Traveling Through Kyrgyzstan, Part 1: The Return to the Yurt Campsby Randi / October 4, 2017
After too many nights in freezing cold yurt camps, we started the next section of our Kyrgyzstan country tour, which would take us a little more towards civilization and, even better, into guest houses! We packed so much activity into these extremely active days and got to see so much of the country, which we grew to love. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have to pee outside anymore, maybe because I finally got to wash my hair, but I started having a swell old time.
Day 3
“Put your mind to it go for it…get down and break a sweat!”
We woke up on Day 3 in our gross antsy yurt in the Kelemche Jailoo, after a night banging into the anchor swinging over my mattress pad. After a plate of kasha for breakfast (dudes I really love kasha!), I had to say goodbye to my little floofer ball o’ bear workshop, pictured above. This pupster was such a bad little baby but so flinging flanging adorable! It was hard to leave, but we had a long trek in front of us. 18 kilometers, actually, to our next sleeping destination of Kyzart village. For another day, we would follow Melis as he rode his horse and we walked like chumps behind him in the heat and up the endless hills. Still better than riding a horse though.
The first few kilometers were pretty decent, although it was super dry and my eyes started going really fast. Luckily we had a lovely little stop by Melis’s favorite spot, a grassy shady treelined area by a big creek (small river?). So nice. I was going to pee behind one of the trees but Z exclaimed “You can’t pee on Melis’s favorite spot!” True.
I enjoy activity and exercise but 18 kilometers across mountains added up to a lil too much but fast! There were some really steep hills in the second half that damn near knocked us out, with Melis of course amused, watching from the top of the hills from atop his noble steed. (She called me a steed!) Unfortunately, my left hip started throbbing, which is funny because my right hip is usually the one that gives me trouble. (Not funny ‘haha’, I guess.) But we had many more miles to go, trekking over rocks and hills and up and up and down those bullshitty gravel paths. So when we finally arrived in Kyzart Village, my hip was completely frozen. Nooooope.
the road that never ends
flat bit!
Finally we saw VILLAGE! and PEOPLE! you could say we saw Village People! And not just any, but little children who RAN up the road to meet us when we entered the village bounds. Melis went ahead to meet their little scampering feet and gave them big hugs. GUYS, they were his kids! He lives in the village with his family! It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. They were so cute and so happy to see their dad. Almost as happy as I was to be done walking for the day.
Melis told his kids he’d see them at home (I mean I imagine) and finished leading us to our guest house in the village, where we would be staying for the night. Despite knowing that ‘guest house’ was on our itinerary for tonight, I had refused to get my hopes up that it would be anything more than a little shack in a camp where I’d still have to pee outside. Remember in that amazing (terrible) (no amazing) Meg Ryan-Tim Robbins movie “I.Q.” about Einstein (such great nonsense) when Walter Matthau (RIP <3) as Einstein said “I’d rather be an optimist and a fool than a pessimist and right”? I think about that quote at least every day (since 1994) because well I don’t wanna be a fool! Mama didn’t raise no fool. And I didn’t want to optimistically imagine that that night I wouldn’t have to walk outside an actual house to get to an outhouse and then arrive and be proved wrong like a fool like a FOOL. That would be not so fun. But luckily I was wrong because we were led into a nice little REGULAR house! With a bedroom with BEDS near A REGULAR BATHROOM! With a toilet and a sink and a shower! Dance dance dance!
We had a lovely lunch with the hosts at their dining room table, set up in the traditional plentiful manner we’ve grown to love (so much melon!), and relaxed in indoor glory. I ate so much watermelon. And then we realized that no one was going to get up from the table until we did, which was super awks, and we didn’t feel comfortable taking such responsibility in someone else’s house, so finally after a long time of sitting in silence playing with our forks, I finally asked if we were allowed to shower. Z said, “I think they would prefer it.” We smelt. So we got to shower! This was the longest I’d ever gone without washing my hair ewwww. But it’s clean now! After we got clean, we just laid around on our single beds (we had three in our room!). My hip was stupid frozen from walking on it when it hurt so I literally couldn’t get up from the bed all afternoon. I tried to find a reading position that didn’t make it throb but I failed. But at least I won’t freeze tonight!
Before dinner, we took a short walk around the village, finding a nice little mosque (above) and lotssss of children who chased us while screaming “HELLO! HELLO!” I know it sounds adorable but after three months of children AND adults shouting HELLO at you it gets beyond annoying.
