MY TRAVELOGUE OF OCTOBER 2006

BANGKOK - DUBAI - DOHA - MANAMA - DUBAI - MUSCAT - SALALAH - ADEN - SANAA - DUBAI - BANGKOK
Pokpong Wongkaeo

IN QUEST FOR THE EXTREMES

My vacation started on the beginning of October and ended on the 31st. I travelled with my sister. But
that doesn't mean we will go everywhere together because she has work to do, unlike unemployed me. I
flew the Emirates direct to Dubai. I was lucky though, because I got the cheapest long distance flight I
have ever flown in my entire life, except that 435-baht Bangkok-Udon Thani Nok Air one-way flight, but
that was almost 2 years ago so I don't count.

My sister said I would have to get up at 3 am in the morning in order to catch the very early morning
flight. I was wrong. Well yes I had time to chill out after checking in at the so-called most high-tech
airport in the region (sic). I was so lucky. The plane we were going to board was announced delayed for 6
hours. What a good start. I thought I would at least get free hotel room to rest and a posh meal to cool
my already broiling temper down but what I got was only refillable drink and snacks. But never mind that.
I was too excited anyway.

Before having decided where to go after quitting my job. It took me a lot of time. I first read about Dubai
in a local newspaper about one or two years back and this was the first time that it would be a cool
destination. Well, I had really never thought of it as a travel destination before at all. What I read in the
newspaper was that the town was the place of many contrasts, a town being under a great development,
a town filled with shopping possibilities (I don't give a $#!† as I'm not a shopping maniac) and cheap
gold (another thing I don't give a $#!† either).

So when I was given an offer I decided to visit the Middle East, just for a change. Otherwise, I would
catch a bus to Tibet as I had been dreaming of for more than 3 years.

At last, the journey begins.

The trip from Bangkok

to Dubai takes about 6
hours. Before I left I
printed everything I
found from the net in
order to have some sort
of idea of what to do, to
see, and to expect. Oh,
two days before I
planned to leave for
Dubai I bought the
2005 version of Lonely
Planet Middle East for
650 baht at Asia Book
Siam Discovery. That
was kind of expensive but I thought it'd be better for myself than wandering around the Middle East
without any idea at all. The book itself is okay though I didn't complain much, except for the price.

DUBAI: THE CITY OF EXTREME CONTRASTS

Six hours of cramps ended at Sharjah

International Airport. After easy immigration
I wandered around the airport and found a
bookstore. I just wanted to read the
newspaper's first page and suddenly I
wanted to kick myself when I find out that
there was a newer version (2006 version) of
the Lonely Planet Middle East available and I
could have bought it here for the same price!.
Okay, forget it. I already bought the book.
Let's take a look at the airport. The airport is modern and new and the only thing that revealed that I am
already in an Arab country was the vestment of the personnel working there. Most of the females had
veils covering not only their hair, but also half of their face. And quite a lot of men were walking around
with the long white robe with a matching white (or red) headpiece.

The airport was buzzing with life even if it

was late and once we got out of the doors of
the airport we were met by lots of people
with posters for the different hotels. The
picture at that time was just like every other
airport in the world where personnel hired by
several hotels in town were waving their
posters and trying to give us brochures
hoping we would jump in their vans to their
200-dollar-a-night hotels. We took a lovely
taxi whose driver is a South Asian with strong
Pakistani accent. He seems happy to see
that his passengers are Thai people.

The trip from the airport to my sister's

apartment -- which was my temporary
asylum in Dubai -- took about half an hour.
We sped to some speed I think it was 160
km/h through the empty highway. But in
town the traffic is not very different from
major cities in Thailand and we had to crawl
along at 40-50 km/h all the way.

Here we were at the apartment. I'm overly amused here when I saw a couple of cockroaches in the
hallway, always a pleasant experience to see these familiar insects, even though these two were much
smaller with paler tint of brownish colour compared to those seen my house in Bangkok.

The apartment seems like most modern apartments, keycard activated door, English-speaking elevator,
central air-conditioning with room's own temperature control panel, and the most pleasant of all was
free internet on wireless connection.

I decided to be on internet for a while. As I expected, YouTube was blocked, as well as other obscene
web sites. Of course, I am now in a high-moralled Arab country. I unpacked half of my bag, unfolded the
map and consult some of the tourist-related web sites I can find on the net, planning on the next
destination. You may want to ask me, hey, you have just landed on Dubai. My answer would be, right,
here I am in Dubai, but as I said before, this is just my temporary asylum. In the next few days I have to
find some place to explore. I don't come here just to bury myself in this 12 x 24 ft room, sleeping and
dreaming of Thailand.

The dinner time arrived, my sister ordered some icky japanese food from the delivery restaurant just
down the street, a small portion for her and a big bentou for me. I realised later the price for this meal
was 64 Dirhams, what the hell. I should have brought some instant noodles along. I just can't picture
myself eating these things two times a day while living in Dubai. I would have gone bankrupt before the
time for me to get back home.

Now it's time to go to bed. She bought a canapé exclusively for me and of course I was contented
enough with what I have here.

The next morning, we woke up the first morning to a bit of traffic buzzlings from the street outside the
apartment. Luckily my sister has some instant coffees in her kitchenette. In the fridge I found nothing
but a dozen cans diet coke and a couple of beers. Yeah, I finished my breakfast of 2 cups of creamy
coffee with a can of diet coke.

Equipped with good walking sandals and a pretty bad map from the Lonely Planet, I start the first day by
walking in Bur Dubai. I think it
is great just to walk around in a
new country and look at the
people, the buildings and the
way of life.

But it was not that easy to get

a lot of information about the
way of life because I didn't
know anyone here. During
some of my other journey's I
have been lucky enough to
know locals that could give me
information about the local
way of life, what one can eat of
local dishes, how different
events are celebrated and so
on. In Dubai it was hard to get
in touch with people to get that
information. First of all, not everyone spoke great English, plus, I don't speak Arabic, so that limits the
conversation. Second is I am a bit intimidated when I see women with their faces more or less totally
covered. I was not sure if I was even allowed to talk to them. So most of the people that we did speak to
were only 'guests' working in Dubai like my sister and her friends which most of them did not speak very
highly of the local matters. As I understand that the locals are 'in current' when it comes to politics,
health care, education, and so on.

One of the first things that I find on my walk this first day was the Dubai Museum. The museum is
located inside an old fort and gives information about Dubai history, development and much more. The
museum is not very big but it is worth a visit. It only costs 5 Dirhams to enter.

You are never really far from a mosque when walking around in Dubai and it is quite fascinating when
the 'Azan' starts being broadcasted from every minaret. The azan calls are all the same in every mosque
in the world but it sounded very different depending on which mosque it comes from.

I found out that the rhythm of life was quite different in this part of the world compared to what I'm used
to in Thailand. Around here people work from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. and then you go home. In Dubai the
working day is adapted to the weather amongst other things. Many places were open in the morning and
then they closed for about 3 or 4 hours in the middle of the day and then they reopened in the afternoon
and stayed open quite long until late evening. In the period when places were closed we could see
people relaxing in the shadow of a trees or on shaded benches.
All the local shops seemed to be open when I came home from walking around in the city all day. I
stopped at a local supermarket for essentials like water and my daily fix of choco bars.

Arab men use an unusual way of greeting -- I think that the greeting is referred to as a 'Nose Kiss'.
Around here men don't really have that much physical contact apart from the occasional hugging so it
was strange to see this form of greeting. There were other things that surprised me too. I see a lot of
men walking hand in hand and that is something only women or gay couples would do in Thailand.

The newspaper article that first made me interested in Dubai, it said something about Dubai being a
town full of contrasts. And yes, it is quite a contrast to see a man in his traditional white outfit driving
around town in a Ferrari. Or, walking next to a woman all dressed in black and where you can't even see
her face and then all of a sudden the cell phone rings and she pulls up a glittering brand-new 4 000-
dollar Vertu.

Smokers seem to have found their place in Dubai. In Thailand there are lots of rules on where you can
smoke and not. It was a bit different in Dubai. First of all smoking is even allowed in public places like in
shopping malls. In some areas there were signs saying something like "We thank you for not smoking".
But these signs just seemed like polite requests not strict rules that had to be obeyed. One day at a mall
I was in the toilet washing my hands. And in the mirror I could see puffs of smoke coming up from one of
the cubicals. And when his cell phone rang at the same time the situation got even funnier.

Talking about toilets: most of the time I found standard toilets but there were also some squatting toilets
around. The toilets in the malls were pretty clean but on various other locations the situation was often a
lot different. Most of the times I found that the toilet floors were very wet.

Queuing can be a challenge in Dubai. Most of the time when we get in line, like waiting to get on the bus,
I always seem to end up being the last person getting in.

I said earlier on that life was adapted to the weather. Most of the time I had pretty good weather with
blue skies and warm weather (like 30 degrees celsius). On one sunny day the weather forecast said
chance of rain towards the evening. Evening came and it started dripping a little bit and all of a sudden
in became very windy and there were thunder and lightning and it started raining damn lots. I was out
walking at this time and there was not much we could do apart getting cover and wait for it to pass. The
sun is pretty strong at this latitude. So sunscreen was needed to avoid getting burnt.

Dubai has a lot of Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi guest workers so this is a great place if you like
food from India. I tried out a place called Kwality Restaurant in Bur Dubai and I can say it is highly
recommended. The food was great and the service excellent. I also went to an Italian restaurant called
La Moda on the Inter-continental hotel and they served some pretty good risotti. Apart from this food
courts in the shopping malls are serving the stuff that from anywhere in the world: KFC, Burger King,
McDonald's but there are also places that sell more local food.

When I first got to Dubai I walked quite a lot because the town itself is not all that big. There is a
pedestrian tunnel under the river that goes from the Gold Souq bus station to the area around heritage
village.
I also discovered that taxi is quite a rip-off compared to what I'm used to in Thailand. Lonely Planet said
we had to make sure that we got into a metered taxi and that taxi drivers don't always know how to get
to certain locations but I never had any problems with that. All the taxis had meters that started on 3
Dirhams and they always got us to our destinations. The taxi drivers do drive pretty aggressively but that
seems to be the style in general here.

After a couple of days we also discovered that the bus could take us to most places and it was very
cheap. One-way tickets were 1 or 1,50 Dirhams. The main bus-stations that I used were Al Ghubaiba and
Gold Souk bus station on the Deira side. It must be mentioned that the bus drivers also seem to have the
same aggressive driving style that the other drivers have and the bus trips were not always comfortable.
There is also an area in the front of the bus that is reserved for women.

