Oman: Smells Good to Me

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Ancient Nizwa, once the capital of the interior, is surrounded by vast date-palm plantations irrigated by the Daris Falaj. Introduced by the Persians 2,500 years ago, a falaj is a system of underground channels fed by mountain springs and now used throughout Oman. Years ago, the allocation of water to individual plots was measured by time using sundials. The falaj in Nizwa is the largest in Oman.

Although the layout of the old centre of Nizwa has remained unchanged for centuries, the character has not. The traditional souk is now in a modern arcade and, in a slightly bizarre attempt at 'restoration', the authorities have painted all the buildings in town in a shade of brownish bronze. This does not, however, detract from the beauty of the mosque, with its blue and gold dome, best viewed from the ramparts of the neighbouring fort. The fort itself, which is big, rather than beautiful, gives a great view over the town, the plantations, and to the northeast, Jebel Shems, which at 9870 feet is the highest mountain in eastern Arabia.

Nizwa is also renowned for fine silverware, in particular the applique and etched-line styles found on the kohl boxes and khanjar daggers worn by men as part of the traditional Omani dress. These can bought in the souk and from small workshops scattered around the town.

The journey to Nizwa from Muscat is on a good-blacktop dual carriageway, and depending on how many photo stops you make, it can be made in a few hours. There is also a regular bus service from Muscat, which is timetabled (at the time of writing) in such a way as to make a day trip possible by bus.

Standing in the midday heat in Bahla, it was hard to imagine anyone having the energy for anything, never mind magic. Driving through the narrow back lanes while looking for the potteries, local people waved and smiled from the shade of doorways and date palms. The contents of the pottery workshop were not exactly bewitching, but the building was interesting and the potter and his family were very friendly. The fort, however, was impressive. Built around the 12th century and standing above the town on the side of the Bahlool mountain, it is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site and undergoing extensive renovation. Covered in wooden scaffolding and bits of old corrugated tin, it was also closed to the public. The town walls, very much evident alongside the wadi and leading up into the hills, were once 12km long and had 132 towers and 15 gates. I was later told by an Omani that Bahla was once renowned for types of black and white magic that sounded similar to the ones in the tales of witchcraft from Europe. Magic spells could be bought to bring good or harm to people. Some Omanis believe these commodities are still available in Bahla at a price. Presumably you have to barter!

JABRIN, because of its isolated position on the gravel plain between the jebel and the desert, is probably the most impressive fort in Oman. Down a side road 7 miles west of Bahla on Route 21, it was built in the 17th century by Immam Bil'arab bin Sultan al Ya’rubi as a seat of spiritual learning. Islamic law, medicine, and astrology were studied, the latter reflected in the plaster designs in the Sun and Moon room. It’s not essential to have a guide to wander around the maze of rooms and stairways, but there are few signs, so you could miss the upstairs room built for the Immam's horse! The sympathetic restoration work is best shown in the elegant balconies and plaster latticework around the windows of the inner courtyard. The well and its feed channel in one courtyard are surrounded by a display of household objects. From the rooftop there is a spectacular view of the landscape and an equally vertiginous view down into the courtyard. It is well worth a visit. A short drive across the gravel plain beyond the fort reveals a great view, although not the most comfortable place for a picnic!

On the main roadside of the track, and very easy to miss, is the cemetery. At first glance, it looks just like the rest of the rock-strewn plain, but a closer look reveals that many of the stones have been placed in an upright position. I still would not have known what I was looking at if I hadn't been with Muslim friends at the time. The upright stones, no more than about 10" high, mark the graves of the dead. Apart from that, there is nothing--no inscriptions, no offerings, nothing. I came away wondering how many of the stones marked the graves of those people unable to read or understand the leaflets the British used to drop to warn of an impending bombing raid.

A blue signpost slightly less than a half kilometer up Ruwi High Street indicates a right turn. The drive up over the hills out of Ruwi is impressive, and the deeply folded rock strata are clearly visible along side the road. After a series of sharp bends, the tarmac road ends about 15km from Ruwi, and a bit further on, there is a junction with a left turn to Yitti and Hansheft. Drive along the wadi and through the village of Yitti (with care) and you will reach an area of lagoon with the sea beyond.

