Sultanate of Oman

Brother Rich and I were off to visit brother Gary and his family who GM had placed in Dubai, UAE to handle operations there. Dubai is considered the Paris of the Middle East, nice, but we seasoned travelers wanted more for our first Arab experience. The Sultanate of Oman was doable. Visas to enter were not obtainable in the USA so Gary put his best influence and a dozen gold Cross pens to work in Dubai. With a little more pull he was able to outfit us with an SUV. His wife Cindy prepared a care package of edible snacks lest we fall short of food. We knew we were out of freedoms reign when a blurb in the English newsletter at our hotel in Muscat said the Sultanate proclaimed that any foreign merchant could no longer conduct business. They had ninety days to close up shop or turn it over to an Omani.
At a market place near Muscat, we stopped for some treasure hunting. I am always searching for a unique piece of artwork as a memorabilia of a destination. In a small shop, I found a Bedouin Marital Headdress of coin-silver ornaments and woven fiber. It is presented to the new bride and worn for the rest of her life. In the midst of negotiating, three rapid gunshots rang outside. Nothing to fear, only another customer testing the rifle he was intending to buy.

On the road again, we stopped at an amazing mud structure at the outskirts of a small village. It may have been 10,000 square feet with some areas having two levels. Inside there was a labyrinth of small rooms and larger assembly areas that could hold a hundred people. It held an eerie feeling. There were no people yet it seemed they had just vanished. Uncomfortable, we left the building. While walking back to our SUV we were surprised as some local people heckled us. Later we heard that it was a meeting place for a non-Muslim religious sect. The word was that troops raided and exterminated all involved.
Finding our way back to UAE became questionable as the sand road lacked signs. After many miles of barren land, we came upon a small settlement. We stopped to ask for directions. Approaching a young Arab near a small covered arena, we pointed in our direction of travel and repeated Dubai? Dubai? The Arab extended his hand to the arena and offered us to sit down. In no time, a dozen Arab men and several children join us cross-legged on the ground. All smiled and nodded. We drank water from a goatskin, ate dates, and smiled. Pleased at this Arab hospitality, I thought to excuse myself, go to the SUV, and rummage for Cindy’s care package. The chocolate bars were liquid inside their wrappers. Not having enough to go around, I opened the chocolate and offered the children a sticky finger full. A sealed box of Carr’s crackers was the only other commodity, which I placed by our host. I would guess that box is still unopened, lying in that arena and our host telling all of his American guests. The formalities over, the Arab confirmed it was the road to Dubai.