Another cool thing is, Dubai buses are never full of passengers. According to my sister, Dubai is full of
richie riches and they all don't usually take the bus. Why'd they have to rely themselves on public
transport when they already have their brand-new Porsches and Bentleys to drive around?

The traffic can be pretty bad at times and it will often take quite a while to get to the destinations.
Sometimes it was in fact a lot faster to walk compared to sitting and waiting on the bus.
 I also tried out the Abra of
course. These are small
boats that cross the river
from Bur Dubai to the Deira
side, and back, and it only
costs 0,5 Dirham one-way.
It only takes a few minutes
to cross the river. I was also
offered to rent a boat for
half an hour or more to
take trips up and down the
river but I didn't do this. It
is not like you have to go to
them to get this offer. Even
when I was walking along
the river I was kind of 'yelled at' from boats that were sailing past. This is really the city of contrasts.

I was pretty amazed

when I walked through
the Gold Souq. There are
so many shops selling
gold and the rings,
necklaces and bracelets
shine from the reflection
of the light in the display
windows. There are of
course no prices on the
different items so you
have to ask to get a price
estimate. The price is
based on the weight of the item and also the complexity of the work. And the price is just a starting point
because if you bargain the price will go down. The prices seem to be pretty good but remember I didn't
come here to shop.

Another funny place in Dubai is Burj Al-Arab, This hotel was the first (and only?) seven-star hotel in the
world and I have to admit that it is an amazing establishment. They also say that it is the tallest hotel in
the world with its 320 meters of altitude. Built on an artificial island you can access the hotel by a bridge
out to the hotel or by landing with a helicopter on top of the hotel. It is possible to get a short tour of the
 hotel and you have to "pay"
100 Dirhams (about 30€)
for this. I put pay in
quotation marks because
you get a voucher that you
can use inside the hotel. I
went up to the hotel bar on
the 27th floor where we
enjoyed some expensive
drinks (50 Dirhams) while
looking over Dubai. Note
that everything that is
golden in the hotel is
actually covered with real
gold. According to a TV program I watched the hotel has to be fully booked for 400 years just to break
even. Isn't that ironic?

There are many tour operators

that offer trips out to the
desert. I hooked up with a
company called Lama Tours
and I was picked up from my
temporary asylum one day to
go on a trip. The car that I sat
in was a brand-new Toyota
Landcruiser and we were 5 in
the car including the driver.
First we drove out of Dubai to
find some big sand dunes. The
driver then reduced the air
pressure in the tyres and we
drove of. It was a fun ride but very, very bumpy. In fact we saw a person in another car that got really sick
and that had to throw up after a while. We stopped in between and we saw another tour group trying out
sand skiing. It is quite amazing to look towards the horizon and see dunes after dunes. In this landscape
that I'm not used to I find it really difficult to tell the distance to or height of the next sand dune. Let's
just hope that I never get lost in the desert.

When the sun set we stopped to look at that and we later drove to a camp. There was quite a lot of
activities there and the good spirits got even higher when people discovered that they sold alcohol there.
 First of all we were allowed to
go for a short camel ride. In the
camp itself it was possible to
get a henna tattoo, dress up in
traditional outfits, smoke
shisha and watch some belly
dancing (and even participate).
In the end we all got a meal
from the barbeque.

I came back to my sister's

apartment quite dizzy, not
because of alcohol or shisha,
but because of the ride on that
same old Toyoya Landcruiser back in town. I should have never fallen asleep in the car while coming
back.

The next day after recovery, I wanted to relax and watch the world go by at Creekside Park. There is
actually a 5 Dhs entrance fee to get into the park. The park is well kept, lots of benches and green grass
and there are also places where you can barbecue. I rented a bike and cycled around the park until my
shirt was soaking wet.

When I booked my flight to Qatar when I first landed in Dubai, my travel agent told me I could also have
a multi-destination Dubai-Qatar-Bahrain-Dubai for a plus of only 30 dollars instead of Dubai-Doha-Dubai.
I thought for a while, and my adventurous alter ego ghost of mine overcame me.

"That's perfect! I'll take it" I exploded in the voice of those wanderlust spirits that overcome me when
sitting opposite the travel agent, dreaming of a true Arabian city, tranquil gardens and undiscovered
mysteries.

DOHA: ANOTHER DUBAI-WANNABE

I arrived at Doha with welcoming temperature of around 25 degrees celcius which felt like heaven on
earth. As the evening progressed the rather small airport terminal became busier and busier. All the
place really consisted of on the main floor was a huge duty free, a small partitioned off waiting room and
women's prayer room, as well as a smoking room with no ceiling, so the smoke circulated upwards, and
a few fast food restaurants, two departure lounges on the second floor. There was not nearly enough
seating room for the passengers; most were relegated to finding a place on the floor, leaning up against
a wall. Those who weren't buying up the loot in the duty-free, that is! Prices were very reasonable;
travellers were purchasing chocolate, wine, cigarettes -- and, to my surprise -- huge cans of Tang and
bags of powdered milk in large quantities. And you couldn't even get close to the gold counter!
Apparently, Qatar is one of the best places in the world, apart from Dubai, to buy 14- and 18-karat gold.
And the perfume! Everyone was trying out new fragrances. The whole place put me on sensory overload.

I did enjoy people-watching; there were people

from all over the world. It was like a meeting of
the United Nations in one tiny place. There were
Muslim men from the Middle East dressed in
their long white tunics and headpieces, rolled
up at the sides to resemble a sort of Middle
Eastern cowboy hat, and their wives shrouded
in black, from Sri Lankan women dressed in
gold-trimmed saris in brilliant greens and
purples to turbaned Sikhs from India. I
imagined the stories and destinations of the
travellers I saw there: an Indian family travelling to England for a family wedding; Russian men on their
way to Thailand for a rock-n-rolling holiday; Mongolian agrologists returning from an agricultural
conference in the US; a Thai woman with her American husband travelling to Thailand to see her family;
a Malaysian mother and her son going home after receiving medical treatment in Germany; a black
American nurse on leave from her nursing position in the UAE; a group of Morrocan women returning
from a pilgrimage to Mecca. Even it was all just my stupid guess, it's a wonderful way to absorb the
nature of the place.

The people at the airport were really funny. Guess what, the security guard had a cell phone and the song
that played was some 50 cent hip-hops. I never thought that they would listen to that kind of music in
Qatar. Especially with the 'suggestive' lyrics.

My taxi driver from the airport to the hotel had the radio playing and it was R&B and hip-hop too. He said
to me 'This is really popular stuff in Doha'.... I would have never guessed.

The drive from the airport to my hotel was amazing. Doha resembles any capitalised city. Skyscrapers,
lights, plenty of cars, and people walking the streets at 2 a.m.. People were at the park with their
children and walking the Corniche. He told me that it's the weekend and its much cooler in the evening
than during the day. He said that they will stay out until about 3 a.m. with family and friends, what the...

As I walked into the hotel, the bell boy looked at the shirt I was wearing and said 'Nike, I like Nike'. I was
too shocked to know what to reply so I just nodded and smiled. He gave me a reassuring smile. He
brought me to the front desk where I got my room and signed a few things, then he took me up to the
room.
Unlike Dubai which
contrary to popular belief
makes very little of its
income from oil and gas,
Qatar intends to put the
financial windfall of its
recently discovered gas
bonanza, currently the
world's second biggest
producer of LNG and set to
take over the top spot by
the end of the decade, to
thrust it into the global
travel and business scene.

There is an entity in Qatar that has already achieved a fair share of global notoriety -- Al-Jazeera
television network, my favourite channel back home.

If Doha is the first Persian Gulf city that you

have ever visited your initial feeling will be
that of surprise as once you start glancing at
the inhabitants you can't help but sense that
you have been dropped off somewhere in the
Indian sub-Continent!. Due to the native
Qataris, who are numbered at just a few
above 600 000, being unwilling to take
menial or manual labor jobs, hundreds of
thousands of migrant workers are brought in
annually from India, Pakistan, Nepal and
Bangladesh.

The natives are quite easy to spot as it seems each one is trundling through Doha's modern new roads in
either a luxury sedan or an SUV. In the residential areas of the capital seeing such vehicles in each
driveway is quite a common sight.
In terms of traditional sightseeing Doha is still fairly limited. The Qatar national museum is supposed to
be interesting, and a great introduction to the country. However, I didn't know that it was closed so I can't
really comment on it. So, I
walked along the Corniche, and
encountered a dockside fish
market. I stopped for an ice
cream, and discovered the
magazine Marhaba, which turned
out to be a treasure trove of
information about Doha and the
whole Qatar.

For one in search of culinary

delights Doha can be an
unexpected treat. A wide
variety of restaurants serving
tasty, traditional Indian-
Pakistani-Bangladeshi dishes
are scattered throughout
downtown Doha and just a
few kilometers away is the Al-
Sadd district which is sure to
delight and overwhelm even
a Westerner, since this area
holds nearly every American
fast food chains in just a few
square blocks. Arby's, Applebee's, Dairy Queen, Taco Bell, Ponderosa, TCBY and TGI Friday are just some
of the famous eating establishments located in Al-Sadd area.

Most taxis are operated by independent drivers who are not forced to have a meter which forces the
passenger into an often lengthy negotiation regarding the fare. Besides, waiting for either a taxi or local
bus during daylight hours can be a painful experience due to the extreme heat. Having a car gives you a
chance to take a day trip through Qatar's pristine desert sands or to spot the occasional ancient fort or
pearl diver on the coast.

A glide through the suburbs and outskirts of Doha will surely turn you on to the Qatari government's huge
emphasis and investment in sports. Doha has its sights set on successfully hosting the Asian Games and
despite the fact that the city already has some dozens of world class stadiums. Local officials had
concentrated on bringing in famous athletes in various fields from all over the world.
Lodging in Doha is a bit tricky since the only hotels that can be found on the internet are the high-priced
western chains. There are plenty of 2 or 3-star hotels in or near downtown which have more reasonably
priced rooms starting from roughly 40 dollars a night, which is still bad for me though.

My first and (maybe only) trip to Doha was such a mess. I spent the first 2 days walking in the streets of
downtown masturbating my tongue with a wide range of food, from local food whose names I didn't care
much about to remember as street vendors didn't seem to speak English and the customer (me) didn't
speak Arabic. The finger language didn't seem to be very helpful either. That's too bad.