This area is itself a great place for bird-watching, particularly at low tide, when the mud banks are exposed. To the right of the lagoon and at the start of the beach is a large outcrop of tall, jagged rocks called Jebel Shaik Sam'un. According to the Yitti villagers, these rocks are named after a good jinn who was an important spirit. Legend has it that the rocks appeared overnight and that, because they are a different colour to the surrounding mountains, they must have had great spiritual significance. The jinn is said to be able to cure infertility and was so powerful that when the British bombed the rocks in the 1950s, he created a force field around them. This is apparently why the bombs bounced off the rocks into the sea!! "Why bomb the rocks?" I asked. "Who knows?" was the response.

Anyway, what the British bombs could not achieve, the more recent inappropriate behavior of foreigners has. Sam'un has retreated to the mountains and if the villagers know where he is, they are not saying. He would not have been offended if he had visited on the day I was there. The few foreigners present were, in fact, more modestly dressed than the even smaller number of locals on the beach.

Fishing boats were moored in the shade of the rocks, and a group of fishermen sat mending nets on the sand. The beach was a delight - clean and shallow for quite a way out - perfect for children. There is also a sand spit beyond the rocks, where the water laps at both sides creating unusual ripples and eddies. Sunset over the mountains was beautiful, and the colour of the rock outcrop changed continuously as the sun went down.

Technically, Yitti is only accessible by four-wheel-drive vehicles, but as long as you don't drive onto the sand, the track from the main road is fine by ordinary car.

The boatyards are not signposted, so it's best to ask for directions. Sur is an ancient port, and until the middle of the 20th century, was a major trade link with India and East Africa. Boat building played a big part in Sur's economy, but today the boatyards are just a relic of their former glory. I was told that the word dhow is a generic expression for all traditional wooden boats and that the boats built at Sur were known as baghalas, disctinctive for their large size and high poops. Smaller boats of a similar style called ghanjahs were also built as well. Between 15 and 20 of the baghalas were built and launched in any one year. Now perhaps only two at the most will be under construction at any one time. The boat yards are situated on a creek separating Aija from Sur. The first sight of the creek is quite stunning - simply because of the number of boats. Working boats are moored in the creek, but the banks of the creek are littered with hundreds of boats in various states of disrepair. High tide is undoubtedly more picturesque, as at low-tide, stretches of the creek are an obnoxious mix of mud, oil, and other slimy stuff. Nevertheless, the overall panorama is quite unique, particularly where the minaret on the mosque overlooks the creek. The working boatyards can be found by following the road along the shore towards the sea. They are enclosed in high white-washed walls, but if you stick your head through the gate, you will be ushered in to look around.

We were lucky - not only was there an enormous boat well under construction, but there was a very friendly foreman who was able to answer some of our questions. All the members of this particular building squad were Indian and were positively insistent that they appeared in photographs. The boat itself was a beautiful gold-coloured wood (untranslatable) that had come from Indonesia. All the smaller wooden pieces were acacia that was grown locally. The only concession to modern methods was a circular saw, and the carving around the deck was being done by hand. The hull is sealed with a horrible and smelly concoction that is apparently some type of fish fat. A squad of 10 men can build a boat in 6 months, and this particular boat cost around OR 50,000. The builders do not use any drawings or plans when they build a boat. There are obviously no health or safely regulations, as we were free to wander around, under, and over the wooden scaffolding and watch the workmen. The view from the boatyards across the creek is also very photogenic. It is well worth a visit.

Yes, there were lots of Bedu women in traditional costume, and it certainly was vibrant and colourful. I'm just not really sure if stall after stall selling nothing but nylon knickers from Pakistan could be described as traditional in terms of the merchandise. I exaggerate slightly - there were also stalls selling equally horrible nylon material which, if not from Pakistan, was from India. Whilst it may be true that men are not allowed to trade on this day, there were plenty of them in the market, so there wasn't really the feel of it being a women's thing, either.

What was interesting was the number of women sitting embroidering pieces of material with intricate tribal patterns using silver thread. These pieces, once complete, are sold to be sewn onto the back of the black robes worn by the women or made into the ankle cuffs of women's trousers. I wouldn't go so far as to say that the people were unfriendly, but even dressed appropriately and accompanied by a female friend in a hijab, we were not made to feel very welcome, either. It could also have been National No Photo Day, as not one person would give permission for a photo. As Ibra has a general market during the rest of the week, this being more diverse with livestock, etc., I would not suggest a trip specifically to the women's market. I would, however, visit the general market.