The Travels of a Curious Old Man: Oman (9): The City of Salalah

Again we breakfasted alone, the same smiling Indian youth quickly rustling up masala omelettes, vegetable curry, puris, tea, fruit juice, fruit, cake and halva! Whether he could cope if we objected to an Indian breakfast remained undiscovered.

Afterwards, we walked through the polished but deserted corridors to meet R, who went out of his way to avoid shaking hands with Lynne until he had shaken hands with me. He then explained (to me) how important it was to shake the man’s hand first. Lynne was unimpressed.

The Salalah Clock Tower (Burj al Nahda)

The clocktower (Burj al Nahda) stands right outside the hotel. In this low-rise city it is a major landmark, even appearing on the local coat of arms and is obviously modern, though I am unsure how modern. 1985 can be seen on the tower and that may well be the date of construction though it looks newer.

Burj al Nadha - the Salalah clock tower (and the time is correct)

The Sultan Qaboos Mosque

The Sultan Qaboos Mosque was across the city centre from our hotel, and we were there in minutes.

A week ago we visited the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque in Muscat, perhaps the most beautiful modern building I have ever seen. But the sultan was born in Salalah, so once he had completed his mosque in the capital, he set about building another here. It opened in 2009, its minarets and 36m-high dome do not quite dominate the city centre, but in low-rise Salalah, they come close.

As in Muscat the mosque is open to non-believers from 8 to 11, and involves acres of highly polished marble. There was a steady stream of foreign visitors and thousands of worshippers will come to pray later; an unseen army of polishers, sweepers and dusters must exist to maintain the building's immaculate condition.

Sultan Qaboos Mosque, Salalah

Modest dress is expected and women should cover their hair.

Ouside the Prayer Hall, Sultan Qaboos Mosque, Salalah

Inside the prayer hall the huge carpet weighs 20 tonnes and has 115 million individual knots.

Prayer Hall, Sultan Qaboos Mosque, Salalah

Visitors were required to walk on the blue carpet, though it allowed a good view of the mihrab…

Mihrab, Sultan Qaboos Mosque, Salalah

…and of the crystal chandelier hanging from the intricately carved dome. Even if it does not quite have the wow factor of the Muscat chandelier, it is still remarkable. The perfect proportions and the Omani preference for muted colours make the hall light and refreshingly calm.

Chandalier, Sultan Qaboos Mosque, Salalah

We encountered a German woman and then a small party of Russians who were not as appropriately dressed as Lynne. They were not challenged, although R had a good ‘tut’. Lynne was as annoyed at them as she had been at R earlier over the handshake. Travelling in Islamic countries requires more negotiation across a cultural divide than other places we visit - and this applies more in the relatively remote and conservative south than in cosmopolitan Muscat. Lynne was adamant that R, with his avoidance of her first hand shake, and the under-dressed tourists were in the wrong. Instinctively I agree, but I cannot understand why we both feel that in the first case western etiquette should have applied and in the second Arab.

Sultan Qaboos and the Al Hosn Palace

We continued to Sultan Qaboos’ al Hosn Palace via a rather ordinary set of traffic lights.

The site of the old town wall, Salalah

The lights stand on the line of the old city wall, demolished after Sultan Qaboos deposed his father, Sultan Said, in 1970. For touristic reasons Salalah might regret losing its wall, but few regret the passing of the old tyrant. A man of extreme and idiosyncratic conservative views – wearing sunglasses was forbidden and those venturing out after dark had to carry a lantern – he had no idea what to do with the oil wealth that was starting to hit the country.

The Sultan’s palace is not far away. Qaboos was born in Salalah in 1940 and educated here to the age of 16 when he was sent to England, Muscat and Oman having been a British Protectorate since 1892. He entered the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, graduated in 1962 and joined the British Army. After military service he studied local government and took a world tour before returning to Oman in 1966, where his father, like any wise 18th century ruler, put him under house arrest.

The entrance to Al Hosn Palace, Salalah
We were permitted to drive up to the door without encountering officious security guards

But this was the 1960s not the 1760s and with the encouragement of friends and support, indeed active involvement, of the British he staged a bloodless coup in 1970 and has been Sultan ever since. He took over a country which had 6km of paved roads and where slavery was still legally tolerated. He outlawed slavery immediately, parted company with the British on good terms and took Oman on a long journey from subsistence farming to stability and affluence - as in Muscat there is little in Salalah that predates 1970. He is personally wealthy but the two huge ‘yachts’ aside not outrageously extravagant and has used the oil money for the benefit of ordinary Omanis.

Private mosque inside the Sultan's Palace, Salalah

He has done much good and appears to be genuinely popular, but despite his apparent liberality he is an absolute monarch and permits no opposition. As the ‘Arab Spring’ rattled the region there were some small demonstrations. These were quickly suppressed and the closely controlled press gave no clue whether the protests were anti-Qaboos or concerned with a particular issue. More worryingly the Sultan will be 80 next year and is in poor health. His short marriage (1976-9) produced no heir, so when he dies the royal family will meet to choose a successor. If they cannot agree they will consult a document he has left expressing his wishes. Given Oman’s oil wealth the process could be an invitation for the ruthless and greedy to grab power, or two ruthless and greedy claimants to start a civil war. I hope to be entirely wrong about that.

