Dimaniyat Islands and a few final days in Muscat.
Oman chapter seven
On my last Sunday in Oman I book a snorkeling trip out to Dimaniyat Island with hopes of seeing sea turtles.
I’m told to meet the captain at the Seeb Marina to the west of the airport at 0815; once I arrive to look for Arifs’ boat.
I take a cab to the port and arrive far too early. Wandering around I find a small cafe and stop in to use the facilities and buy a bottle of water. Checking the time I wander out to the piers to see where I might find him.
I’m told to head to the second jetty by the police boat. Arif soon arrives and I board. We wait for a few other passengers to arrive as he outfits the boat with coolers of food and water. Other groups board similar boats on the other dock and I watch as they depart.
Soon it’s our turn and we point our nose towards the open sea, leaving the protection of the marina as we head out to the islands.
Arriving at one spot we drop anchor and soon almost everyone is in the water. It’s a hot day and the water is a welcome respite.
After swimming a bit I find myself confused as to which boat is ours and end up swimming to the wrong one. My goggles have fogged up, making it hard to see. The captain of the boat sees my mistake and points me in the right direction, offering me a life preserver to help me on my way. Unfortunately, we see no sea turtles.
Snacks are served and we eat sandwiches and chips before heading off to our second location. I offer my waterproof iPhone case to a girl on the boat so she can take underwater photos and swim to a nearby beach. I didn’t bring sandals and the sand is hot on my feet. I see people walking to the other side, but my nose spontaneously decides to bleed and so I find myself in the shallows attempting to staunch the flow.
When I finally stop it and swim back to the boat I see a small group swimming near the shore. Curious, I head over to see everyone swimming above a lone sea turtle feeding on the plants on the bottom.
There are so many people around that I feel a little bad for the animal and swim back to the boat. I drop off my goggles and flippers and spend the rest of the time floating alongside the boat, swimming lazy laps now and again.
When we’re all back on board the girl shows us photos and videos of the sea turtle. She’s incredibly excited and her photos and videos are great. Everyone gathers around and asks her to send them to them and for a moment she’s the ship’s celebrity.
Back at the marina I stop into the fish market. It’s too late in the day and it’s practically empty. The floors have been hosed down and it sits quiet, ready for another day.
On the drive back to my apartment I pass the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque. I debate asking the driver to leave me at the mosque so I can walk around it once more, but decide I’d rather head home to relax a bit before I need to get some work done.
There’s always those things you say you’ll eventually get around to and sometimes do and sometimes don’t. For me, visiting the Mohammed Al Ameen Mosque is one of them.
The mosque is less than a twenty-minute walk from my apartment and I have been telling myself the entire time I’ve been in Muscat that I’ll walk over to visit. And now, on my last day in town, I finally decide to take a moment in the morning to do so.
Arriving at the mosque I’m at a loss how to enter. I’ve arrived at the back and work my way around the mosque until I find an entrance to the courtyard. No one seems to be around and I feel like I’m the only one there. A few CCTV cameras make me aware that I may be alone, but I’m not exactly alone.
Inside, the mosque is beautiful, with an 11 meter tall chandelier hanging over the main prayer hall. It’s amazing having the room to myself; it’s not until later that I see an attendant in the corner, sweeping up.
Commenced in 2008 and completed in 2014, the mosque complex measures 20,300 square meters with the main prayer hall comprising 1,616 square metres. I walk around the edges of the carpet to admire the architecture and stone work, the carpet soft underfoot.
It’s cool within the marble confines of the prayer hall and I’m a little loathe to leave. But my flight is scheduled for the afternoon and I still have to finish packing and shower before I leave and so I head back out into the bright sun to walk back home.
After showering and packing I walk over to Beit Sitti, what’s become my favorite restaurant in Oman. Run by a mother-daughter team (with the mother cooking the meals), it’s been open for nine months and has managed to build up quite a following. On the Thursday I visited last a table of guests had driven 90 minutes to eat dinner there.
The restaurant had started small, making Jordanian/Palestinian food and posting to Facebook until an influencer came and shared a rave review to his 500k followers. Since then it’s been a question of maintaining and expanding their base.
I’ve become friendly with the daughter but she isn’t there when I stop in. The mother tells me she’ll be by in a minute and I realize I have more time than I thought. I tell her I’ll be back in a moment and go back home to check out and pick up my bags. I walk back over to the restaurant and spend the rest of my time in Oman drinking tea with the daughter and chatting.
At one point she guestures upwards and tells me that that’s her grandmother. I think she’s referring to the music that’s playing in the background and think that her grandmother is Fairuz, an iconic Lebanese singer, but she means the photo on the wall. It’s of her grandmother, cooking.
When it’s time to go, I experience the sadness that comes with parting, leaving the promise of new friendships to an uncertain future. It’s the biggest drawback to the nomadic life, but it’s a life that offers with it the opportunities to meet and make such friends. Over the course of our conversation the daughter and I have talked about shows we’ve liked and I bring up Six Feet Under. Without giving anything away, at the end of the show one character says to another as she’s about to take a photo of her family, “You can't capture it, it's already gone.”
In the cab I realize I haven’t taken any photos of the restaurant or my friend. It’s as if I’m living the finale and coming once again to the realization of the impermanence of life. As we pull away from the curb I become aware of the song playing on the radio: “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai..” Something happens… 🇴🇲
— 3 May 2025
