Oh Man, Oman!

Adopting the identity of “traveler” grants one of the greatest luxuries—time and flexibility. These precious luxuries allow us to explore like we are upon a horse, meandering here and there and changing course if the grass is greener over yonder. Our latest stop, while literally not a grass is greener location, was one such course correction thanks to our new friends from our Everest Base Camp trek. Carlyn, Roàn, and family tempted us with the idea of a joint family Eid vacation, the holiday marking the end of Ramadan, to see a country we never expected to see--Oman.

Located on the southeast coast of the Arabian Peninsula, Oman is a country somewhat resembling a piece of baklava, layer upon layer of visible geologic rock formations sweeping up and down mountains and deserts with valuable water and the sweet honey of adventure seeping between. Oman has sink holes and wadis for swimming, nine-thousand foot high mountains in the Hajar range for hiking, the Wahiba Sands for camping, and the Snake Canyon for wild canyoning.  Wadi Ghul, the “Grand Canyon of Oman,” is an another Oman highlight and it mimics its Arizona cousin well.  Also, many caves puncture the land for………well, confirming spelunking could be a hobby for other people.

Our first stop on the itinerary was the Bimmah Sink Hole, which is basically a big hole full of water. The sink hole was a fun stop to chill blast our rapidly rising core temperature, warm up on cliff jumping, and begin our education of revering any sight of water in Oman. Fair enough—we live a spoiled life of overflowing gutters and damp basements. An appreciation of one of our most precious resources was a good environmental lesson for us. 

The sink hole excursion also served as an opportunity to break the ice with the rest the Ibrahim family. Since we had committed to spending a week with them and flew all night to do it, we did wonder a couple of times between 2-6 a.m. on the Dubai layover if Carlyn had a youthful lapse in judgement at “da club” and married a real dud. Turns out hair flips and giggles at the more respectable pick-up joint, an insurance company, resulted in snagging a winner with Nasier. Whew! Seven days of awkward party chat averted.  

Nasier proved such a winner in fact, on the Balcony Walk in Wadi Guhl (the Grandest of Canyons in Oman), he catapulted himself onto the podium in the Omani edition of our Everest hiking game. While trekking Everest, we challenged each other to not only meet other trekkers, but introduce them to other hikers. The Omani edition included points awarded for each introduction. This hilariously entertaining game resulted in many chuckles from our squad, especially if we witnessed the innocent victims stumbling off wondering “what just happened and why do I know all of their names?”  Perplexed hiking journeymen aside, Nasier charged out of the gate like he was playing the lightening round.  He had some serious networking skills to get on the leader’s board. 

While the game was entertaining, it definitely did not pull focus from the Oman Grand Canyon.  Lonely Planet readers know all respectable countries have a “Grand Canyon” and the Oman giant ditch represents.  The visible rock layers, deep gorges, and plunging cliffs made for an exciting hike.  A roadside watermelon purchase demonstrated incredible foresight as a refreshing post hike treat, even if there were a few doubters as it rolled around in the trunk for three days and overnighted on two hotels credenzas.  “Who wants to carry the watermelon in tonight?” Totally worth it! 

Another important stop on the tour of Oman was Wahiba Sands, a massive desert of endless copper colored sand dunes spreading 4,800 square miles. Part of the fun of visiting Wahiba Sands was just getting there.  Since the sands are constantly shifting, there is no official road—just a sandy track.  With the tires deflated for improved traction, we fishtailed our small SUVs into the sands to our glamping desert camp (hey, don’t hate a glamper—we smell better than campers.) To add adventure, the seat belted generation lived a bit of the parental’s 1970’s lifestyle sitting out of the car windows on the journey, sand blasting their teeth bright white.  We also climbed the dunes and attempted sledding. However, we found the smallest of dirt particles in cahoots with the wind could be enough to defeat an eager Olympic luge athlete, not to mention a gal from the nearly evergreen piedmont of North Carolina.

Wadi Bani Khalid, a nearby desert oasis, provided deep pools for swimming and water- carved cliffs for jumping.  The wadi required hiking up a bit along the drainage, and soon enough we noticed a local guy quietly following us.  The gumshoe local is a familiar happening for us non-blending blond haired types.  At the first look of our confusion, the local jumped in with a helpful tip, then faded back.  Again, at the next perplexed look, the local popped out of the shadows and provided yet again another helpful pointer.  Soon, we “accidentally” hired a guide and were on a brand-new itinerary. Before we knew it, we were instructed to change into swimming costumes to enter a cave to see a waterfall and swim in a pool. 

