The Suez Canal
The next event of any significance during the journey, aside from the lazy luxury of sea days during which there is no agenda or schedule to maintain aside from exactly as much or little as one desires, was the transit of the Suez Canal. This part of the voyage was of special significance to my Mom because her brother had been part of a team that cleared the canal of ships used to blockade the canal as a result of the 1967 Six Day War, in which Israel single-handedly trounced Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon and Iraq, which launched coordinated attacks. The five active attackers were further supported by Algeria, Kuwait, Libya, Morocco, Pakistan, the PLO, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, and Tunisia, in other words, practically the entire Arab world. Israel’s rapid and total defeat of the combined forces of these nations, coupled with stunning territorial gains, including the entirety of the Sinai Peninsula, stunned the world and deeply embarrassed the Arab attackers.
The closure of the Suez Canal, versions of which have existed since ancient Egyptian times, was a major blow to world commerce, forcing an extremely long detour around the Cape of Good Hope in South Africa for ships moving between Europe and Asia, especially damaging to the petroleum trade. The canal as we know it today was constructed in the mid-19th century by the French and officially opened in 1869 under French control. Who exactly controlled the Canal would change over the years but regardless of who was in control, it was, and is, considered vital to world trade. The Canal was reopened by a combined US and UK team between 1974 and 1975. That was the team of which my uncle was a part.
The canal is not wide enough to allow for two-way traffic, so ships move in convoys having stacked up in either the Mediterranean or Red Seas awaiting transit times. The fares collected from ships transiting the Canal are a major and very important contributor to the Egyptian economy. In recent years, due to an insurgency in the Sinai by Islamists separatists, the transit of the Suez Canal has not been without risks as there have been rocket attacks launched against ships in the Canal. We encountered no difficulties and the Canal is heavily monitored by the very visible Egyptian military, and our ship, as previously noted, had contract security personnel on board, in part, because of the potential risks of the passage.
It becomes very obvious, very quickly, when in the Canal that it is absolutely nothing like the Panama Canal, provided of course that you have been through it to make the comparison. The Panama Canal, in order to accommodate massive fluctuations in elevation across the Isthmus of Panama, utilizes massive concrete and steel locks. By contrast, the Suez is all at sea level with no locks of any kind, and is, essentially, a big ditch dug into the sand. The Canal is completely unlined. On either side, however, is a great deal of development in the form of guard towers as well as commercial installations and vacation complexes popular with Egyptians.
We exited the Canal into the Gulf of Suez in the Red Sea and after rounding the peninsular point of the Sinai, our ship turned north-east into the Gulf of Aqaba, headed to the port city of the same name, which allowed us to sail past the other side of the Sinai to the west as well as to obtain sight of Saudi Arabia, a country that it is almost impossible for most Westerners to visit, to the east.
Fancy A Visit to Saudi Arabia?
There is no such thing as a “tourist” visa for Saudi Arabia. If one is not on business, a citizen of a nation which is a member of the Gulf Cooperation Council (meaning Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates), or a Muslim on either Hajj, the main pilgrimage to the holy city Mecca during a proscribed time period each year, or a pilgrim on umrah, religious visits to Mecca at all other times of the year, you just don’t get in. Besides, even if you get into Saudi Arabia by some other means, if you are not a Muslim, you can’t visit Mecca regardless.
The only way around this is to convince your local Saudi embassy that you have no other choice but to transit by air, most likely at Riyadh airport, and require at least an overnight stay. If you are successful in convincing the Embassy staff of this requirement, most easily accomplished by booking on Saudia, the national airline, although reports of its inflight services are mixed, you MIGHT be granted a 72 hour transit visa, but you won’t be allowed to leave Riyadh for any reason. By the way, there is a nifty trick for getting into Iran without a visa as well, but that belongs in another story yet to be determined…
Anyhow, I was surprised to see that the coastline of Saudi Arabia, known in the Gulf region simply as Saudi as I presume the Arabia part is implied, is not flat and featureless desert as I had expected, but rather quite mountainous. Barren it absolutely is, but certainly not flat and featureless. There does not appear to be a lot of development on most of the Saudi coast but that is certainly not true of the Egyptian Sinai side, which has lots of coastal resorts, the popularity of which was based on super-cheap package vacations that could be had, all-inclusive for a week’s time, for as little as $400 including airfare. The recent downing of a Russian passenger plane, apparently with the collusion of ground staff at Sharm-al-Sheikh airport, has hugely dampened demand as one might expect, for all Egyptian destinations, which is a huge problem for a nation as dependent on tourist revenue as Egypt currently remains.
Aqaba, Jordan
The ship docked in Aqaba, the only seaport in the nation of Jordan, primarily for the purpose of allowing passengers to visit the ancient hidden city of Petra, or to ride four-wheel drives into the desert at Wadi Rum, famous from Lawrence of Arabia tales. Tim and I had already visited Petra, in 2011, during a brief window of time in which Delta Airlines was operating several days a week direct from JFK to Amman, from which we drove ourselves to Petra and back. So, while we thought Petra was amazing and absolutely encouraged Mom and Dad to go, which they did and they loved it too, we didn’t want to make the long drive again, nor did we wish to go wadi-bashing in the desert with bad joints. Instead, we enjoyed the attractions of the city of Aqaba again, having visited once before back in 2011 on a day trip from Petra, the reverse route followed by most visitors.
Aqaba is a favorite vacation spot for Jordanians as it is the only option they have for a seaside vacation without leaving the country. As such, it has lots of resort hotels and duty-free shops. There is also a massive amount of construction and resort development as Jordan aims to turn Aqaba into something resembling their own version of Dubai with expensive condominium developments and the like. Of course, one huge difference is that while the grunt work of the resorts and shops in Dubai is done by expatriate workers from all over the developing, and even the Western, worlds, in Jordan, it is an opportunity for locals to have jobs instead. I wish them well even if I don’t remain convinced that the effort will pay off. Jordan, frankly, has a long way to go to become anything remotely like Dubai beyond throwing up some resorts and condos.
One goal in Aqaba was to get to the Post Office, and that we accomplished by agreeing to hire one of the many cabs that greeted our shuttle on arrival in town. The competition was fierce and even caused a brief fist fight to break out between competing cab drivers. This sort of thing, well, short of the fist fight, is a common occurrence when arriving in many countries with lots of hungry cabbies and our response is almost always to get away from the immediate fray and seek out a driver a short distance away. We followed this method and hired the nice guy who was helping us figure out the local map posted outside the Movenpick resort on the main drag. One good turn deserved another, so we hired him for a scenic tour of the city, about an hour, with a stop at the Post Office.