I spent most times in Doha wandering around souq. Mostly, it is a bunch of small shopping malls and
stores, crowded with evening shoppers. However, there is an old open-air souk which the city is
rebuilding. Rather than making it like any other shops, they are rebuilding it in a traditional style, with
rough walls, narrow passages, small shops, and the feeling of an old market. It is pretty cool. I wandered
through the clothing shops, with all manner of traditional dress as well as new stuff, a cobbler section,
spices, and housewares. In a spice shop they let us taste various items, and we walked out with some
dried berries, an interesting nut mix with dried figs, and some candy. We were also introduced to a Halva
made of ground sesame seeds, grains, and sweetened with date juice. Back in the market, a several
older men were relaxing in their wheelbarrows. We walked into a courtyard where a band was playing
traditional music.

I walked around some more and found a bus, leading me to another souq, which is roughly a few
kilometres southwest of Doha. The souq is basically a strip mall, full of the usual housewares and
clothing shops. It was dead. I really expected that something with the name would be the hopping place
on the weekend, but it did not look promising. Then, in one corner shop, I found what we were looking for,
a line of hooded falcons sitting on perches. Most were sitting quietly, turning their heads to any sound,
while a couple were ripping at bits of meat at their feet. A few had managed to cast off their hoods. They
were beautiful as they perched on their bits of Astroturf. Periodically, some Arab men came in to
examine the birds, donning leather gloves and picking up birds that grabbed their interest. They
examined their feet, tail feathers, and eyes. In another shop, a man came in with two sons in tow. The
older son, probably around 12 years old, seemed to be there to pick out his first bird; he was more
nervous than the birds. He put on a glove, unhooked and picked up a falcon, and held it up for his father
to examine. The younger son, around 9 years old, did not seem nervous at all as he stroked the bird's tail
until his father gently told him to stop. The older son held up the bird so that his father could remove the
hood, but the falcon kept jerking and biting, and the son's hand nervously pulled away. Several times the
father had to tell his son to move the bird closer. They finally got the hood off, and then closely examined
the bird. Once they decided to put the hood back on, they first rubbed it along the bird's chest, and then
tried to place it, but the bird refused, flapping and biting. They tried several times, each time the kid
moving the bird away from the father's reach. The whole time, the younger son was trying to get in and
help. It is clear which one will be the better handler.

This seemed to be about the end of the souq, so I walked out to the main highway to see if we could flag
down a cab. A Bangladeshi man in a car asked where I was going, and offered to take me there. The fare
would have cost me about 6 Riyals, so I suggested 6, against his opening bid of 10. Without complaints,
he was kind enough to accept my low-priced offer. He dropped me off at the souk near the hotel, and
subtly rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, asking for payment. I gave him 7, as a reward for not
complaining. This will teach him how to win hearts of Thai people.

Doha's traditional market is a good place to spend half the day wandering the sundry alleys in search of
unique items and bargains. It's divided into different sections selling gold, electronics, perfumes and
miscellaneous items. The Persian section is the perfect place to have a quintessential Middle Eastern
experience -- shisha!, with the difference here being that you will not get the sweet, fruit-flavored tobacco
most often used in other quarters, but rather pure, dried leaves which make for a more serious smoke.

As a smoker, which is one of my filthy habits, I'd say Qatari shisha is suitable for people who do not wish
to spend much time bringing themselves to a higher state. After 6 or 7 puffs of cloudy smoke emitting
from my lungs are enough for me to get considerably high.
 The following day, I walked to
Fort Doha, which at least one
schedule said might be open. I
passed the area around the
Heritage Center and a mosque.
A flux of South Asian men
were streaming in to the large
square, and police were
stationed at every street and
corner, waving people away.
My journalist spirit overcame
me as I sprinted to that
direction. On the way I asked
one policeman what was
going on, and he said, "Crazy,
crazy. It's crazy." but gave no
other information. I continued
to the fort, but was waved

away as well, although it is nowhere near the

square. The new Great Mosque stands next to
the new palace of the emir, including a noted
clock tower. I crossed busy traffic over to the
corniche which circles Palm island in the centre
of the large bay. Still, South Asian men were
streaming in the direction of the square over

1.5 kilometres away, and being rerouted by yet more

police. I still never found out what was going on.

The stroll along the corniche was pleasant. There were

families playing cards, picnicking, playing with RC cars,
and strolling. It was a real mix of people, ranging from
Qatari businesspeople, young Indian couples,
westerners, joggers, and even roller bladers. There is a
large display on the Corniche for the ASEAN games, with a broken countdown clock and the mascot of
the games, a sporty anthropomorphised oryx. I walked about 6 kilometres almost to the end, and then
turned in toward the Doha City Centre, which is a huge, modern shopping mall.

The mall is four storeys of

shops on top of two storeys
of parking lot. Like a pearl
(a common symbol in Qatar).
It has all of the standard
international stores like The
Body Shop, Nike, and the
Gap, plus a huge Carrefour,
Woolworths and
Debenhams. The food court
boasts Burger King, KFC,
Hardees, and Cinnabon, but
also numerous local chains
with Syrian, Moroccan, and
Qatari specialties. I got Lebneh from the Syrian place, and ordered a Kofta Kebab, Hummus, and stuffed
wine leaves from the Lebanese booth. The place had no system at all, and was in absolute chaos. People
ordered and then lined up to try to get the cooks' attention to actually get their food.

In the men's room, there

are often no urinals, so
everyone uses a limited
number of stalls. On the
women's side, the ladies
are often waiting outside
the stall for a kid inside, so
it is not clear if there is a
line or not. The mothers
with kids assume priority –
especially if they are
covered head-to-toe in
black – and take their place at the front of the line. Inside the stall is a western-style toilet. The seat,
floor, and walls are drenched with what I assume is water; a spray hose hangs on the wall. If there is a
toilet paper holder, it is ver much likely to be empty. In some cases, there are dirty footprints on the seat.
So, what do you do? Dry off the seat with your precious stash of paper, or squat over it, assuming what
you have to do involves squatting? Should you then use the sprayer to wash your hands, the seat, and
the already-drenched floor? Do you even want to touch the sprayer? How do you get these questions
answered?

Though the City Centre shopping complex is your required destination, it lacks the sheer size and energy
of its Dubai counterpart. But this City Centre has an ice skating rink which is so great, so big, and so fun.
Sorry, I won't write about my stumbling helplessly on the icy ground a dozen times during a try.

My 4-day stay in Doha ends in the third night just because I fell very sick. Ducking into the ice skating
rink to cool off after walking all day under the extreme heat of the Arabian subcontinent is firmly not
recommended.

BAHRAIN: A BLACK HOLE OF ARABIA

Three days of exaggerated spending spree in Bahrain and the world's most unlikely tour guide. I'd hate
for you to think that what I'm about to say is the consequence of a tiring day and foul mood -- it is the
conclusion of three days' careful research and deliberation.

Bahrain is a shithole for me. It is without doubt the most soulless, dull and boring country on the planet. I
can think of no other places.
Bahrain, this microscopic island state -- sitting right next to Qatar in the Persian Gulf -- is a country
doomed to be forever ignored by the rest of the world. Rolling in the riches of its seemingly endless
supply of oil and natural gas, the leaders of Bahrain have transformed their little oasis island into the
ultimate holiday destination for rich Arab sheiks who come to escape the strict laws of their own
countries and eat, drink and enjoy themselves to world-class heaven.

So Bahrain today has become a palm-lined and westernly-branded Garden of Eden for hedonistic
millionaires but a budget-crushing purgatory for cash-strapped backpackers like me who don't seek
enlightenment in the glimmer of Louis Vuitton shop fronts and Starbucks coffee.

Stepping out of the airport I am immediately hit with some quite formidable heat as well as humidity
thick enough to push-back as I walk through it. Really, I can just feel the water starting to cling to myself
with any given movement. And this in a practical desert.

I arrive in Bahrain miserable with a slight flu and check into the only budget option in town, a
claustrophobic 30-dollar-a-night room in rathole-like Seef Hotel, in downtown Manama, while trying to
ignore the wrinkled bed sheets, unfinished peepholes on the wall and cracked toilet that secretes some
its contents on to the yellowing bathroom floor with every flush. Suffocating in the humid sauna of a
Bahraini evening and the slight fever I had. Muscular aches are gripping tightly when I realised I hadn't
washed myself yet. I decided to turn off the aircon and stripped off my clothes and went back to the
bathroom and shower myself off the orange colour dust sticking all over my hair. Now I was happy all
over again.
An unwise dose of paracetamol was finally beginning to sing me lullaby when I was woken by constant
rat-a-tats on the other side of the door. I was like, oh shit, that must be one of the immigration officers
trying to deport me for the possession of a narrow-minded ideas of how Bahrain was in my mind.

Grabbing my passport, making sure my visa stamp had no mistakes, I shouted "Wait a second" at the
closed door. Sweats started to run through my forehead and on the back of my neck, because I forgot to
turn the aircon back on. Before opening the door, I try to look for a peephole on the door but there isn't
one. I sighed and carefully opened the door of my 30-dollar-a-night bedroom.

The door swings open to reveal an happy-looking Asian girl squeezed herself into a fusion of Arabian and
Western vestments. She bows a little and smiles coquettishly.

"Helloooooowww" she crooned with a crude accent while I scrambleed to straighten my shirt. "You
looooooonelyyyyy?"

In my mind there was a strange mixture of two kinds of feeling. One was a sigh of relief, to know that the
stranger on the other side of the door is not a policeman, an immigration officer, or a hollywood movie
thief. The other feeling was a surprise and frighteningly shock to learn that she's actually a prostitute.

Then I thought, was I dreaming or was it real and normal for prostitutes in this country to wander doors
after doors looking for clients in hotel?

I stare at this apparition of badly applied makeup, wondering whether it's some kind of fever-induced
hallucinations. No, not even my subconscious is this warped.

I stuttered "I'm fine, but no thank you".

"Maybe laaaaater daaaaarling"

She moved on, back to her hunt and closed the door. This time I triplechecked my lock on the door
before collapsing back into my comatose with the sound of her tapping on my neighbour's door. What
the hell is this place?

I woke up again after 2 a.m., coated in sweat and hungry after my tormenting days caused by those 3
hours of goddamned ice skating. I stumbled out of my room hoping to raid a convenience store for food.
When I climbed downstairs, I spotted my lady friend sitting alone beside the deserted front desk of the
hotel, her eyes were staring blankly at Arabic channel of Al-Jazeera network on TV screen.

Her face shone aglow when she saw me. "Now you loooooooonely?"
"Sorry," I apologised, "I'm sick." I made my proof with a few coughs. And I felt a bit guilty of being
unfriendly so I asked her, "No clients tonight?"

She shrugged by way of agreement. Her English sucked by the way, but we managed to communicate.

"Well, is there a place around here I can get some food at this late hour?"

