Just when I think I'm out, they pullll me back in.
I'm back in the Middle East for the next six weeks!
Boys on the way to prayers, Grand Mosque of Sultan Qaboos, Muscat, Oman
It’s funny how sometimes I can stop myself and reflect on how I came to be in a certain situation. What are all the things that lead me to this certain moment? Here I am, a Bohemian Canadian Jill-of-all trades without a proper job, sitting on a leather couch, downloading pictures of the most beautiful mosque I have ever been in into my computer, in one of the most luxurious residential complexes in Muscat, the capital of Oman. How did I get here? Sigh, thank you, yoga.
Rocking the Muslim look, as always.
I met Grant and Catherine in Abu Dhabi. Grant is a yoga practitioner with a high stress job, Catherine his highly supportive, highly organized, non-yogi wife, currently working off her contract in Abu Dhabi as Grant bachelors it out in Oman for a few weeks. “We have lots of empty rooms at the moment, come visit!” How could we resist?
Coffee, Arabic style.
Muscat is hot. Terribly hot at the moment at 47 degrees. Celsius. Had we been smart, we would have come in winter. Outside railings are too hot to touch, eating chocolate outdoors is a no-no, we generally stay indoor still the sun goes down and it’s bearable at 39 degrees. However, it’s not so good for picture taking, so we braved the outdoors for a day out in Muscat yesterday.
Infidel socks. Cause our ankles are just too much for the Grand Mosque. Though the other Muslim ladies were allowed to go barefoot.
Seven thirty a.m, armed with Catherine’s hand-me-down pashmina scarves and socks (a little puzzling to us when we were told to bring them) We arrived at the Grand Mosque of Sultan Qaboos. Not so grandiose from the outside as the Sheik Zayed Mosque of the Emirates, we’d heard good things. But we had to wait for the stroke of eight to be allowed in. The guard at the entrance eyed us carefully in our long skirts and long sleeves, perfectly acceptable attire in any other mosque we’d ever been in. Hmmm. “ankle, ankle! Socks?” He pointed at the three inches of ankle showing under our skirts. We showed him we had such a thing. “Scarf? Scarf?” We had those too. He seemed satisfied (and perhaps a bit relieved.) “Wait ten minutes. Then you go where you want.”
Big Sis, also rocking the Muslim look.
Grand Mosque Entrance.
Ten minutes, no shade. The sun crawling up. We expertly wrapped our pashminas like Emirati shaylas and when given the proper signal, we entered perhaps the most beautiful mosque either of us had ever seen. (And we’ve been in mosques in Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Turkey, UAE, Singapore and now Oman.)
A few of the Niches. I swear we must have looked at over a hundred, easily. All different, all perfect and ornate, a detail maniac's dream.
The outside arcades consisted of beautiful arches leading to other parts of the mosque, giving us an incredible view of the architectural design inside and out. Between each arch, there was an artfully decorated niche inspired by the art and design of other parts of the Muslim world. In one morning we passed through Anatolia, Persia, Turkey, Egypt, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Oman and India, all incredibly diverse and beautiful. Our cameras heated up with their incessant use and the fact that the thermometer was climbing. I admit I felt quite dizzy a few times, drinking water from the numerous fountains to replace the sweat that was pouring out from under the head covering, but even if I ended up with heat stroke by the end of the day it would have been worth it!
Thank God I have a sister who is as ridiculous as I am in taking pictures of absolutely everything.
The Moorish section of the mosque. Yup, two hours later and we were still going strong despite the heat!
Once we’d covered every inch of the amazing exterior, we went inside to air-conditioned heaven. We didn’t like the inside as much as the outside, and it was hard to photograph, though we loved the air conditioning after two hours of crawling all over the outside in our very unsexy socks and headgear.
Outside window. I feel some paintings coming on!
Worker walking through the grandiose arcade. Keepin' it clean. Keepin' it perfect.
As the mosque was open to Non-Muslims in the morning, blue-cloth runners and rope barriers were put up so we were not allowed to walk freely throughout the mosque. Security guards, who I nicknamed the infidel police, watched the women in the mosque carefully to make sure we didn’t break any rules, though it seemed the scruffy looking infidel men could do as they pleased, including lying on the floor of the mosque (on the blue carpet, of course) to snap the perfect photo. One woman had wrapped her headscarf loosely and it slid down the back of her head, which caused quite a ruckus with the guards. I was reprimanded for momentarily stepping onto the luscious Iranian carpet in my infidel filled socks and was unceremoniously ordered back onto the blue runner.
Infidel police gazing down their long noses down the long blue infidel runner.
Just in case the biggest chandelier in the world wasn't enough, here are a few more.
Interior of the mosque looking toward the mihrab.
