ is 9 hours ahead of Oman.

I've also been sending you lot text messages, but I suspect they aren't getting through....

Good night! (1am and Gill is STILL 'out on the town'.... tsk tsk :)

Wahibah Sands

So. I finally got to the desert. It was awesome. I really wish I spent more time there. Being there was just so surreal - sitting, chilling in the 'dunes with my feet in the sand, setting sun ahead of me, beautiful reds and purples streaking across the sky...

I'd got the call the night before from Adam and Nakia. I was out at 'Left Bank' which is a bar/restaurant, about 5 minutes from where I'm staying in Qurum. Gill had given me the details of a girl who she sings with - Elayne, who is a year or so younger than me. Anyway, she suggested getting in touch with her and when I eventually did, Elayne was nice enough to meet me for a drink and a chat.

It was a nice evening, it's getting cooler here, so it was lovely sitting outside in the gentle breeze. The wine was ridiculously expensive, from Chile and not terribly fantastic.
Elayne is a Marine Biologist and we chatted about diving, some strange sea creature called a 'dugong' that she is researching (a 'dugong', I learned, is a large dolphin sized, grey, slow moving sea creature that eats sea grass - it's commonly known as a 'sea cow') and about various environmental issues here in Oman. Interesting lass, very intelligent and is fun to hang out with.

Anyway, I got the call from Adam and Nakia asking if I wanted to head along to the desert with them the following day. I'd been hanging out to get the desert (as you no doubt have been reading). I was told to be at Janeys in the morning and to pack light. Hah. Pack Light? Those words aren't in my vocabulary. I do, however, have 'kitchen sink', 'uneccessary' and 'useless', so I made sure I put those words to use when I packed the next day.

I rolled around in the morning and was already beaten by the blazing heat. My trusty Nissan Sunny rental has air-con, but, unfortunately it takes about 20 minutes to crank up. And it takes about 22 minutes to get to Al-Kuwayr.

I fell out of the car onto the pavement and crawled my way into the lift and fretted while the disturbingly slow lift edged me up to the top floor of the aparment building.
I reached the door (finally) and was greeted by Sam (the dog) and a spritely Adam.
'Maaaate!' he twanged as he held out his hand to usher me in. I haven't always been fond of the Aussie accent, but I mimicked him (in appreciation and respect, of course) and followed with the a-typical Kiwi-to-Aussie hassle, like 'shreemp on tha baarbie', 'feeesh end cheeeps' and the like. We laughed and joked, with Adam telling me I should tell my interviewer (I had a job interview - more on that later) that I'm an Aussie, and that will get me the job. I agreed. I mean, us Kiwi's are a pain-in-the-ass-breed - all our binge drinking and illegal distribution of pornography (two Kiwi ex-pat's have recently been expelled from Oman for selling porn and being 'drunk and disorderly') - nice one!

Naseeb rocked up soon after (not in 'the donkey' unfortunately) and I was introduced to his son, Farsah.
After a brief chat, we were on the road, screaming in and out of the busy streets, dodging people crossing the road, swerving in between lanes and setting new land-speed records out of Muscat.
The drive was about two and a half hours out (over half-way to Sur) and went pretty swiftly, as we all chatted and gazed out the window at the passing villages and the rocky mountain ranges that sat behind them. Again, pretty crazy driving speeds - the limit on outer roads is 120, but at one point I looked over Naseeb's shoulder at the speedo and it was hovering just below 160... and there were cars passing us!

We again spoke about all things Sultan related, specifically related to his yearly 'tours' of the country, his entourage and the affects of technology on the interior.

We arrived at a small village and I instantly spotted the towering red dunes in the distance. They were quite a sight. Apparently the Wahibah Sands have a stretching area of around 120,000 square km. And they are growing at a rate of around 3 feet a year.
They're home to the Nomadic Bedouin, of which there are around 1500 scattered across the sands. That number is decreasing, with the introduction of technology and as they move from the desert in to neighbouring villages permenantly. Though, I'm not quite sure of the relationship between technology and moving out from the desert, as I would have thought that with technology, comes the ability to stay where they are, or where they move around to...

But anyway.

We drove out on the sand and began sliding around. Naseeb was taking the opportunity to show his son the differences between 4WD and 2WD. I listened in as he shouted over the roaring motor and tried to stay still as we slid all over the backseat.
Naseeb then stopped the car and he and Farsah swapped places, for a good old-fashioned driving lesson - desert style!
He told Farsah not to ride the clutch, as this essentially wrecks the pressure plate in 4WD mode. And it only takes about two and a half hours to burn the clutch beyond repair.
He slowly edged forward, at extremely high revs and we were hit by the stench of the clutch burning. Oil and gas fumes flooded into the truck and we coughed and spluttered as Naseeb yelled 'less clutch, less clutch, release it, release it!'
Unfortunately after a minutes of trying, Farsah gave up - probably from a bit of stage fright as well with us peering over his shoulder in the back. They swapped places back again and we rocked straight into 4WD and began motoring over the dunes towards our first destination - a bedouin family who Naseeb was friends with and would let us in for coffee and dates.

We rocked on up, spilled out of the truck and I instantly took the opportunity to take some photos. I've been somewhat repressed when it comes to being paparazzo-Andrew so I was slightly trigger happy. You'll see that from the picasa gallery (and that's the cut-down version!)

It wasn't as hot as I thought it would be. There was an ever-so-gently breeze keeping us cool, but the glare was unreal. Even with sunglasses on my eyes were squinting with the sharp sun rays peircing my eyes.
Naseeb led us into the native Beduoin homestead - a structure built solely out of date palms. We entered and took off our sandals and sat down on the carpets, where the women and girls poured us coffee and fed us dates. They didn't speak any english, so Naseeb translated for us. I managed to communicate quite well with my facial expressions, gestures and general eyebrow raising movements.
It was quite uncomfortable at times, I felt as though they were expecting something, but they were sitting quite happily taking in their dose of westerners sitting down like stunned mullets. Actually, come to think of it, I think I was uncomfortable because I didn't know what to do my with my date pip/seed, that I'd stuck to the side of my mouth. I almost swallowed it at one point when I downed my 4th cup of coffee (I tried to wave 'no' with my hands, but it was missed....)

