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

  

Destination Oman

Well, a quick update:

I arrived to the Sultanate of Oman yesterday after 14 hours of travel and transit. I was greeted by my Aunty Gill at the airport, who whisked me away and safely deposited me at her apartment complex in Qurm, which appears to be an 'up-market' suburb just out of the city.

On the drive back, I got the brief run-down on the local cultural no-no's:

Coming in at Number 1: NO PHOTOS! Damn. The place is really quite pretty and I was looking forward to getting some snaps up. Though, I think this is just limited to people and beaches. Apparently taking photos of people is a big cultural no-no. The women particularly, as it is against their religion to have a duplicate copy of themselves, or something. Men will also get very angry if they have their photo taken and there have been reported altercations from tourists doing so.

So sadly no wandering Paparazzo-Andrew.

Number 2: No Shorts! Damn. It's really hot and well, I only really packed for Asia (which is also hot). So I'll be sweating it out in my jeans and cargo's for the next while, unless I pick up some dish-dash's (local religious garb).
It is even harder for women (well, also generally) as they need to cover most of their body - shoulders, legs and not wear revealing clothing. There are a large portion of Western ex-pats here and a few tourists who don't adhere - you don't get in trouble, but it is frowned upon by the locals.

So sadly, sweaty-Andrew is going to become... well, I'm sure you can conjur up the image (whether you like it or not)

Number 3: When talking to the locals, don't ask personal questions. I'm told that Omani's are quite private. If you smile, they will smile back. If you are friendly, they will be friendly back. If you're arrogant and repugnant, they will be also in return.
But, personal questions? I asked my Aunt what would be considered a 'personal question' and she replied that although she has business cards of local friends, she still does not know what it is they do.

This one will be tough. For those who know me, know that I ask a lot of questions. It's how you get to know someone, afterall!

Number 4: When greeting or being introduced to a woman, don't offer to shake her hand; as she won't.
This is also interesting, as there is a great divide between Men and Women. For example, Men and Women socialise separately, unless they are with Family, where they would socialise at Family places.

Number 5: When out walking: Look like you've got somewhere to go.
Apparently there are some members of the royal family in the neighbourhood, so I can't just go out 'strolling.' But to be honest I don't think I'll be doing a lot of walking while I'm here (unless I get to head into the mountains....) as Oman has no real 'City Centre' - but many little suburban locales.

Now, I'm finding all of the above extremely interesting, as being a Western Male - I am considered an Infidel. Western Woman are considered prostitutes (according to the teachings of the Koran). A few of the points above align with this but, also seem contradictory to this regard.

Anyway, I'm alive and well, I've eaten and even had a swim in the complex pool (which is stunning). I'm gathering my thoughts and am putting off thinking about my next move for probably at least a week. I'm seizing the moment, being here, and soaking up the sights and sounds that being in Oman can offer me. As this place is certainly off the tourist beaten track (but apparently that is slowly changing) so will certainly make use of the time now.

Thanks for all your thoughts and messages. Both my ego and body are a bit bruised and I'm still unsure if I will go back to SE Asia this year (well, at least by myself) but I am well and taking the time to reflect and enjoy my current surroundings and situation.

The darker side of traveling

So it's been a rough couple of days.

I'm currently holed-up in a hotel in Kuala Lumpur, nursing a few bruises and lumps... pondering the fate of my little tiki-tour of South-East Asia.

This city certainly hasn't made me feel welcome... and I think that could also be said for the rest of the country.

But let me go back a few steps...

The bus trip up to Georgetown, Pulau-Penang was relatively smooth. I managed to make friends with the bus driver, which proved useful for tidbits of information and a kind observer during the JB Customs experience into Malaysia.

After a nervous chat, deciphering broken english and warped Singaporean, I got on and we were ready to roll. There were two drivers, who would share what I thought was an eleven hour trip, starting at 9pm, Singapore time.

As we busted out on to the main street, causing a barrage of horns and screams from on-coming traffic, the driver reached up to the TV and pressed play.

I sunk into my chair and laughed nervously as I watched the opening credits for the movie 'Doomsday' - a gritty Zombie movie set in a time where the world is battling an horrific Ebola-type virus - where only one elite team of para-military commandos can rescue and preserve the Doctor who has the cure.

