Monsoon Weekend, Part 1 of 3

Last Wednesday, at around 1900h, I found myself in Carrefour, filling a shopping cart with stuff that would enable me to survive a total of 30 hours in a bus and a night in a tent in the middle of nowhere, during a monsoon. I had decided that I was up for an adventure, and the prospect of a deathly numb butt and possibly developing deep vein thrombosis wasn't going to stop me. Salalah was calling, all the way from the far end of Oman, and I couldn't resist.



So the following day, off I went with my adventurous surfer buddy, Dave- he, in search of waves and I, well, just itching to get away from Dubai's heat. I wasn't able to sleep much in the bus, because the kid in front of me decided she wasn't going to let any of the other passengers sleep the entire night by screaming her head off from Nizwa all the way to Salalah. And to top that, the guy behind me decided that placing his foot on my seat granted him the most comfortable sleeping position so I had to avoid his toe the entire night. Toe-guy got off at the penultimate station, and screaming kid only stopped when the sun came up. Thank God I managed to catch at least one straight hour of sleep just before we had to get off the bus.

too sleepy to care

Our plan was to rent a car from Crowne Plaza, after we've had some breakfast. We asked a cabbie to take us there and he dared to charge us 4 Omani Riyals, (about 40 UAE Dirhams) but Dave had been to Salalah before and was pretty sure that Crowne Plaza wasn't that far and 4 riyals was just absurd. Cabbie then agreed to 2 riyals. Ha! A tour operator asked if we wanted a 4x4 and lunch and all that and I kinda liked the sound of that until he said it would cost us 40 riyals. Uh, no thanks. We'll stick to the plan.

Cabbie must've been miffed about losing his 2 riyals because he dropped us off about 400 meters away from Crowne Plaza (we asked to be dropped off at the beach beside it), and told us that the hotel was only a very short walk away. It was too foggy to be sure so we just agreed. Good thing we sat down to have some bread and peanut butter first because we ended up having to lug all our things- backpacks, camera bag, tent, sleeping bags and surfboards- on foot, for 400 meters. It may not seem much but it sure wasn't fun.

Cabbie probably saw this and thought, 'Ha!'

We made it to Crowne Plaza, huffing and puffing and sweaty like horses. Yuck as we were, we managed to attract the attention of one of the directors of Oman's Ministry of Tourism. Ok fine, the surfboards and the tripod attracted him more than our sweaty faces, but still. He approached us with a business card and asked if we wouldn't mind contacting him if we manage to take good surfing photos, so he could promote Oman as a surfing destination. Oman has some righteous waves and not a lot of people know that. Young people like us, getting on 15-hour bus rides and carrying boards around, were just what he needed to spread the word. Too bad the Indian Ocean wasn't up for a proper surfing photo shoot though, as we would discover later. Perhaps he'll have better luck after the monsoon. He did suggest the town where Dave managed to surf a bit, so thanks, Mr. Director.

About an hour later, after freshening up and savoring the comfort of the hotel lobby's couch, everything was packed into the little Yaris that we rented and we were off to the stormy wilderness of Dhofar. All set for a weekend of saltwater, rain and no showers.

They need to be taught lane discipline