Dinner was a nice veg stirfry mixture kind of thing and – you guessed it – a GIANT plate of cucumber and tomato salad. I had a lot of bread too because, like the watermelon in this region, the bread was RG too. Also we hiked like 30 kilometers in 27 hours and my hip was wrecked AF! I get to eat all the bread!
I had the best night’s sleep in a week.
Day 4
“Things are looking up…in DULOC!”
Day 4
“Things are looking up…in DULOC!”
After such good warm sleep, I had a plate of melon for breakfast – the fruits of my labors from the previous evening, when Sacha and the family asked me what I would want for breakfast and I said ‘just fruit please’ and they spent 10 minutes trying to convince me to have a plate of shredded potato instead and I was like please just fruit is fine I’ll grab an apple from the basket and they were like ‘but potato though’. I guess no one has just fruit for breakfast in these parts.
At about 9:30am we left for Kochkor village, for a quick stop to get water and whatever groceries we needed and then for the main morning event – a traditional carpet factory.
obsessed with the poster for the October Revolution in the background
See how pretty the woman’s creations are? Keep that in mind for when I reveal what we made.
So, a traditional Kyrgyz (or any, really) carpet factory meant that they use wool and felt. Despite knowing for several days that this traditional cultural art tour was on the agenda, I didn’t even think about the wool aspect before we arrived and they explained it all to us, which I guess was pretty stupid. But despite a decade of veganism, I guess I spent all my worry and attention on making sure the food would be taken care of rather than ensuring that the activities would be vegan. Getting out of horse-riding was enough, I assumed! Once I realized oh this is all wool, it was way too late to say anything. And I’m not sure I would have said anything anyway – this was our one hands-on cultural art exposure in the whole country, and my opposition to their use of wool would literally have accomplished nothing besides cutting our activities and limiting our learning about the culture.
whacking the wool with metal rods to…soften it?
Admittedly, I’m glad I didn’t have the foresight to cancel this activity, because it was actually really fun. Unlike other factory tours that get added to tourist itineraries as boring ways to try to force souvenir-buying, we actually learned a lot here, and the private instruction made us appreciate Kyrgyz art more than any other visit in the country did. The people were nice and accommodating and didn’t laugh at us too hard when they had us make our own little carpet out of scraps.
That’s right – they made us do art. The lady instructing us on how to make the main type of carpet showed us every step of the process and then made us create the design and then physically make the carpet. It was embarrassing! Neither of us are artistic, and when put on the spot we are almost anti-artistic. Also, it’s a very physical process that I imagine takes a lot of practice to get the hang of, so our first attempts at dancing and stomping on the rolled up bamboo holder to squeeze the water out was, well, not graceful.
First, you take metal rods and beat the tufts of felt so they are soft, I guess, as in the picture above. Then, you arrange your design on a bamboo frame, pictured below with the lady laying out the base brown square.
Then we added bits of colored felt on top of the brown square to make our gorgeous design, after which the lady rolled it up in the bamboo, tied the rolled up tube with rope, poured boiling water over the rolled up tube, and used the rope to squeeze it, DANCED on the tube, then made US dance on it and jump up and down on it for 10-15 minutes to get the water out, lather rinse repeat, and then unroll the tube and marvel at your beautiful art as you wash it with cold water and soap.
well this is embarrassing
Are you guys ready to see the art we created? Are you? Remember than everyone on my mom’s side of the family (EVERYONE) is like a professional artist. I did not inherit those genes.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. It’s BARELY our initials. (Ed. note: this is now framed and hanging in our living room.)
After we were hailed and celebrated as Kyrgyzstan’s most acclaimed artistes, they feted us with a lovely lunch in the yurt-for-show in the backyard. We had so much nice food and guess what the main event (for me) was? LENTIL SOUP! What a happy day!
eating yurts are better than sleeping yurts
After lunch, we packed up our gorgeous piece of wet wool and started the drive around Issyk-Kul lake, which we would eventually go completely around. We drove along the southern side, going counterclockwise (or anti-clockwise as they say in the UK, one of the things I fully approve of). Issyk-Kul lake is the largest lake in Kyrgs and second largest saltwater lake in the world (after the Caspian). The name means ‘warm lake’ because, despite being in the Tian Shan mountains which are all snow capped in these parts, it never freezes. Well aren’t you lucky! The drive for the few hours to the Fairytale Canyon was so beautiful! Yay water! I love water! And it was regular summer warm now! The view from the car was so fun – beautiful lake and beach and swimmers on the left, desert and mountains on the right. Kyrgyzstan had ALL the climates and environments all at the same time!
looking to the left
looking to the right
looking to the right a minute later
We hiked around Fairytale Canyon and saw how the gorgeous peaks and cliff faces really did look like something out of a fairy tale! From a magical elephant to a castle in the sky, everywhere we turned had a spellbinding view. We barely made a dent in this huge place. Despite all the wonderful sights, the clearest memory we took away with us of Fairytale Canyon was the white man standing outside the entrance wearing a Ben Carson for President t-shirt. We COULD NOT.
