Oman through Foreign Eyes: An Austere Appearance

First encounters with unknown countries result always in the same mystical experience: Hardly the asphalt of strange streets under our soles, we know if there will be - or there will not  be  – an inner dialogue between the new country and ourselves. From that moment on, when this emphatic relationship succeeds, we will feel the bodily atmosphere of the foreign place: we foresee if we could cooperate with this place in good and bad times. 

Although I have changed countries like a homeless gipsy, my first encounter used to be always emotional. In advance of this first encounter I did inform myself from old German travel books. Those explorers described the Sultanate of Oman as the hottest spot of the world: “The heat of Muscat was so  intense that my bone-marrow seemed to burn, the sword  in the scabbard melted and its gemstones were converted into coal”.

My first meeting with Oman was under far more privileged and cooler circumstances at air-conditioned Seeb Airport, an airport  which luckily does not look like a shimmering, showy glass-palace, but like an authentic Omani Fortress. My first sympathy developed here:

While waiting for the long procedure of passport-boarder-formalities suddenly two men, kind of princes, appeared in long white traditional outfits. They graciously offered sweet dates on a silver tray and coffee in tiny cups poured from a slim silver container with an oversized spout. Illustrations from “Thousands and one nights” legends came to my mind. Where did I disembark? For sure, not at a normal spot of our globe, but in the middle of a fairy tale, which is clothed in its history and houses, in its streets and scents?

Scented with intense perfume and fog of frankincense are the entrances of all  modern malls, but at the germ cell of Oman, the old Souq of  Mutrah, fragrances are the most intense in town.

It is my favourite place. As soon as I have time, I rummage around the small shops, the dukans. At that time all my senses: eyes, ears, nose, are open: I see  shop-holders sitting  in between their piled up  merchandise, knees under their bottom. If they feel tired, they sleep, if they feel thirsty, they drink coffee, if the voice of the Imam echoes through the Souq lanes, they go to pray. I hear the melodic Arab language and I can smell all the sweet bouquet of aromas.  In this surrounding I always get the tranquil impression of privacy, of a mystery-mongering and of  Omans particular aura. This aura should have developed in times, when the country  was the commercial turn-table between Africa, India and the Middle-East and when Oman came in focus of colonial and imperial interests.

Looking around, it seems to me that more than 50 % of the Omani population is under 20. A nation as young as Oman should be qualified for an effortless and radiant happiness. But these youngsters are different. I gained the impression of reserved, silent and hard studying persons, aware of their moderate nation building. Are  they  permanently preparing exams?

In 1980 His Majesty Sultan Quaboos bin Said promised to this youth a national university. Six years later  first boys and girls matriculated. Currently 12.000 students attend SQU and the campus continues to expand. In concordance to the distinct and ascetic architecture most students are dressed traditionally in black and white, which presents - - an austere appearance, mixed up with a certain inner silence of dignity and peace.  

Black and white, the two extremes of the colour spectre evoke strong contrasts. But the beloved colour of  H.M. must be blue, there is no doubt. Blue is the facade of his palace and blue-golden the columns, which look like giant high heels. Blue is the new Mosque next to his palace. Finally blue the sky and the ocean, almost every single day the year round.

Blue is - ahead of  all  - also the favourite colour of the normal sun hungry tourists. But fascinating for me as a pale  foreigner are the different sunburnt and lined faces of Oman. More than by these faces I am impressed by  the different nations living here side by side. I consider Oman as cosmopolitan. Omanis from Arabia und others from East-Africa, Indians, Pakistanis, Beluchis, Europeans, Filipinos, they all seem to live in one country, but always in their own faith and culture: Men from Oman wear their dishdasha, their wives the black abaya, Pakistanis are wearing trousers covered by a very long shirt, those men from India wear wide trousers, a normal shirt, while their ladies are recognized  by their saris with naked arms, shoulder and belly,  and none of the deeply veiled Omanis  seems to be disturbed.

Still after two years in Oman, I find myself in the reality of my own illusion of an oriental country. Famous German author Johann W. Goethe was filled with enthusiasm about Arabian countries, which resulted in his work: “West-East Divan”.  The magic from the Orient stimulated the Occident in travelling and writing. I feel part of this miraculous exchange. My certain inner dialogue did succeed. I started by a warm anticipation and was until now not disillusioned.

And once in future-times, if I have to leave, I will always  remember the austerity of the dark rocks, the straightforward architecture, decorated by broad bougainvillea bushes, tamarisk- and acacia trees, I will remember Omans great variety of significant faces  and  its temperate and dedicated youth.