After purchasing some crafts that the women had made (I bought a woven bracelet for my wrist) we were soon on our way to climb up and over the dunes, back to the village for some grub before catching the sunset.
I must say, Dune Bashing is AWESOME! If I ever lived in the Middle-East, driving around like a menace in the sand would be on high on my priority list. And there is quite a skill required to 'bash th' dunes' - especially when there is no backup to pull you out. I watched as Naseeb carefully mounted and disembarked each dune with skillful ease, swerving the wheel back-and-forth when he got into a rut, pulling the tyres out and throwing us forward through the sand.

So much fun.

After lunch we headed back in, this time along a stretch of 'desert-highway', out to a tourist camp, where we would get supplies, details on dune movement and mince about in the sand.
Quite an interesting little camp - thatched huts and a big open-air dining area.
We sat down, taking in the sight of the sun heading towards the horizon and messed about, building sand-castles (you can't spend time in the sand and not build a sand castle! Them's the rules!) and taking photos of the shapes and colours on offer to me.
I'm a bit pissed, as the UV filter I bought in Singapore, turns out, is absolute crap. Looking at the photos, there's a lot of lens flare apparent in most of the photos. This sux as most of the photos I took were at about 100-200mm, meaning the flared light has an increased ability to bounce and reflect down the lens.
So if I stop by Singapore on my way home, I'm going to go and throttle a certain Singaporean mans throat and ask for a refund. If I can find the receipt. Which I don't think I kept. Damnitt.

After sufficient time playing silly buggers in the sand, we were off on a convoy to see the sunset from a prime location, high above the camp in the towering sands behind us.
We had about 30 minutes till sunset (which is about 5.20pm here) and some more time to go Dune Bashing on the way up and over the slippery sand.
More hair-raising driving from Naseeb (the pro).... at one point Farsah almost threw himself out the window of the truck as he thought it was going to crash....
We stopped at various points, making sure all the trucks made it up and over. There was a real comradery amongst the drivers/operators - all of which were local Omanis. All looking out for each other and being incredibly jovial when stopping for touristy snaps.

We finally reached our designated perch, on a dune that must have been about 150m high. I sat down and admired the landscape as the sun (quite quickly) set in front of me.
It was a real sensation, a real feeling of awe watching the sun be enveloped by the horizon. The colours were amazing, whisping across the sky and bringing an eerie feeling to us all sitting at the top of the sand.
I had some time to reflect and think about some things. How my perspective has changed on a few things since setting off on my brief travels from Auckland, just over 4 weeks ago.
I must have drifted off for about 20 minutes as before I knew it, it was time to go.
We loaded into the truck and set off, right after inspecting the HUGE dune that we were going to drive down to get out of the desert... What... you mean we're going to drive down THAT?... But... Are you sure?... What do you mean 12 trucks have rolled down this?... Your track-record isn't too crash-hot buddy!... Yeah, I probably couldn't get the car out of first gear, let alone down that dune...
We bantered for a few minutes, before roaring to the edge and peering down the sheer drop. All but 1 other truck was at the bottom - I could see people getting out of the trucks and getting ready to take photos... flashes sparkled and glistened in the dusk as Naseeb suddenly roared his trusty Landcruiser into first as the first two wheels went over the edge.
'Any last requests?!' laughed Naseeb as all four wheels were now over the edge and we were carefully making our way on an almost 120' angle down the slope. I made sure my seatbelt was firmly fastened and my tray-table was in an upright position. Farsah had his legs on the dash and looked like he wanted to jump out the window again, while Adam was enjoying every minute of it, cackling and screaming like a Banshee.

Good times. We made it to the bottom and for the, possibly 4th time of the day, I literally fell out of the truck, laughing hysterically as I looked up in awe at the sheer size of the dune that we had the pleasure of driving down.

After making sure the last truck got down safely (he unfortunately blew his 4WD so had to navigate down backwards.....backwards! Don't see THAT everyday!) we roared off into the evening and headed back to Muscat.

Another awesome day, with some damn good company.

Wahibah Sands

Tiwi sinkhole, beach camping and Wadi Shab

Last week I got a call from Naseeb asking if I wanted to head out to Wadi Shab, which is a riverbed (wadi) about 3 hours out of Muscat.
I jumped at the chance as I'd been getting a bit of cabin-fever just loitering around Gills little apartment. As much as I have loved basking in the sun by the pool, reading essays and short stories from the oh-so cynical and quite depraved Hunter S. Thompson, I was beginning to get a bit scratchy. And Gill and I don't get on when that starts to happen, especially as she has been advising me that I'm beginning to 'cramp her style'. What that 'style' is, need not be said here, but let's just say that I should get out of the house for at least an evening....

