Want for Nothing

So, yes, it’s no wonder, then, that when I drove in from the airport to my hotel, I found a total of five cars on the way and, later, about 10 cars when it was “rush hour” (everyone has a car in Salalah; there’s no public transport within the city). It’s also not a surprise that Salalah, being way down near the coast, has a completely different climate from Muscat. It’s like two different countries. The mountains, dry weather, cool breeze and the chilly nights disappear, and in comes beach weather — sweaty and hot in the day, and sweaty and hot in the night. This is heaven for Westerners escaping winter, but not many know of Salalah yet. The few Europeans I encountered on my visit spent their days lying flat on the stomach on the beach, and walking about in a blissful daze afterwards. In fact, Salalah’s main tourists are the regional travellers, from GCC (Gulf Cooperation Council) countries, who come here between July and September to experience that unique thing: rain. Apart from Yemen, no other Middle-eastern country has an official rainy season and Salalah, with its neutral political climate, is very popular during the Khareef season, offering the coolest summer in the region with light and infrequent rainfall.

As if empty beaches and ancient sites were not enough, Dhofar also has surprisingly lush and green mountains, which, our resort guide tells me, are not green enough at the moment.

There are three things you see with great frequency here: pineapple, coconut and frankincense. The last is the essence of Oman in more ways than one — the aromatic resin typical of this area has been its biggest trade historically, and remains one of the most popular gifts to bring back home. The Al Baleed Archeological Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that also houses the Land of Frankincense Museum, is where I began my exploration of Salalah — a good place to get a grasp of its history. The ancient city of Al Baleed, where excavations have revealed evidence of a flourishing port dating back to 2,000 years, opened to public in 2014. An open area maintained beautifully, this is a scenic spot to amble about on foot, exploring the remains of the past.

Along a 2 km walking track (you can also use golf carts) are the ruins of a citadel, a mosque, some residential homes, pillars, bits and pieces, all 2,000 years old. Ibn Battuta and Marco Polo mention Al Baleed as a thriving city next to the Indian Ocean in their memoirs and we now know that its biggest currency was frankincense.

Barely a kilometre away is Al Baleed Resort by Anantara, opened only a month ago, where villas look out to the sea or the lagoon, or indeed, as mine did, to the Al Baleed Archeological Park. It’s a luxury to have a beach resort with so few people, possible only because of the newness of the hotel and the emptiness of Salalah — for now. All through my visit, I couldn’t help thinking that this can’t be for long; as soon as the “it” crowd discovers that a luxury resort, the first for Salalah, has opened, they’re going to descend upon it and ruin its charm. With such cheerful thoughts, I chewed on the delicious seafood linguini while looking out at the deceptively calm Indian Ocean.

Just outside Salalah, about an hour’s drive away, is the archeological site of Khor Rori, a fortified small town from the 2nd century BC, an outpost of the Hadramite kingdom. Ongoing excavations, some as recent as 1994, have uncovered the ground plan of the settlement and revealed evidence of maritime contacts with India through the “Incense Route”. In 2000, this was listed as a Unesco World Heritage Site as well. I never get tired of looking at old things, even though my disinterested friend once said of archeological sites: “It’s just a lot of broken bricks.” But, if you can’t see the charm of the space where the kitchen once might have been, the pillar that may have been part of the mosque or the ground where people walked and ate and slept on thousands of years ago, then you can just walk and enjoy the view. The park looks out to an estuary and, with nothing but an abandoned boat till the horizon, the scenery is calming.

There is a sudden onslaught of camels here, as they meander along the way, munching on a leaf or two.

Or, you could go up the mountains. As if empty beaches and ancient sites were not enough, Dhofar also has surprisingly lush and green mountains, which, our resort guide tells me, are not green enough at the moment. “Come right after the Khareef season,” he says. It’s also much cooler at Wadi Darbat, seeing that it is up a mountain, and the topography changes completely from the sea and palms of Salalah. There is a sudden onslaught of camels here, as they meander along the way, munching on a leaf or two. Culture and history is Salalah’s USP, its wildlife, not so much. It’s pretty limited and the most dangerous animal you will encounter is a fox in a bad mood.

I return to the hotel for my cooking class, which I signed up for fun, and the shocked chef couldn’t believe that I can’t cook. “What do you mean you can’t cook?” he exclaims. “I’ve never met an Indian woman who cannot cook!” Well, here I was, having made an entire hash of my Lebanese spicy fish, mistaking coriander powder for something quite else, and not being able to deep fry the fritters for Luqaimat, the Omani sweet dish of fried dumplings with date syrup. I did ace the tabbouleh, though. Even I couldn’t ruin putting 10 dry things together in a bowl for a mix.

After two hectic days, I spent the last evening relaxing at the hotel — when you travel, you never really get to stay back and enjoy the hotel. But as I grow older, I make it a policy to factor in some doing-nothing time into the itinerary. There was the dolphin watching tour the next day and then the flight back home. But, for now, all I wanted was fresh coconut, a sun bed and that Salalah speciality: emptiness.