Oman: the animals

I'm an animal person. Let me rephrase... I don't want to envelope them in my arms and rescue them all, necessarily, but there's something elemental that stirs me when you see the creatures of earth, moving in their natural habitat, an environment not staged by man, and not constructed by union workers. Most recently, the animals of Yellowstone brought about breathtaking memories for me. (For my 40th, I hope to be seeing the big five in Africa)

So going to Oman, I was prepared for camel sightings. I figured we would eventually run into one at some point in our ten day journey.


We first spotted our hump-backed friends at the Muscat Festival. There was no free roaming for these gentlemen - they were tied to a small area. And one was even foaming at the mouth under a muzzle of some sort. Eww. So, not necessarily the 'natural' habitat I had hoped but the initial sighting did give me scale. And an indication that muzzling may be a necessity around people. Eric reluctantly stood close, with his lean-in-close-to-wild-animal pose that echoed the shots I had taken of the deer elk in Wyoming.


We move on in our tour to seaside fisherman communities where large amounts of goats roam.


Initially, one would suppose Omanis have goats purely for food and protein. I was expecting to see goats being slaughtered in markets or shops. Images of skinned legs hanging from clay ceilings. Honestly, this was not the case.



As our guide Khalid explained, family own many goats. Upwards of 50 or 75 if they live remotely. Like dogs here in the U.S., some are regarded as pets. In rural areas, they are considered more as livestock or an indication of status.


They travel in packs and are turned-out in the mornings from the family's pen. They roam. Eat. Roam. Eat. Well, you get the idea. In the desert, far from their Bedouin homes, and when food is scarce, you may find them munching on shrubbery some 3-5 miles from their roost. At night, supposedly, they return home. And if the farmer is missing one, as Khalid said, he knows exactly where his brood has been and will drive/ride to that area to fetch the goat. Success rates of finding any lost goats are apparently close to one hundred percent.


Goats are also bartered and sold in souks, and we had a glorious chance of visiting the Nizwa Souk on their holy day (Friday) for a fast and furious goat haggling adventure. On this day, the goats were going for about 30 OMR, or about $85.


The most desired goats are females, naturally, and those that are pregnant are even more lucrative. Khalid explained this is because a fair portion of pregnant goats actually deliver twins.

The auctioning was controlled chaos, wherein the farmers offering their goats would run around in a circular motion (holding their prized animal), yelling as to the unique characteristics of the goat they were holding. And the bartering is constant as the farmer would move around and around to interested buyers. The buyers were stacked close together, sometimes 4-5 people thick, shouting, shaking fingers, inspecting the goats. The goats added their own two cents to conversations with loud 'baaahs' during negotiations. It was truly interesting to see the Arabic exchange between parties as to why this particular goat was the best goat of the morning for whatever reason.


Once a goat was bought, he was either kept with the new owner (which made for tight standing quarters), or tied in a quasi-holding area until the new owner was done with all goat purchases for the day.




Camels, while less frequent than the ambling neighborhood goat, are just as stunning, especially so in the desert as they forage and linger in the desert dunes. Considering all the flat sand and lack of trees, they are quite easy to spot from long distances away. It was with almost school-girl-like excitement to eye one, and then another, and then three more, as we made our way into the Wahiba dunes.



At a water stop in the Wahiba, as we had just stopped for a picnic lunch under a lone tree (there aren't many trees in the desert, if you see one, chances are it is near a water source), an Omani man and had arrived with two camels in the back of his Toyota truck.




He was a Bedouin and was perhaps moving two of his herd from one family to another. Ah, a picture opportunity of my dreams!


The one closest to me eventually sneered, obviously displeased with my picture taking, and showed a menacing mouth full of crooked teeth, each the size of a domino. Luckily, I captured the moment without injury to either of us.

Oman: The Food

Here's my first in a series of posts. Originally intended to be described some two weeks ago, however, a kidney infection put a fever-laden, bedridden, kink in my plans. As a result of said infection, I am not able to consume copious amounts of coffee or wine, both of which assist in my blog writing. Or at least I'd like to think they are my liquid creativity. With this disclaimer, I begin one of my initial posts on our wonderful trip.

Omani food in and of itself is fairly elusive to the everyday visitor. Restaurants serving any traditional menus are a rarity. There are no pushcarts of grilled meats on the streets of Muscat. No walking vendors shouting "fresh pitas!". [My wheels turn with thoughts of entrepreneurship.]

With 1,300 miles of coastline, you can safely assume most of their traditional eats have to do with fresh fish, shellfish, and dried fish. Pretty much anything with a fin and gills. And, therefore, fishing is the primary industry - not only are the populations built around fishing villages, but it also encompasses fishing brokers, and then businesses that then process and ship these beautiful fish to other Arab countries. To Omanis, fish represents the heart and soul of a country, and its the appetizer, the main dish, and impregnated in fragrant rice side dishes. Stories and lure come with their catch, even for virility.





One night in Nizwa, our guide Khalid had arranged for a group dinner with traditional Omani foods. The restaurant - called Bin Ateeq - was quite busy. Our group took off our shoes and settled onto the floor covered in a thick, coarse wool rug and the firmest pillows in the world.



The walls were bamboo (perhaps?) and our room, oddly, had a television which, when tested, only got one fuzzy channel showing a telenovela-like melodrama.


