Yalla Dolphins!

The drive from Abu Dhabi to Khasab, a small town in the Musandam peninsular of Oman, would be one considered by some as uneventful.  However, we relished the transformation as the shining skyscrapers of Dubai disappeared into the dusty and sand-storm beaten towns of the smaller emirates.  Witnessing the dunes transform from lion-yellow to crab-claw red and the patterns made as the wind whipped them into perfectly formed waves, was a sight to remember.  The bristly hide of a camel is the only thing to puncture this unperturbed ocean of sand.  

After three hours of such sights, our sat-nav informed us that we were 50 minutes from our destination, which we found hard to believe given that we had just pulled up at a building site of cranes, containers and piles of rock; the industrialised feel of the boarder makes you doubt that you will shortly be surrounded by dolphin-inhabited crystal-clear waters.  

The boarder interaction was officious:  licences and insurance policies were duly checked, but a 40-minute turnaround in nay too bad over a public holiday.  We then descended a serpentine road through slate-coloured rocky mountains which framed aquamarine ocean.  

As we made our way down the 18th hair pin of the route, we were greeted by the traditional Omani wooden fishing boats surrounding a small port in the sleepy town of Khasab.  

There is only one hotel here, as well as an extortionate luxury spa, so most holiday makers arrive complete with camping gear.  Despite Khasab’s traditional Omani turreted houses with goats galloping round every nook, globalisation has made its mark and a ginormous LuLu hypermarket monopolises the centre of town - perfect for stocking up on camping supplies.

Armed with coal for the BBQ and meat to crispen on it, we headed to a small line of boats to set up our passage to our camping spot.  It must now be mentioned that a great deal of trust is required in this encounter:  you are asking an non-English speaking Omani fisherman to drop you on a deserted island in the unreachable depths of the Musandam for a small amount of money and the promise that he will return to collect you in 48 hours.  After lengthy negotiation, we handed our lives over to a toothless and rather unsmiling be-robed chap who grumbled at the sheer load of equipment with which we wanted to sink his fishing boat.  

Wave-bashing along the pristine waters, watching the mountainous “khors” rise up above you and the small dot of civilisation that is Khasab disappears from the horizon was so liberating.  That is, until our fisherman lost his sense of humour and we wished ourselves rather nearer rescue!  It all started with our apparent fussiness over camping spot.  The locations he offered us were, to his eyes, an entirely acceptable resting nest for the weekend.  The precariously balanced boulders and evidence of recently descended landslides was apparently nothing to concern the protection of our flimsy tent.  I stood my ground and refused the third of such offerings, which did not go down well with our benefactor whose wasted petrol was a major concern. When we eventually moored at a sandier, flatter and generally less life-threatening beach, I was beyond relieved.  But this respite did not last long; as our frosty fisherman motored back out into they bay, we questioned the likelihood of his returning to our marooned position in two days time.

Leaving that problem for later, we proceeded to have the most blissful of days.  Campfires, BBQs, early morning swims, fishing by the gallon, a small incident with a lethal scorpion, frisbe and beer - we could not have asked for greater peace and tranquility.  

To end it all, we were blessed with the toothless grin of our fisherman at the appointed time of our return and, upon us asking for a dolphin trip for an extra fee, he seemed in much merrier spirits.   

It wasn't long before we saw the shining hide and blow-hole spray of a pod of energetic dolphins at the side of our boat.  Not only were they encouraged by the motion of our vessel, but our Omani fisherman came completely out of his shell of hostility and cries of "Yalla dolphins!" were repeated in singsong vocals which seemed to spur our fishy friends on.

Safely deposited on the mainland we left on friendly terms and an exchange of a flimsy business card.  I can say without doubt that our expedition marked one of the best holidays we have had and the Omani Musandam is somewhere to which we will certainly return. 

Crab-Hunting Safari

When my husband announced that we were going crab hunting as a treat for my birthday weekend away from the city, I had my reservations.  First off, the destination was Umm Al Quwain which is not an emirate that my fellow expatriates have ever mentioned as a tourist hot spot. 

There is not much to make of the emirate itself; an hour out of Dubai you find yourself in a dusty and sleepy fishing town.  However, a real treat awaits at ‘The Flamingo Resort’…

The resort itself is rather twee with rosy flamingo memorabilia coating every available wall.  But as you pass through to observe the view, you are in for the threat of an entirely tranquil mangrove lake with quietly lapping waters, clear and fish-filled, not to mention the beautiful pink of the flamingos stalking their way in search of fodder.