The Post Office was functional, but just, as it wasn’t in great shape. The woman working the counter was quite glamorously dressed in hijab, which, of course is not the same thing as a burka, niqab, or other forms of female covering that is widely considered to be oppressive of women.
Islamic and Arab Dress Traditions
I don’t have the bandwidth to delve into it in great detail here, but honestly I believe that most of the flap over this issue is due to the projection of Western values and ideas onto other cultures who have other equally valid ideas of their own which we should respect as we wish our own to be respected in turn. For many Muslim women, the idea of going out in public without at least their hair covered is akin to being seen naked. Some women in some cultures extend this to greater covering of the face and body by various means, but while this is generally ascribed to Islamic law it is in fact nothing of the sort being instead a function of various cultural imperatives. Most any covering beyond hair covering, which is prescribed in the Koran, as are dress proscriptions for men, most of which are ignored as a discussion of such doesn’t suit the Western agenda in its campaign against most things Islamic that can be twisted and distorted for political purposes, is cultural. The Koran only requires “modest” dress for both men and women, it does not require the elaborate coverings of other sorts that one may see in different forms in different parts of the Arab world, coverings and clothing which is most certainly not seen in other majority Islamic nations, where culturally and climatically it wouldn’t make any sense, such as in Indonesia. The dress traditions of the Arab world, which are widely and mistakenly, believed in much of the West to be Islamic in origin, in fact greatly predate even the invention of Islam as a religion. For the most part, they are traditions that make sense for people living a nomadic and largely outdoor life in a very hot desert climate. Covering the body prevents sunburn which is widely recognized to present life-long risks. It also, equally importantly, protects the body, hair, and eyes, against sand which cause blindness surprisingly quickly during a storm. Ultimately, loose clothing is a great deal cooler than tight clothes. When considered in context, the dress habits of the Arab world make a great deal of sense!
That said, can clothes be used as a repressive tool? Certainly. And in that context, I would consider the impact that Western fashion imperatives have had, and continue to have, on generations of young girls who drive themselves into potentially deadly eating disorders in part due to body dysmorphia in futile attempts to overcome genetics and the bounds of good health in order to match completely unrealistic ideals of beauty required to successfully wear highly revealing and inappropriately sexually suggestive outfits on girls not yet even of teenage years. I would argue that Western fashions, certainly including revealing outfits and foot destroying high heels, are equally repressive in their effects, rendering many basic physical movements unrealistic or painful for women who adhere to these conventions and cultural expectations. Body image has become so paramount that eating disorders and physical injury due to excessive weight lifting and other exercise is now increasingly common among young boys and men.
And if one must remain focused on religious imperatives in dress, a quick read of the good old Bible should be eye-opening in its many restrictions and injunctions on what one can wear. While I realize that few outside of the ultra-Orthodox world even attempt to adhere to these rules, it seems at best hypocritical to throw stones at other cultures and religions without considering context and as well as the rules and conventions that we take for granted and might not even recognize as rules imposed by our own cultural norms. I know I won’t “win” this argument or perhaps change any minds about this, but I would ask that, if nothing else, consider that until recently, and even today in more traditional communities, women could not/can’t enter Christian churches with their hair uncovered. And if nothing else, having walked around in Arab countries, not even in the full heat of summer, I would have been enormously grateful to know how to correctly wear, without looking a fool, the local clothing that had to be cooler and more protective against sunburn than even the lightest weight Western clothes I could find.
Meanwhile, Back in Aqaba
Now, back to the Jordanian Post Office. It was relatively expensive to mail the letter from Jordan and every time I mail something from abroad I am reminded of how spoiled Americans are with the option to mail 1 ounce letters anywhere within the boundaries of the United States, even to Guam or other far-flung possessions, for a mere $0.49. Even the $1.20 now required for one ounce outside of the country remains a comparative bargain. And yes, the letter did arrive in good condition.
After the Post Office our driver showed us the, admittedly, very limited sights of Aqaba, including the impressive views of the much grander and much more architecturally impressive Israeli city of Eliat which is literally next door to Aqaba. Crossing the border to Israel is the easiest thing in the world in that any cab will take you to the Jordanian border post from which you simply walk into Israel. However, at this point we were not in possession of our passports, which were still being held by the ship, so even if it wasn’t for the uncertainty regarding whether the Jordanian visas the ship obtained for us on arrival (anyone can do the same on arrival if in possession of a United States, and many other nationalities, passport) provided for multiple entries. More problematic would be the prohibition against entry into other ports along our route for passport holders whose passport indicate visits to Israel, including Israeli entry stamps, or even if one was wise enough to have Israeli stamps on a disposable piece of paper, which Israeli immigration will do as they are aware of the restrictions imposed by some Arab and other nations, some immigration officials, especially the very zealous ones, recognize that the only way one obtains, for example, a land entry stamp to Aqaba is to arrive via Israel, might still deny entry. It was all a moot point without a passport, but clearly I did consider the multiple potential ramifications of a quick visit to Israel.
I Am Less Than Perfect
I am tempted to not admit what I am about to admit but to do so would be to be less than honest about my own, and Tim’s, failings as men of the world, so I will confess. One of the first things I looked for upon entry to the taxi was the interior door handle and window crank. Unfortunately, I did this only AFTER closing the door. The window crank was missing but the door opening handle was present and functional, although if it hadn’t been, there isn’t much I could have done about it. Now, the removal of these means of egress is not uncommon in cabs in many locations as a means of preventing passengers from bolting without paying upon reaching the destination and no ill intent is meant aside from protecting honest drivers from dishonest passengers. However, this can also be a very effective prelude to kidnapping and this very method was infamously employed by serial murderer Theodore Bundy who removed the passenger egress means on his Volkswagen Beetle, effectively trapping young women who entered the car, sometimes after assisting Bundy who was posing as injured on crutches or with an arm cast, either of which could then be employed to bludgeon the girls into submission. And, no less dramatically such modified cars have been used to kidnap people in other situations, including in the Arab world.
