Oman Memories

It seems dream-like looking back at Oman during my time there as a kid in the ‘80s, and actually, it was even dream-like then. Oman had such a profound effect on me, and when I reflect on my childhood memories, the Muscat area is one of the places where I’ll always have a piece of my heart. My dad was in the Sultan of Oman’s Navy, and during the Spring, Summer, and Christmas holidays between 1985 and 1988, my mum and I would fly from the UK to spend anything from four to eight weeks there, based at the military camp near Rusail, known as MAM Camp.

MAM was my playground, and back in the ‘80s, Muscat was a very different place. It had only been fifteen years since Sultan Qaboos Bin Said succeeded to the throne, and in that relatively short space of time, Oman had experienced incredible change, particularly from an infrastructure point of view. Compared to Muscat today, the Capital Area in 1985 was much less built-up and certainly not as green. Nowhere was this more evident than the approach to Seeb Airport. So, with that in mind, I’d like to take you on a little flight back in time. I ask you to pull your seat into the upright position, fold away your tray table, fasten your seatbelt, and prepare for landing in a very different Oman.

The Gulf Air Tristar is on its final leg from London after a stop in Bahrain, just before sunrise. My skin is dry, and my eyes are tired, but adrenaline is racing through me. We’re now flying over the UAE and across the border to Oman. Below us, the golden, jagged Hajar mountains reveal very little sign of habitation. I spot a road and a few tiny villages hidden between clusters of date palms. We turn to starboard near the Batinah coast, and my view of majestic mountains is soon replaced with the blues and greens of the Arabian Sea as the early morning light reflects on the water like a million tiny crystals. A cargo ship is underway, heading east, maybe to India or beyond.

We’re following the coast now and descending fast. “Cabin crew prepare for landing,” announces a crew member. A smooth touchdown follows as the Captain applies reverse thrust. The announcement is made, first in Arabic, of course, then “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Seeb International Airport where the temperature is currently 25°C. Gulf Air recommends The Gulf Hotel.” It’s only eight in the morning, and already it’s a beautiful warm day. A thin layer of morning haze hangs below the tips of the stunning mountains, which will soon clear for another intensely hot day ahead. I look out the window at nothing but jebel and sea.

Not far from where we were on the runway is what we called the airport beach, just beautiful untouched sand stretching as far as one could see. The entire area to the east of the airport is undeveloped—just natural, wild, and rugged land, pristine beaches, and not a soul in sight. The terminal building is small, and we reach it via a bus that takes us from the aircraft as its engines wind down.

Dad is there to meet us, and we head outside into the day’s heat. There’s his car—and just like everyone else on the military base, it’s a white Toyota Corolla, parked in a sea of other white cars. Sometimes it was hard to spot ours! After a day spent swimming at the officer’s mess pool, we head out to some of the magical sites around Muscat for dinner. Dad asked me where I’d like to go. “Ok, then we’ll go there,” he said. It’s still quite early.

I leave the bayt with my towel over my shoulder, squinting in the bright morning light and stopping for a second to watch the scurrying lizards on the wall. There’s a sweet smell in the air from the jasmine bush, along with the sounds of air conditioners and the delighted tweeting of tiny birds bathing in the puddles of water after the plants were recently watered. My soles slap against my flip-flops as I walk across the rocky terrain, and I remember to take my dad’s advice and keep an eye out for scorpions!

I arrive at the officer’s mess and greet the staff—there’s Lopez, Albert, Nizar, and Vinod—and we’re delighted to see each other. I head to the kitchen and sit with them. Vinod offers me some jelebi, and I’d forgotten just how sweet it is! After a day of play and a belly full of Mirinda and chips, I head back to the bayt, my skin smelling of chlorine. I can hear the distant call to prayer as I leave the pool in its glass-like state. An Air India 747 approaches Seeb as I head home across the jebel. The land is cooling down as the sky turns from deep blue to peach and amber, with a light breeze. In the distance, I spot a jebel looking toward the majestic mountains on the edge of the base.

That night, we head out for dinner and stop off at the Matrah Cold Stores in Rusail to pick up some Tanuf water—it’s one of only ten large supermarkets in the entire capital area. I also love it because it sells American products you can’t buy in the UK, and for me, this is super exciting. I always took a few different sweets and cereals home, which I shared with my friends. Between Rusail and Al Kuhwair, it’s mostly untouched jebel. We pass the Seeb Novotel and Oman Convention Centre. There’s very little traffic; a new hotel, the Holiday Inn in Al Khuwair, has just opened.

Beside it stands the stunning Al Zawawi Mosque, which seemed enormous to me as a kid. Next to it is the Princess Restaurant, where I had the hottest curry of my life! But we’re not going there for dinner tonight. We drive along the highway, my window slightly open for the cooler evening air. In the distance, I see the Intercontinental Hotel with what looks like huge setting suns on its roof. I love this place. I felt like all my senses were alive in Oman, and during my school days, I’d regularly daydream in class. “JAMES! Pay attention!” the teacher would say. My mind should have been on maths, but it was on Muscat.

We turn off the highway and head to Qurum beach to collect shells and paddle our feet. The beach is quiet, with just a couple of families and some fishing boats pulled up onto the sand. There are some local kids playing football, and I kick off my flip-flops and join in with them for a short time. Mum and Dad sit on the sand and watch me play, and the world feels perfect. Back on the road again, and there’s not far to go—we’re nearly at our dinner destination. I didn’t get to choose every night; in fact, most evenings we ate at the officer’s mess. But tonight, it was my call—a special treat for the first day back in beautiful Oman.

Welcome to the Sabco Centre, the only bespoke shopping mall in Muscat. It still smelled and looked new. Aside from being the place to buy music cassettes, what I really loved at Sabco was Sinbad’s—an Omani fast-food outlet with great burgers and kebabs, and that was where I wanted to go for dinner. It’s still warm when we leave the mall. There’s a sweet smell to the evening air, the lightest breeze, and the sound of a plane climbing into the heavens from Seeb and the roar of traffic along the highway.

Back to the car and homeward bound. Dad has the radio on; the presenter is reading out the weather for tomorrow. It’s going to be 35°C. I’ll be at the pool with my friends—swimming, playing, and enjoying every second of my time in Oman. We’ll play at the pool until the skin on our fingers and toes is prune-like and our chlorine-smelling bronzed skin can take no more, at least for a few hours of rest.

Throughout the weeks ahead, we’ll go to Nizwa, Seeb, Muttrah, Sur, Sohar, Fanja, and even Khasab. Oman still has the same charm and hospitality it’s always had; that never changes. However, it was a very different place back in the ‘80s in many ways. Sure, it didn’t have as many malls and facilities as it does now; tourism didn’t really exist. But with that came this feeling of exclusivity—no one back in the UK knew anything about Oman, especially in an internet-free world. It was truly a magical time of my life, and I cherish the memories of every single day I spent there. Shukran, Oman!