We questioned, “So, this cave opens up to a waterfall and pool for swimming?” 

He replied, “Yes, follow me.  Stay low.  Leave your bags here.”

Leave our bags here, while you drag us into a cave?  I don’t think so.  So, with bags on and no flashlight, we followed.  The cave started at about 3-4 feet high, with an occasional reprieve to stand a bit taller.  Bent over, nose to butt following 8 people, the waddle into the cave read very low on the fun-o-meter. However, we persisted with the anticipation the cave would open up into a swimming hole and waterfall.  The adventure seemed to hold promise, especially since misery should reap rewards, right?  After fifteen minutes, converted to many emotional hours, of following our “guide” he said, put your bags here and slide through this hole.  We felt the humidity huffing out of the hole and carbon dioxide increasing.  Again, thinking we are about to exit the cave to a beautiful oasis like swimming hole, we dug deeper into the cave. 

Right when it felt like we had crawled to the back of someone’s throat, he said, “Lay in this water and relax. Tourists like it”. 

“What? This is it?” we replied.  

He wanted us to lay in two inches of water in a 2 foot-high crevasse and relax?  We couldn’t even breathe. With moans of disappointment and the even more direct instructions of “get me out of here”, we retreated in reverse order, butt to nose, to “see” the spectacular waterfall.  Turns out the waterfall was only a jet-black auditory experience, not the mini Iguazu experience we anticipated.  The “waterfall” even illuminated, was not visible.  The rushing water sound was underground.

Thoughts of earthquakes and the Thai soccer team stranded in the cave ran through our heads and entered our conversations.  Sometimes Lonely Planet gets it right—the book is not missing a description of a cave with a waterfall oasis for swimming at Wadi Khalid. The cave experience rated a big fat zero, but provided lots of laughs later in retelling. Our REI membership will definitely go unused for the next sale on spelunking gear, that’s for sure!  Gary eventually paid the local guide to just leave us alone and we happily swam and jumped off the rocks in the sunlight.  One thing we did learn from the experience was water, no matter how little of it, is extremely important to an Omani.  Lesson learned, never to be forgotten. Experiential learning at its best.         

Another stop on our tour of important Omani water features was Wadi Shab.   This wadi is a beautiful gorge with a series of pools leading back to a waterfall plunging into a hidden swim up cavern. The hoots and hollers blasting from the cavern had me wondering if the pooling water was more testosterone than water. This location showcased an abundance of questionable machismo on parade high up on the slippery rocks.  The tough guys flagrantly taunted Lady Luck with numerous dives, jumps and near misses. The only thing saving this wadi from becoming the Myrtle Beach of the Middle East is a cultural low tolerance for the Budweiser life.  Despite witnessing a near skull cracking, shimmying and swimming through a 12-inch split in massive boulders to reveal a turquoise blue pool and waterfall in the desert of all deserts was a bit magical.  

Camaraderie was the main motivation to get to Oman, but an intriguing side effect of making the journey was we got to take a break from planning what we were doing and where we were sleeping for a week or so. Our buddies did the heavy lifting—we didn’t pull our weight on the research for this trip for sure. However, we did take responsibility for 24 hours.

Wake Forest students don’t call Gary’s summer trip “We are the Millers” for nothing— we deserve the title considering how many times our plans take a flying leap over the line of comfort for our fellow travel partners. Plus, our trips usually include a certain point of no return. The one and only day we were responsible for planning for the group of eight travelers, we delivered, especially on the “point of no return” part. 

Our 24-hour duty of carrying the group fun-o-meter started with a winding 4x4 drive high into the mountains. It was a road often requiring one car to back up to a wide spot on the cliff edge to let another car pass. Close inspection probably would reveal twisted metal heaps down below. This part of our 24 hour assignment was the easy part. 

After a bit of marveling at how long it took cover a short bit of ground, we arrived at the most fantastically placed turf soccer field. The field was situated in an isolated valley, the green turf in stark contrast to the brown, boulder strewn mountains. The field was built for an Audi commercial. Check it out! Watching the soccer action at this unique field was such a refreshing difference from our typical stateside sideline locations adjacent to yet another redundant subdivision boasting garden tubs and proximity to a Subway (not the practical kind) and a Home Depot. Our arrival timing to the field was perfect and a pick-up game was popping with men from the local village of Bald Sayt. It didn’t take but a minute or two before Roàn got the invitation he desired to jump in and eventually earn an assist and goal. 