The food arrived fast and furious on giant plates to pass around. We began with hummus and a dried shark dish. The hummus is wonderfully creamy, and a great representation of the hummuses (is there a plural?) we encountered all week. The shark is partially reconstituted in lime juice, spices, and hot peppers. Khalid explained the dried shark dish is also served to the groom on the wedding night for its Viagra-like properties. Well, Eric wasn't touching any shark with a ten-foot pole. I myself wanted to try a bit, and it was a chewy experience, each bite releasing the marinade between my teeth. Presented with the situation again, I'd probably not order it myself, however, I appreciate the opportunity to taste a dish enveloped in fertility lure.


The rices arrived fragrant, each prepared slightly different. Some with added fish, some without. I just love all the crispy bits of garlic folded into the rice and whole coriander seeds. Of course, I bought spices in Oman to try and replicate the pilafs we encountered. It is my hope my prized Zojirushi will find its inner Arabian fuzzy logic to deliver a rice similar to those we craved. Disappointingly, the Omani pink garlic, supposedly ten times stronger than traditional white, is not allowed over the U.S. border.

The best dish that night - and possibly in contention for the whole of the trip - was a sauteed cuttlefish with crisp-edged onions. It was a firm, buttery cousin to octopus, another one of my favorites from the sea. I'm not a cuttlefish aficionado, so I don't know how the Omani version compares to, say, the Portuguese version. (My recent memory of a cuttlefish was not on a plate, but rather at the Georgia Aquarium, with their large squishy eyeballs staring at passers-by and their thick tentacle mouth scanning rocks for morsels of food). In Oman, they are tasty creatures and well worth ordering if you happen to spot it on a menu.


Aside from our traditional dinner in Nizwa, most of the remaining meals were Indian. The tour brings a chef during the days/nights in the desert and our Indian chef, Petro, prepared some great curried stews and meats. I'm sure for our fellow tour friends, a curried dish is not considered exotic, but for Eric and I from nothing-exotic-comes-to-Cherokee-County, this is quite the treat for our tongues.

I consider Petro an extreme talent for making satisfying meals for 15 folks in the middle of the desert. Bringing the necessary ingredients, cookers, utensils, proteins, and spices, just seems very daunting to me, a person who needs upwards of three lists just to pack a simple hike picnic. One evening, Petro purchased fresh Omani fish in a village we had passed through, cut into fillets and de-boned each over a river rock, and cooked each perfectly in highly seasoned iron skillet in the back of the Nissan. Served with curried veg.




On our first night camping, when a slight chill had settled into the beach side site, his spicy hot beef curry was a welcome dish.




During a lunchtime camping, we were treated with curried samosas and chicken tikka.



Our meals while traveling with the group were Indian restaurants where one could order a whole tikki chicken, a portion of biryani rice to feed an army, fresh salad, and juice. All for about five U.S. Dollars.




The restaurants also served tuna or kingfish, but I love bone-in chicken, so this was an easy choice for me. Each piece was well seasoned and whose crispy skin kept a moist, tender meat underneath.


Even the salads were appreciated, adorned with flavorful carrots dotted with sea salt. The carrots were exceptional in Oman. A true carrot, unlike the watered-down version we have in the United States. The only carrots similar are ones to those we encountered in Oman were from Mary Anne's CSA garden. I wish I could bring home a ten pound bag of these delightful root gems.



When you go to Oman, you will undoubtedly fall in love with their dried dates which accompany coffee or tea. Dates, dates, dates. Everywhere. Served with pride and tradition, they are as sweet as a Midwest caramel.


In stores, you are shown and encouraged to sample all qualities of Omani dates, as well as dates from Iran, Armenia, Syria, Saudi Arabia, etc. Dates can be purchased in all quantities. Oh, and date related products as well. Ten gallons of date syrup, anyone?


The best dates, I considered, were the ones hand-dried by the Bedoiun people. Moist and juicy and smashed into a serving bowl. I considered these simply as breathtaking as the people who were serving them.



We were treated to dates campside as well, a wonderful reason to gather around a coffeepot and bring travelers together. By the end of the journey, I traveled with my own stash to whip out after a picnic lunch.


One Omani man in our Nizwa hotel invited myself and Eric to join him for his coffee and dates. He apparently has two wives and eleven children. And one on the way. As you can guess, Omani consider dates to be necessities for conception, as they provide the necessary 'energy' for such. And if a man has eleven children, well, you better believe him.


Last but not least, I cannot forget my former foe, the cashew. Cashews were never considered my choice nut. In a mixed presentation, I'd pick through them to get at their neighboring almonds, brazil nuts, peanuts, even walnuts. But cashews? Never. They seemed to be crescent-shaped blandness, either over-salted or under-roasted. Whatever the reason for it being boring stateside, my thirty six year-old wall of rejection simply crumbled when I tasted these cashews out of Oman. A tinge of smokey roast clings to each nut, a excellent ratio of sea salt lodges in each crevice between two halves. Buttery, flavorful, melt-in-your mouth nuts prepared and showcased at every market. The two bags I came home with will soon be gone, and my quest for similar versions (via online or at obscure Atlanta markets) will begin.


To summarize, Omani food is excellent and speaks to the heart and soul of a country. Wrapped in tradition and served with stories of male virility, we encountered a moving journey of tastes and textures. Uncomplicated. Simple. Sublime.