So the morning of leaving came about and, as usual, I was an absolute pack-horse - toilet paper, sleeping bag, extra clothes, snack food, camera(s), blankets, jersey, the lot, especially as Gill advised that it was going to be cold.
Naseeb and Janey arrived and I was introduced to Adam and Nakia, an Australian couple who are here on their way back from Europe.
The drive down in the 4wd (the 'Donkey' as Naseeb calls it, as it's trusty and reliable... I would later learn and appreciate this reliability when we went 'Dune Bashing' the next day...) was interesting as I started talking with Janey and Naseeb about local politics and way of life in Oman, from both an ex-pat and Omani national point of view.
Now, I'm unsure of how much to take on board from this and future discussions with these two, specifically related to history and political climate. Like a good investigator, I am to remain as objective as I can and to take any conversation with a grain of salt... (the 'suspicious' element of my personality coming out here) But I'm still going to restrict how much I say, simply because I don't want to end up deported, or in the slammer. Could be my paranoia (another element of my personality) but paranoia keeps us alive, right?
Anyway, to explain ever so briefly - there is a lot of propoganda here, misinformation, suppressed information and corruption. It's alarming to hear that there have been a number of people that have disappeared (ex-pat's) over the last few years, apparently for things ranging from voicing their opinion to protesting the way things operate (and the way you are told to operate) in the system here.
But I am here on Omani terms and I am certainly happy to be here, so I will take these onboard and learn to operate as much as I can within the system that I am apart of at the moment.

ANYWAY.

It was a reasonably hot day (31') and nearly 3 hours in the car was beginning to swelter. Luckily as soon as this began, we turned off the main road and began some off-road trekking. We puled up to two plain, typical white-washed structures and a surrounding fence. This was the entrance to the Tiwi sinkhole.
I chucked on my boardies, grabbed my camera and followed everyone out to the spot. I had absolutely no idea how deep it would be (I was expecting, maybe, 10 meters deep) but I was awestruck when I arrived, after a quick 5 minute walk, to see that it was about 50 meters below the surface. It was epic! I took some photos and quickly clambered down the huge steps to the brilliant green and blue water that waited for me down below.
Getting into the water I experienced quite a strange sensation, like extremely intense pins and needles in my legs. I looked down, to see a school of fish gently biting at my skin! Despite these fish EATING me, strangely enough I wasn't alarmed. Apparently, these fish eat the dead skin off your body. Weird!
I dove in the water and it was so refreshing. I was expecting it to be chilling and icey, but it was beautiful. I swam out deeper and looked down below me. It was crystal clear and incredibly deep. Which was quite creepy. Eerily so. Mainly because it was so still.. It felt like something was going to come exploding to the surface with its jaws wide open and consume me in one giant gulp, while quickly retreating to the still and quiet depths below.
But I pressed that disturbing thought as deep as I possibly could and began to mince about in the water, splashing and generally making a mockery of myself. At one point I tried to -actually- touch the bottom, but to no avail. Which made me think about, maybe, just maybe, jumping from the top of the cliff, into the water - another chilling thought that ran down my spine and I also quickly sent that thought on it's way.
Apparently though, some divers had tried to investigate how deep the sinkhole really was - they got to around 40 meters and gave up. Which is interesting, as I could taste a small amount of salt in the water, which meant that it was both fresh and salt water and that there was a connection point underground from the ocean, some 5km away.
Janey ushered us to swim around the back, around and underneath into a cave. It was quite a scary feeling to be floating on your belly, heading into a limestone cave and have the black abyss below you. But once we were in, we could see the sand below which gave a welcome relief - there is something calming about seeing the bottom!
It was awesome though, the water was stunning and swimming around in the depths was quite exhilarating!

After while we got out and headed out to the beach, as we needed to get a nice spot before all the ex-pat's turned up.

We arrived after only a short, bumpy off-road ride to the beach and Adam, Nakia and I set up camp while Janey and Naseeb raced off to Tiwi for a meeting.
We began collecting wood for the fire, chased the damn dog as he raced off into the distance and chatted to some people along the beach. One particular couple were ex-pat's from Saudi Arabia and were planning on camping out until some unrest had settle. I wasn't quite sure what that was specifically, I tried to ask but they avoided the question quite bluntly. I have since tried to find out exactly, but no luck with the interwebz either.
Anyway, I sat down with Adam and Nakia and heard all about their unfortunate travels through Europe. They had apparently had a bit of a rough time traveling, not quite what they expected. One thing that made me think, was the fact that they were unable to get jobs in Ireland. Unemployment is incredibly high and the travelers are leaving in their droves, apparently for Australia, to find jobs elsewhere. The country also officially entered into a recession when they were there, so things are pretty dire.
It was great to chat to some people around my own age and just sit down, have a beer (!) and yak. They're hardcase, down to earth and friendly as hell.
I really enjoyed that evening. Janey and Naseeb arrived back after a couple of hours, after the three of us watched the moon rise over the gulf and as I dug my feet into the sand and kept them warm.
We began to prepare and cook dinner, which was eggplant mixed with lime, a sort of pita bread, humus and hamour fish, cooked on the fire. The food was delicious and I was blissfully happy as we sat on the beach next to the warming fire and ate, drank beer (I've kind of missed having the odd drink) and listened to pink floyd under the moonlit sky.
It was a real high point and I still remember fondly how it felt. And the funny thing is, I certainly didn't think I would be sitting on a beach, with a full belly, a beer in hand and listening to pink floyd - in Oman. It was wonderful chatting and laughing and being generally silly as the night grew deeper.
Eventually, one-by-one, we peeled off to sleep, under a star-less sky (there are virtually no stars out here at night - even a few hours out of Muscat, which isn't even a light polluted city) and drifted off to sleep while the fire gently crackled and sparked beside us.

I awoke just after sunrise and watched the waves crash loudly on the shore. I sat up and basked in the sun for an hour or so, as I imagined that the rest of the day would be simply too hot to venture out into for too long.
The rest of the gang slowly woke up and people around us began packing their gear up and shovelling off. We decided to follow suit, right before having a hearty breakfast - bread, tea and this really yummy bean-mulch-thing. Sounds gross, but really was nice and set me up for the day ahead.

