21-04-2025
Is Oman in the Middle East safe for female travellers?
My trip coincides with Ramadan, however, the holy month experience enhances it and furthers my understanding of a region that is much maligned.
A couple of friends pointedly advise that 'the Middle East isn't safe' when I mention our plans to travel. Sure, parts are off-limits - there are wars and conflicts – but Oman is as safe as its stone houses and we two women travellers view our trip as an adventure, not something to fear.
While Doha has its intriguing old quarter, much of the city is playing desperate catch-up with nearby Dubai, which can't help itself when it comes to creating structures to qualify for the Guinness Book of Records.
Muscat is a delight: little high-rise, no man-made islands populated with expensive villas and the only edifices are the hills that touch the coast in several places.
The city spreads from west to east along the Sea of Oman, forming a thin white line moving subtly from brilliant white to soft beige, a palette that works beautifully against the dark ragged backdrop.
I book a hotel in the west, not too far from the airport, but discover the location isn't ideal. Next time I'll book digs near the Mutrah Souk further east, where we can easily walk in the old town and along the Corniche to observe Omani life.
Public transport is rare, necessitating taking taxis, but by week's end we've worked out how to get the best deal. On the plus side, we stay in a Western-owned hotel and can order room-service dinner with wine, despite Ramadan.
On my first morning, I walk to a corner shop, only to find it's closed but a local man offers to take me to the nearby Lulu Hypermarket (which sells everything imaginable and soon becomes a second home). I hop in his car with his wife and am happy for the ride and the intel.
A trip on the hop-on-hop-off Big Bus puts Muscat in perspective on day one.
There's hardly a soul on the top deck, so I can move from side to side to view one of the most dramatic cities I've seen.
We alight at Al Alum Palace fashioned in an unusual Indian design and the accompanying array of ministerial buildings so pristine they dazzle under a perfect blue sky, and after rounding a coastal bend come face to face with two magnificent forts.
Built by the Portuguese during their 150-year rule in the 16th and 17th centuries, they flank the rocky outcrops at the harbour's entrance. A few kilometres further there's Mutrah Fort, standing sentinel above the port where the Sultan's private yacht lies at anchor and is a stroll to the souk with its trinkets and frankincense of many colours.
We learn a lot after striking up conversations with young Bangladeshi men queuing for takeaway meals of chicken biriyani and Laban yoghurt drink to enjoy when the Ramadan fast concludes an hour later. Some 30% of Oman's population of five million are immigrant workers drawn from the subcontinent and the Philippines.
Day two and we're on a 4WD tour to Wahiba Sands Desert and Wadi Bani Khalid, a waterhole perfect for swimming where we don our shorts over one-piece swimsuits.
We share the day with a German mother-of-three, who is about to embark on a two-week solo driving trip down the Omani coast and into its interior. Her only trepidation is working out which of Muscat's motorways will take her out of town!
Another day, our guide, who insists his name is 'Sultan', takes us to the former capital of Nizwa and its imposing fort, the biggest in the land.
He later steers us expertly up a precipitous road to Jebel Akhdar, or the Green Mountain, with unending views of peaks and canyons. The highlight is a downhill hike past terraced orchards, or hanging gardens, planted with pomegranates, apricots, and damask roses, the latter to make the prized rosewater.
On our last day, we adopt the required dress code, covered head-to-ankle in opaque clothing, to visit Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque.
It's named for the late ruler who opened Oman to the outside world, gave women equal rights, and preserved the country's allure, which had wooed me all those years before.