Now, I like to consider myself uninfected by the general American hysteria regarding the Arab world. I am completely aware that while some people in the Arab and Muslim world have done, and continue to do, some truly horrific things, I also realize that the risk to myself is much greater right here in the United States where people are murdered simply because they went to work, went to school, or went to a movie. Killed, by the way by gunmen, who are certainly not Muslim. I am also aware that the overwhelming majority of Arab people and Muslim people in general are not terrorists, do not sympathize or support with terrorists and are as horrified, or perhaps even more horrified that non-Muslims at the actions of some of their co-religionists. And yet, there was a certain, almost pleasurable, frisson of anxiety and then self-congratulatory bravery, that the driver, once he entered a very run down area of Aqaba with lots of steel doors on dilapidated housing, was delivering us as ransom victims, or worse, to one terrorist organization or another, when in reality all he was doing was taking the most efficient route to the scenic overlook area from which we could see our ship, Israel, and the entire city.
I was truly horrified and depressed to realize that as enlightened as I like to consider myself to be, that even I can be and apparently have been influenced or even brainwashed to some extent by even the slightest peripheral and tangential exposure to American hysteria created for political reasons regarding anyone who happens to be Arab, or Muslim, or anyone for that matter regardless of actual ethnicity or religion in an Arab or Muslim country, despite my concerted attempts to avoid such influences in the written, television, and Internet media. Shame on me! And a very powerful lesson and example of what we all must guard against in our exposure to the biases and assumptions of the society and world we happen to live in. It is exactly these sort of knee-jerk reactions based on nothing factual that can create tragic situations born of misunderstanding and prejudicial beliefs. I was, and am, embarrassed and ashamed that I fell even momentarily victim to such a mentality but it was also a valuable lesson proving that even those of us who most consider ourselves “above” such behavior can, in fact, on a gut level behave just as abominably as those we most look down upon from our presumed social and moral high ground, only to find ourselves down in the same gutter in reality. I truly wish we had both been ultimately made of better stuff and I have to hope to carry that lesson forward into my future travels and encounters with other cultures and traditions.
The origin of the majority of the negative behavior in the Arab or Muslim world, or frankly anywhere else in the world might be draped in the flags of religion, but is instead almost always born of oppression both political and social that create and support limited opportunity were economies are stagnant in part due to corruption. And in other situations, most tragically recently in France, endemic racism and anti-Muslim sentiment can come home to roost in the form of disaffected youth, barred from full participation in Western society because of a different appearance or belief system who can come under the dire influence of others filled with frustration and hatred who feel they have nothing to lose and only promises of paradise to gain.
While I can never condone the actions of those who commit acts of terror and who slaughter innocent people, I also cannot turn a blind eye to the reasons that such acts are committed beyond the simple claim that it is all about religion when of course anyone could see that it isn’t if they are willing to look. Ultimately, even the victims of terror, in the form of the nations and the institutions attacked while most certainly not the individual victims themselves, bear some level of responsibility for what befalls them due to their oppressive, murderous, and hate-based economic and/or military attacks either directly committed or supported by proxy through repressive regimes, dictators, and allies, especially common when we put our economic and especially energy security needs above our self-proclaimed ideals of democracy and peace. Such ideals can be hard to swallow while being bombed by American forces that have invaded your country, raped and killed your men, women and children while maintaining immunity to local action, or worse actions committed by unelected and unpopular despots supported by American might in order to ensure the even flow of oil. As only two egregious examples, if we truly as a country and society stand by democracy, equality, and self-determination how do we explain our unquestioned and inexhaustible, regardless of their actions as nations, support of Saudi Arabia or Israel? When you have a rational explanation for that conundrum, I would dearly love to hear it.
I do love my digressions, it is true, but if travel doesn’t broaden the mind instead of just the waistband, and cause us to ask big questions and to question big assumptions, then why should be travel at all?
Clearly, we were not kidnapped or trafficked in Aqaba, instead we had a nice tour of the city and exited the cab in a shopping area of town, but only after the driver treated us to the visual feast of Jordanian coffee making at a local street-side stand, and I do mean he treated us in that it cost us nothing. It was his personal and cultural hospitality in action and it made my shame for my automatic prejudicial fears burn all the hotter.
Back in Aqaba, Again
There turned out to be little of interest to buy in Aqaba and what there was of even marginal interest was insanely overpriced, at least for Western tourists. We did buy a little something from the obligatory shop the driver took us to as we understand that such practices are all part of the economic game of Survivor played in many societies where tourism dollars help keep everyone afloat. In the end, it is a way of sharing the pie and we can’t begrudge people trying to make an honest living by selling overpriced junk to people who represent unimaginable and unobtainable wealth. Even Americans who think themselves poor truly have no concept of real abject poverty as it exists for an alarming percentage of the world’s people. And at the end of the day, regardless of the multitudes of reasons why such conditions exist, whether it is the legacies of colonialism, racism, corruption, international corporate greed, sexism, over-population, or a toxic stew of all those factors and more I am not informed enough to even be aware of, what matters in a face-to-face human-to-human encounter is to try for even a few seconds to imagine that fortune and fate had been less kind and that it was me hoping and praying that I sell enough tat to tourists today for my family to eat that on some level motivates me to let go of what amounts to less than I might pay for a fancy-ass cup of coffee, much less business class airfares, Broadway shows, Lego sets, collectible stamps, wood destined for the lathe instead of the campfire I cook my dinner on. In however a small way, granting a modicum of dignity to another human being through a fair exchange and recognizing my incredible privilege in that my worst days don’t compare to the lived desperation of many, helps to make it all a better world. Or at least I have to think so to sleep easily at night back on my cruise ship of luxury beyond the imagination of those who helped me on my way that day.
I did find some grubby postcards that had clearly been rained on and which were coated in dust, but it was the best I could do as part of my “project,” self-imposed despite occasionally debilitating right arm pain of unknown, and still unknown, cause despite initial investigations, of writing and sending a postcard from every port of call to a list of 25 different friends, family, and acquaintances. I did this especially for some of the elders of my family group for whom I hope the cards provide some proof of the respect, love, and remembrance of them while far away that I hold in my heart at all times. I extended this even to one kind elderly soul whom I have never met but who reached out to me with more human dignity, kindness, and love than some who’ve known me all my life on the news of my marriage, legal and all, to Timothy. In response to that, a postcard, or 19 as it may be, seems like the very least I can do as a way of saying thank you for recognizing me and I recognize you in return and maybe can provide a few minutes of pleasure even through demonstrating that no matter how elderly one may be, one can still be remembered, valued, and treasured, even if an unfortunate number of people in today’s world, including some family members and children themselves, fail to remember, value and recognize their elders, including, sadly, their own aging mothers and fathers. I know a postcard can’t fix all the wrongs we visit upon our elders, but small actions of kindness can build to create a force of love stronger than any hurricane. Or so I choose to believe and act accordingly on that belief, doing, if no great good, at least no harm.