Anyway, here are some pretty pictures of the parts that didn’t make us lose even more faith in humanity.
NOT CHINA!
ALSO NOT CHINA
PARTING THE MOUNTAIN SEA
CASTLE ON A CLOUUUUUUUD
DORK
I’m in a fairy tale and not the shitty new season of Once Upon A Time kind!
After we explored this spectacular canyon, we drove back to the lake shore for a swim! Yayyyy it was time to swim! We changed into our suits in the car (this is MUCH HARDER to do than Jennifer Grey made it look in Dirty Dancing. I was cursing that movie for days afterward) and relaxed in the beautiful blue water. I know what you’re thinking – wait, this is all the same day? All these varied and fun activities in one day? I know! In one day we’re doing more than we did in a week on the Mongolia country tour. (Ok one day I will be done bashing that.) You know how much I love water – in drinking form, melon form, and looking at form, so it should be no surprise that swimming in form also makes me sublimely happy.
Issyk Kul was SO lovely
I FUCKING HATE THIS HAT
The water was cold but it was so fun to be swimming again. We had a great time, except for the CRAZY lady with her family nearby who splashed us and wouldn’t leave us alone. She was a lunatic and we tried to say please leave us alone and she just kept saying (in Russian) GO UNDER GO UNDER AHHAHAH I’M A LUNATIC! It was infuriating but luckily didn’t ruin our time.
Like I said before, Issyk-Kul is the second largest saline lake in the world. Sacha told us some facts about it, and said that “the lake is a little salty” because 260 rivers flow into it and none flow out of it. And then he said it’s also salty because of all the tourists. And we laughed and he kept going, saying “and tourists and no toilets!” and we laughed and then he said to himself (but I heard!) in his thick Russian accent “this is a joke” and I almost threw up trying not to throw up laughing at this without him knowing I heard.
seriously the view from the lake. we could see snow-capped mountains from our swim!
At our next guest house
After our swim, we drove the rest of the way to the village of Tamga, where we were staying in a LOVELY little guest house run by a LOVELY older couple. It was such a nice place. There were other tourists there but none staying on our floor of the one house (there were two houses) so it was like we were alone in a house! I had my own bathroom! Dance emoji dance emoji! The husband and wife running things used to be serious mountain climbers and so the dining area was decorated with absolutely incredible photos of their most impressive treks and climbs up the snowiest and tallets of peaks. The house had an exquisite garden that made us really jealous as we have not been able to keep a plant alive on our patio as of yet. Our room was the standard little basic with the single beds but it was clean and nice. All the vegetables and fruit came straight from the garden, and you could tell. I almost didn’t even care about having more cucumber and tomato and eggplant and tomato and peppers and tomato when they were that fresh. I cared a little. They also grew apricots and made delicious apricot jam. Best of all, they had wifi! It was super weak but enough that I could send a few texts to my fam and send a few angry tweets to Trump defenders. What a great day! Will day 5 continue the fun? Find out soon on the next episode of “how many times will she pee today, Johnny!” Byeees.
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From Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan: The Hardest Border Crossing Yet
After our perfectly lovely time in Almaty, Kazakhstan, it was time to cross into our final ‘stan, the one most believed of Herman Cain: Uzbekistan. There was no easy direct way to go from Almaty to our first destination in Uzbekistan – Tashkent – so we had to take an overnight train (but of course!) to Shymkent, Kazakhstan first, then get a taxi to the border, cross the border, and then get another taxi from the other side of the border to Tashkent. It was exhausting just to think about, but considering how relatively well our travels had gone so far, I was optimistic that it wouldn’t be too troublesome. I think I’ve previously shared on this blog that IQ quote about being an optimist and fool? Yeah.