We passed a pleasant day fishing off the peer and driving to the other side of this thin strip of land that makes up Umm Al Quain where the roaring waves of the Gulf smash across a rocky wall of protection.  

But the main attraction of this otherwise rather un-notable spot was our curiosity over the crab hunting safari.  We purchased our ticket which included:  a pre-hunt snack, crab hunting boots, the experience itself and a buffet meal and awaited the cover of darkness.  We were be-life-jacketed and issued with what was termed “hunting footwear” but what turned out to be a rather hole-filled and tattered fake converse trainers!  The damage already endured by this footwear was reassurance enough that we should not be donning our own gear for the mission.  

It was a beautiful night with a full moon hanging over the lake.  We were ushered to a shallow boat and slowly motored to the centre.  Fish, attracted by the glow of our guiding light, leapt several feet into the air and their flight often nearly landed them in our vessel.  

After ten minutes of travel, our guide turned off the engine and we floated in the silence of the night.  He was casting his eyes around the water feverishly, but when we too looked into the watery depths, we could make out nothing.  The silent minutes passed and we began to question just how entertaining this experience would prove.  

Without warning, our guide blurted out that we should jump overboard.  Our group was a dozen strong and not one member of our company stirred at his command:  the black and choppy water looked cold and uninviting and despite the life-jackets, immeasurably deep.  My husband and another guest finally took the plunge and we all laughed at our stupidity: the water rose only to the thigh!

Once surrounded by the surprisingly warm and shallow mangrove we were handed a trident – I mean, a proper weapon akin to something from ‘The Little Mermaid’.  Next we were armed with a bright light attached to an extendable wire and heavy battery in the boat.  With a cry of ‘Yallah’ from our guide our mission began.  I could feel the gentle nibble of small fish on my calves that were attracted to our light.  Then there came into view the more sinister needle fish with their barbed noses.  I was felt suddenly somewhat grateful of my crumbling converse as sharp coral lined the bed of the lake.

I heard a jubilant cry from a fellow hunter who withdraw their trident from the waters with a wriggling crab on its prongs.  A keen animal lover, I could not bear to look at the creatures legs cycling round in desperation.  However, some strange sense of purpose made me turn back hurriedly to my own light and harpoon, determined to do the same damage:  despite my affiliation the animal kingdom, I also love crab meat!

After some time I sighted my victim; your light catches a blue-tinted crab with his front claws outstretched in protection or attack.  You only have a moment to wrestle with your conscience or he will scuttle away to safety.  With resolve I plunged my weapon down into the sand and felt the crushing of shell on metal.  I could not call it a pleasant experience but there was certainly something morbidly satisfying about the bulls-eye.  After one crustacean kill, the others came easily and I soon had a fine haul when combined with my husband’s catch.  

Heaving ourselves, drenched and heavy, back into the boat was certainly entertaining but we made it back to a shower and dry clothes.  The buffet spread was divine, but obviously the highlight was our catch:  crab soup to start followed by crab roast in a light and delicious masala.

We spent the next day on a boat in the mangroves spotting sea turtles (the salt water makes it a prime environment for them), flamingos by the flock, coral reefs and fish galore.  Despite my reservations, it was a perfect birthday weekend; rich in nature and red in tooth and crab claw!

Car chases and wild nightlife; just a school trip to Sri Lanka...!

I was lucky enough to be offered the chance to accompany a Year 8 gaggle on their post Common Entrance jolly to Sri Lanka; a ten-day holiday from the pressures of the my classroom in Abu Dhabi, I thought.  This was not to be...

Looking after other people's children for 24 hours a day certainly is a responsibility, particularly when on day one of the itinerary you already find yourself in a bus accident!  My husband is from India, so I am already accustomed to the near-death-experience that roads in this part of the world present.  However, I have always reassured those of our English friends and family who are kind enough to come and visit us in Kerala, that Indian drivers are in fact more alert to the hazards than our UK partners on the cruise control of our uneventful motorways.  The fact that there aren't two sides of the road and that traffic hurtles head-on towards oncoming vehicles until one cries "chicken" and swerves out of the way is all part of a meticulously timed and experienced routine. 