After the game, we retreated to our new guesthouse expertly perched over the field. Here we met our guesthouse hosts and canyoning guides, brothers Zahar and Rashid. This overnight was a fun evening of homemade Omani food made by the family matriarch and eaten outside on cushions on the ground.  We followed dinner with rooftop stargazing into the ink black clear skies. 

The next morning is when things got interesting.  Our purpose of the journey into the mountains was to explore Snake Canyon—by foot and in some cases by air.  Snake Canyon is a knife slice of a gorge in the Hajar mountains, opening and narrowing from 30 feet down to 2 feet wide and descending 1,000 feet deep.  The canyon is so deep a 104-degree Fahrenheit day is downright chilly when standing in its shady, wet depths.   Our crew, dressed in lifejackets, harnesses and helmets, approached the canyon in varied states of emotional readiness, from “yeehaw to hell no”.  Unfortunately, for the “hell no” individuals, the entry to the canyon was no joke.  A water carved shoot like rock formation required us to shimmy through a polished rock passage and rely on our burly guide to stop us just in time before tumbling down what would have been a season ending fall. Teva’s were an insufficient harness for the slick rock and the guide a necessary stopgap, literally.   Wedged between the guide and a precarious perch, we then jumped approximately 15 feet below into the narrow channel of turquoise blue water careful to “hit the middle” target zone.  While not knowing before the jump, we were standing on the actual “point of no return”. We were in it. I am here to say, the “point of no return” is a geographic location pinpointed in Oman.  The 3.5 kilometer scramble down the canyon was inevitable now, much to the thrill of the “yeehaws” and the horror of the “hell no” attendees.

We slipped and slid down the canyon, sometimes swimming through narrow slots, jumping off rocky cliffs to pooling water, or scrambling over boulders.  The canyon walls were striated in amazing colors with the water sometimes projecting a type of “Northern Lights” on the walls.  It was a smooth and beautiful journey, except where the bloody gashes and bruises provide evidence it wasn’t.  The “yeehaws” FOUND peace and “hell no” members MADE peace with the chaotic environment.

A notable feature of the trip was the 120 foot abseil.  Gary volunteered to go first, channeling a lifetime of courage, but perhaps forgetting about his replaced parts, surgically restored joints, and recent ditch falling injuries.  Gary lowered himself through a crack in the rocks while the rest of us huddled blindly behind a few wedged boulders.  The auditory version of his descent was intriguing.  His screams and wails of hitting rocks, followed by complete silence, broken by shouting questions and confusion of lowering himself into a pool of water did not provide the confidence the “hell no” members needed.  With some reluctance and manufactured courage fueled by the fact there was no return, all member of the party made it down, some happily and others a bit tear stained.  Lowering into an icy pool of water, while dangling from a rope, was bit of a “smelling salts” ending to the abseil.  Everyone was definitely alive and wide awake at the bottom.

The journey continued with more jumps, scrambles and swims.  Points of laughter included every time Zahar, the guide, threw his bag off the cliff and we all stared at each other waiting to hear how long it took to plunk into the water—1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds….no, really, how long did that just take? The “yeehaws” loved the jumps, and the “hell no’s” carefully raised their line of comfort the farther we proceeded down the canyon.  The in and out of chilly water was an obstacle for some requiring comical reptile like sunning on the rocks, while a certain menopausal woman finally found the perfect fluctuating temperature and habitat to truly thrive.   One unusually turquoise colored swim section followed a narrow 2 foot-wide snaking rock passage for about 25 meters and was especially gorgeous. It was a dreamy swim any travel Instagrammer would mandate a companion to spend multiple shutter clicks perfectly capturing their backside floating down.   The canyoning trip was the mother of all canyoning trips—five hours and 3.5 kilometers.  This was a high-fiving and high-flying day for all.  Like the movie “We are the Miller”, and now that everyone has mostly healed physically and emotionally, it is safe to say, the squad has “No Ragrets” about canyoning……… not even a single letter.

Saying “yes” to adventure with new friends was the real gift and pleasure of our Oman stop on our around-the-world journey.  This trip was all about the people.  The canyoning, cliff jumping, dune sledding, hiking, mistaken turns, strange foods, and bumps and bruises were so much better laughing and joking about it with friends.  It was so sad to see them go, but we will definitely meet again! K2 Base Camp anyone?