To relish our final moments of Almaty’s modernity, we got an Uber to the train station instead of arguing with taxi drivers. We would have enough of that the next day, oh boy, would we have enough of that. When the car was due to arrive I shut down the little baby laptop and prepared to put it away and get my giant pack on…and true to chitty, chitty form, Windows decided to install updates then. DO NOT SHUT OFF YOUR COMPUTER. You think that maybe it was one of those quick ones since they didn’t ask first? Here’s the picture I took.
150 UPDATES. What in tarnation is that about! This is the kind of bullshit that can put me off Windows forever. I had to hold my computer open in the car, in the train station, as we waited for and then boarded the train. Can you even picture how ridiculous this crap made me look? I had a giant backpack on my back, my stuffed daypack slung on one arm, my ticket in one hand, my passport open in the other, my purse hanging cross-body, and the laptop nested in the crook of my elbow. If I thought people had stared at me before in these parts just for being a Western female traveler, hoo boy, was I in for some learnin’.
Fortunately, this train helped to balance out the fury that the computer caused me. Because of some of the less-than-stellar experiences endured on the Chinese overnight trains, we decided that our first night back on the rails after so many weeks merited an upgrade! We got a private berth instead of sharing with 2+ randos (not to be confused with randis which are usually good) and it was GREAT. And clean! The little compartment had one set of bunk beds against one wall and a little vanity table with a (clean!) mirror and small table on the other side. I thought there was a closet but the inside door was a connecting one to the next compartment, for families I guess. Our neighbors were none-too-pleased when they realized someone was trying to open the door but they had a crying baby so it’s a draw. This little room was so nice, as was the train in general. The bathrooms weren’t horrifying, AND – there was a water cooler! Guysssss! I could refill my bottles with potable water! My baby nephew says to me “drink agua!” every time he sees my water bottle and you know what Huddybear? I did!
We placed the still-updating computer on that little table and left it to finish. When we went to sleep, it was at number 9. Of 150. In the morning, when it was at 33, we just shut it down and used up ALL of our restraint to not smash it into a thousand pieces.
As we waved goodbye to the European-style cosmopolitan vibe of Almaty, we knew we were saying goodbye to civilization in general for a good while. Our time in Uzbekistan would comprise experiences on the more raw, less modern side of things, as our itinerary tracked ancient Silk Road stops and historically important towns and landmarks that are more or less untouched since the old days. Meaning, it would be like stepping back in time, especially considering how modern the city we were coming from was. Bye civilization!
But we didn’t realize at first just how drastic the contrast would be and how quickly it would materialize. When we got off the train in Shymkent, we needed to get a taxi to the border with Uzbekistan, and it was quite the ordeal. We asked several drivers for prices but all were oodles more than they should have been according to literally every piece of information – internet, books, hostel employees, previous travelers. We talked to a woman at an information desk by the side of the road (I don’t know if it was official; it looked like the Bluth banana stand without bananas, which I wanted even more than information) who told us in Russian to take this bus that was there and that would do the job. We were about to board but with a little more questioning, we figured out that that bus just would take us into the city center, where we would have to find the bus that would actually take us to the border, or get a taxi. The extra step seemed incredibly unnecessary and unwanted, especially if we would end up needing to negotiate with a taxi there anyway. We might as well just do that now, we thought. So back we went to argue with taxi drivers. Finally we found one who offered a not too bad price, so we agreed and unloaded our stuff and got in and…didn’t leave. The driver instead started filling the other seats with other people. We sighed but this was to be expected, right. Finally the car was full and the driver starting driving and took us to…the other side of the train station. What’s going on, we asked, not actually wanting the answer because we knew there was some bullshit about to come our way. The driver indeed spewed some bullshit, telling us to get into this other van that was there, already full of people. So this driver we had found wasn’t actually going to ever take us to the border. He was taking us to his friend with a van. He actually had the gall to agree to something he was never intending to do and then DRIVE US 15 SECONDS TO ANOTHER PART OF THE STATION.
Oh man this shit was just the beginning.