The Al Hosn Frankincense Souk

The Al Hosn (sometimes Al Haffa) Souk is close by. It specialises in frankincense, by far Oman’s most important export in the centuries before gas and oil.

Al Hosn Souk, Salalah

Frankincense is the dried sap of several species of boswellia trees, most notably boswellia sacra. The trees grow in Oman and Yemen, and also across the Gulf of Aden in Somalia, thriving on the hot, stony slopes where the coastal plain rises to the desert plateau. Most of the world’s frankincense comes from the coastal strip either side of Salalah, though there is some production in the self-declared Republic of Somaliland (largely peaceful and with a functioning democracy, Somaliland separated itself from the failed state of Somalia in 1991).

Frankincense trees either side of a plank, near Salalah

The essential oils are used in perfumery and skin-care, while the resin can be burnt as incense (‘Frankincense’ derives from Old French for ‘high-quality incense’). You cannot go far in Oman without encountering the heady aroma of burning frankincense.

Inside a shop, Al Hosn souk, Salalah

Traditionally Omanis placed their clothes on a wooden frame over a frankincense burner to ensure they smelled sweet. An obvious fire hazard, this is no longer a common practice, though the frames can still be seen in souks - and there are more informal ways of creating the same effect.

Well at least I'll smell nice

Frankincense was once big business – it was even an appropriate gift for the Son of God, though like myrrh (and unlike gold) its star has waned. Perhaps our need for sweet smells has lessened as life has become cleaner.

We made our purchases and retired to a juice bar. Freshly pressed mango is extraordinarily refreshing on a hot day.

R and Lynne with freshly squeezed juice, Al Hosn Souk, Salalah

A Free Afternoon in Salalah

The museum we failed to visit yesterday was still closed for the holiday so that completed the sights of Salalah, or all those R thought worth showing us. We returned to our empty hotel, and shortly made our way out for lunch, walking past the ‘Prestige’ from last night and down to the main restaurant area.

To prove the point Y made in Sur about Europeans sitting outside while Omanis have the sense to be inside in the air-conditioning, we seated ourselves on the terrace outside a Turkish restaurant. Although it was well shaded and the temperature barely 30º we had the terrace to ourselves, while the interior was packed.

After perusing the menu…

Turkish restaurant menu, Salalah
1 Omani Rial = £2 and is divided into 1,000 baisa

…we opted for the mixed sea food. Salad, bread, hummus, chips, olives and tomatoes turned up at no extra cost (well, we might have paid for the portion of chips).

Mixed sea food, and more, Turkish restaurant, Salalah

The grilled prawns, strips of squid and steak cut across a meaty fish, possibly a small shark, were very good.

A little shopping was necessary as we were leaving the next day. After discovering all the baby clothes that might suit our infant grand-daughter were imported from India or China (hardly a surprise) we dropped into the Lulu Supermarket – large and well-stocked there is one (or more) Lulu every town.

Lulu supermarket, Salalah

When it was a little cooler, we walked south towards the coast. Cities in Oman struggle to be entirely urban and our route passed plantations of bananas, mangoes and coconuts.

Banana plantation, Salalah

We were headed for a road that runs parallel to the coast where we had seen fruit stalls selling tender coconuts – a drink of coconut seemed an attractive idea on a hot afternoon. We reached the road in the middle of a long stretch devoid of stalls of any sort. Disappointed, we trudged back into town, stopping for a coffee on the way. Small cups of strong, black, sweet, cardamom flavoured Omani coffee are available everywhere and if not quite as refreshing as a coconut, they keep you alert.

We walked out again in the evening, past the Rehab Palace (residences, apartments and suites) which looks a little odd in English…

Rehab Palace, Salalah

…and the mosque and tomb of the Prophet Imran (or Nabi Umran). Some believe he was a local prophet, others that he was the father of Mary the mother of Jesus, or even the father of Moses. The first of those stands some chance, but whoever he was, what does he need with a tomb 33m long?

The mosque and tomb of Nabi Umran, Salalah

We found a Lebanese restaurant that we thought would provide a light snack, though we were badly mistaken. A small kebab order magnified itself as bread, pickled carrot and cauliflower, hummus and tabbouleh turned up as well. There are two things I know about tabbouleh: 1) it is traditionally made with bulgur wheat and 2) every Lebanese grandmother had the perfect recipe and every Lebanese adult regrets that they will never taste one as good again. As I lack Lebanese grandparents, and do not usually have bulgur wheat in the cupboard I use cous cous – and so do all the restaurants where I have previously encountered it, though none of them claimed to be Lebanese. What I learned now was that in ‘real’ tabbouleh, the grain plays a minor part; we were brought a plate of mixed herbs with a sprinkling of bulgur wheat. For us, it was not quite right in flavour and entirely wrong in texture – and for that remark I could be banned from Lebanon.