As I now climb down off my tower of self-righteousness…
Tim and I had a delightful lunch in Aqaba, at a very well-known and respected seafood restaurant, Ali Baba. By the way, the original Ali Baba is a fictional woodcutter portrayed in the folk tale Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (علي بابا والأربعون لصا). The first western translations of the story appeared in the early 18th century in French editions of One Thousand and One Nights. It is one of the most widely told of the stories included in that collection, often considered as a children’s fairy tale, albeit with the more violent and gruesome sections edited out. Of course, anyone who knows much of anything about fairy tales realizes that most of them are intentionally gruesome, in part to reinforce the moral point that so many fairy tales ultimately are intended to make. And, honestly, for reasons I can’t quite fathom, children can be quite fascinated and enthralled by fairy tale violence, even if adults are not. Of course, children in my experience are also quite often far more cruel in their own ways than most adults, perhaps not having full developed the pre-frontal cortex capacity for suppression of basic human actions, many of which are, sadly, terrifically violent indeed. My Dad commented on the cruise that humans as a species are at their most basic the most violent and destructive of all the species on the planet, and on reflection, I fear that he is absolutely correct. After all, with some notable and rare exceptions, massacres, warfare, and killing for apparent pleasure instead of for sustenance or reproduction, are terrifyingly strictly human behaviors.
The seafood at Ali Baba was quite good and plentiful to boot. I certainly never really considered seafood of any quality to be something one would find in an Arab country, but given that many, if not most Arab countries on reflection have a seacoast and since there are no Islamic dietary laws against seafood, as there are in Judaism (almost all such laws have some actual scientific rationalization and potential health benefit, even if such bases were not recognized as such at the time. No observant Jew is likely to acquire Vibrio vulnificus and shut down their liver for example, from oysters), so it stands to reason that seafood would be on the menu in addition to the more commonly known Arab cuisine such as falafel, kebabs, shawarma, ful medames (fava beans), and an array of cold vegetables. The fish and shrimp we feasted on was delightful, very fresh, and incredibly tasty. Most any Arab meal features a massive pile of flatbread, and since Tim hasn’t eaten a carbohydrate for years there was much more than I could hope to finish. I dearly wanted to take it back on the ship with me for late night snacking, but in general bringing fresh food on board is frowned on, and since every bag is x-rayed, looking primarily for alcohol, which is confiscated for “safe keeping,” which is also known as a means to ensure that you buy your overpriced booze on board, you won’t likely sneak it on.
I think another aspect of the brainwashing common amongst Americans regarding Arab, or otherwise Muslim people, not that all Arabs are Muslim, far from it indeed, is that they are dour and serious people absorbed with questions of faith and sharia law (شريعة). This is easily disproved by eating with or amongst Arab people, especially those likely to be on vacation. Even women in headscarves can have a raucous good time, eating, drinking fruit juices and sodas, obsessively playing with cell phones, and otherwise behaving like much the rest of the world. Arab people love good food, friends, and family, and in Ali Baba this was very obvious. While the restaurant is well known, we were the only non-Arab diners and that always strikes me as a good sign. I don’t favor an Arab food place that an Arab won’t eat in, nor a Chinese restaurant full of white folks, etc. And one of the other things I like about Arab or otherwise Muslim establishments, both abroad and at home, odd though it may seem, is the bathroom.
There is no toilet paper in the Arab world, although facial tissue abounds if you must; instead, there is a water source for cleaning, sometimes as simple as a small plastic watering can, or in the case of Ali Baba, an actual hose mounted on the wall next to the commodes. This method is why you never eat from a communal plate with your left hand, even though of course you would have washed it! It is still considered rude. And if you think about it, water is a much more effective solution to the issue at hand. Besides, as my colorectal surgeon put it, “there is zero sense in taking a tree to some of the most delicate tissues on the human body.” Cleanliness is essential to Islam and by extension to much of Arab culture. Before prayer, which in theory at least occurs five times a day, everyone must perform ablutions, which means washing the hands, the feet, and face with water, although in a pinch in the desert, sand can be substituted. Given such an emphasis on cleanliness, it is little surprise that a more effective and healthy manner of cleaning after elimination is commonplace in the Arab world.
Perhaps stupidly, we decided to forgo the free shuttle back to the ship in favor of walking. I don’t think we realized how hot and humid it was until we walked for a couple of miles in Aqaba. By the time we reached the port, we were drenched! Once at the port gates though we encountered a problem. We didn’t have a port pass and unlike in many ports around the world, the presentation of a cruise ship room key was not sufficient to demonstrate our legitimate reason for entering. Finally we were made to understand that we were at the wrong gate for pedestrians. We needed gate number two. Of course, not knowing how far this was and being drenched and exhausted, we decided that a cab was a good idea. We were “smart” enough to know to negotiate the price in advance; never get in a cab with no meter without a pre-arranged price lest you find yourself legitimately on the hook for an astronomical fare. We agreed on the equivalent of $10 USD but quickly stopped congratulating ourselves when we discovered that gate two was literally about fifty feet from where we picked up the cab. Live and learn.
However, the guard at gate two was no more inclined to let us in than the guard at gate one. Of course, we don’t speak Arabic and the guard spoke little English, but after saying no he then decided to call someone once we made it understood, somehow, that gate one had told us to come to him. A flurry of rapid and annoyed Arabic ensued, punctuated by the guard repeatedly saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” presumably for not completely understanding us, for the misdirection from the other guard, for the delay, for something perhaps unknown, maybe just an abundance of politeness. The upshot was that we were allowed in and we were enormously grateful to not have to either make the long and hot walk back to the shuttle to come back to exactly the same point nor to have to pay hiked up cab fare to return to the same place either.
