Fjords and myths of Musandam

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse/ A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,/ Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse./ Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo/ Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,/ Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo
Dante Alighieri (1265–1321), The Divine Comedy, Canto XXVII

December 2005

I stumbled into the soft underbelly of Musandam, over a half-finished road from Dibba in the United Arab Emirates. Oman’s northernmost region, at the other end of the UAE, announced itself with a board rising out of road construction. Welcome to Musandam, it said, doing away with formalities like customs, checkpoints or visa counters. So there we were, with the sleepy by-roads of Dibba and the high-rises of Fujeirah behind us, on a border crossing somewhere in the dust we stood on. It seemed too easy – and was. The road, after a few half-hearted turns of tarmac, quickly disintegrated into a dirt track, diving into the depths of a wadi that seemed to be everything that Musandam promises from afar.

Tucked away into obscurity, overshadowed by the fantastic worldly splendours of Dubai, passed over by shipping routes, Musandam has always been a mystery. Perhaps this lack of knowledge, sprinkled with stories of fjords, mountains rising out of sea and Oman’s northernmost settlements has given rise to an almost mythical haze around the region. Not all of it is true.

Now, though, we bumped deeper into the narrow canyon of massive rock that seemed to dive straight into the heart of the mountainous region. We passed no sign of life other than an abandoned earthmover, until perhaps a half hour later when we started climbing out of the gloom and over the top. The first signs of life were boxy stone dwellings, uninhabited as we passed by, the only moving thing a lone bright red flag fluttering over a stone helipad. We climbed down into Wadi Beih, coming to a dusty halt at a military roadblock. The track to our right went deeper into the depths of Musandam, right to its capital Khasab, on the coast. The one left turned west to Ras al Khaymah, above Dubai. And they wouldn’t let us through, because our road permits didn’t mention this wadi crossing. But then again, this wasn’t a border – we were already in Musandam and so Oman – and the road permit was only for international boundaries. But we still had to turn left into the UAE, driving out of the wadi and into the relative civilisation of Ras al Khaymah. After the grand hotels and blue waters of Fujeirah that we had passed north of Oman, RAK (as it was abbreviated on every license plate) had more of an unfinished, industrial frontier feel to it. We passed through it in the dark, leaving behind quickly forgotten memories of traffic, a rundown cinema, lots of speed breakers and cement factories. Finally, after more than 12 hours on the road, we entered Musandam, again. And this time, instead of a dirt track, we were greeted by a fabulous tarmac road that twisted and turned between sea and mountain all the way to Khasab.

Like Musandam, Khasab simplifies things for you, with very little choice. Chances are you’ll find yourself at the Golden Tulip Resort Khasab: it’s four-star luxurious, hosts Khasab Tours and Travels and the Musandam Dive Centre. Everything you need for base camp. Your other option could be the Khasab Hotel, but then you would have to do without everything we gorged on at the Golden Tulip: gargantuan burgers with egg and cheese, sinful scoops of chocolate mousse and enough comfort to sink into after a long day in the mountains or at sea.

There are two main experiences in Musandam: the sea and the mountains. There really isn’t much in between, and your activities are spread thinly across – dhow trips, dolphin watching, diving, 4WD exploration and a bit of hiking. Although most of Musandam’s terrain remains inaccessible, your travels across it remain quite simple, because the bottom line is that there’s only one road to stay on. It starts off from Tibbat, across the border from Ras al Khaymah, and makes its way northwards to Khasab, along the west coast. Khasab is roughly the northernmost point of the mainland, and, after curving into the airport, the road then proceeds south through the middle of the peninsula. After Khasab’s airport it turns into a wide dirt track, almost like an off-road highway in places, at others clawing its way over mountain range.

Always start off with a full tank of fuel in Musandam – we came across only two in the region, one near to and the other in Khasab. The airport is a brief opening in the mountains, hosting only a couple of flights over the weekend, to Muscat. These are the only flights in and out of Musandam, and this means that you have to fly to Muscat, and you have to stay a week till the next weekend flight. Your other option would be driving down, which took us a ridiculous ten hours between Khasab and Oman’s capital, on our way back. No wonder most people from Oman haven’t seen Musandam. Indeed, the country seems a vague, distant memory, with most daily business and contact with the Emirates instead. Most number plates, people walking along the Khasab corniche and tourists seemed to be from the UAE. Apart from the flags on government buildings, a couple of police cars and the absence of speed breakers, you could be forgiven for thinking you were on the other side of the border. Later in the evening the next day we would come across a Pakistani worker, in search of a ride back to Khasab from the central plain within the mountains. He looked after more than 200 goats there, but the really strange part wasn’t an expatriate goatherd in the Rowdha bowl – it was the fact that the hundreds of goats there were owned by an Emirati from across the border, and they were left running around the depths of Musandam where, it seemed, no one lived anymore. Musandam seemed even stranger than it had looked from far away.

