The next day became an exploration of some of Oman’s barren, flat landscape, as well as its tombs, forts and castles
Our camp was only a short distance from the Wadi Al Aya Beehive Tombs, so once we’d de-rocked our tents, shaken off the gravel and the stone-stiffness off our joints and attempted a pathetic stretch, we set off to explore the ancient site. I should clarify… I was probably the only one struggling, though I made a colossal effort of putting on a brave face… and pretending to be the seasoned, outdoorsy camper everyone might assume I was.
Fake it till you make it.
Or as I know refer to it…
Fake it till you break it.
My back, that is.
These tombs, shaped like beehives, were ancient burial sites set atop the Al Hajar Mountains.
Then came Jabreen Castle and Bahla Fort. They were very similar and after the last fort, I had trouble differentiating between the lot of them.
According to my extensive Oman forts & castles research…
“Both are significant historical landmarks of Oman. Both feature traditional Omani architecture, showcasing mudbrick construction combined with defensive design elements such as thick walls, watchtowers, and intricate interior layouts. Both were built with defensive purposes in mind, designed to withstand invasions and safeguard local communities.”
There’s everyone’s education of the day taken care of.
Fort… Castle…
They were intriguing… sure… but to avoid sounding jaded… just another fort. Less than 24 hours into Oman and already fort-saturated.
And caves…
There’s always caves.
I don’t think I’ve ever been on an organized tour where caves were not involved.
There’s always a cave stop .
This tour was no exception… and I fear there may be a few more in my near future. But… I have seen enough stalactites and stalagmites to last me a lifetime.
Sure… I get why people are intrigued by caves. There’s the mystery of the unknown, adventure, myth & legend, surreal formations, sunlight filters, evidence of early human activity, clues of the earths history and unique ecosystems… but meh.
Not for me.
I’d just as soon give it a miss.
The original plan had been for the group to visit the caves in the morning, but they figured we might as well get it over with before we hit our camping destination.
It probably wasn’t the wisest decision… because, as a result, we ended up setting up camp in the dark… on more rocks.
I opted to not participate in the cave excursion. I believe that I’ve written about my aversion caves once or twice in my blog. If I can avoid them at all, I do.
Same goes for churches.
From what I hear I don’t think i missed much.
Unfortunately, as I mentioned, we far exceeded our late afternoon allowance at the caves and by the time we were rolling down the highway again, the sun had begun to set.
Rapidly.
Our next rock camp was still quite a ways away. When I say quite a ways, I mean it.
We ascended this dangerous road under a cloak of darkness.
The initial stretch, though paved and in relatively good condition, probably would have been more manageable had it been visible. I had read that a 4WD vehicle was strongly advised to ensure better traction and safety.
Great.
As we continued up up up, the road became increasingly more treacherous, with sharp bends, steep drop-offs and no guardrails, adding to the challenge.
I couldn’t help but wonder, “who in their right mind found this place?”
That’s what I needed to know.
Who was the first person who first headed up this steep, narrow road and finally said, “this seems good!”
I want to meet these lunatics.
Fear took over, unrelenting and absolute. Each time I foolishly looked out the window, it only served to deepen my dread. My heart was pounding in sync with the turbulence of the truck on this turbulent track. I fastened my seatbelt, closed my eyes tightly, and prayed for a speed and safe arrival.
Something worked because we finally arrived at the summit.
Bedrock city # 2.
Or… more commonly known as Wadi Ghul.
None of us had the faintest idea where we were or where we were setting up. Darkness had blanketed our bouldered Bedrock and we were all completely blind to our surroundings. Thank god my tent is easy to put up.
I’m curious as to why they refer to it as bush camping when it is quite clearly rock camping.
If I thought the other place was rocky and rugged, I was most certainly mistaken.
Sleep was out of the question on such unforgiving terrain. It was bitter cold throughout the entire evening and every piece of clothing I had in my tent, I piled on myself.
To make matters worse, a party raged all night not far from our camp. I have to admit, I actually found myself missing the sound of barking, feral dogs.
Sunrise came too early.
I ripped myself off my deflated sleep mat and stumbled out of my tent. I was standing at the top of the world.
Oman’s very own ‘Grand Canyon.’
Internet research described it way better than I ever could…
“Nestled in the rugged Al Hajar Mountains, this dramatic canyon plunges deep into the earth, revealing layers of ancient rock in hues of ochre, gray, and gold. The vast, yawning expanse is both humbling and awe-inspiring, with sheer cliffs towering above the valley floor and jagged ridges tracing the horizon.”
It was absolutely stunning.
Breathtaking.
Majestic.
Most of us were up between 6/6:30 to do a 10km sunrise hike along the cliffs of the rock ridges to an ancient stone village settlement. I think we could’ve gone slightly further to see a waterfall, but apparently it has dried up during the dry season.
This is the hike to do in Oman.
My knee and ankle held up surprisingly well, considering I didn’t remember to inundate myself with precautionary pain medication. However bad I thought I had it, there was a woman hiking in full burqa and heels.
High heels.
Ya… Crazy.
Ok…
Let’s talk about Norman for a moment. Remember Norman? I mentioned him briefly in my previous blog. Norman was the one who “was proud to announce that he had no idea who George Michael was.”
He was the last to join our crew. Denise and I had hoped for someone younger… but we got Norman instead. He’d probably mid-60’s… and quite persnickety. The very first thing he mentioned to me was that it’s never Norm… and always Norman.
Norm-ally, I’d respect the name preferences of anyone I meet, but Norman is quite annoying and pushy… so I’m sticking with Norm.
Stormin’ Norm.
I could call him Scowlin’ Norm, as he’s got a permanent scowl on his face. But… we shall go with ‘Stormin’ right now because he’s always storming around. He always has to be the first off the truck, the first into the hotel or into the coffee shop… you name it.
He has to be first, almost like a childish compulsion or disorder. He’ll position himself in the “go” position before the truck has even come to a halt and won’t hesitate to shove us out of the way to claim his place.
During our stay at the mountain hotel, he had shared an elevator with Denise and I. As we reached our floor, it took all his restraint not to push us aside and beat us out of the elevator. But once we were out, he bulldozed past us, rushing down the hall to be the first to reach his room.
He’s an odd one.
A lot of us have noticed this now… and try to make sure we block him whenever possible. Not for any specific reason except to irritate him, see him sweat… and slowly go insane.
As we were heading into Nizwa, we shopped at a rest stop to get gas, have a toilet break… etc etc. Some of us made a beeline towards a wee coffee shop. Amongst those was Norman, pushing his way past us all, claiming to just want to ‘see the menu,’ but I knew he’d take his opportunity to butt in if he got the opportunity. I stepped in and barricaded him moving forward.
I got a pistachio latte.
Why I chose that on such a scorching day is a mystery to me. The highlight, however, was the café worker, who moved slower than molasses, much to Norman’s irritation. We watched him grow more and more visibly annoyed before storming out.
Well Stormin’ probably had the last laugh because the sickly sweet latte didn’t agree with my stomach and the overly bumpy roads… and I arrived at our next destination feeling quite queasy.
That’ll teach me.
Maybe.
Probably not
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