We said are you kidding me, no f-ing way, we are not getting into another stuffed mashrutka and paying the price we agreed on as if we were getting a private taxi. So we went back to the front of the station and started all over again negotiating with drivers in Russian the best we could. One driver promised he would just take us and not fill the car with others and we said great let’s do it. We left the station, drove for five minutes down the main road…AND THEN TURNED BACK TO GO TO THE STATION. What the HELL is going on, we asked? OH – he had to pick up another person. At the station. That we had left. You said it would just be us and ALSO WTF, we said. That’s it just this one more, the driver promised. JFC, fine, we said, come on let’s go. We again left the station, and then the driver stopped the car along the side of the main road where a crowd of people were standing. He wanted to pick up another person from this crowd! And not someone he knew about, he was just going to ask if anyone needed a ride. FFS. We yelled HELL NO! Just take us to the f-ing border right now! He reluctantly left and started driving the three of us to the border — at the fastest speed I’ve EVER witnessed any car go, race cars in Talladega Nights included. I was petrified. This guy was such an asshole AND he was a dangerous driver?? Oh my god. We sped down the roads passing every car and weaving through lanes and cutting off EVERYONE else on the road and just holding on as tight as we could, terrified.
When we were sufficiently in the middle of nowhere, nowhere near anything we could see or walk to besides highway and desert, the driver pulled into a gas station along the side of the highway. He said he needed gas, and didn’t have money to pay for it, so we had to pay for it. Are you KIDDING ME? I started screaming at him in English, I knew he could understand my hatred and disgust at him even if he didn’t know every amazing curse word I used. We are not paying for your gas, you crook! But then he popped the trunk and started pulling our bags out, threatening to strand us along this highway in the middle of nowhere if we didn’t pay up. As much as I despise giving in to people like this, we really had no choice, so I gave him a little money. But no, that wasn’t enough. Apparently gas is very expensive in Uzbekistan or something because he kept asking for more. I really didn’t want to give any more and set a dangerous precedent in case he kept stopping along the way and demanding more money, but luckily that didn’t happen. Just this one instance of extortion so I guess we were lucky. He got back in the car — I don’t even remember if he actually pumped any gas — and flewww down the highway for another hour while I sent him death ray stares from the back seat. He drove mostly in between the two lanes, stopping anyone who dared even think about passing him. I continue to wish him very ill thoughts, naming him like Arya except I don’t know his name but the universe knows who I mean. Get ‘em.
Finally, finally, he dropped us near the border. We walked up to the gate, took a deep breath to get over the horrible experience we just miraculously survived, and then another deep breath to prepare for one we expected to be equally terrifying. See, the Uzbek border brings with it a lot of rules, and a lot of horror stories. We never heard anything as strict and scary as the stories about Uzbek border guards. They can delay travelers for hours, going through every single nook and cranny of their luggage, opening every container, going through pockets, everything. Worst of all, Uzbekistan has a VERY STRICT and VERY SERIOUS no-drug policy, and their list of banned substances includes things that we can get over the counter in many Western countries. So we had to be careful about every substance we were bringing in, and make sure we had prescriptions ready to show. But the banned substance list is serious, and it’s not something you can get around with a prescription. If you try to bring any of them in, you could go to jail. One of the substances on the banned list? Ativan. I know. Because we did our homework (do your homework!), we knew about this trouble before we left for the summer, so I only packed about as much Ativan as I thought I’d need up until this day, so I wouldn’t have to throw much out. I still had a few extra I had to toss back in Kazakhstan, but nothing worth crying over. It’s just so funny and perfect that the one thing that would have helped me deal with the shitshow that was this country was the one thing I had that they outlaw. COOL GUYS.
When we got through Kazakh exit, we were given the forms. We knew we had to declare every kind of currency we had on us and in what amounts, so we had counted up all our shiz on the train. This is more annoying than it sounds when you have traveled to 10 countries! We had dollars, we had euros, we had pounds, we had soooo much Chinese yuan that converted to like just a few dollars but takes up so much space, we had Mongolian money, we had roubles (a significant amount since we would return to Russia after Uzbekistan), we had Kyrgyz money, Kazakh money. Man alive this really makes one appreciate the euro zone. We wrote everything down and then had to declare our valuables, including our phones, readers, and the baby laptop. We had read about other white travelers who had to unpack everything and who were detained for hours so we were super nervous. But, luckily, the border guards on duty for us were SO excited to meet Western tourists that they were pretty much just friendly and trying to ask us all sorts of questions, not about what we were carrying but about us and the west and whatever. We SO lucked out. I mean there were no toilets anywhere to be found but still, quite lucky. I guess I could have brought my Ativan in after all but better to be safe than to end up in an Uzbek prison in the driest desert with no toilets, right.