We then set-off for Wadi Shab, just passed Tiwi, which was only about 5 minutes off road. We continued to bump, swerve and slide on the gravel surface, driving up some pretty hairy ramps and roads.
It was quite a sight to see the entrance of Wadi Shab (Mum - apparently you've sat at the entrance to Wadi Shab with Gill?) - Massive cliffs, either side of a small waterway, with a path weaving through a palm grove on the right next to the water.
Hah, for some reason, walking through the wadi reminded me of the beginning of the movie 'The Exorcist' - with the broad cliff faces and where whatever 'evil' spirit was 'unleashed' by excavators. It might have been the menacing jagged edges of the cliff, which the river bed would have taken thousands of years to carve through as it trickled out to the ocean from the higher mountain regions.
As we walked, the pools on either side of us began to get larger and deeper and eventually we had to swim across a deep part of the river to continue on up to the main pools and caves. As I had my camera, I said I would play pack-horse (something I'm good at, don't ya know?) and carry all the important gear on the higher pathway while everyone else would swim across.
So I double-backed and walked the path, which has been obliterated by Cyclone Gonu, which was June or July last year. They had apparantly just carved the path out and put a handrail on the side, but it has been devastated by rocks, boulders, massive river waves, winds and palm trees during the cyclone.
I eventually made it to a point which had a rock that was about 13 meters high, above a wadi pool below. Naseeb was preparing to jump in and screamed an almighty 'aiiiighheeeeyaaaaa' as he plummeted to the deep water below. Adam soon followed and suddenly it was my turn. I walked up to the edge, looked down and suddenly got a bad case of vertigo. I almost lost my balance as my stomach sunk and felt dizzy, peering over the edge of the rock.
I put down my camera and all the gear, took off my shirt and walked to the edge, which was an incredible sensation in itself. My sense of self preservation kicked in and URGED me not to jump in. This over-rode the cheering and coaxing from below and I took a step back and let Nakia tempt fate. After a few minutes of trying to overcome her fear, she also backed off, at which time I hurtled to the edge and threw myself off in a screaming panic and fell to the water below.
I rose from the depths and was pumped full of adrenaline as I laughed and screamed in celebration. What a massive rush! Overcoming that thought of fear and panic as my mind told me 'no! Don't do it Andrew!' and leaving the edge, sending myself into the unknown.
Nakia followed soon after, not willing to be the only one that wouldn't jump and we celebrated and laughed maniacally.
After the jump, we scrambled up some extremely slippery rocks and got back to the path and followed through a wadi of streams and boulders, slowly making our way to to our destination, which we reached after about another half hour of walking, slipping, laughing, joking and climbing.
It was also quite a sight - a series of deep pools which sat beneath waterfalls and cliffs.
We shed our gear and immediately threw ourselves off other rocks and cliff faces, all addicted like junkies to the sensation of falling through the air, down, at times up to 12-13 meters to the water below.
After mincing around we weaved our way up the crystal clear river. Luckily I was wearing my sandals (which I'm so glad I spent the extra cash on, my Teva's have been awesome and a life-saver) which acted as extra buoyancy as we floated, ducked and dived into the final cave.
Getting in was particularly hard for me, even after jumping some heights, as you could either squeeze through a ridiculously thin wedge in the limestone and risk getting stuck, or, dive down underwater and through to the cave, some 4 or 5 meters in.
I opted for the 'squeeze' approach and luckily didn't get jammed and have to live out my days wedged between two pieces of limestone via sets of breathing apparatus when the place flooded from rain in the mountains.
Once in the cave, we were greeted by a group of Omani's who we chatted to and laughed with, as we watched Naseeb climb up, out of the water via a set of ropes, to a ledge about 10 meters high. He disappeared and came back behind us and jumped into the water.
It certainly didn't look that high, but once we made it up there (and Nakia unfortunately slipping and hurting her knee) it was like we were towering the heavens.
We sat down and chatted for a bit, learning how and where to jump, as the roof was quite low and there was a specific spot to jump towards.
Naseeb threw himself off, with all of us following in quick succession. It was so much fun, and certainly boosted my confidence about being the water.
Finally, it was time to head back and we made our way back to the truck, saying goodbye to high rock points where we jumped and chatting some more to Adam about traveling.
On our way back to Muscat, Naseeb spotted a set of dunes, just out of Quryat, next to the beach.
He was in a particularly playful mood and once we found our way to the dunes (by cheekily tearing through peoples property and various side-roads and random scrub) he got out and began to let the air out of the tyres.
Once at the right level, we all clambered back in and started roaring in 4WD up, over and all around the sandy beach dunes. The thought of something going wrong crossed my mind as hurtled up and down, but I thought 'nah, we're in the hands of a trained professional, what's the worst that can happen?'...
Well, soon after that thought drifted from my mind, we skidded to a stop at the edge of a massive dune. Naseeb peered over the edge and then started reversing, as if to take a run up.
Meanwhile, Janey began shrieking 'Nasseeeeeb, noooot a goood ideaaaaaa!' and before we knew it we were sliding down the edge of the dune and landed with the front right wheel firmly planted into another dune, on an angle!
My heart sunk as we all got out of the truck and inspected the damage. Here we were, about 2 hours out of Muscat, a small village maybe 40 minutes walk and losing light, fast. I chuckled slightly as I thought we might be camping out for another night underneath the stars, which wouldn't be so bad, until I learned that Naseeb had another tour the following day.
Nakia was quickly dispatched to flag down another 4WD tearing over the dunes, while Adam and I dug away at the sand that surrounded the tyre.
After about 30 minutes of trying hopelessly to free the wheel, a local Omani who looked like he was out training stopped by and started talking to Naseeb and inspecting the damage. He instantly grabbed Naseebs phone and started 'phoning a friend'. By this stage, a number of other trucks skidded up on the dune above and about 15 locals had surrounded, all trying to figure out how to assist now stressed and concerned tour operator.
I was stunned at the local assistance and broad smiles and chuckles, all so willing to help in some way, shape or form.
We tried rocking the truck out, as by this stage the dune was engulfing the side of the chassis, but finally an Omani in a Jeep Cherokee waddled up with cigarette in his mouth and handed Naseeb a rope to pull him out.
We all looked on, as everyone was scattered around and busying themselves amongst the sand trying to fix the problem. Adam, Nakia and I tried to help but the Omani's all smiled as we approached and said 'relax, relax, we fix, we fix' so we watched as they all scratched their heads and began to resolve the stranded truck issue.
Finally, after about an hour of various attempts from all angles, the truck came free (with the tyre fully coming off the rim) and we all cheered and yelled as the poor truck limped away from the grip of the dune that it was stuck in.
The tyre was quickly changed and we all shook each others hands as we beamed in the dim light and dusk, before loading up and following one of the trucks back to the small village to a small tyre shop where Naseeb filled the other tyres.
We all gave a big sigh of relief as we were finally back on the road again and heading towards home. I watched out the window as the now dark mountains and oncoming head lights rushed passed us at great speed.