We had enjoyed our second visit to Aqaba but were happy to return to air conditioned splendor as well. While I have had a great time on both visits to Jordan I can’t imagine that we would find reason to return given the other places in the world, including the Arab world we haven’t visited yet. While it certainly isn’t an Arab country, I have a long held desire to visit Iran and I have been in contact with a specialty tour provider who takes small groups to Iran several times a year and who can help with the visa process. Granted, it is easier to just visit Kish Island from Dubai which while being Iran doesn’t require a visa (it snuck in to this narrative somehow!), but there is so much more of historical and cultural awe to see on the mainland, and Dubai is not reasonably possible for me to visit anyhow, and that I will leave to another time. All reports of Americans who have actually gone to the trouble to visit Iran despite hysterical news and State Department reports and warnings to the contrary, are glowing with tales of fantastic hospitality (hospitality rather than beheading actually is an Islamic rule), great curiosity about America and Americans, and a refreshing and unfortunately un-American habit of recognizing that the rhetoric and behavior of a government is not necessarily indicative of the feelings, beliefs, or behaviors of its citizens, especially not those interested enough to travel somewhere to find out for themselves and to form their own opinions instead of simply accepting received “wisdom.” Perhaps it is a side-effect of being aware that their own government doesn’t always speak for their feelings and I could only wish that more Americans didn’t realize that just because the United States government says something is true doesn’t necessarily always mean that it actually is true.
Onwards to Oman
Our next two ports, both in the Sultanate of Oman, were decidedly in the Arab world, and yet, also apart in some important ways. Oman has long lived not only geographically by the sea but also in the other sense in that Omanis have for centuries been seafarers and traders who at one time controlled an empire of their own that extended from the Arabian peninsula into eastern Africa, controlling the coastal areas of what is now Kenya and Tanzania. In fact, at one point in time, the royal court of Oman was located on the island of Zanzibar, which along with Pemba exists in a union with the formerly German East Africa and then British territory of Tanganyika. In fact, the very name Tanzania is meant to indicate the inclusion of Zanzibar as part of the larger and new entity that emerged from the union. Because they were seafarers and explorers, Omanis have long been familiar with and as a result remarkably tolerant of those with views, including religious views, different than their own. The other societies and cultures of the Arabian peninsula, especially the nomadic Bedouin tribes which today dominate in most of the other Gulf states, were inward looking and strongly xenophobic, a stance which it is very easy to argue that Saudi Arabia maintains to this day, and therefore are much more resistant to outside influences, beliefs and opinions. And if one thinks critically about it, this makes sense for both differing points of view. The Bedouin were living in lands of very limited resources with very little to share with or offer to outsiders. On the contrary, the very nature of trade and an empire built on it requires not only a familiarity with the outside broader world but also a level of comfort with it in order to be successful in trading with other cultures. Perhaps the most enduring legacy of the former Omani empire in eastern Africa is the persistence of the language based on a mixture of local languages and Arabic which is today known as Swahili, the predominant lingua franca of much of eastern Africa to this day.
Salalah
Our first Omani port was in Salalah, in the extreme far southwest of Oman, practically on the Yemeni border, a border which remains closed, and has been closed for some time, due to both the recent social, political, and military crisis that has shaken Yemen to the core (yep, we are involved in this one too) as well as the much longer standing problems with separatists in the Hadhramaut or Hadramawt (حضرموت) Governate of what used to be the Arab world’s only Marxist state, South Yemen.
Salalah is not only a major port for Oman, it is also the home of the summer palace of the current Sultan, Qaboos. The Sultan Qaboos bin Said al Said has been the hereditary leader of Oman since 1970. Sultan Qaboos is the longest-serving ruler in the Middle East. Regardless of what some may say or think about Qaboos in the outside world, he is hugely revered in Oman itself, which was relatively untouched by the events of the Arab Spring of 2010-2011 not because of military repression but because there simply was little protest against him. As he is unmarried and has no children, the is great concern about who will succeed him when he dies.
Sultan Qaboos came to power when he overthrew his father, Sultan Said bin Taimur whose rule was characterized by a feudal and isolationist approach. Prior to the takeover by Qaboos, Oman was threatened by a very effective rebellion centered in the Dhofar region, of which Salalah is the capital. In part this rebellion was due to the outdated policies and practices of Sultan Said as well as a desire to capitalize on the discovery of oil which took place in 1965 soon followed by commercial extraction in 1967.
The overthrow organized by Qaboos was bloodless and by 1975, with significant international help including assistance from the UK, Pakistan, Jordan, and Iran, at that time, of course, not the current Islamic Republic of today, the Dhofar Rebellion was quashed. The former Sultan lived in exile in the United Kingdom from 1970 until his death in 1972, living in luxury at the Dorchester Hotel in London. After deposing his father, Sultan Qaboos opened up the country, embarked on economic reforms, and followed a policy of modernization marked by increased spending on health, education and welfare, a practice that continues to this day and which has included increasing social and political freedoms for women, several of whom have been elected to the Consultative Assembly as well as serving at the Ministerial level in the government.
While Oman benefits from oil reserves, it does not have the level of reserves that occur in the other more fabulously wealthy Gulf States and therefore Oman has long been working to diversify the economy. In addition, and also unlike many other Gulf States, there are relatively few expatriate workers in Oman, instead, the government actively promotes the training and employment of Omanis themselves whenever possible, although, over half of the entire workforce continues to be Indian nationals, who make less than half of what Omanis do for the same work, but still four to five times more than they would for performing the same work in India itself.
Tourism is a major and growing source of revenue for Oman with tourists arriving by sea and by air routinely. A significant number of visitors also arrive on day trips after traveling overland from Dubai on excellent high-speed roadways. While Oman is certainly not yet the international entrepôt that Dubai has converted itself to, Oman is working toward it.
Salalah is popular as a tourist destination both with Omanis as well as foreign visitors in part because it is considerably cooler than the rest of Oman, having a higher elevation, especially in the nearby mountains, as well as because it is comparatively green due to receiving yearly monsoon rains. The comparative wealth of water is used to grow bananas, mangoes, dates, and other food crops, especially coconuts, a limited amount of which are exported although Oman imports a good deal of its food overall. The cooler weather also accounts for the location of the summer palace, although I would imagine that it makes good political sense for the Sultan to visit and reside in this area of Oman which historically has revolted and which is also over 1,000 km away from the seat of government power, the capital city of Muscat. In fact, at one time, the country now known as Oman was known as Muscat AND Oman, capitalization mine, emphasizing that Oman and Muscat were not one and the same. Muscat referred to the seafaring portion and Oman to the desert areas. Choosing just one name is strategic and political without doubt.
We were not allowed to walk out of the port area, which isn’t uncommon anymore as the ports at which large cruise ships dock are often heavily industrial in nature and are therefore potentially dangerous for unprotected pedestrians, and there are also security concerns about large numbers of individuals moving in and out of sensitive areas. Instead, we purchased a transfer to what we were told was the center of town, but which turned out to be anything but. Where we found ourselves instead was in a tourist market area that was half-closed as it was Friday, the day of prayer in Muslim countries, akin to Sunday in Georgia if you will. We knew from maps as well as from direct visual evidence that the actual town was to the north of where we were taken but there was no appealing the destination nor any appeal about the timing which was declared to be one hour less than what had been told, and sold, to us for this was not a free transfer but rather a paid one.
