The last thing that I expected to see when we sailed into Oman, was rain. It tumbled down from grey clouds that looked as if they were there to stick around. With only one day in Muscat, we decided to head out anyway, for a decidedly damper day than I’d been preparing for.
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Muscat gets an average of 4 inches of rainfall each year, and I’m 85% certain that the annual quota fell that morning. We waited patiently for the aggressive droplets to become more of a light drizzle, and then headed out after lunch to see what Oman is all about. Granted, you can’t really tell what a whole country is about from just a simple wander through one of its port cities; but it’s a good way to start.
We nodded up at a rather imposing portrait of a man with a large nose protruding over the top of a thick moustache as we walked through the little border control office, skipping out of the other side where military men stood casually in the damp air. A small posse of stray dogs wobbled along with us until it became obvious that we had no food for them; we left them behind at the fish market to forage for scraps.
The rain had turned Muscat into a watercolour painting. A background of smudged white and grey paper, onto which blocky line drawings of higgledy-piggledy houses and shops and the odd onion-dome or minaret had been sketched. Parts of the scene were filled in with liquid-y droplets of colour: the pale pink entrance to the souk, a bright turquoise minaret of the mosque, or a wash of rosey-terracotta pavement, all collecting in puddles where everything was a bit too saturated and sodden. Splodges of dark green for the palm trees fanning out into their surroundings, and a mass of black and white seagulls, speckled on top of the many layers of the painting.
Our plan, with only one day in Muscat, was to explore Mutrah, the neighbourhood around the port. We had no idea where to actually go, but decided to head along the corniche- the walkway which follows the waterfront all the way to what appeared to be either a gigantic incense burner, or an alien spaceship. (We weren’t quite sure which it was, but we were intent on finding out.)
The corniche was filled with families who were out despite the drab conditions of the day, a lot of them obviously tourists too, but from the Arab part of the world. A gaggle of giggling women in hijabs and burkas posed for a picture in front of the water, seagulls flying high behind them, and a couple of boys threw bread into the grey water in the hope it would attract a few winged friends for a photo of their own. (It didn’t work, I think the seagulls must have been too busy with some fishy business in the sea.)
The rain had fully stopped, but giant puddles still lined the road, and we had to leap out of the splash zone several times to dodge a soaking from the passing cars. Another thing I’d never expected to do in Oman.
Life is just full of surprises, isn’t it!?
In the growing list of surprising moments in Muscat, we stumbled across an abandoned-looking amusement park at the far end of the corniche, which in hindsight was probably just closed, not actually abandoned. The pastel shades of the rusting rides looked like they’d once been much brighter, probably faded in the baking sun which normally shone in Oman.
A genie with a lopsided face (he looked a bit like he’d had a stroke, in all honesty), grandly presented the rides to us with open arms. Great big metal rocket ships, actual flying saucer discs which would spin with flashing lights, seats dangling from metal chains ready to whirl riders through the air, and a go-karting track painted with humbug stripes. This place was magical! We strolled through the park’s garden surroundings and discovered a playground complete with giant pastel-coloured pineapple. I was in my absolute element, truth be told.
So distracted by the surreal nature of the amusement park, we never made it as far as the giant incense burner (which looks even more like a flying saucer at night time, when it’s lit up in futuristic fashion). But, curious about what it was, we looked it up after our visit. This incense burner to the giants is actually the Riyam memorial, built to celebrate Oman’s 20th National Day- an important holiday to celebrate Omani independence from Portugal.
Night-time at the souq
After returning to the ship for a spot of rehearsing, we decided to head back out at night to Mutrah Souq, through the pale pink entrance we’d spotted during the day. In all honesty, we were expecting a far more bustling atmosphere- having read that night-time is the best time to see the souq- but we had a feeling that covid had something to do with the subdued vibe we walked in to. It was January 2022, and tourism was only very slowly emerging from hibernation. People went about their daily business wearing surgical masks with their billowing robes, and signs all over the place reminded us to wash our hands and keep our distance.
Mutrah Souk, at 200 years old, is one of the oldest souks in Oman, and also one of the biggest in the entire Arab world. Known locally as ‘Al Dhalam Souk,’ which translates as ‘Darkness Souk,’ its narrow alleyways were so close together in parts that the sunlight couldn’t get in. The souk was actually refurbished in the 1970s, so that much of the building is roofed anyway, and the lights glowing from within the shops did a good job of inviting us warmly inside to browse their jumble of products.
Fragrant spices are sold from colourful heaps- bright yellow turmeric, burnt orange cinnamon, dried cloves and cardamom- with stacked piles of spices wrapped in plastic like bricks underneath them. Incense wafted smoky tendrils into the pathway of passing shoppers. Frankincense resin smouldered hypnotically in little dishes, beckoning passers-by closer.
In photos: Sail Away from Muscat Port, Oman
In the gold souk, we were practically blinded by an abundance of the brightest, most yellowest gold I had ever laid eyes on. Windows and windows and windows, laden and stacked with intricately designed necklaces and rings, pendants and belt buckles, and in a corner of each shop a man ready to sell. Omani women to-d and fro-d between shops, asking for closer inspections of dazzling jewels, which the shopkeepers skilfully handled with the utmost care. It was quite a process to watch.
In other shops, beautiful curved khanjars- daggers in silver sheaths- hung from the ceiling like exotic Christmas decorations, amongst strings of beads, old muskets and magic silver coffee pots. Coffee in Oman is a whole different ballgame to European coffee; known as ‘qahwa,’ spices like saffron, cinnamon, cardamom or rosewater are added to the coffee for a distinctly Omani taste, and served with dates. The beautifully designed dallahs- that’s the name for the elegantly curved coffee pots- are fitting containers for such a painstakingly crafted drink, and I was very nearly tempted by a pretty but quite expensive dallah in one tiny but jumbled shop.
Honestly, I regret not buying it. It was a true gem. Moral of the story: sometimes in life, souvenirs are worth it.
There are plenty, far more touristy things to see and do in this beautiful city- the Sultan Qaboos Mosque, the Al Alam Palace and the Royal Opera House are all just a short drive from Muscat’s cruise port- but having just experienced the tourist sites of Dubai, which seemed to have been built partly in order to attract western visitors- I was glad that we spent our one day in Muscat just exploring Mutrah and seeing a tiny snapshot of daily Omani life.
Read a full guide to docking at Muscat cruise port