Naseeb was incredibly apologetic (and embarassed) but I shook my head, beamed and laughed as I said it was all a fantastic experience and made a great story, that thankfully had a happy ending.

Tiwi Sinkhole, Beach Camping & Wadi Shab

Old Muscat Gates & Muttrah Souq

Monday night I truly experienced sensory overload.

I found myself at the Muttrah Souq (market) which is south of Muscat, towards the Old City and the coast.

We were taken there by Alison and Ewan, who are friends of George and Clare. Alison and Ewan are South African ex-pats, teaching english at a private Omani school, funded by one of the oil companies.

The Souq sits along a corniche on the edge of the water which is beautifully lit up at night by lights of all colours and brightness. In the small harbour here, you can find the Sultans Yacht (or, liner - it's huge!) and various other cruise and commercial ships docking, loading and unloading.

We parked and tempted fate by crossing the road (at the lights) but made it safely inside.

As I entered, my nose was instantly hit by a million over powering smells, which made me, to begin with, feel quite dizzy.

Once I began to come to grips with the smells, I persevered and began to investigate the sights of the small shops and stalls.

The Souq is a series of, I guess, large corridors and alley-ways, both inside and out (covered and un-covered). Outside of each small stall or shop (which is sometimes only wide enough for one person to walk through) are the most insistent salesman I have ever had the pleasure (and pain) of meeting. At first I was, again, overwhelmed with their tactics to get me to try their specific incense, or their shirts, jewellery, herbs, or whatever they were selling. It must have taken me about 40 minutes to get through the first main alleyway (which is only about 25 metres long) as I was accosted by each person outside their shop. But I managed to get the knack of politely saying no thank you and walking on... But, as you know and as I've already written earlier, I love a sales-pitch and lapped up most of the banter as I perused the often weird, yet strangely wonderful warez that was on offer through these brightly lit and busy walkways.

At this stage I stumbled across Clare discussing smells with an indian chap who was selling herbs and the like. He was fascinated as Clare had quite a talented nose and was able to detect the specific scents in certain un-marked boxes and jars and establish what they all were. The shop owner was extremely impressed and asked where she was from. 'New Zealand' she replied and his head tilted to the sky and eyes gently closed while pining 'I must travel to New Zealand... especially if there are more women with knowledge like yourself'.

Heh.

I then spent quite a bit of time looking at the jewellery. This particular Souq isn't renowned for its gold and silver, but still had an amazing array of mostly womens jewellery on show. Particularly the head-pieces and necklaces, which in Omani culture are given to a bride by the groom as a wedding present. The wedding can not take place until the bride has received her particular piece. It's interesting as essentially what is given becomes her 'bank account', where she can then add more pieces to it as time goes on.

They weren't gaudy or obtrusive, instead delicate and quite beautiful.

The good thing also about looking at jewellery is that the stores are air conditioned, which was a nice change from the balmy 29' degrees outside.

After a while I got bored and weaved my way back around to the other small shops and stores. Alison and Ewan were purchasing various things and I asked for their advice on purchases, specifically if tourists paid ridiculous amounts and whether items here, were in fact, trash.

She looked at me rather funny, but I explained that I wouldn't know a good quality pashmina or shawl from a bad one. Like all markets, she started, there are those who are scamming, but generally here, the items are of pretty good, or 'real' quality.

So I continued perusing through the small streets, at times finding it hard to get past the salesmen and shopkeepers, but the thought of food managed to harden my sensitivity (and made me a tad cranky) towards them. I think the others had similar thoughts, so we headed off for dinner, beyond old Muscat.

It was interesting talking to Ewan and Alison. Clare had mentioned that they resurrected the dive centre in Sur, Oman. So I probed a bit on the subject of diving and have obtained some interesting contacts to help me sit my refresher, on top of my open water certification. This is important as I haven't been diving in, about, 7 years.

Once I've got that, they have offered to take me out, which is fantastic as they extremely knowledgeable on local dive spots and have extensive diving experience here and around the world.

We talked about their teaching jobs here, the lines between culture and discipline and getting a bit more of an understanding on local politics, especially the Sultan. I'll write more about that after I've thought about it a bit more and when I have some time.

Anyway it was a fantastic dinner and they were so incredibly friendly and nice. I'll definitely give them a holler once I'm qualified again, which hopefully be in a week... all going well.

Tuesday was Clare and George's last day, so we headed out to the Old City Gates and Gate Museum.

We got a bit lost on our way out there, but once we found it, Old Muscat was incredibly quiet. I was driving and noticed a large police presence, which I hadn't seen before. There were 'no stopping' cones on each side of the road for about 5 km's and a few locals lining the street, hanging around, as though they were waiting for something, or someone, to come past.

We stopped at a petrol station, filled the car (which cost 3.2 Rials - which equates to about NZ$12!!!!!!) and headed back into old Muscat.