Despite the less than accurate descriptions involved we decided we didn’t want to risk taking a cab into the actual center of town because we couldn’t guarantee that we could get back in time to catch the shuttle return to the ship and the cab fare to the port, which was a long drive would be prohibitive if we missed it, plus we wouldn’t necessarily be allowed back into the port unless on a shuttle of some sort. So, we made do with the limited attractions afforded to us.
The only thing to do, of course, was to poke around in the shops which, it was quickly discovered, were all selling variations on a theme of frankincense and myrrh, which was OK with me because I greatly enjoy burning incense. What I didn’t realize was that some grades of frankincense are considered edible and medicinal, curing, reportedly, a wide variety of ills. I’ll eat most anything once so I tasted this high grade material. I remain unimpressed as all it tasted of to me was soap, although a subtle and pleasantly chewy soap admittedly. Perhaps the idea is that medicine isn’t supposed to taste good as well as being good for you. And I also purchased a quite affordable thawb (also known as thobe, dishdasha, kandura, or jalabiyyah depending on where you are in the Arab world) and embroidered cap (kumma), which no, I have not yet worn although I keep threatening to during the heat of summer. To wear it properly, I would need an izaar (an Arab version of male underwear) as well and not only do I not have one, even if I did I have zero idea how to tie it. There are other, more modern, alternatives as well, commonly known as t-shirt and underwear, also widely worn in Arab countries as are jeans, shirts, sneakers, etc.
Most everyone operating a shop was Indian although some were Omani, but everyone was unfailingly polite and engaging. Many shopkeepers will offer a gift of some sort either on entering the shop or as an enticement for you to enter, and they do mean this as a gift; there is no implied agreement to buy anything or to offer payment for whatever the gift might be. The addition of some small item to your bag on the completion of a transaction is also not uncommon. It is important to try to not be a jaded Westerner, assuming that some “hook” is present because it almost never is, rather it is simple hospitality, a concept seemingly lost in much of today’s American and European outlook.
Several passengers, ourselves included once we were asked although we didn’t offer the information or complain about it uninvited, were less than pleased with the transfer given what had been promoted, and paid for, versus the actual delivery. The Neptune Concierge made what we found to be an interesting observation upon hearing our concerns which was, “well, now that I hear it from someone other than those who always complain, I can believe it really happened.” That is a rare degree of candid commentary from any serviceperson on a cruise ship! It is very uncommon to ever hear anyone working on a cruise ship offer a complaint or criticism of any passenger behavior, at least to other guests although I have to imagine that many passengers are discussed, mocked, mimicked, and otherwise complained about below decks. But the sad reality is that on every cruise there seem to be some number of passengers who are apparently unhappy if they are not complaining and finding fault with something or someone. I simply don’t understand this behavior as I personally don’t enjoy complaining or being unhappy but for some it seems to be an essential part of the vacation experience. I hate hearing it when it happens and I feel quite badly for the staff who have to listen and pretend to be sympathetic to unreasonable people behaving badly. I would imagine that in many cases nothing anyone can do will make the person in question happy because I suspect that they are at heart unhappy people for whom nothing will ever be exactly “right” since the fault is in themselves. I try very hard to not focus on the few things that don’t work well, instead choosing to enjoy the majority that is good and being especially appreciative of the effort that others expend on my behalf. This seems all too uncommon in today’s world and I so enjoy it when I encounter it.
How It Feels To Be Me, Sometimes
As just one example, of all those postcards that I labored to find and send, less than half of those who received them ever bothered to mention it, even though, of course, that isn’t why I send them. Now, some did and I hugely appreciate the recognition of the effort but I remain baffled by those who ignore the efforts of others, or those who give credit and appreciation to those who had nothing to do with it. I am routinely puzzled, for example, by Tim’s siblings who often credit the gifts, cards, and other items which routinely arrive for birthdays, anniversaries, and upon the conclusion of trips as having something to do with Tim.
Now, had Tim always been one to remember people routinely this would make sense, but I know perfectly well that this was not a behavior he was known for. Oddly, it seems he “changed” about 10 or so years ago and became someone who unfailingly remembers every special occasion and brings home something, or things, from literally every journey. So, either Tim has had a personality transplant or, more likely, I am doing it. Last I checked, personality transplants have not been perfected, or believe me, I would have one in order to become someone who doesn’t care about others who ignore my efforts or who give credit to others for those little kindnesses I try to perform.
In fact, Tim protests, complains, and argues whenever I suggest buying anything to bring back for anyone; far from actively having changed in this respect, he argues more vehemently now than ever before against such “extravagances.” And while some of this is part of the drama we put on for one another’s benefit, left to his own devices, kind as he can be, Tim really wouldn’t bring gifts home for people, in part because he more accurately understands than do I that most people won’t care one way or the other.
It is practically pulling teeth to convince him to write and send a postcard to his parents or grandmother but I foolishly persist, thinking that it might somehow make a difference to those on the receiving end. But perhaps he is correct, maybe people really don’t care and I am wasting my time and effort, and certainly of those who do notice or care, it is rare for them to conclude that it could possibly have anything to do with me for either it is all a part of a campaign to ignore me and the efforts I make to be inclusive and kind, or perhaps the fault is my own in that somehow I have behaved in such a way as to make others think it impossible that I would do anything kind and good (and yet I sent 40 pounds of apples to my Great Aunt just because she mentioned in a card that she had discovered and liked Honeycrisp), so the action must be coming from a new found kindness and consideration in Tim’s heart, which is a good heart indeed, just not a sentimental or always generous one in terms of remembering and acting on the behalf of others, aside from on my behalf of course, to whom no one has ever been kinder or more generous in my life.
Perhaps I am most poignantly reminded of all of this due to a lovely, Peter Pauper Press no less, one of my absolute favorite makers of paper goods, personal, honest-to-goodness thank you card from Tim’s Aunt Judy, sent to me simply because I remembered her and her husband Chris in my postcard mailing project. It is truly a delight to me to know that such graciousness still exists in the world today and that I am not the only one who still bothers to send such things for kindnesses received, however minor. It is also true that some of the nephews/nieces upped their game this time around to include handwritten notes, and this time not even ones we had pre-addressed and stamped on their behalf.