It all momentarily made me a little angry. A big sign outside the mosque stated that us infidels were not to touch anything inside the mosque including the Qurans, yet they open the mosque to tourists so they might learn about Islam. Islam teaches that people of the book are supposed to be equal, so why can’t I step on the carpet to get a closer look at the beautifully rendered Quranic verse inscribed on the walls or touch the Quran? What I felt was that in this mosque, Islam is exclusive and not a club I'm invited to be a part of. So if I have to stay on the blue carpet to keep living a life where I do feel people are generally equal (in my mind anyway) and I have my general freedom to do what I want, then I will happy keep my infidel fingers off your Qurans, and my socked feel off your giant Iranian carpet. Of course, this has not been my experience all over the Muslim world having happily been accepted into Muslim homes and mosques in other Islamic countries. It's just in this particular mosque (though Sheik Zayed Mosque apparently has the same rule about the Qurans.) In the meantime, thank you for letting me enjoy the one mosque you’ll allow me into in your country.
One of the the windows from the interior looking out.
Next, we went outside and peeled off the socks and the headgear, replaced it all with sunblock and hats, and bartered for a taxi. The money here is a bit weird, one rial is 2.50 odd American bucks, and taxidrivers like to work in clean numbers. It seemed to cost us three to five rial to get wherever we wanted, but what could we do? In this heat, and no other transport systems, we had no choice but to pay whatever the guy wanted. It is noteworthy that all the taxi drivers in Oman are Omani (a job no Emirati man would ever do). Sweet, pleasant, English speaking, the taxi rides were a lot of fun, and informative. We felt well received and respected in ever taxi we took.
Rene bartering for the taxi. I love how they are bartering with their hands to their mouths. Rene lost her hat in the souk, but bought another exactly the same an hour later.
It’s also noteworthy that a lot of the stores in the shopping mall we went to a few days ago are run by Omani women- jobs that no Emirati woman in her right mind would ever take. We have been greeted with open-faced smiles and even waves from Omani women old and young. They seem to have more freedom to walk alone in Oman as well. Grant noticed somehow they seem less oppressed than their Emirati counterparts who travel in packs and rarely make the effort to greet and smile at foreigners (Most likely because there are few foreigners around here, it seems.)
A traditional dhow next to Sultan Qaboos' new yacht, parked in the Muscat Harbour.
We weren’t sure if things were being ripped down or in the process of being built, but it seems after we left the Grand Mosque for greater Muscat, a lot of places on our map, including Starbucks, were unavailable and in a state of disrepair. We ended up drinking a bottle of water in a Pizza Hut because there was no where else to go during the afternoon siesta. The streets were deserted except for mad dogs and Englishmen, and us.
These little boys have the right idea. Too bad little girls can't join in.
Eventually, after killing a few hours in a mall to escape the heat, we headed to the Mutrah Souk, the picturesque part of Muscat. We’d been down a few nights earlier, but couldn’t see anything past the lights on the road. What a pleasant surprise to see old forts above us on the craggy mountains and white Portuguese inspired buildings next to the sea. We walked up one side of the corniche and down the other in the hot wind, snapping pictures and watching a young pervy Indian who passed us and waited in the hot sun for us to pass again, and then passed us to admire the view over and over. “If he’s waiting to see our boobs then he deserves it in this heat!” Rene joked. After the third time we 'tsked' him and shamed him till he ran away. Turkey has taught us lots in this department!
The Perv waiting for us to walk past. But he looked good against the backdrop of Muscat.
In the souk we drank more water and winded ourselves around the narrow alleyways and snapped photos. We bought some silver pendants from an Indian named Robert from Goa, who was missing a thumb (Kinda like our Dad Robert, at one time). Robert is the name of two of my favourite people,so of course it was a good idea to buy some silver! (that’s my excuse and I am sticking to it!)
One-Thumb Robert in his shop. Sweet guy. Not like the honour-less one down the way who tried to touch our hands with his pinkie while handing things to us. See what happens when men get too oppressed? They get weird. But Robert was sweet, so he got our money.
Old men gossiping.
On the way back to Grant’s villa, our cute old little pudgy round-faced taxi driver got lost. He felt so bad, being the first time he couldn’t find the place we were looking for. Tutting himself, blaming himself for not knowing where “The Wave Villa Complex” was, we felt guilty, knowing he was driving much farther than he has originally anticipated when we had agreed on a price. We recognized the mall we visited a few days before and had him drop us off there. We had to beg him to take our money, and he reiterated how sad he felt because he couldn’t take us to our house. Soooo nice.
Omani Bling!
Oud and Hot Couture.
At home we shared a bottle of Turkish wine with Grant with some pasta and rested our blistered sore feet up on the plush leather couches.Today we’ll relax at home while the sun blazes outside, and go for a quick bite to eat at the five-star Chedi tonight, before Catherine arrives tonight on the ten PM flight from Abu Dhabi.
The end of a relaxing day in Muscat.
Till next time!
XXMelanie