She made a visual research of me for a second, then stood up. "No one for Lucky." "But okay, I go for eat.
I take you for eat." Then she took my hand. I jumped. She said "Okay, okay. We talk later. We go for eat."

I followed her hand.

"Your name is Lucky?" I was wondering if she appreciated the irony of a life-worn working girl prowling
the seediest hotel of a foreign city half the world away from home choosing that name.

"Yeaaah," she giggled. "My name, Lucky, luuuuucky!"

She told me a brief history of herself. She said she'd been in Bahrain for 6 months. Her first two months
were spent in construction site and I presumed that her following 4 months were spent in the streets of
Doha, working as a prostitute.

I didn't have the energy to refuse Lucky for the second time, so I soon found myself being led through the
obscure labyrinth behind Manama's once-vibrant bazaar in search of food at 2.30 a.m.. I was surprised
that after turning away from a dark alley, the streets of Manama were still moderately animated at this
hour, mainly with the chatter and laughter of migrant workers. Bahrain is full of immigrants from
Thailand, former Soviet states, and India who flocked to this wealthy island to satisfy its voracious
appetite for heavy labour and cheap sex. In fact it's only their fiery curries and cheesy Asian pop that
provide the faintest blip of a cultural heartbeat to convince a visitor that life in Bahrain isn't confined to
the comfort of a Hilton penthouse.

Lucky led me through an unsigned glass door and I find myself in a diner of sorts. At a dozen or so tables
covered with cheap laminate and baskets filled with condiments sit two or three Asian late-night working
girls chatting furiously over plates of noodles. Lucky announces my arrival with an almost shout in the
most familiar language that results in a roomful of laughter, then left me with quizzical eyes to wander
into the kitchen and retrieve the menu.

Goddamn it, she's Thai.

 Within seconds she
returned with the menu
places it in front of me.
Now I was a bit happier,
to learn that these girls
are all Thais. At least I
didn't have to speak
English with her. This is
the first time I start the
conversation, in Thai, of
course!

I later knew that Lucky

has the more-or-less
similar life with those Thai
prostitutes in foreign countries I read from books. She is a 24-year-old lady from Kalasin, came to
Bahrain for better money in construction business. After 2 months, she got raped by her own Thai boss.
She fled the construction site and looked for better jobs in Manama until she met her Thai friends here.
In the next six months her visa would expire. So she had to save some money in order to go back to
Thailand, by knocking hotel doors of newcomers and offer sex service, which I think she may have liked
it because this kind of industry pays a great deal of money, much more than what she earned when she
had worked at the construction site.

I offered Lucky a meal. She orders spicy chicken soup. I stick to my Extra-spicy mutton curry with hard
bread and a pot of hot tea with milk. I wolfed down my overtime dinner and at the same time had some
conversations with Lucky and her friends.

My late night dinner was great. I said thank you to Lucky and her friends. It's time to go back to bed, in
attempt to go on to the adventures tomorrow.

.....

Now I get up. Maybe it's a little late to watch the sun rises by the gulf, but what the ****, I was sick last
night.
 At a little bit better
restaurant I can find on
the street, I gulped
down two cups of
coffee with one cancer
stick alongside. After
an extremely light
breakfast, I was fully
prepared for my
Manama tour. The
temperature in the
restaurant was
something a little
above freezing
temperature so it was a bit of a shock to step out of the restaurant back into the searing heat of a
Bahraini morning.

I came to an enlightenment later that it's a norm for gulf countries to adjust their aircons at around 18-
19 degrees. They said it's the most pleasant temperature, ewwww.

My first destination in Manama was a genuine Islamic mosque which is the only mosque in Manama
open to non-muslims. I'm intrigued to find that the large halls contained absolutely no pictures, statues
or even a single holy water fountain.

From the mosque I headed to the National Museum where I spent like half a day examining ancient
artifacts and the country's history before continuing to a nearby library. No Tom Clancy or J K Rowling in
this library; only about six hundred copies of a single book. A number of large rooms were filled with Al
Qur'an in incredible sizes ranging from too-big-to-be-carried-by-two-robust-Roman-gladiators, to tiny,
smaller than matchbox-sized volumes. The smallest item in the library was a grain of rice on which was
inscribed either all or a single page of the Holy Al-Qur'an.

Just minutes before the time I decided to get out of the library for something to eat, a librarian came to
me and said the library would be closed in 15 minutes, and would reopen to public again at 4. I would be
welcomed again without having to pay the entrance fee again. I said thanks, accepted the coupon and
leave for lunch.
I wandered to a nearby souq which was not that impressive. So I just took a quick (sic) look that takes an
hour and a half. I bought 3 movie DVDs. Outside the souq I found a nice local restaurant called Al-Asqa
on the road. This is an international restaurant with a wide-range selection of local stuff. I ordered a large
set which comprises local salad, cumin-cooked rice and a selection of meat with sour cream.

I didn't realise that my appetite was not the same as I always do when spending time abroad because I
was still in the verge of recovery. The food was great but my body was not very receptive. I gave a nod to
a waitress who stands bored at the kitchen door. She sprinted to my table, very eager to service, as if
this was her first day working here. I asked her if she has some chilli or something really spicy for me to
eat with my food. She says yes and went to the kitchen. Seconds later she comes back with a basket. In
the basket, there is fish sauce from Thailand, chilli sauce from Thailand, chilli pepper from Thailand,
vinegar from Thailand and shrimp paste (kapi) from Thailand..... When I see all the bottles my eyes are
like 'O_o'. and accidentally swear in Thai. She heavily giggled and asks me if this is what I want. I
expressed my wholehearted thankfulness with the sweetest 100-gigawatt smile. She blushed and
excused herself back to the kitchen.

Oooh... an Arab girl with spicy toppings. That sort of erased the picture of that Thai prostitute I met and
made the picture of Bahrain a thousand times better than what I had yesterday.
After a moderately good meal with the presence of an Arabian restaurant angel. I promised myself I will
eat here again tomorrow (but then I didn't).

I finally decided I will get some rest at the hotel and write something, and maybe watch the movies I
bought as I had no additional energy to continue my tour. I spent the whole evening watching Harry
Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Sahara and Earthstorm on my 14.1-inch laptop screen. I felt grateful
I brought my headphone with me so I don't have to bear with the tiny built-in speakers.

I learnt as I travelled around that all the shops and local restaurants close between noon and 4 p.m., or 1
to 4 or 2 to 4.

After having wolfed one big take-away sandwich and one big bottle of Carlsberg, I drift off to a long sleep.
Here Carlsberg is more expensive than Heineken but I hate that red star. So I had to pay a bit more.

The following morning came with the sound of myself breathing silently on the bed. I got up at 10 a.m.

Realising I'm already late, I sprang up and took a hot shower, and head to the mall for something safer
because today the weather sucks. I hear that one day Bahrain can have all the three seasons, sunny
morning, afternoon with rainstorm and hottest night. Luckily it doesn't snow.

After wandering around the mall for half a day, doing some cheap shopping. I realised that it's already
afternoon. I stop at a hotel nearby for lunch buffet. I found a nice hotel named Gulf Gate. I enter the
restaurant.

The waitresses were all Asian -- Thai, Filipino, Vietnamese, Indonesian -- and they are bored silly. At the
time there are only 4 tables occupied in the hotel's restaurant and the staff of around 20 fought for the
privilege of refilling my glass or changing my ashtray. As boring as the job of a waitress in Bahrain may
be, the worst, most mind-destroying job of all belongs to the man who stands at the entrance to the
hotel carpark in the broiling sun raising and lowering the barrier for visiting cars. At the lobby of the hotel
I ordered a glass of tonic and lime. I thought I would stay in this cool place as all the shops and places I
wanted to go were closed anyway. I killed my precious time watching HBO movies and reading
newspaper until it's 3 o'clock.

It's murderedly boring to sit here with nothing to do. But all of a sudden, there was a crowd of tourists
racing down the hall and sit at the lobby. More and more guests are filling the hotel's front hall. Two
Asian-look guys asked me whether I mind if sharing the table. I politely replied, offering them the
newspapers in front of me. We exchanged interesting conversations -- life in Bangkok, life in L.A, world
politics, serious matters, and culture shocks we all encounter in Arab countries.
A little about them, the two were from middle class families. Being the third generation in the US makes
them fully American, and of course they spoke like an average Long Beach folks -- fucks, shits and
damns every once in a while. They were very fortunate living in a considerably large cosmopolitan with
an enrichment and a density of ethnocultural diversity. Not only they spoke English as one of their native
tongues, they also spoke Spanish (which they claimed they picked this language up on the streets) and
spoke an acceptable level of French. No question about Chinese, they were still speaking Chinese with
families. They even showed off their few Thai phrases with correct tones that made my face turn red with
envy.

I spent time with these guys until I have to go back to Dubai.

Around four we all walked down to the souq, which we thought would be an exotic Middle Eastern bazaar.
In reality it was a large collection of bad jewellery shops selling gaudy gold rings and necklaces interbred
with shops selling extremely bland household goods. James and Kenneth (they prefer to be called A-Jia
and A-Ming which were their Chinese nicks) managed to clear several streets of pedestrians,
shopkeepers and even patrolling policemen by taking pictures while I feigned interest in a spice shop.
Even so I thought we managed to capture several Muslim souls on celluloid. Our sole purchase was a
head scarf which I thought would give excellent service as a tablecloth. The bemused shopkeeper
couldn't comprehend the idea of a head covering as a kitchen decoration and persisted in trying to sell
us the bands for head-attachment.

In the evening we regenerated our energy in a restaurant in the old town of Manama eating a very tasty
selection of dishes from the buffet. Once again we supped alone and watched the bored waiters flit
around the room polishing forks and spoons.

The sun already set and but the streets were still full of people and lights, just like Doha. We wondered
what the locals are doing at night. Shouldn't they be at home for dinner or watch the evening match of
Real Madrid and La Coruña? All we saw was local people dressing in the white long suit and headband,
sitting and standing in the back of highrider 4WD pick-up trucks, singing and partying on the streets. This
reminds me of Barcelona in the middle of the night. The only difference is the way people dress.
Triggered by the singings, dancings and partyings of the locals, we decided to go on exploring a little bit
of the Manama nightlife. I heard many people comment on the tourist forum that Bahrain is the best
place for nightlife in the whole Gulf sub-continent as they kind of allow sales of alcohol. This means you
can buy alcohol without having to go to the police station
asking for special permit.