Focus on the Zombie.... and Military.... and.... Blood, guts, violence....

I was kind of shocked (but thought it was kind of funny) that the driver decided to put this on... I looked back at the rows of -very- muslim and Hindi families covering their (and their childrens) eyes and ears as regular bursts of blood and internal organs flew from Zombie and 'rescuer' alike....

Fun times!

So we rolled through the 8 lane highway that leads up to Johar Baru and into the swamp-pit called 'Malaysia' that I would begin to loathe.

I remember being so cold in that bus. I thought I had 'dressed for the occasion' and bought a light-fleece, just in case. Man, I should have also packed my jeans, ski-jacket and beanie.

I slept most of the way, dozing in and out, waking to the bright light towers that served the causeway as we wound our way up through Melaka, KL, Ipoh and Butterworth, eventually (and finally) stopping in Penang.

Except, I wasn't dropped off where I was supposed to be. I was some 25 minutes drive from the station in Penang. And to make matters worse (well, some would say for the better), the bus had made some good time and was 2 hours early. Making it 6am. In a city that was making me increasingly uncomfortable by the second.
But I pushed on through the feeling, as I knew I was tired and justed needed to get past the clutter, rubbish and filth that lay spewed across the streets, underneath the decaying buildings that sat decreptly and dilapitated above it.
I was instantly approached by a taxi driver husking 'foreigner, foreigner' and pointing to his beat-up, rusted 1982 Toyota Corolla. I quickly glanced at the bus driver who said 'good taxi, good taxi' and so I began the haggle over price.
Eventually we agreed on some 25 Ringgit to take me to the backpackers that I'd selected from my trusty guide. (thanks Tim and Fay!)

I loaded up and we sped off into the lonesome night.

My following thoughts went along the lines of 'The place is a fucking hole.' Excuse my language but I really have no other way to descibe it.

We weaved across town on the highway, at times selecting 2 lanes at a time. Bah! Why have 1, when you can have 2! Good thing there was no traffic.

OK, so I eventually got to the backpackers - 100 Cintra Street - 75 Travellers Lodge. The street was even worse than where I was dropped off, scaring rats and roaches alike as I grabbed my bags and wandered into my accommodation.

It was pitch-black and whispered 'Hello?'..... Nothing. 'Uhm.... Hello, is anybody there?' I said louder.
Someone stirred and walked out from the dark and switched on a light. This someone, an aged man beyond his years, struggled to stand upright and squinted at me, looking surprised.
'I know it's early, but do you have a room available?'
'Thi int no Hilton, y'know?' he garbled, in a tired slur.
.............Yeah, really?
'That's fine - Single dorm available? Can I have a look please?'

He then led me up a flight of wide stairs and into a dark hallway which housed roller doors with massive security locks, that look like they were built for the ultra-paranoid ('excellent', I thought, that's me!)
A plan 3x4 room, mosquito net, thin mattress, pillow and fan. 'Excellent', I thought again. A fan. That means power.
'Looks fantastic. Is it quiet?' I spoke in pretty slow, almost patronising English.
'Tah be honest, discoteque run all hours, over street, just being honest... some times run till 5 in morning'
Caring. I've withstood festivals of the 'doof-doof' and lived with muppet flatmates who have no sense of volume in places with cardboard walls...
'Done - how much?'
'25 Ringgit. Need details. Come downstairs'
I appreciated his honesty so was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I filled in the details and intoruced myself. The man introduced himself as 'Kenny' but he said that everyone called him 'Boss.'
Oooook, boss!
It took me a while to get to sleep - it was getting light and my mind was racing. What I was thinking about, I can't remember, but I chucked on my ipod, listened to some Hybrid, finished off some sweet buns that I picked up from a roadside food and rest-stop on the way up and slowly drifted to sleep.