Aunt Judy is clearly an astute customer and no one’s fool and I know this, in part, because ever since I met her a year ago we have enjoyed, I certainly have enjoyed, a relatively lively correspondence back and forth in cards and letters sharing news both significant and small. From the beginning, even when I signed a note “Tim and Matthew” Judy was clear in her response that she knew perfectly well that it had nothing to do, at least not directly, with Tim, a nephew she had never had a personal letter or postcard from in her life. Instead she correctly and graciously responded to me, figuring that such a change wasn’t likely to come from Tim himself but rather originated from me. You would think that a few other people could figure that one out, after all, Judy has only met me once and yet she was astute enough to “get it.”
Most recently I shared experiences from long ago that I thought similar to a situation facing them and that was also part of what Judy was thanking me for, the simple, to me, act of being emotionally supportive of another person. I enjoy that Judy and I seem to share a pleasure in written communication and recognition where it is due, along with a belief in the importance of correctly ironing our clothes.
What I most enjoy above all though is that even having only met me once, Judy assumed me to be a good person worthy of kindness and respect without presumption or assumption of the opposite, I would imagine, until such time, if it ever comes to pass, that I don’t deserve it. It is a wonderful gift to know that such people still exist who assume goodness in people instead of the opposite. I look forward to later today continuing the written relationship with my newfound friend.
It is truly tangential, but I do love a good tangent, but I have discovered so much good in unexpected quarters lately that I have to mention it. When Tim and I mailed out wedding announcements and invitations to a celebratory party in Kentucky, I certainly didn’t expect everyone to be able to attend, but I guess some naïve part of me did expect that people could at least respond in some form of human acknowledgement and recognition. To date, less than half of the people we sent the cards to, back in August mind you and this is past mid-November now, have bothered to do so. Not just people I thought friends, but even some family can’t seem to find the time or can’t get past their bigotry over two men marrying to so much as send an email, much less a written card to acknowledge us. I’ll admit it; that hurts even though Tim tells me I shouldn’t let it hurt. I am human and I bleed too even if I do a really good job of hiding it.
But, it is perhaps because of the hurtfulness of others, including some who’s weddings, birthdays, graduations, and the like I have consistently acknowledged, that causes me to all the more celebrate the kindness of others. The generosity of friends from college who are flying across the country to celebrate with us when others can’t seem to be bothered to, quite literally, drive across town, provides joy to my heart. Or the kindness and inclusion of extended family, some of whom I have never even met in person, who have sent wonderfully kind and thoughtful cards, even from many who didn’t receive an announcement in person but who have only heard of the event through my Great Aunt June. It speaks literally volumes to me of the goodness and kindness of many people who would recognize us, not directly knowing us but knowing that if we have importance to someone they love, June in this case, then we are important to them by extension. Those actions, just like the ongoing kindness of my aunt by marriage, help warm the coldness I feel from so many others. I have to focus on the good and kind in order to not despair and I can only hope that someday those who are less than kind, and those who make presumptions and assumptions about me, and presumably others, will come to recognize that their actions are less than noble and kind, and most certainly not, as some of them no doubt imagine themselves to be, by any measure “Christian.”
I have been so hurt by this experience, and others like it over the years from multiple members of my family both genetic and by marriage, that sometimes I just can’t absorb it any longer, or more worrisome, I absorb it all too well and actually wonder if there is not, in fact, something truly wrong with me that causes others to fail to see the good that I try so hard to project into the world. I shared some of this with my wise and all too kind great aunt June. She wrote back to me with her own impressions. She assured me that I was one of the kindest and absolutely most generous people she has ever known. She recited my acts of kindness and generosity, some of which she has been the direct recipient as well as others in which she had some part in helping me to accomplish, including for those whom I have never met in person. As a woman in her 90s she has seen a great deal of life and that has given her great wisdom. I treasure her words of kindness and support for me. I am hugely grateful that even though she sees me, at most, once per year, that she can see me for the man I try to be, acting, not always perfectly but more often than not, out of love and kindness towards others, including towards those who cannot, or for reasons that escape me, will not see it. I try very hard to remember that when the world is less than kind and loving towards me. So, even if I am ignored and unappreciated, I will persist in acting the way that I think is good and right, refusing to sink to the level of others, all the while being able and willing to defend myself when and if directly attacked but still willing take an emotional beating in order to be true to my own principles and beliefs.
Muscat
Our second port in Oman was the capital, Muscat. Parked next to us in the harbor was the Sultan’s personal yacht, which at first I took to be a cruise ship. I guess it must be good to be the Sultan sometimes. I found it interesting that our ship’s Captain, Mark Rowden, had been the Captain of that very same yacht during its construction and early voyages. He left the Sultan’s employ because he was essentially bored as the Sultan doesn’t sail much, and when he does he doesn’t go far. Captain Rowden was an interesting and extremely friendly man. Most of the ships we have sailed on are captained by Dutch captains and while I am confident they are quite technically proficient, they are not the friendliest of people, being rather dour in all honesty. I have heard the Dutch described as competent and capable but at the same time never ones to do more than necessary. I can’t claim to be an expert so I won’t say it is universally true but it has been my experience of Dutch ship captains.
The Captain and the Kindnesses of Tim
Captain Mark was rather gregarious and his wife even more so. Captain Mark and his wife often sail together as she is also employed by the parent company of Holland America as an environmental impact monitor. Amazingly, they raised their two daughters on board the MS Ryndam, on board for three months, off for three back home in Washington State, and so forth. For the girls, they were saying good-bye to their half-time home from their earliest years of memory. I know this because Tim formed a friendship with the Captain’s wife, born of late nights in the Crow’s Nest bar.
The Crow’s Nest was also the stage for another of Tim’s acts of kindness, and it sort of surprised me because as I said, while I know Tim to be a man of great kindness and generosity towards me, he isn’t usually one for a gesture toward someone he doesn’t know well. Maybe it was my influence rubbing off on him! Whatever it was, one night he met and chatted with an older woman named Jan who was sailing by herself. Jan is perhaps best described as a hard-drinking woman from a fading time and a way of life. For example, she told Tim of “calling her domestic” when she heard a storm forecast for her area of Virginia so that he would remember to bring in the patio furniture. Who has a man-servant these days, much less calls him a “domestic?” Jan spends her winters on back to back loop cruises of the Caribbean because those cruises draw a younger crowd that stays up late and drinks more. Many nights, the Crow’s Nest, the bar that remains open the latest, would be populated by few more than Jan, Tim, and the Captain and his wife. Not to fear, the Captain only drank Pellegrino sparkling mineral water.
