The captain’s weather prediction is correct. Later that day I witness the aftermath of a real-life desert storm. We have driven from the capital, Muscat, to Nakhl – about 100km distant. A grey, cloud-laden sky hangs over the town, its numerous deep-green date palms and its dramatic, heavily restored 17th-century red-orange fortress.
A normally dry wadi has been transformed into a fast-flowing river, its banks scattered with fallen palm branches. The local children are delighted, scampering barefoot in the water or simply staring, intrigued at this peculiar sight. European football shirts are much in evidence. Within a matter of minutes I spot Real Madrid, Manchester United, Roma, Chelsea, Barcelona and Arsenal.
It isn’t just the children who are enraptured. A steady stream of cars draws up, their occupants emerging to survey the situation and to film events on their mobile phones. Many of the men – and it is mostly men – are in traditional dress of white dishdasha and colourful kummar (a kind of embroidered cap), giving the whole scene a slightly surreal mix of the modern and the traditional.
That merging of old and new is something Oman does well. Wander through the streets of Muscat and you soon realise this is a low-rise place – there is not a skyscraper to be seen. The overwhelming architectural style is classically Arabian, the almost universal colours white and yellow-brown. This is all down to what seems to be an insightful and aesthetically inspired decision by Oman’s ruler Qaboos bin Said who decreed his country’s skyline would not go the way of nearby Dubai. In so doing, he has ensured that his country has preserved its architectural heritage, with ornate doors, wooden balconies and colourful windows all adding to the visual appeal.
Sultan Qaboos has been in power since he overthrew his father in a 1970 coup d’état. The old man was exiled to London’s Dorchester Hotel – a place that is still popular with Omanis today.
Where his predecessor had kept his country as a feudal fiefdom, Qaboos brought it into the modern age, providing education for his citizens and creating an infrastructure that could only have been dreamed of 40 years ago. He also focused on their spiritual wellbeing, building one of the world’s largest mosques, the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque (of course), which is a vast and impressive site of white marble, intricate calligraphy, flowering plants and delicate carpets.
I take a walk through the old town with May Kappes, a Jordanian by birth but someone who has lived in Oman since the 1980s. Her knowledge of her adopted country is encyclopedic and her enthusiasm for it infectious.
‘This is the real Arabia,’ she says, as we stand at the iron gates of the Sultan’s gold and cobalt-blue palace. ‘In countries like Jordan you’ll see fabulous ancient Greek and Roman sites, but Oman is the cradle of the true Arabian civilisation.
‘This is a place with a heritage that dates back 5,000 years. That’s what differentiates it from countries such as the Emirates or Kuwait.’
There is certainly a charm to this part of Oman that both the aforementioned countries would struggle to match. Dishdasha-clad government officials walk past with their dramatically curved daggers (khanjars) thrust into their belts, while smartly turned-out soldiers in berets stand guard outside gates – their uniforms are said to have been inspired by the Sultan’s sojourn in the British Army in the 1960s.
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