We parked the car at a quiet car park and started walking around. I had my camera with me in my case over my shoulder and behind my bac, so I was looking particularly 'touristy' I guess... Anyway, as we slowly and cautiously made our way around the streets of Old Muscat, I happened upon a large protected gate and three armed guards. I wasn't sure what the entrance was for, but the guards were looking at us quite intently. As this was the case, and me being me, I wandered over, smiling, and asked them if they spoke english. They called one particular guard over (with badges, awards and medals strapped to his uniform) and he asked if he could help.
'Hello! Uhm, we're tourists... just walking around here... it's awfully quiet... why is that?'
He looked at me blankly. I thought I hadn't managed to get my point across terribly well, so I tried paraphrasing, using shorter sentences (which I hate, as I always think I sound so patronising)
'Hi! Why are streets so quiet? Not busy? Lots of Police?'
His ears perked up and he tilted his head slightly.
'Why do you want to know about Police?'
'Oh! We were here last night, driving through and it was busy! I was just curious why it was so quiet and lots of Police......' He continued looking at me, except now with concern and almost a streak of anger. I continued, except now stammering a bit as the other guards were now beginning to circle me. I wasn't sure if it was my paranoia, but I swear they were playing with the safety catches on their rifles...
'Oh, uhm, just..... arrr...... Is it OK that we walk around? I just thought.....well..... I wasn't sure why it was quiet.... I uhh....'
'The Sultan is in the palace today. That's why.' The guard cut in.
'Oh... OK... Is it OK that we still walk around? I... I mean OK I understand...'
'Yes, fine to walk around' he said flatly. 'Where are you from?' he asked, curiously and cautiously.
'Oh! I'm from New Zealand!' (In my worst New Zild accent).
He then looked me the eye, turned around and walked back to the gate, with the guards following him.
I scampered off with my tail between my legs, feeling like a bit of an idiot tourist. But I thought it was probably best to play the dumb-tourist, as I certainly don't want to end up in a cell for asking too many questions.
Well, that day I learned (as Gill had told me) not to ask questions - especially from officials/police/guards.

Heh.

So we continued walking around and saw the back of the palace from the side of the harbour. Sadly I was too petrified to even unholster the camera, let alone take any photos. But it was quite a sight - a man-made harbour, with three gun-turrets strategically placed for protection, sitting in front of the monstrous block that is the palace from the rear. There must have been around 150 rooms. And that was just the view from the back.
I looked out towards the Gulf and could see three boats/ships/whatever - I've been reading that one is a British Cruiser, a US signal boat and the other must have been the Muscat coastguard/Navy. Interesting to see them out, and so close to the coast.
We then headed back up to the Gate Musuem, which by that stage I was on Information Overload as I'm somewhat 'Museumed' out at this stage. So I wasn't really paying attention, but I did press all the buttons and play with the lights.
Coming out of the Museum though, I really could feel the Military/Police presence. On the Museum post alone I spotted 4 along the wall.

I spoke to Gill about it that night and she said she had got stuck in an official cavalcade a few days before. She explained that the government vehicles travel in large groups, line astern, on the roads. And it was quite by accident that she got in the middle of it - as she was going round the roundabout and half pulled out, leaving her to turn off as the rest came in after her. She said it was a bit of a drama as one of the officers in the vehicle in front looked as though he was having a heart attack - realising that some 'western woman' somehow managed to break the ranks and join the official party. But she managed to get out, after traveling quite a way in the wrong direction to which she was going.
Heh. She also mentioned that the roads get shut down, without warning, when the Sultan is 'on the move'. And we experienced that coming back from the Gate Museum - we were on the highway, and then suddenly traffic came to an absolute gridlock, without warning. We sat there for about 15 minutes, watching streams of people running beside the highway (and on the highway - which isn't uncommon here in Muscat), before suddenly being free and able to move again. We looked on, as scores of people were making their way back (again both on and off the road) in the opposite direction to which they were running.... but no accident, no carnage, nothing. So I suspect the Sultan was on the move there....

Old Muscat Gates

That night I got a call from Naseeb letting me know that the next day we were off to Wadi Shab and to camp for the night at a white sand beach. Awesome! I began packing my bags and prepping for the adventure that was about to follow.......

Grand Mosque

This morning we ventured out towards the airport, about 25 minutes out of town, to view the Grand Mosque. It was quite a sight - and I felt quite privileged to view it.

The Sultan has allowed public viewing of the Mosque, which opens from 8-11am Saturday to Thursday (Thursday and Friday are 'the weekend' here in Oman).

We walked up and were instantly hit by the heat. I admit I haven't been up and about at 9am in the morning here yet, so was surprised it got that hot that early. Upon thinking about it, that makes sense, because the Sun is quite low in the sky (coming into the depths of 'Winter' here in the Northern Hemisphere) so the heat is predominantly in the morning and early afternoon until about 2pm.

There is a long causeway that joins the parking area to the entrance way to the Mosque, and as I wandered up I instantly began to feel a sense of power of the place.

We were inspected by the two guards at the front entrance, as everyone should be dressed 'conservatively' - women must be clothed to their ankles and wrists and have no hair showing (so wrapped in a shawl) and men must wear 'respectful' clothing.

Once the guards were happy with our attire, we shuffled through the entrance-way and were greeted by a large marble paved area, with the sight of the large domed mosque to the right and a number of archways straight ahead.

It was quite a sensation to wander around the grounds of the Mosque. I first walked around, taking in the sight and feeling, before entering the dome to view the inside.

It was at this stage that I busted out the camera (as a number of tourists were clicking away) and took some snaps.

The main theme for the photos, I guess, is the symmetry and angle of the architecture (outside) while inside was predominantly just firing off shots at 'what I thought looked interesting'. Unfortunately, looking at them now, a few of them are off-centre, so you miss the point a bit. But imagine that they are straight. For now.