The first place on the list was BJ's a traditional English

pub/club, the second we walked in, all sets of eyes lit up
reading the sign "LADIES DRINK FOR FREE EVERY NIGHT
except THURSDAY"

After realising it was a Thursday, and being quite

disappointed, we continued on our night. The night went
well with us ending up in a dance club called Liquid, techno
music, strobe lighting and shots at the bar all getting a bit
much, especially I haven't been drinking for a while.

Then it was out on the town again this time after some
more food and drinks at an Irish Pub we headed to BJ's.
We each paid 2.5 BD$ which is about 300 baht, for all
sprits all night, not a bad deal at all. We didn't need to visit any other pubs on the street. We spent the
night drinking and having great time till the lights came on at 2, then it was next door to the 'Traditional
Chipper' for some late night take-away kebabs.

We were feeling it was still not very dark, even though it's almost 3 a.m. God helped us so we manage to
find a 24-hour minimart right at the corner of the street where the bus stand is. We kicked down with
more beers, sitting at and around the bus stand. Another group of latenight pub-goers disappointed by
the limited entertainment hours offered by the Bahraini government joined us. We drank, talked and
laughed a lot.

And then we all parted at around 5:20 a.m. because of the morning Azan. I share the taxi with a Swiss
girl who stays in the same hotel I do.

At the hotel, I made to the front desk clerk, asking if she will still be here until noon. I ask her to give me
a wake-up call at 11 a.m. because I have to catch the plane back to Dubai at 2:30 p.m.

BACK TO DUBAI: A SLEEPATHON

I returned to my sister's apartment at 6 p.m. and slept like a dead man. When I got up the next morning
I could still smell alcohol in my breath. I felt I was really disgusting. I took a hot shower, fixed myself a
hot coffee, and went back to sleep.

I woke up again at 4:30 p.m. Dear me, I couldn't believe I had lost one whole day, and I had only 8 days
until I have to go back to Thailand. I put on my new clothes and head down to the government's tourist
office. I had to get out of here as fast as I could. Let's hope the buses to Muscat tomorrow morning are
not full.

At the tourist office, I scanned the bus schedule and sighed in relief. The bus leaves tomorrow at 7 a.m.
sharp. Okay, I'm ready for the next adventure. I headed down to the next door travel agency and bought a
ticket for my returning flight as well. Air Arabia offered low-cost flight all over Arabian peninsula. I got
Sanaa-Dubai one-way for only 67 US dollars, tax and surcharge included. And the bus ticket from Dubai
to Muscat was 40 Dirhams. After swiping my usual mastercard felt light as a helium-inflated balloon.

I dropped by a supermarket to get tonight's dose of coleslaw and diet coke, not forgetting to grab some
freshly made kebabs for dinner. That night I dined in the apartment, packed the good old rucksack with
clean clothes and tried to sleep.

.....
I couldn't sleep all night so I killed time by watching TV. I avoided getting on the net because I wanted to
sleep. But that didn't work. I stayed wide awake until almost 4 a.m. so I decided I would leave a bit early
and maybe I can sleep on the bus.

I switched on the water boiler for coffee and had a cold shower. Almost an hour passes, after coffee and
cigarette, I headed to the bus station.

I was standing in front of the apartment building with rucksack on my back. Not knowing where the hell
that bus station is. I want to kick myself for not having asked the travel agent last night where the bus
station was. I tried to look for a policeman or a street sweeper, or anyone who could tell me where
exactly the bus station is. At 5:35 a.m., I saw no living creature in the radius of 100 yards. The street was
calm with only a few cars passing by.

I was becoming frustrated, fearing I wouldn't make it to the bus within an hour and a half. So I walked
eastward. No, I wasn't planning to walk there. I was just heading toward the main road. There must be
someone around.

On the street, I saw a Western man with a walking stick walking my way. I think, he should know where
the bus station is as he must be some kind of an expat from the way he looks. Politely, I asked him a
favour. I let out a sigh of relief when he smiles and replies with his extremely embroidered Queen's
English. The old man was really helpful in giving me directions to the bus station. The only way to get
there at this time was by taxi. He even hailed a cab and told the driver where I want to go for me,
because the only word 'Bus Station' can cause confusion as there are actually two bus stations in Dubai.
How can I ever repay him? I thanked him. He waved his walking stick to me signalling a good-bye as we
drove off. What a nice old man.

Only about 10 minutes down the city I saw a bus with only a dozen people standing next to it. My taxi
driver made sure it really was the bus to Muscat by asking in Arabic and I said thanks and goodbye and
jumped aboard. The bus was not what I expected, it was not Saab's latest model. What I sat on was an
old Daewoo bus back in the nineties. At least it didn't make much noise and the aircon wasn't broken so
I was grateful. I am stopped by a scary-looking driver with all the moustache and the beard he has. He
just wants to check whether I have the right ticket and whether my passport is all right.

Leaving Dubai we drove through the desert and rocky hills, the surroundings reminding me of a quarry.
We moved eastward past Sharjah International Airport, passing through many 8-lane-highways on the
way from Dubai up to Oman border. I didn't see much of the roads to the border but a passenger sitting
next to me told me the highways were wonderful.

OMAN
I was woken up by an immigration officer, escorted by another scary-looking man with an M-16. At the
border they performed the obligatory search of our bags and on the Oman side they gave us a three-
week Visa-on-Arrival. We didn't have to pay anything even though everything I've read said we have to.
Unfortunately we were in the tourist low season in October the tourist office at the border was closed.
Driving on the arid landscape lasted pretty much all the way through to the outskirts of Muscat, where
we swapped to another local bus.

Omani highways were not as fancy as those in the UAE but the condition was far better from what I'm
familiar with in Thailand and they were all 4-lane highways all the way to the outskirt of Muscat.

From a distance, the local bus we were transferred to looks so old that I wasn't sure it could run, but it
did. Fortunately, even though the appearance of the bus is not so inviting I felt much safer than riding
Bangkok buses.

Arriving in the city I found out that Greater Muscat, the Omani capital, was actually three interconnected
towns – Ruwi where the business district is, Muscat where the government offices are and Muttrah,
something more like a suburb, is located on the bay.
At the bus terminal, I didn't really know where I
was as so many helpful taxi drivers were there
trying to catch us, offering to take us to any hotel
promising the largest commission. I am unable
to find a youth hostel though I've heard there are
some here. Though I spent most of the time
sleeping on the bus. I've made a friend who has
been in Muscat before.

Being from Thailand is one of the advantages to

make friends in most parts of the world because
foreigners seem to be very interested in the
place where I was born. Martine was a New
Zealander university graduate doing some
volunteer work in Sanaa, Yemen. She was a
young and really cute-type lass. But sorry readers.
You won't find any romantic scenes in this
travelogue of mine. She's not my type. And I'm
quite certain I'm not her type either.

We arrived in Muscat just in time to see the bank closes. Fortunately there was an exchange counter in
the market nearby. The exchange rate in Oman is a nightmare, just like in Bahrain. I give the teller a 100
USD note (4,135 baht at the time). Guess how much he gives me back in Omani Rial? Only 38.50 Omani
Rials. What the....

Having the local currency, we jumped in a

taxi and headed to Muttrah, evidently
where the hotels are cheaper. After
wandering around to all the local hotels
we found the cheapest and grabbed two
rooms. One for her and one for mine. At
this stage we were both exhausted and
sweating profusely. Martine said she
would rest a bit and see each other
around 7 for dinner. I decide to explore
the neighbourhood a bit.

Oman is a sultanate, meaning of course, that it is ruled by a Sultan. In ancient times it was the sole
source of the highly prized frankincense and a regional trading hub. This place has been through
occupations, colonisations by various foreign powers, and intermittent homegrown leaders that checker
its past. When the current ruler took power in 1970, the poor and war-torn parish that was Omani began
to change dramatically. The Sultan took it upon himself to bring Oman into the modern world while
insisting to keep its traditional roots intact. What has been attained in just a few decades I would
consider nothing short of a Renaissance.

Muscat is very beautiful. I wondered as I

wandered, thinking it's straight out of
Aladdin. All the buildings were white and
there are beautifully decorated mosques
everywhere, so magical. The city matches
the mental image of what I had expected it
to look like -- rugged, rocky mountains right
up to a teal blue ocean, pristine white
buildings, clean and modern streets, palm
trees and amazing landscapes, and
interesting buildings with uniquely Arab
architecture. In fact, this is the first truly
modern Arab looking city I have been to on
this entire journey. Dubai did not feel like a
Arab city, and I didn't think the cities in Qatar
or Bahrain really passed the 'modern' test. It
actually feels like Pattaya and Hua Hin or
something, except with a Muslim culture.
Almost everyone here is driving fancy cars --
BMWs, Mercedes -- and it is considered
illegal, or sort of, to drive a dirty car, ouch!
Almost all the traffic signs are both in Arabic
and English, and I haven't encountered a
single person that doesn't speak at least some English. Even the teenagers hanging around the
neighbourhood playing football speak far better English than average Thai highschool kids.

In addition to all of the modern infrastructure, there are many more women in the workforce here even
though most are in service jobs, which is quite different than in other Islamic countries like Pakistan or
Iran.

Enough for hard-core information, I returned to the hotel to see Martine read yesterday's newspaper in
the lobby. I told her I found a super nice local restaurant by the ocean and it's only 15 minutes of walking.
She eagerly nodded in agreement and we walked to that restaurant. The town was so calm, unlike the
towns of other Middle Eastern countries I've been to.

Here we are at the restaurant.

Again delicious food, the people
there were so nice. In fact, almost
too nice. The restaurant owner,
after we thank him for the
wonderful food he says 'Oh no
thank you it was my honour
serving you'. And after he learnt
that we walked for 15 minutes
from the hotel he even offered to
drive us back to the hotel! What
the....!?!?! We thanked them again
and politely declined his offer. He
insists on driving us
back into town so I
have to say we're
planning to eat here
again tomorrow but if
he insists on driving
us back to town we
won't. Finally, he gave
up. I can't believe they
are so nice, as if they
are ordered by the
government to be
nice to tourists. How
could he be so nice?
 We walked around
some more before
heading back to the
hotel. Martine asked
me whether I found a
convenience store
during my expedition. I
said I saw one or two
while walking around
but I had to admit I
can't go there for the
second time because
everything looks totally
diffferent when there's no sunlight.
I'm afraid we will end up walking to
nowhere. This is the beginning of the
discovery of another nice Omani.
Now that we really wanted to do
some little shopping, I looked for a
suitable person to ask about the
directions. I see a few kids sitting and
talking in front of an Internet shop so
we asked them whether there was a
convenience store around. A boy said
it's in the alley just across the street.
I say thanks. All of a sudden he
stands up and wave for us to come
with him, saying that he will take us down the alley to the minimart. Oh my God for the second time, the
boy was just almost too nice. He directed us to the shop and shouted inside. A woman came in sight and
said hello. We asked him if he wants some ice-cream he said no, adding that we didn't have to because
the minimart was his so he could have it whenever he wanted. The woman turned out to be his mother.
We smiled and say hello. I bought a toothpaste, a choco bar, a can of diet coke and today's newspaper.
The shop owner said she would only have my money for the toothpaste and soda, saying she will give me
the newspaper for free. No one would buy any more newspaper anyway because it was already dark. We
almost fell on the ground of shock. I have to admit I've never experienced such an incredible degree of
hospitality anywhere in the world comparable to Oman. People were always sweet and willing to help.
The Omanis have totally won my heart away.
Back to the hotel, we plan to wander around Muscat for a day and buy bus tickets to Salalah. We call it a
night as we're all exhausted and sleepy.