Oh but then we had to find another taxi to take us to Tashkent. Guyssss. I never want to take a taxi again. But there are no buses! There’s no other way! You just find a guy with a car and you hope that they are trustworthy. Ish. We found an old man with an old car and mistakenly thought ‘hey maybe this old guy will be more legit and somewhat decent than the younger asshat men are.’ We showed him the name of our guest house in Tashkent and he said ‘oh yes I know that place!’ We were relieved. The guy drove us through the nothingness and into the city, where he immediately stopped, got out, and started chatting with two young women. What is going on NOW, we wondered. Then the two women got in the car with us. I know. What’s going on, we asked?? One of the women spoke a little bit of English and she explained that the driver didn’t know where the hostel was, so they were going to help them. Let’s go over this again. The man who told us he was familiar with the hostel not only lied about that and didn’t know it, but DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THE ROAD IT WAS ON. And here’s the kicker – neither did the two women. They were just helping by using their phone maps –WHICH WE HAD TOO. And they showed us that they didn’t know how to read their phone maps, because WE were the ones who ended up instructing the driver on where to turn and how to f-ing drive. It was ludicrous and so frustrating and like, are there ANY taxi drivers in central Asia who aren’t complete assholes?
Finally, after we screamed NO, LEFT – NO YOUR OTHER LEFT about 40 times, we found our guest house, yelled at the driver to get out of our sight for ever and never come back here again, and entered the house eager to shower and relax. Naturally, the room wasn’t ready yet.
We’ll talk about that guest house and about the rest of Tashkent in the next post. Until then, I need to go take an ativan.
Muscat Susie, Muscat Sam: Oh Man, Did We Enjoy Oman
Oman wasn’t on our list for very long – in fact, it might be the fastest we’ve ever decided to go somewhere and then gone. Last year we heard several unrelated wonderful reports about this gem of a country in the Middle East and then suddenly, we were off! (And I was going to be so close to Chandler next door in Yemen, living it up with that rando he met on the plane and/or at 15 Yemen Road.) Between the charming little city of Muscat and the incredible wadis (like my favorite place, Wadi Shab) and sinkholes we swam in around the country, we had a fabulous time. Whether you’re an explorer, a history buff, a water-feature-lover (me), or just in the mood for a super fancy resort vacation (but don’t only stay in the resort), I highly recommend a visit to Oman.
You will definitely need to rent a car, which sucks for people like me who hate driving, especially in foreign lands where you don’t read the language. So, after our super pleasant and short flight from Dubai (which you read about last week, right?) on Swiss Air (which was outfitted like an old professor; I don’t know something about the light wooden detail and the tweed vibe on that plane read ‘professor’), we landed at Muscat International Airport SUPER late at night and SUPER needing to do two specific things: 1) get a SIM card for the phone, and 2) pick up our rental car. You’d think these would be simple since they are most everyone’s 2 things to do! Both the SIM and the Budget rental car people were the. worst. ever. So rude and they took forever so we were well into the wee hours of the morning before we were on our way to the hotel. And that wasn’t even the worst part: I had a full panic attack driving to the hotel because I am the navigatrix, and Google maps had NO IDEA ABOUT MUSCAT. Just never heard about it, I guess. So I was flipping, and I mean flipping, out because I had no idea what to tell Z to do and we kept getting farther away from the city center and we don’t read Arabic so it was terrifying.
Finally somehow we found our hotel. (If you’re driving, print out directions from the airport just in case your maps app also decides it needs 24 hours to start working properly.) During our time exploring, we stayed at the Intercontinental Muscat, which sounds fance because the IC usually is, but this was (known in advance to be) a quite dingy one, with motel-looking rooms. It was more affordable this way, and it was undergoing an extensive remodel while we were there, so while we were lucky to snag the lower prices, we missed out on the nicer rooms. But since we were going to be busy sightseeing (and driving around the country) all day, we didn’t need to be anywhere fancy. No, we were saving that for the second half of our trip, which you’ll see in the next Oman post.
After sleeping, omg sleeping is THE BEST, we explored Muscat the next morning, first by making our way up to the fort area at the north of the city. It’s like a bunch of forts and government buildings and noooo one around, which was cool for exploring and…interesting for my usual fear of “has the world I Am Legended or something?”
Muscat curves along the water (the Gulf of Oman) with various corniches lined with mosques, souks, and cafes (and banks and all other markings of civilization, except we don’t have Habib Bank which is a shame because it’s so close to my favorite thing to shout (HABIBI!) and if there was a Habibi bank I’d be like here take my money). What I consider the main drag of the waterfront, along Al Bahri Road, is right where Mutrah Souk and the Gold Souk are located.