A few minutes down the dirt track, with our backs to the airport, we came across the turnoff to Khwar Najd, probably one of the most dramatic, easily accessible and most photographed inlet in Musandam. To make it even more exciting, its access road starts from a military shooting range, and the narrow dirt track gnaws its way straight up, before rushing down in a series of hairpin bends to the sea. At the top is a GSM transmitter, and a bit of flat ground with the best viewpoint. Further east is a broadening plain that fans out within the mountains, probably a lake from long ago, now nothing but a dusty forest of acacias rising out of silt.

We made our way further south, leaving a trail of dust that billowed out, covering us every inch of the way as we climbed mountain slopes, up to the Sayh plateau at 1,200m, and then Jebel Harim at 1,700m. The plateau itself was a flat little oasis within slopes on either side, probably green at other times but a soft, burnt ochre when we passed through. Up ahead, the road climbs up the jebel to the highest point, and then meanders down the other side into Wadi Beih, where we had been stopped when coming in from the other end. We stopped to look out from the highest reaches of the mountain, standing on fossilised seashells peeping out of rock by the roadside. It was when we made our way down that we met our Peshawari goatherd, and since the checkpoint was a few turns ahead, we headed back to Khasab. Musandam by road seemed to have run out of possibility.

For most, though, Musandam means the sea, and the only contact they have with land is the rock that rises out of water. Hire a boat and head out of Khasab, up the coastline to Kumzar, one of Oman’s most remote and northern settlements. With its back to the mountain and looking out towards Iran – barely 50km ahead – Kumzar is a bit of a cultural oddity. Its residents speak Kumzari, an Arabic dialect made up of Farsi, Portuguese and Hindi, hinting at influences from all sides of the sea. Kumzar has so little breathing space between mountain and sea that its 3-5,000 residents share the dubious distinction of living in Oman’s most densely populated settlement. It has a mosque, one beach, one street, a helipad and an electric station. And while most boats going in and out have engines, you can still find the traditional wooden boat they call a batil. High above its seaside entrance, on one side of the cliff, stood a little stone room. It is from there that people have looked out for generations, looking for schools of fish the boats could then go after.

Another must-see along the coast is Maqlab, popularly known as Telegraph Island ever since the British set up shop there. It was here in 1864 that a submarine cable from Basra to India was landed. Now, nothing remains on this little suggestion of an island except the remains of old walls, but it’s still nice to climb on top and look over a dolphin-speckled sea towards mountains on the other side. We got lucky that day – perhaps it was the skies, or the angle of the sun, or the fact that we stood high above on the ruins and looked straight down. This day the sea seemed to open up into iridescent turquoise. Picture perfect for a moment, with a batil to one side and a receding mountainous skyline. If you can ignore the dhows laden with tourists that make a beeline for the island, it can be quite nice.

Musandam, even up close, remains a bit of a mystery. What is certain is that it has potential, this nether region of forgotten rock rising out of sea. You must go there, even if it’s just once, to experience it yourself and put to rest rumours and stories that only seem to come from others. The real story is yours, and Musandam is a blank canvas open to any way you might look at it.



NAVIGATING MUSANDAM


Crossing over

Tibbat, UAE to Musandam
N 26º05.496’
E 056º06.447’
Elevation: sea level

Ras al Khaymah, UAE
N 25º47.260’
E 055º56.378’
Elevation: sea level

Dibba UAE, to Musandam
N 25º36.384’
E 056º15.969’
Elevation: 62ft

Wadi Beih checkpoint, Musandam
N 25º37.382’
E 056º15.928’
Elevation: not recorded


Khasab

Goldin Tulip Resort Khasab
N 26º12.803’
E 056º14.000’
Elevation: sea level

Khasab harbour
N 26º12.634’
E 056º14.633’
Elevation: sea level

Khasab Hotel
N 26º10.554’
E 056º14.811’
Elevation: 35ft

Khasab airport
N 26º09.378’
E 056º14.206’
Elevation: 121ft


Coast and sea

Fanakah
N 26º12.436
E 056º16.517’
Elevation: sea level

Telegraph/ Maqlab Island
N 26º11.723’
E 056º20.570’
Elevation: 48ft

Kumzar
N 26º20.296’
E 056º24.908’ Elevation: sea level


Interior highlands

Khwar Najd viewpoint
N 26º05.517’
E 056º19.514’
Elevation: 1,018ft

Khalidiya acacias
N 26º02.608’
E 056º22.015’
Elevation: 566ft

Sayh
N 25º59.866’
E 056º12.775’ Elevation: 3,624ft

Jebel Harim high point
N 25º57.408’
E 056º14.099’
Elevation: 4,735ft



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