So I wandered through the cavernous entranceways and corridors, at times feeling like a Japanese tourist, but quite inspired by the sheer size and magnificence of the structure.

There were a number of gardens at the rear of the grounds which were beautifully manicured (and obviously continually watered) by local Pakistani 'grounds staff'.

By this stage the heat had really begun intolerable so I headed inside the dome to inspect the space.

At the entrance to the dome, there are a number of rules which 'non Muslims' must abide by. Rule number 1 is 'do not step off the blue carpet'. This is because apparently it is one of the highest 'offences' in Islamic tradition for a non Muslim to stand on the carpet inside a Mosque.

So around the edges and through the middle of the dome, you can see in the photos, is a blue carpet the tourists are skulking around.

As I entered, I was surprised how mod-con it was. Air conditioned, microphones, speakers and cameras. The air conditioning was a nice change from the blistering heat outside.

The main spectacle inside the dome was the massive chandelier that hung from the dome itself. It must have been about 15 metres in diameter. The art was also incredible. The intense colours on the polished marble walls and how they contrasted each other - forming quite beautiful Arabic art.

So I stood there for a few moments, underneath the chandelier and looking towards Mecca, imagining thousands upon thousands of people bowing and praying and chanting. And I can say that it doesn't do much for me. I appreciate some of the Islamic 'traditions' but dedicating my life to the religion doesn't appeal very much at all to me.

I could certainly appreciate the the size and presence of where I was... but couldn't help but (very quietly) chuckle as only word that came to mind was 'grandiosity' (grandiosity is part of the psychological make-up of the narcissist).

Once I'd over-indulged in the photos, I put my sandals back on and we were on our way.

On the way back through the entranceway, I noticed a small wooden door. Turned out it was a library. Now I didn't go in, but apparently had quite a magnificent collection of both Arabic and English books, available for loan. If I get time, I might wander back and see what is available to read (as I don't imagine I'd be able to take any of the books away on loan...)

Pants. That's all I have time for. I'm due back at the house tonight as I am heading out to dinner with some friends of Clare and George's, who are going to take us through the Muttrah Souk before dinner. Apparently they started the diving centre in Sur (south of Muscat) so I will interrogate them to my fullest ability and see what information I can get out of them.

Sultant al Qaboos Mosque

Andrew, signing out.

Muscat, Nizwa and Ruwi

Well goodness.

It's been a busy few days and access to the interwebz has been limited. Luckily, Gill's friends who are also staying - Clare and George, have a spare MacBook Pro that I have managed to borrow and lug over to the Al'Qur'm City Centre, where I am now camping out at 'Coffee Republic', sipping cafe latte's and finally perusing the 'tubes and checking my mail on a decent (usable) connection.

So. Where do I start. I almost don't know where to begin. First of all I'm not sure how long I will be here for, so if this is cut short, I apologise.

I guess I should start, first of all, with OH MY I WANT a Macbook Pro. It's so pretty. And sleek. And shiny. And yeah.

But seriously. It's been a fun few days, almost a week since I've been here. Every day has been hot and sunny. Forecast for the next week is.... Hot and sunny. Hot and sunny. Hot and sunny. What are these people, lizards? (Thanks Bill).

Oman is quite rich with interesting history - it was a trading hub (particularly Frankincense), the first to adopt Islam (around the 7th Century A.D.) and has a dominant Ibadism sect (one of the interesting facts that I've discovered of Ibadism is that the ruler is chosen by communal consent).

The current Sultan - Sultan Qaboos bin Said al Said, ousted his father in the early 1970's, in what is called 'The Renaissance'. This is because he confronted a number of issues that had plagued the country like infant mortality, illiteracy and poverty.

Now, Oman appears to be a humble, yet extremely successful country. And I think that is owed to the very clever and wise decisions of the current Sultan (and his advisors). He has opened the country up to foreigners (New Zealanders specifically don't need to apply for a visa and get 3 months stay upon entry - our neighbours the Aussies have to apply and pay for a visa) opened up the city gates, as before he was in power, the city gates were closed to everyone, composed a national cabinet and instigated Oman's first 'Basic Statutes of the State' - the first written constitution.

The country is thriving. He appears to be long-term focussed and genuinely interested in his people, their future and well-being.

Anyway, I certainly was not expecting to be travelling like this. On Tuesday night I found myself at a New Zealand and Australian ex-pat Melbourne Cup cocktail party at the Grand Hyatt Hotel. My goodness. Never before have I been introduced to an ex-pat, but based on my experience the typical one residing in Oman (from NZ and Aus) is a pompous, arrogant breed that is all too ready to show off their latest digs or newly constructed nose. I'm not sure how many 'new Prada shoes' or 'new Gucci bags' I was shown...

But I did manage to find myself some interesting people to talk to (me, being a 'traveller' only wearing jeans and the only collared shirt I bought - which looks as though it is few sizes too small as I wasn't planning on wearing it buttoned). The first was an Omani national by the name of Naseeb, who runs a local tour company. I was introduced to him by my Aunt, who took pity on me standing in the room, looking like a lost child at an overcrowded supermarket. He is a friend of hers and we started talking about the desert. I told him how I had become fascinated by the desert sand after flying over it from Dubai to Muscat. The soft, supple sands and the sharp scaly mountains that surround them were certainly a striking sight, looking down at them from the heavens above.

So I have him working on the case and I will find out later in the week if there are some slots available in his current schedule. If not, I will try and negotiate a custom tour and barter with my NZ peso (the Omani Rial is equal to about 4.5 NZ Peso, making things incredibly expensive here).