The following day, after having a huge sleep to recharge the batteries before hitting the town. Outside
the temperature was damn hot. We walked along the corniche, which sweeps along Muscat Bay towards
Riyam Park and the watchtower that is shaped like an incense burner. Arriving at the park we had to
climb the fence to hike to the top of the watchtower as it appear to be closed for repairs. The views from
the top were fantastic and it gave us the opportunity to relax and dry off our sweaty forehead and back in
the sea breeze. At this stage we were dripping in sweat. We then headed down to the beach where
Martine cooled off her feet while getting a sneak peek by local boys. I wassitting on the beach near the
street in fear of myself touching the sea water.

Continuing into town we passed the Muscat

Gate Museum, closed for the midday break,
as basically everything is closed between 1
to 4 p.m. as it's so hot, and walked on to

see both the Jalari and Mirani Forts. Grabbing

some Indian food for lunch and a large bottle of
water we wait to cool off before getting a taxi in
Ruwi to try and organise a tour into the desert and
buy bus tickets to Salalah. Finding the only tour place in town we decide that the tours were a little bit
too expensive as they were a lot cheaper in Dubai, but we got 2 seats in tomorrow's morning bus to
Salalah. In Ruwi there was a main town square and not much else to see so we head back to Muttrah
and the famous Muttrah Souq. Martine enjoyed the shopping a lot while I didn't see anything worth
buying. At night we have our good old dinner at the same place we ate yesterday. Tonight's menu is
chicken sharwama and a mutton pizza with lots of vegetables.

One of the things we've noticed in Muscat is the extreme temperature and humidity. We've never
experienced anything like it before. It's a concern sweating so much, drinking a couple of litres of water
and still not having to go to the toilet for a pee. The culture is also a bit of a shock to the system.

Tomorrow we have to reach the bus early in the

morning. We again call it a night.

In the morning we went to the city's bus station very

early in order to get the best seats as we've heard that
the journey will be very long, sometimes up to 14 hours.
Salalah is 1 058 kilometres from Muscat. We initially
planned to fly (Muscat-Salalah by Oman Air takes only 1
hour 15 minutes). However, the fare was too high (37
Omani rials one-way) so we finally ended up on bus.

The journey by bus from Muscat to Salalah, according to

the driver's assistant, takes 12 hours. It cost me 6
Omani rials. The first 188 kilometres stretched from

Muscat to Nizwa is
done by 4-lane
highways but the final
870 (or so) kilometres
from Nizwa to Salalah
is totally by 2-lane
tarmac roads. The bus
made brief stops in big
cities in between,
namely Nizwa and
Hayma. We had our
dinner in Hayma. There
are many local and international restaurants serving delicious food (I heard) but I chose an Indian place
just a few yards away from the bus where I was presented with the most delicious biryani in my life.

Salalah is only a small city with 150 000 people, making it the second most populous city in Oman. The
city centre is small with typical Omani low-rise shophouses and supermarkets more than adequate
enogh to serve its relatively small population. It is a very huge city where its small population scattered
so far away against each other inside the city limit.

Like Muscat, Salalah is served by powerful infrastructure and the people enjoy very high quality of living.
Everywhere you go in Salalah you will find many luxurious, castle-look houses -- almost similar to Muscat.
Industries are growing -- there is a huge
steel industrial area in Raysut which
provides massive employment. Salalah
port is the world's fastest growing port.

We arrived in Salalah at around half

past 10 but the place the bus stopped
there were still many shops open
awaiting our arrival. We headed to the
tour counter near the bus terminal
booking a day-tour of Salalah and bus
tickets to Yemen. The tour here is
cheaper compared to Muscat. The guy at tourism counter happened to be our tomorrow's guide. Even
though it was very late and he should close his counter and go back to his family, get enough sleep and
prepare for our tour tomorrow, he offered us a ride and guide us to a well-chosen hotel.

At this hotel we find out there's only one single room available. Martine asked me whether I mind
sharing the room with her. How would I dare mind? No problem about that. She said as we're friends she
guesses that's all right. We were told to wait in the lobby for a few minutes while an extra bed is being
delivered. We were offered a welcome drink which was Thai iced tea. I was very impressed.

Though we were not feeling extremely exhausted because we spent the whole day and almost half the
night sitting on the bus, cramps overwhelmed our bodies. We slept without caring to shower.

The following morning, our guide, Tariq

with a beautiful young lady -- which we
knew later she was his 15-year-old
daughter named Anisa -- came to pick
us up at 9 o'clock with his Hyundai
Sonata from almost two decades ago
but it looked brand new because it was
so clean. Oman has a very weird but
useful law prohibiting drivers to drive
dirty cars. He brought his daughter
along because he wanted her to
practise her English. She had a very
little bitt of an accent but her English was perfect. I told her she was far better than every 15-year-old
non-native I've ever met. I pictured myself back to the time I was 15 my English sucked terribly, not even
half of hers.

At a grocery shop not far

from the hotel he asked
whether we want some
water but we say we
weren't thirsty yet. He left
us all in the car and went
into the shop. Within a
minute he came back
with hats and bottles of
water. He said we need
the hats because the tour
will not always be in the car. We accepted the hats and water and tried to give him the money for our
hats and water but he refused to take the money, giving reasons that we're guests to his country he
didn't allow that to happen. Awwwwww I'm touched.

We had a very
interesting day in
Salalah. Many places
that we visited, Tariq
has prepared us for
possible mishaps
and fuzzy schedules,
but really nothing too
outrageous has
happened but we
had an adventure
nonetheless. The
tour we took I later
called it
'Frankincense Trail

and Job's Tomb'.

Our first stop was at an old frankincense

tree in the middle of the desert. You have
to imagine the picture of two people
around this single tree in the 'deserted'
desert learning the history of
frankincense and having the opportunity
to rub the tree to smell its scent. Perhaps
this country doesn't have too much to
offer?

We then headed through the mountains

on the way to Mughsail Beach where
there was a small fishing village and
some beautiful scenery. Driving through
the mountains, we got our first close-up
look at camels meandering along the
roadside, and in the middle of the road.
Several times Tariq had to stop to wait for them to move to the side. As we were driving, we noticed that
the car was struggling with
temperature. When we got to the
beach the aircon died, and before
we could express our dismay, the
car came to a complete stop. Tariq
asked us to get off and he started
poking around under the hood. He
bowed and apologised for this
unexpected unfortunateness. We
tried to comfort him and told him
to take his time when we're still
having some interesting
conversations with Anisa. He then
tortured his cell phone with his
fingers and started screaming at someone on the other end to get us another car. Martine and I were
laughing heavily because when he's done screaming and in Arabic, he was very proficient in uttering
English swear words under his breath. Anisa, however, didn't seem to be pleased when she heard the
way her father spoke, especially in front of us. Just as we were about to walk to the road sign to try to
read the obscure Arabic language with the help of Anisa, Tariq came to a conclusion of what has gone
wrong, fixed it and called us back into the car.

We then had a very short ride to the end of the beach where there were unusual rock formations and
natural blowhole. Now picture two buses, and a big group of Chinese-speaking tourists all standing with
cameras in hand, shouting, yelling
and screaming at one another
(they were only talking), waiting
for the tide to create a photo
opportunity at the blowhole.

We reboarded the car and are

happily going along. We stopped
just a bit out of town at a small
local restaurant whose owner was
a good friend of Tariq. Even in a
small restaurant the menu was
still written both in Arabic and
English. His friend, Ahmad, also
had some small guesthouses for rent at the back of the restaurant. Tariq and his friend's family occupied
the table at the back of the restaurant, I, Martine and Anisa sat in the front. Spiced rice and Omani beef
stew with something that looks like french fries are served. Anisa told us this is tapioca. Martine didn't
know what the plant was so it was a chance for Anisa to educate her about this delicious thing. As soon

as we finished we looked up the prices on the menu and prepared to pay for the meal. Guess what,
Ahmad refused to take the money, again! He says since we are Tariq's friends we are his friends too. He
even teases us that he would charge us next time we visit Salalah and come to his restaurant. We
wonder what kind of saint, or ghost, overwhelmed all the people of this country. They were all so nice
that we felt embarassed.

Just a side story about Tariq while we were eating -- He was 44 years old, retired after 21 years
supervising a local bank branch in Salalah with a full pension. He had 6 children aged 4 to 21, and was
looking for a second wife to bear him more children. Remember in Islam a man can have up to 4 wives.

We all thanked Ahmad for a wonderful meal, and continued our tour in the direction of Job's Tomb.

It is thought that the Queen of Sheba, who reportedly brought presents of spice to King Solomon in Israel
may have come from these environs because this area (inclucing Yemen and Somalia) is home to the
rare frankincense tree. In fact, one archeological site not too far from this city is claimed to be one of the
palaces of the Queen of Sheba.
Christian Scriptures relate that three wise men brought gold, frankincense and myrrh to the manger in
Baytlahm (Bethlehem) where Jesus was born. So esteemed was the fragrance of frankincense, that
some commentators believe the value of the gift was greater than that of the gold. The biblical journey
said to have ended in the mountains about 45 kilometers from this port city was that of Job, hero of the
biblical Book of Job.

So renowned was Job as a good and reverential man that God permitted Satan to test his devotion. First
Satan killed Job's children and destroyed his possessions, and later Satan afflicted Job with terrible sores
and boils. Although Job grieved over his state, he neither expressed anger at God nor acquiesced to his
friends' suggestions that he had done something to deserve such a fate. Eventually God rewarded Job for
his steadfastness, giving him more possessions than he had previously as well as more children.

Oman is an Islamic country so the version of Job told here combines the biblical version and that
contained in the Al Qur'an. Additionally the story was spiced with what might be described as "Muslim
midrash."