You have to pay to park along the corniche, and while there are plenty of spots, it’s kind of annoying because it’s those newfangled machines (I hate MACHINES) and they only take 50p coins (I know it’s ‘p’ but I don’t know their abbreviations for the smaller denominations) so you have to go buy a tea or something in a nearby cafe and ask for change in 50p coins. But now you know so you can just make sure to have them handy! Who says you don’t learn from me?
I guess this is as good a time as any to share some DEETS about their currency in Oman. It’s the Omani rial! One rial breaks into 1000 baisa, so when I said 50p coins you (like me originally) probably brained that as ‘half their dollar or whatever’, but it’s not half, it’s 1/20!!!! That’s rial small! I hope I did that math right otherwise I’ll be rially embarrassed. One rial is about $2.6 USD, so 10 rials is like $26 and you can generally figure out whether most things are cheap or pricey knowing that. As a destination, it’s cheaper than most of Western Europe, but more expensive than I assumed. You can find super cheap food and stuff but overall it’s much less of a post-Dubai steal than I wanted.
Before or after exploring the coastline and the souks, you’ll want to hit the main cultural museum to learn about Oman and Omani culture. That’s why you’re here! The very nice and informative museum is called the Bait Al Zubair, opened to the public since 1998. Comprising six different buildings and lots of outdoor space, the museum features exhibits on Omani culture and heritage in terms of dress, jewelry, weapons, food, history, furniture, money, housing, and more, including two big ass cannons.
We learned all sorts of info from the museum, but honestly the most compelling info-graphic was about the first postal stamp. Whoever wrote the sign explaining how Britain issued the first government-printed postage stamp on May 6, 1840 was INTO the history of stamps. They honestly sounded like a nerdier version of me, using all caps and everything to make a point! I KNOW! In a museum! It was adorbs. They were like ‘before 1840 the RECEIVER of the letter had to pay for the costs of delivery, but then Mister Sir Rowland Hill became British Postmaster General and he thought the SENDER should pay the price and that was the first time this happened aren’t stamps EXHILARATING?’ no but it’s a good change, Rowland. Could you imagine having to pay for the shitty mail you get? I’d be like hard pass.
Maybe you want to learn about Muscat and not the history of stamps in the U.K. So that means it’s time for our favorite Laughfrodisiac travel feature, your completely accurate history lesson.
So Oman is a Sultanate, along with Brunei and parts of Indonesia and Malaysia, which makes it baby’s first Sultanate visited! I did not see that pudgy little doofus who let Jafar manipulate him, no I did not, I would have given him a talking to. A talking down to, if you will, because I’m still mad at his initial treatment of his daughter and also because he so smol. (I’m OBVIOUSLY joking, Omani officials, and would never speak ill of your actual sultan who is also prime minister? It’s an absolute monarchy over there. (that’s the actual phrase I’m not saying like oh it’s an absolute monarchy; no it’s an ‘absolute monarchy’ it’s a thing.)) My fave thing is that there’s no clear answer about where the name came from (probably someone just saying ‘oh mannn’ like I did) but some think it’s related to writing from Pliny the Elder, which tickles me because I forking LOVE Pliny the Elder, one of my fave elders.
Muscat is Oman’s capital and largest city, and archaeological finds (fishermen graves, so sinister) date the city, an important port, as having communities since 6,000 years before Jesus was like ‘oh hayyyy oh you don’t care about me.’ And then pre-Iranians invaded dun dun dunnn and then they all converted to Islam and then there were all these battles between different tribes and then Marcos Baghdatis’s people invaded (not Cyprus, Baghdad…I see how this gets confusing but stick with me) but then Omani tribes were like gtfO Marcos, it’s Wimbledon time, and then power shifted between native tribes for a bit and all this time the importance of Muscat as a port city between powerful civilizations grew and grew, causing some animosity from people not by the city/water, like how England hates Londoners because we’re the most important.