The second man I spoke to was an incredibly interesting fellow by the name of Robert. Now he is a native Scot (his partner was a NZ national), residing here in Oman and was fascinating to talk to. His job, is to import technology and teach it at the University here in Muscat. The reason he teaches and advises on it, is because if he was to bring particular technology into the country, he would not be able to implement it successfully as he is a foreigner. So, he acts as an advisor to the University, and in turn, the Sultans advisers and delegates, on technology that would benefit the country and it's people.

I hope that makes sense.

So we chatted about things ranging from Insurance (yeah, yeah) to smart cars and the automotive industry, sensor electronics to Greek philosophy, modern civilisation to the bible. It was great! (Tim - you'd love this guy, for his sensor research would be potentially useful for your High Altitude Balloon project....)

But after a few wines and a number of complaints about the appalling musician playing, Gill found me and advised she 'had finished working the room'. My my, never before have I seen someone work the room like she does - a true networker and socialiser (it's a 'Sagittarius' thing, she says). So we disappeared into the night, leaving poor Robert and Naseeb with the now shrieking Australian and raucous New Zealand drunks.

Wednesday morning I lazed by the pool and read my book in the sun. The heat here is soothing and comfortable, not like the scathing sun and humidity in New Zealand. It's hot, don't get me wrong, but it's tolerable heat. Yesterday reached 38 degrees and while I was sweating, I was enjoying and basking in it.... Much like a lizard would.

In the afternoon we (Clare, George, Gill and I) jumped into the car and sped our way through central Muscat and wove up and over the mountains into Ruwi. Our destination was the Shangri'La - a Hotel (we seem to be touring the hotel chains here in Oman) that is set into the mountains on the edge of the coast - the Gulf of Oman - outside the cusp of 'Old Muscat'. Again, I was drawn to and became increasingly fascinated with being out in the desert and the mountains. I can't really explain the sensation, but one aspect of it is certainly a calming feeling. Another, is one of mystery.

Anyway, we arrived at the Shangri'La and sat down to an unfortunately western meal of Bolognese. Not that it wasn't delicious, but there was no 'local' food on the menu. Not that I was entirely sure what a 'local' meal was, but I was disappointed, nonetheless.

We then wandered around the beach and I stumbled across a dive academy, which was across the bay. I've made a mental note as I will head back there at some stage to do a dive refresher and get the low-down on dive spots and tours.

On Wednesday night we set-off for a 'night at the Symphony'. Gill had tickets to see the Royal Oman Symphony Orchestra and it truly was a 'Royal' affair.

We arrived at the Al'Bustan Theatre and I was instantly in awe at the sheer elegance of the place. It was incredibly ornate and the attention to detail was absolutely magnificent.

We herded into the theatre and after twenty or so minutes the performance began. The conductor was one Sir Colin Davis and what can I say - his reputation precedes him. Sir Colin, is known throughout the musical world, as one arrogant (yet awfully talented) individual, and watching him curse and rave maniacally was certainly a sight to be seen. Spitting and tensing during moments of almost dire frustration yet he appeared subtly satisfied with his 'leadership' of the young, talented players.

Serenading  Mozart and Handel concertos, the all Omani Symphony played beautifully (although at times slipping out of time) and were a pleasure to listen to. They were also quite a sight - the women wearing a bright red cape and stockings, a green dress...like...thing, and a very beautifully crafted gold-woven head-piece.

Muscat & Nizwa

Yesterday Clare, George and I (Gill has gone to Bahrain to sing...lucky!) ventured out of Muscat and drove to Nizwa, which is 'famous' for its Souks (markets), Fort and Mosque. The highway to Nizwa snakes its way next to the mountains and is about 2 1/2 hours out of Muscat.

My first observation was that Omani's are INSANE drivers. Reaching speeds of up to 160km/h on the open road and all too quick to plant their fists on the horn of their glistening European cars and SUV's.

But we made it safely to Nizwa and embarked into the Souk. Which, we found out, didn't actually open for a few hours so we strolled through the empty castle-like structure, trying vigourously to quell the stench of slaughtered animals.

I had my first horrific toilet experience in that Souk. I shan't go into details here but witnessed some people doing some pretty disturbing things. By my Western standards, I might add though.

In terms of my travel and looking forward: I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I'm quite happy where I am, as I'm discovering a lot about the culture (which I am really quite fond of) and seeing some interesting things.

I can't get as many photographs as I'd like - certainly not of the people, which is probably what I'd like to photograph the most. The men and women alike look majestic in their attire and also have embraced elements of fashion in their appearance, while remaining true to their culture and religion.

Which is one of the many things that I like about this place. The culture, the people and how they live. The family unit remains an important part of their life and they are respectful and mindful of their heritage and how they came to be.

I still haven't put a lot of thought into where I'm going to go next. I'm probably not going to continue up to Greece as it's simply too expensive and I don't want to blow all my money -just- yet. I'm also not sure I want to venture back to Asia yet as well. Which kind of makes me angry. I haven't written much about the incident, apart from the update last week. I haven't even written about it in my journal. I'm still a bit fragile, to be completely honest, about the whole thing and fairly mixed and reserved as to how I approach it. 

I'm here for a while though, as I want to get into the desert and see some more of the land outside Muscat.

I'm a bit bummed that I can't get regular internet, so they aren't mammoth updates like this, but that means just more relaxing by the pool. Which is quite a social affair. I've met quite a few people pool-side - one girl, who I met today, is a teacher at the British Council, who lives right next to Gill. I think she is my age or close to, so I'll try and find out the low-down on other things to do in Muscat and whether she can recommend anything.

Right. I think that covers most things. Today's update is not as creatively written - but more matter-of-fact.  Trust you are all well and as disturbed as I am to see that National won the election.

Oh and I added some photos - check them at www.picasaweb.google.com/outafayse (some of Pulau-Penang - but only the nice ones):

Pulau Penang