We wound up the mountain known as Jabel Izzin to the small domed building that road signs identified
as the tomb of "El Nabi Ayoub" -- the Prophet Job.

En route, Tariq told us the wondrous story that he had known since childhood about the man who long
ago had lived upon this mountain.

He related that Job was a very rich man with lots of money, camels and children. He moved from one
place to another place. When he arrived at this mountain, suddenly he got sick. He had big bumps
coming out of his body. Sometimes out of these bumps came small animals, and these he took and put
back into his body, so they could have 'the fruits from my body.' The people of the village asked him to
move away from the village, so they would not have the same sickness. He went up to the mountain, and
always prayed, and thanked God. He never said 'why me, why not other people?'

His wife every day brought food from down in the village up to the mountain. One time God asked him to
break some rock on that ground and water came out, then God asked him to take a shower from that
place and he did, and after that he became a very clean person.

When the wife came with the food, she didn't know him; she asked if he had seen this old person. He
said, 'yes, that is me,' and after that they lived together, and he died in this place.

Nearly none of this story is in Jewish scriptures, and the anecdote about water coming from a rock
seemed to Jewish ears an echo of the story in Torah about Moses striking a rock to bring forth water --
disobeying God's instructions to call the water forth. But that's another story.
As found in Surah 38:42 of the Holy Al Qur'an, after Job prayed to God, he was commanded to "strike the
ground with your foot" and from the spring that appeared to take "a cool bath and a refreshing drink."
Doing so, his fortune and family were not only restored, they were doubled.

As for the tale of his kindness to the critters that emerged from his body, it is perhaps a folk tale or an
extrapolation from Al Qur'an devised by some Muslim clergymen. Ditto the charming story of Job's wife
not recognising him once his affliction had been miraculously cured.

We were instructed to remove our shoes before entering the tomb. Prior to crossing the tomb's threshold,
Martine was given a green scarf with to cover her hair in accordance with Islamic custom.

Inside the tomb was what appeared to be a long mound covered reverently with brightly colored cloths.
The mound measured 3 x 1 metres. The reason why the mound was so big is thought to come from two
different speculations.

Tariq explained that Job was renowned throughout the world for his patience. In the times of Job, the
people who walked the earth were much larger, and that the burial mound was Job's approximate size.
Job was not only a big man spiritually, but physically as well. Another speculation goes as the human
size, might have been a bit larger than today's human beings but the burial is holding two bodies (or
maybe his wife is there too?).

On the threshold of the tomb was a cover that could be lifted from the walkway to reveal what were
described as the footprint of Job and that of his horse. At the opposite end of the burial, frankincense
emitted its sweet aroma from a burner, and next to that was a small tray in which visitors could place
monetary offerings. Otherwise the tomb was quite simple; the only other noticeable adornment being a
chart listing the names of various prophets. Anisa pointed out in particular the names of Nabi Ibrahim
(Abraham), Nabi Musa (Moses), Nabi Ayoub (Job), Nabi Isa (Jesus) and Nabi Muhammad Sallalah
Houaley-wassalam.

An open air enclosure near the tomb had prayer rugs scattered on the ground for those pilgrims who
might be there at any of the five times during the day when Muslims are supposed to pray.
There were two niches in the wall to
indicate in which direction to face
while praying. In the olden days,
people prayed at the older niche
because it faces Al-Quds (Jerusalem).
But nowadays, Muslims face toward
Makkah (Mecca) for their prayers.

The frankincense in Yemen and

Salalah is different than that which is
grown in Somalia, which is always
white. But the white of Salalah is
better than the white of Somalia, Tariq
added patriotically.

One month before the monsoon, they

collect the frankincense, which is
actually the gum from the tree. They
keep it outside Salalah to dry it and
after one week they can use it.
Collectors of frankincense must be
very careful to not hurt the tree.
Because agriculturalists have not been successful in propagating new frankincense trees, such wastage
could be a calamity.

Time passed by quickly in the Tomb. The time we were back in town it's already 4 o'clock. We are given
another quick tour of Salalah town. Along the way we see a wedding ceremony taking place on the side
of the road.

Back to the hotel, we insisted that the father and daughter come with us for dinner, and this time we
would pay for it, telling them not to refuse otherwise we would feel guilty for the rest of our lives. Tariq
and Anisa had no choice but to accept our invitation. Tariq said he would come back to the hotel and
pick us up at seven. That leaves us two hours to wash ourselves. I, waiting for Martine to finish her
endless shower, tried to find something from Thailand in my backpack to give to Tariq but couldn't find
anything that suited him. About to give up searching, I find a scarf I bought in Chiang Mai but it's full of
bright white and red colours, with 2 elephants sewed neatly on the bottom of it so I thought this should
better be for Anisa. Martine came out of the bathroom and saw what I was doing. She searched her
backpack for a minute and screams with joy when she shows me her New Zealand All Blacks' keychain
in the shape of a leaf -- the All Blacks' symbol. This could be cool for Tariq's car keys.
At seven o'clock we met Tariq and Anisa at the hotel lobby. We went down to a nice restaurant in town.
This time we made sure that the owner is not Tariq's friend again. We ordered everything we wanted to
eat and with the best selection to make sure that tonight's guests of ours enjoy the food. And yes,
Martine and I paid the bill. After the meal Tariq drives us back to the hotel. We presented Tariq with a
present from New Zealand and Anisa with a scarf from Thailand, as gifts of our friendship. And this ends
our good-bye.

After all the good time, I longed for some alcohol. After Bahrain incident I never touched that kind of
thing for several days. Tonight should be that night. We ask the front desk if there's any alcohol drink
sold around here. Luckily, alcohol is sold only in big restaurants and in hotels. Realising that we were
foreigners and didn't look like muslims a bit they didn't have enough suspicion to ask for our
identification. I used the telephone there to order 5 cans of beer. I repeat the order and make sure the
order is for 'proper' beer not alcohol-free beer like those sold in Carrefour or Lulu. Ah, that's right.

Watching BBC to catch up things we missed while we toured to the extremes. We wolfed down every
drop of beer and I fell asleep on the floor.

We'd been in Oman for only 4 days but we felt that we'd been here for years. Everyone was so nice. I
think I never met nicer people than Omanis. One of the things that makes them so sweet is the fact that
they're not used to tourists. In many places I went to in Oman, I had the feeling that I was the very first
tourist that the locals had ever seen. And in many instances, it was probably true. It's interesting to know
that Oman actually opened a Tourist Ministry only about two or three years ago. And it's a rather
expensive place to visit with no good public transportation system so it's off of the traditional
backpackers itinerary.

It was great to see the locals wave me from across the street. They would often come over for a little
chat and wanted to know everything about me. And there's no sitting alone at a table in a restaurant.
Every time it happened, a neighbour quickly came over and sat with me and got me tea before ordering
me some local food that I didn't even know existed. They all wanted to me to get the best food there was.
And the whole time I stayed in Oman, I almost never paid for a meal. My new friend would insist on
paying for me every time.

Here's a good one. I went to this grocery store not far away from my hotel and put enough food on the
counter to fix me a few meals. The man working there engaged in a very friendly conversation, which is
so typical of Omanis, and we chatted for a while when he asked me where I was from. He was so
delighted I was from Thailand that he categorically refused that I paid for the food. I politely declined his
offer, explaining I could easily afford it but he insisted. In a final effort to convince me to accept he said
"Take it as a gift from Oman to Thailand". The man was so sincere that I couldn't refuse. What a sweet
guy. He explained that he was the owner and introduced me to his son and daughter, adding: "If you
need anything in the next days come see him and he'll get it for you." Of course, after such a good
gesture I would have been embarrassed to ask for more so I did not. But I'm sure there would have been
nothing they wouldn't have done for me. This is Oman!

The bus leaves Salalah to Yemen at 6:30 a.m., the most torturing hour for a journey. We checked out at
5 a.m. waiting for a taxi. Standing in front of the hotel under warm breeze of Omani morning. We sat in
front of the hotel for 20 minutes, waiting for a taxi, but there didn't seem to be any around. Minutes after
minutes pass by and we are startled by a man who calls us "What are you doing here in the dark, my
brother?" Before I realised what happened, Martine said we were going to the bus station, to catch a bus
to Yemen. We shook hands. He said he was the owner of a bookstore not far from the bus station and he
would take us there. We were pushed into his brand-new S 320 Mercedes and he drove us to the bus
station in like 15 minutes.

At the bus station he opened his window and shouted in the same Arabic we heard from Tariq I guessed
he meant to find that very bus to Yemen. He pointed to one red bus at the end of the parking lot and told
us this was the bus to Yemen and wished us safe trip. We thanked him and asked him how we would
repay for this favour. He said in his strong voice "I don't want anything from you my fellow brother and
sister. Have a safe trip and I'll be happy". We smiled and thanked him again. Then he went on his way.

We boarded the bus, the driver's assistant did some procedural checkings of passports. We waited for
45 minutes and off we went.

West of Salalah, after Mughsayl, the main road passes by a spectacular mountaineous landscape. This
new road was a highly technical achievement. At the 1 100 metres high plateau of Jabal Qamar, it's
possible to park the car and enjoy the breathtaking view. Our Omani driver was very proud to show us
this road. This road gave the possibility to reach Yemen this way.

In many hours, we faced the Yemeni border. The immigration took us all almost 3 hours. Bureaucracy
and bloody red tapes are still good description for this situation.

YEMEN

If there is hell on earth then it is Yemen. This place is seriously bombed out and depleted. I crossed the
border around 11 a.m. the scenic roads were very nice, they went up and down and all around near the
border, and we had to stop at military checkpoints three to five times to have my passport scanned. Well,
after the last military checkpoint, We chugged down off a plateau near the sea.
My first hint of the kind of place I'm dealing with is when you leave Oman, I got stamped out of Oman.
When I got there I thought the place was a hotel, I couldnt figure out what the place was, there was a
skinny little yemen man with a handle-bar moustache and a shaved head walking around in a room
behind bars with my passport, yelling and carrying on, nobody spoke English, after waiting and waiting
for the immigration official to make his phone calls I finally got stamped in.

All the passengers were told to move to another bus, which was waiting for us half a kilometre down the
road. Our new bus driver said women will be seated in front, while men will be seated at the back. It's a
tradition. Okay I don't mind that. Martine sat in her same old seat while I had to move to the back.