But then in the 1500s the Portuguese were like ‘o bom dia I’ma gonna takeover you nowah’ (the Portuguese sounded Italian!) and they fought but the Portuguese won and they were like ‘Muito prazer em conhecê-lo but I’ma burna your city to the groundah!’ and they did. They ruled till later in the 1600s when the Imam was finally like FORK THIS and sent troops to Muscat and toppled the power of the Portos. Then there were civil wars which are NEVER good and the Persians kept interfering and trying to take over like ‘oh but itsa my turn to ah rule you!’ (they sound Italian too) but they even though they didn’t get the chance they still contributed to the whole region being destabilized which is rude. The need for cohesive rule let the Al Bu Sa’id dynasty emerge and rule ever since, but not without lots of dramaaaz like even in the last century there was a civil war, from friction between the sultan and the imams and all the interior tribes being like what gives and the sultan asked the British to help quell the rebels (they’re good at that, and stamps), and then the sultan’s son, current ruler Qaboos bin Said al Said, famously staged a bloodless coup to take the seat of power from his father, with the help of the British. It was a very William vs. Charles in the play King Charles III situation.
Well that’s enough history for lunatics so let’s go to one of Qaboos’s favorite places, the mosque. How do I know it’s one of his favorite places? It’s called the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque. Construction of the mosque took six years seven months in the 1990s, which is fun because the American version, Six Days Seven Nights, also took place in the 1990s.
It’s an incredibly beautiful, tranquil place, despite having so many tourists visiting – it’s so big that you’re not even bothered by other people (ew other people). Civilians like me (non-Muslims) are allowed to visit the Grand Mosque in the mornings from Saturday to Thursday, so make sure to plan accordingly. You must cover all your damn skin, which you should do in the serious sunshine anyway, but women must also cover their hair. And they are serious about this. I had the pictured headscarf dutifully wrapping me up, but I have hella long and unmanageable hair, and a lock of it fell through the bottom at the back, and a guard yelled at Z to tell me to fix it. (Obviously he spoke to Z and not me, because the man is in charge of the women, because religion.) The language barrier made for a fun exercise in ‘but my hair is covered!’ arguments, not being able to see that a tiny piece was visible on my back. Stupid sinful lady hair!
Aside from mean old guard, it was a really lovely visit. It’s confusing to know where to park and where to enter properly, but we just followed other people from the first parking lot we found and figured it out.
Aside from food-related activities and hotel swimming, which come in their own post (the fun one with the previously hinted resort vacation), that’s pretty much what we did in Muscat! From our base in the city, we took several day trips out into the country, to various sinkholes for more swimming (yay!), to Wadi Shab (my FAVORITE part of this trip (you’ll see that in its own post, with the sinkholes)), and to Nizwa, for the Nizwa Fort and Souqs. Although we enjoyed Nizwa Fort, it was a long way to go (about 2 hours each way) on really busy roads, when we could have used that time to see a lot more educational stuff left in Muscat. I’d only recommend going if you’re heading out of Muscat to stay in another town, or if you have a ton of time.
Even though we admit we probably should have used this day better, it was nice to see the Nizwa Fort. It was built in the 1600s by the Imam Sultan (both things!) Bin Saif Al Ya’rubi, but the underlying structure of this gigantic fort dates back to the 1200s. It’s really architecturally impressive, with a giant drum tower, enormous underground foundations, and endless sections and rooms on different levels showcasing all the good stuff you normally find in defensive structures: battlements, turrets, cannons, food storage, housing, jails, and literally MURDER HOLES: if the windy stairs and secret passages and defensive attacks weren’t enough to impede enemies, there were shafts above each set of doors that people poured boiling oil or water through to stop them. Murder holes. Cool guys. Can’t you just hear Mindy St. Clair going “I call it my murder hole.”
Entry to the Nizwa Fort cost us 5 rial each, so like almost $30 for the both of us, which is LOADS more than any other tourist attraction in Oman cost us. So that kind of bothered us, even though this was cool.
It was a super hot and sunny day when we visited, which was rough because so much of it is outside in the blazing heat and it’s SO climby. As I said before, the various sections are on all different levels, which means lots of stairs. And just when you think you’ve gotten as high as you can possibly go, to the top section, you’re met with these stairs:
Sure they just go up and then down again, but there’s a VIEW UP THERE. We had to do it! Fun fact: There were four sets of these triangle staircases around this tower, and we climbed up and down each one, to capture all the different views.
The Nizwa Fort did have the g-d coolest bathroom signs I’ve ever seen in my life, so that’s something. Look what the men got, it’s so badass.
Afte the fort, we planned to visit the famous souqs, but they were closed! It’s okay though, we weren’t going to buy vegetables, although it was nice to see where my fave souq would have been.
So we had some fun learning about Muscat and Oman, and the posts to come will be about even more fun stuff! Stay tuned.
