The Trip to Oman

Giant UAE flag on the beach near the UAE-Oman border. I saw many more visible signs of nationalism in Fujairah than in Dubai.

It's all about the stamps. For frequent travelers, there is a sort of posture and status that is attained when you have to have extra pages added to your passport. Today I acquired a stamp that relatively few Americans have in their passports: The Sultanate of Oman. The UAE-Oman border is 18 kilometers from the hotel where I am staying. I thought it would be a snap to just buzz on down to the first town inside of Oman, have lunch, and say that I had been there. Well, hiring the car was easy. I have made my way across a border or two in my life of traveling, but this one was perhaps the most remote and desolate border crossing ever. First stop was the UAE exit trailer. 20 dirhams, please. Exit stamp; check. Entry visa for Oman? No, sir. What is the purpose of your visit to the sultanate? I want to drive down the road and take a picture. Strange look from customs officer; check. Auto insurance for Oman? No, sir. Please talk to the man in the little hut behind the trailer. Omani car insurance; check. Once I finally made my way through the border with all of my little stamps and certificates in order, I found myself in a wonderful little corner of the world. Cyclone Gonu struck this area in June and caused extraordinary damage that they are still repairing. As I got off of the brand new highway and explored the little villages along the seacoast, I could see the damage left behind. Houses gone leaving only their foundations, palm trees uprooted and lying dead in open spaces, and road after road washed away. It was a good thing I had hired a 4x4 to make my way through sand "roads" and wadis.

After spending the afternoon in Oman, I returned back through the border gauntlet and made my way back to the hotel. The staff, noticing my birth date on my passport, had made me a birthday cake and left it in the room for me to discover upon my return.