I have already referred to the Mariner loyalty reward system and one night Tim and Jan got to talking about this system and how Tim and I were Four-Star Mariners and such, when Jan mentioned that she knew she had passed the mark for Five-Star Mariner but had not received her recognition pin. We only wear ours on formal nights and Tim refuses to wear our Bronze Mariner Medallion at any time. So, Tim didn’t say anything, but he had seen Jan’s room card key with her last name on it, although of course not the actual room number. As the card was blue he knew she wasn’t in a Neptune Suite but regardless he informed the Neptune Lounge concierge that there was a passenger, and gave her name, who was due her Five Star Mariner pin who hadn’t received it. The next night or so, Jan saw Tim again and asked him if he’d had anything to do with her receiving her Five Star pin! He admitted that he had indeed passed the word, told Jan that he saw her last name on her key card, and that was how he knew to tell the Concierge who Jan was. Jan was delighted at Tim’s kindness, as was I. Sometimes Tim tries to downplay, or even hide, his kinder and more generous heart in favor of a certain gruffness and bluster. Make no mistake, Tim doesn’t suffer fools and he hates whining, but in the right time and place he can act out of random kindness. Of course, if you are looking for that sort of thing, as much as it would seem to surprise some of my family and in-laws, you’d do better to turn toward me. I was very proud of Tim for doing such a small thing by one measure that yet by other rubrics was quite large. It is sort of like the tea-infuser he just presented me with today; not financially expensive and yet clearly indicative of a person who pays attention to that which would have meaning for a specific person and then provides the perfect item. Priceless.
Back in Muscat
Muscat is somewhat a city of contrasts, perhaps a bit like Tim even. And, while I had thought that Salalah was hot and humid, Muscat had it beat on those fronts hands down! The first part of town we discovered, near the port, is quite old and features a souk, a traditional Arab marketplace, that has covered roofs and turning, twisting, wandering alleys full of vendors selling just about anything and everything you can imagine. Of course, there is a great deal of incense on offer but also just about anything and everything you can conceive of featuring Sultan Qaboos’s face. I even saw a soccer ball with his face on it, which I thought sort of odd as inevitably you would end up kicking the guy in effigy. I really wanted to buy one to bring back to a niece who is on her way to being a soccer star, as well as one for my brother-in-law who plays indoor soccer, but it just wouldn’t fit in the suitcase. As it was, we had to buy new luggage to bring home all the treasures I bought, that VAST majority of which, by the way, I have shipped off to other people, being that unkind and selfish person you know after all… In the entire souk I think I was most amused by the vendor trying to sell a fake sextant to a cadet from the ship. I knew he was a cadet from the safety and navigation demonstrations he had been a part of on board but as he was out of uniform there is no way the vendor could know this. I dearly would have loved to be able to hear that conversation unfold.
Muscat Souk
While I wasn’t able to get a soccer ball with the Sultan’s face on it, I do have a neck scarf with his visage and I will wear it once cold enough in part to see who, if anyone, will ask who it is. A nice vendor made me a gift of a particular kind of Omani incense that is made by soaking wood chips and sawdust in fragrant oils although I haven’t attempted to use it yet. Again, even vendors were generous towards those who shopped with them as well as with perfuming passers-by with fragrant oils rubbed onto wrists and necks, sort of like an Arab version of Macy’s perfume counter but with less expectation perhaps. I also found “stuff” for the nephews and nieces and also for great-aunt June’s great-granddaughter, to whom, although I have not met her, I have given several quite nice gifts of art supplies and the like, again on the principle that if she is important to someone I love, Aunt June, then she is important to me as well, even though I haven’t her in person. And you simply wouldn’t believe the beautiful and ever so gracious thank-you notes she sends, completely of her own initiative, even though she is only eight years old. There must be something in the central Missouri air that causes people, even young girls, to be inherently kind and polite. Or maybe, just maybe, some members of my extended family still parent their kids in a manner I am used to, one that emphasizes gratitude for what we receive no matter how small as well as generally polite manners towards everyone. Imagine that!
After we toured the souk and loaded up on goodies, we jumped in a cab and went on a tour of the town. Old Muscat, known as Muttrah, very quickly gives way to the new Muscat which is gleamingly clean, in part due to the uniformed litter-pickers and street sweepers that were everywhere, and modern. The highlight is without doubt the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, only open to non-Muslim visitors between 10am and noon, so we missed it, but which is still quite magnificent from the exterior. The Grand Mosque lays claim to possessing both the second largest carpet and the second largest chandelier in the world.
For a western person who is accustomed to the religious architecture exemplified by Christian cathedrals and basilicas (they are different in the canonical sense), the religious architecture of Islam can be a bit baffling and perhaps even plain at first glance. Islam in general prohibits the graphical representation of living things, except in some senses plant life, so you will never see statues or other carvings or paintings of people in a mosque, or actually really anywhere in the Muslim world, although photographs in most cases are accepted, although not displayed in religious buildings. Occasionally, vines and twining plant life might be represented on columns but this is not consistent. The beauty of the buildings is strictly in their interior and exterior design, lighting, and the full advantage and skillful application of tilework and mosaics, many of which feature Arab calligraphy used to quote the Koran and prayerful sayings. Once you know what to look for, these buildings can be quite beautiful once approached from their own perspective.
I don’t think it is a great secret that I have greatly enjoyed my visits to the Arab and larger Muslim world, including thus far Turkey (non-Arab), Egypt, Jordan, and now Oman. To be sure, Oman is quite different from Egypt and Jordan, and that is in part because it is so much wealthier than these other Arab states, but it is also culturally different as well naturally.
I enjoy the hospitality of the Arab and Muslim world which remains unrivaled by anywhere in the West I have visited, as well as many of the cultural hallmarks including the architecture and the art (to be fair, I did study Islamic art and architecture at university so I am predisposed to enjoy it). Of course I am not enamored of everything about any culture or society, including my own, but given the chance I would be happy to return to Oman, probably as part of a larger regional journey, to be able to explore more at leisure and to penetrate the interior as well as the Musandam Peninsula which is separated from the rest of Oman by a small amount of territory belonging to the United Arab Emirates (there is another Omani exclave surrounded by the UAE, Madha, little more than one small town of 29 square miles and less than 3,000 people). I have no immediate plans for such a journey, but if it were to include Qatar and Bahrain that would be ideal. Time will tell all things, Allah willing.
The voyage continues on to India and Sri Lanka, right here –