As we were leaving the immigration area, we stopped at a little gate house before leaving the compound,
the guard distributed some men in the car AK-47s. This brought on a whole slew of idea about what to
expect next. I mean, we were only going to Say'un what are we going to need 4 Ak-47s for? So, we took
off into the night, across the desert and down to the shoreline, when we reached the first town, we
stopped and the driver and his assistant got out of the bus, nobody spoke any English so I just sat there,
waiting for someone to give me any sign of what was going on. After we were moving again, the bus
stopped at a small mudbrick army outpost and we changed our guns, exchanging AK-47s for new AK-
 47s. The driver tried to
speak English and I
speak no Arabic, but we
had a small conversation.
I was pretty tired and
having a hell of a time
keeping my head from
drooping and passing
out, I had been traveling
for over 9 hours.

During one of my in and

outs of conciousness I
awoke to a strobe light
in the middle of the road,
the truck stopped and there was a man with a big red light standing in the road with his gun, he came up
to the window and the ground on each side of the road began to move, people threw off blankets and
starting comming towards the truck, I thought this was interesting and a bit hair raising, it looked as
close to an ambush as I would have imagined. But I could see the driver wasn't the least bit concerned,
after a few minutes, three young men jumped in the back of the truck, all armed. They looked very
interesting, wearing capes and having scarves wrapped around their heads with big aviator style goggles
on top of their heads. I learnt later they were our guards.

When the bus stopped we were all allowed to go to 'proper' toilet and dinner I walked around trying to
find a place to exchange money, the city we were in was called Say'un, it was so difficult to keep track of
anything, the place looked
to be falling apart all
around me. I arranged for
a ride on the night bus to
Aden, and spent almost
two hours waltzing around
the block. Yemen is not the
kind of place you walk
around with a camera
slung over your neck and
clicking off photos playing
tourist.

When the bus arrived, I

was a bit relieved and ready to get traveling again, the bus ride turned out to be something like 15 hours,
but the scenery along the way was magnificent. The buildings are all of mudbrick and palm tree parts.
The towns, lite citadels, fort walls protect cities and just a few gates here and there let people in and out,
it was a truly amazing place, the desert a lot different from that in Oman.

When we stopped the next morning to get breakfast, I took my time to walk around, we bought the
camels a can of RC Cola and ate breakfast with a few camels, the roadside rest area was covered in
trash and broken-down cars, cinder block homes. A very very poor and developing(?) country but Yemen
probably has the most interesting features. After a few more hours on the bus, I arrived in Aden, which is
quite the city.

Our first order of business was to

get a hotel room. We decided to
go look around. I hunted down a
hotel so we could get a decent
shower. After a shower we
walked around trying to find the
port. I had envisioned Aden as
much different than it was. It was
very very sad not to find what I
was expecting. It was just a port
city with a very small and empty
port. I walked from dock to dock searching for anyone who might give me some information but I
couldn't find anyone.

The streets were almost deserted. Everything closed. There were only a few children were out on the
streets playing with toy guns or giving me heart failure by letting off fireworks as I went past.

Still getting over my muscular aches -- long journey on the bus, new country, new bugs. I was
disappointed with Aden. It seemed that today was a holiday so I shrugged and hoped to find some place
else to go. But after more than 24 hours
on buses, we agreed to spend today
reading newspapers and watching TV and
catch a late bus to Sanaa.

The feeling of a bus ride from Aden to

Sanaa was very typical. Most of the time
we passed rugged rocky mountains, up
and down the slopes with very few
greenies seen along the way. The bus
stopped for lunch in Dhamar which was
high on the mountain, half way to Sanaa.
After lunch, I slept all the way to Sanaa
because I didn't expect the scenic routes I
always saw for the past two days would
be different.

And here I arrived in Sanaa, my last

destination. I was welcomed to Martine's
place where she and her friends from
almost over the world worked as a
volunteer in an NGO's children camp.

Yemen is an amazing place exotic to the western eye without being incomprehensible or alienating. The
men walking down the street their cheeks bulging with qat wearing their jambiyas with intricate silver
work and inlaid precious stones, handles made of horn, women dressed in their black. The architecture:
stone tower houses decorated with elaborate stucco brickwork around the windows and delineating
each floor, the takhrim windows of alabaster and coloured glass set inside a framework of intricate
geometric or floral designs.
This country was basically a medieval state up until the late 60's. The owner of the camp, an American
expat who has been here for 12 years told me that there were basically no cars in Sanaa when he first
arrived. Now the streets are bumper to bumper with traffic and Sanaa is growing faster than any other
city on Earth.

It really feels like the warm heart of Islam here -- people

live their lives according to a code -- religion is not just
talk here its living and breathing -- Islam holds this society
together and is woven into every aspect of peoples lives.
Yemeni tribes were amongst the first to convert to Islam.
There is a mosque in the old city that was built in the time of Nabi Muhammad.

Witnessed a Yemeni ceremony of some sort right outside my window. I had initially thought it was a
wedding but I never saw a woman during the whole procession - one man, wearing a wreath and a long
sword, was the centre of attention. In front of him was a candelabra and men and boys were circled
around him under the glow of lights strung across the street for the occasion. There was live music -- oud
and doumbek,
dancing and singing --
one man leading the
call and the rest
singing the response.

I couldn't resist
anymore and went
downstairs to check
out what was
happening. Old men
were dancing four of
them lined up side by
 side. Nobody spoke English so I couldn't
work out what was going on. Eventually
everyone returned to the house to
continue the celebrations and I was left
scratching my head. The Yemenis seem
to have a love of distorted noise that
rivals India. Everything, TVs, radios,
must be pumped to maximum volume.
Blaring car's horn at intersections is a
national sport here and they come in all
kinds of irritating melodies and finally
the megaphone seems to have had a
huge impact on Yemeni society. In the souqs it seems like everyone has one, blasting out to the world
whatever bargains they have on offer. There is a policeman who directs traffic with one outside of the
camp window.

At a hotel where we had dinner

I saw a man hand over a
Kalashnikov to the girl at
reception like it was an
umbrella. There are three
firearms for every person in
Yemen the highest rate of gun
ownership in the world. Rocket
launchers, grenades and
armoured vehicles are also
available from the arms souqs
in the north. Its amazing that
in a heavily armed society
going through such rapid changes and with such poverty that armed robberies and muggings are still
almost unheard of. Weapons are mainly used in bloodfeuds and wars between tribes, which is a system
of justice that goes back centuries in Arabia but one that has become significantly bloodier than the
days of swords and single shot rifles.

Just found out from Andrew (the camp owner's son) that it was a wedding outside of my hotel the other
night -- apparently the women don't attend -- they have their own celebrations separate from the men
and the groom meets his bride for the first time after the wedding.
We then went to the house of a friend of Andrew who lives in the old Jewish quarter - we were received in
a whitewashed room with a beautiful ceiling of great beams of wood plastered over and running parallel
across the room. We had tea sitting on cushions on the floor. Abdul Rahman was still recovering from a
wedding party the night before where large amounts of qat and whiskey were imbibed. Apparently
whiskey isn't hard to get and many men drink it in their homes.

Abdul Rahman showed me the

many old houses in the Jewish
quarter, hidden storerooms, tiny
basements, secret doors,
apparently to hide money and
jewellery. The Jews were the most
respected silver craftsmen in
Sanaa but most left Yemen in
1948 leaving behind only local
apprentices with a fraction of their
knowledge and ability. The Arabic
spoken in the Jewish quarter is
very unique in accent and in the
use of Hebrew words, so much so that many Arabic speakers from outside can't understand what people
are saying here. Apparently accents and pronunciation vary wildly not just across the country but across
Sanaa due in part to the old tribal segregations in the city.

Andrew told of some of the

brutal tribal wars that were in
Sanaa a couple of years ago
where justice was despatched
with rocket launchers and
grenades. We cruised up
Haddah street and Andrew told
me of its reputation as the main
pick up street in Sanaa. This was
a real eye opener for me. I had
walked up this street every day
while I was in Sana'a without
noticing anything unusual but
now a whole new world opened
up before me as Andrew started pointing things out: large groups of men waiting on every street corner
or following women in packs of 10 or 12, Mercedes cruising along slowly - all watching the passing
parade of black sharshafs. The veil made it difficult for the men to see what the women looked like so
the women would often bring along a younger sister with make up caked on to advertise for them. They
would also wear blue denim jeans, allowing them to just poke out from the bottom of their black dresses
- to let the men know that they were no angels. I couldn't believe that all of this had been happening
right under my nose.

Yes, the Sanaa's red light district.

Had dinner at a restaurant on

Haddah street, I still couldn't name
any of the Yemeni dishes so when the
waiter asked 'meat?' it all seemed
too easy but then out came hunks of
mutton on the bone, vegetables,
bottled water, yoghurt, soup, and
some fruits. I hadn't asked for any of
this but once they put it on the table I
couldn't say no. the bill ended up
being 700 Yemeni rials. After I had
paid I was given a banana and
sprayed with cologne. This has
happened in several restaurants now. I guess when you travel in a foreign country you have to accept
there will be some things you will never understand.

Chewed qat with Martine and Andrew

at the house of the chief of Sanaa
secret police! I didn't get any effect
from it - the main problem was
holding enough in my mouth. I hadn't
even chewed half of the standard
bag before my cheek had stretched
to its limits and was beginning to get
painful. The Yemenis attribute all
sorts of effects to qats. Some
become alert, some get sleepy, some
become hungry, others don't eat for
hours afterwards. Ali, the secret police, told me that after chewing qat there is always a new baby.
On the last day of my time in Sanaa. I toured the inner city a little. It was still fascinating even after a
couple of visits. Managed to tag along with a tour group to the top of a tower house to get a fantastic
360 degree view of the city - tried to count the 64 minarets of Sanaa but gave up after thirty something.

One small boy had his head heavily bandaged and when I asked what had happened the other boys
predictably mimed that he had been hit on the head by a rock thrown by another kid. I've seen this
happen on numerous occasions walking around the old city - children throwing not just stones but large

rocks at each other - once I was hit on the back by one badly directed stone-missile. The kids seem to
feel no pain here but the twisting alleys and streets of the old city of Sanaa must be the perfect place for
a game of hide and seek.

Oh, the funniest thing was that I saw a man on the street walk up and greet a woman who was
completely covered in the sharshaf. I have no idea how he recognised her from only her eyes.

At a hospital where I took an hour of rest, I saw a kid sat on a chair with animal horns attached to his
arm. The doctor sucked through one end and sealed them with something like chewing gum then
removed the horns a little later spitting the 'bad blood' into a bucket. I don't know what good it did for
the patient but it didn't look like a healthy thing for the doctor himself.

The following day, the day I had to return to Dubai Martine and Andrew saw me off at the airport. And
now I'm too lazy to dive into much of information as this is too many pages that I've been typing. Thanks
for reading.
+++ END +++