I woke at about 11 to the blaring heat and took a shower. I was expecting a bucket and ladle but I was impressed, hot water!
I wandered around, checked my emails (the place also had free wifi - score!) and had a chat to 'Boss'.
It was an interesting conversation. I asked about the 'discoteque' that he mentioned earlier and he said it was run by the local gangs, for locals only. Turns out Penang is somewhat of a criminal haven for drugs, prostitution and arms, as it's on the coast and gets very little ocean patrolling.
Awesome. Why the hell am I here again?
Anyway, we continued chatting and I finally decided to venture out into the world.
Lots of markets, criss-crossed streets, street vendors, searing heat, unhappy people and LOTS and lots of motorbikes. Like, bazillions. And yes, that is a word. I said it, so it must be.
I ended up heading in the direction of the 'tourist info' shop, which was few km's away to the East. I battled traffic (as there are no sidewalks in Penang) and almost got hit by cars and trucks on the other side of the road. I picked up a few maps, asked about getting out and the ferry across to Pulau Langkawi - which is supposed to be 'idyllic'.

Hmmmm.

This was where things get a bit blurry. And painful.
I had gone back to the backpackers to get my bag as I wasn't sure how long I was going to be out and I wanted to venture a bit beyond the centre of Georgetown, as it really was a filth-fest.
Sometime later, early evening, I was walking through a market and reached the opposite end of where I came in. A Chinese guy, who looked in his late twenties, started talking to me.
'Where you from?'
'I'm from New Zealand' I said smiling.
'I like your bag' as he pointed to my bag.
'Uhh. Thanks.' I started to walk away and he reached out to grab the strap over my shoulders.
'Buddy, please don't' as I grabbed his hand as it was reaching and trying to pull it off my shoulder.
At this point I thought something was wrong. My 'fight or flight' kicked in, as did my adrenaline and my heart-rate and I started to gauge my next move. Lots of people, check. Exits - check - ahead of me, 20 metres ahead, passed large stall selling t-shirts, about 10 metres to my left. A busy road ahead of me though, so I'll take the left if I have to.
The guy got increasingly more aggressive and managed to pull the strap off my shoulder down my arm.
'HEY, PLEASE DON'T DO THAT' I yelled.
I started to back up and turn around and bumped into another guy behind me. The guy in front of me was trying to get into my bag now, so I swung round, yelled 'HELP...HEY, HELP' at the top of my lungs, then felt a crack against the back of my neck and head. My knees then buckled as I was kicked in the back of my calf.
At this point I was flailing my arms and got really angry. I attempted to fight back but failed and took a couple of blows on the ground. I tried to get up and run but, yeah, failed.
I remember looking up at the sky, then across the market and wondering WHY, THE, HELL, ISN'T, ANYONE, HELPING, ME?

Next thing I remember is coming to in a 4 feet deep street-ditch on the side of the road, wet, bag on top of me, some...maybe 40 metres from where I originally was.
I crawled out and somehow managed to get back to the backpackers. I don't remember the walk back. I think it was, maybe 10 or 15 minutes after the event actually happened.
Unfortunately Boss wasn't any help and proceeded to ask me if I was staying another night.
'Hell, no' I whimpered, as I was trying to flick through my guide-book for details on a police station, or some damn place that I could try and feel safe.
'Good, can't offer 1 more night, sorry, we shut'
'Fine. I'll be gone in the morning.'
I then trudged up the stairs and showered and rinsed my stinking clothes from the sewage-mess that I woke up in.
Didn't sleep much that night. Don't think I would have, even if I hadn't been assaulted. The 'doof-doof' from the 'discoteque' a few roads over kept me awake. The deep rolling (and insanely fast - like - 180BPM) bass managed to pierce through my ear plugs.
I got up at about 8 after dozing for an hour or so, then packed my bag and ventured out.
I got out on to the street and about 30 metres down the road my heart sunk and 'fight or flight' kicked in again as I saw the two guys who attacked me the night before.
I ran towards the bus station (well, more like waddled, with my pack and strap-ripped bag) but unfortunately they got another round in before they got scared. Or something.
I made it to the bus station and tried SO hard to communicate with the girl that I needed a ticket NOW. She failed to understand me and had to bring someone off the street to help translate.

I eventually got on a bus and made my way back down to KL, where I am now.
I'm still in a large portion of shock, and bruised ego.
I've arranged for a flight to Muscat, Oman, tonight (after arranging one last night and missing it... god, I hope I don't have delayed concussion!) where I will reassess and recoup for a while.

Where my travels will take me next, I'm not sure. But, I my passport, my stuff and I'm alive.

More updates soon.