This is why I say it certainly wasn't our friendly Abeer-the-driver's fault that as he pulled out to perform one of these head-on battles, the vehicle that we were over-taking did the same to avoid a rickshaw.  Needless to say, we found ourselves with a shattered front window and the experience is remembered fondly by all aboard, not least because it was not serious enough for anyone to be injured, but because the aftermath resembled something out of a Clint Eastwood film.  Our attacker, a sizeable lorry laden with water tanks, took off our front mirror with one of its protruding edges and, despite the ear-splitting shatter of glass, the chauffeur of said vessel did not deem it necessary to put a halt to his journey but zoomed off on his way.   The Sri Lankans have a peaceful nature but Abeer and Sam, our guide, were not going to take this lying down; after a brief inspection of the damage, they promptly pulled into the local police station leaving a trail of glass behind them.

What followed next was entertainment worth every missed heartbeat at the thought of the 15 pupils in the back already messaging home to report the horrors of their first trip away from home.  Two khaki-ed policemen on motorbikes sped off into the distance in pursuit of our reckless bus-tormentor.   We followed at a steady pace and sometime after we found ourselves in a shady jungle area where the presence of monkeys banished all thoughts of the incident from the pupils' minds.  To our amazement, amidst the primate party, there awaited us the two policemen complete with culprit, pulled over with his head hung.  We watched in fascination as the verbal battle of who was to blame played out.  The shattered bus was to be our vehicle for the rest of the tour and served as an entertaining reminder of our Sri Lankan debut.

The rest of the trip was superb and I cannot recommend the organisational skills and safety precautions of 'World Challenge' highly enough.  Their itinerary made for an experience that encompassed both words of their title:  it was 'worldly' in that the pupils learnt of new religions, climbing up to sacred Buddhist temples and interacting with locals, and it was challenging in that they survived on a diet of plain rice alone (not daring to dabble in Sri Lankan spice action) and embraced white-water rafting after a heavy bought of monsoon rain.

A particular challenge for our Year 8s that will stay with me was that of the 'small game' of Sri Lanka - the creepy crawlies.  Now in fairness to our pupils who have thus far lived a somewhat tame existence by the way of the many-legged population, they had handled the mosquitoes and leeches of the island without much complaint.  However, when we checked into our jungle retreat things were about to get a little creepier and a little crawlier.  Our accommodation was stunning:  wooden huts with stone open bathrooms where your shower ran out of the rock; a riverside view with an open balcony and only a whicker blind between you and the wilderness.  Did I mention the open invitation to the jungle folk?  In the day time this manifested itself in small visitors:  15 inch centipedes and a very skinny lime-green tree snake, but the night-time gang promised to be a livelier bunch.  It was the scorpian under the dinner table that had me on my guard and we made sure that we tucked all of the pupils safely into their mosquito-nets with a careful wall check and a drenching of bug spray. 

So alert had I been to our keeps' safely that I neglected to remember the one rule that my travels thus far in life had taught me:  do not keep any food in your bedroom.  At breakfast that day it had been a fabulous idea to sneak one of those oh-so-sweet pigmy bananeetos into my rucksack as sustenance for the day.  As I returned to my room after the scorpion incident and found carnage, I realised the folly of my ways in not having eaten or disposed of this fruity morsel.  My possessions lay strewn across the room; items were turfed out of my bag in such a frenzy that I thought I had been robbed.  First to drain the air from my lungs:  the 15 passports that I held to ensure the safe return of the youths to their families in Abu Dhabi in three days time.  As I nudged closer, dread drenching my heart, I noticed the banana skin, immaculately peeled but then smeared across the furniture.  My suspicions as to the criminal took a different course but I was nonetheless impressed that a furry friend would have the dexterity to unzip my rucksack and un-knot the plastic bag that contained this tasty treat.  Reassured that the travel documents were intact, as were my world goods, I made tracks for bed. 

It was only when I called my husband after switching off the lights that I realised that the night safari had not come to an end.  I recounted the tale of the banana break-in and Nachi, normally one to be horizontal on the laid back scale, suddenly took a severe and serious tone:  "GET RID OF THE SKIN!"  It took me some time to consider the significance of what he was saying; then I realised that my ravenous robber was due to return for the fruit snack that he had left behind.  I switched on the light only to see four hairy hands, uncannily human, scaling along my bedroom floor.  Like something out 'Midsommer Murders', my light went on, our eyes locked, my intruder freaked and retreated the same way he had come.  I flung the skin into the depths of the night and vowed not to tell my pupils about the incident, so full had I been of advice to them about how to gain an uninterrupted nights sleep.

Overall, ours was a wonderful adventure for which we have 'World Challenge' to thank.  The pupils were superb and they learnt a huge amount, not least that their teachers should practise what they preach.  I will certainly be returning to this beautiful country with its welcoming people and plethora of breath-taking attractions; perhaps less of the nightlife this time.