We spent most of the next day in the car. Our lack of prior planning meant we were largely directionless and only stopped when we saw something interesting. One of these stops was outside the town of Fujairah and was the country’s oldest mosque, dating back over 1,000 years. The mosque itself was tiny but the nearby watchtower was large enough to offer decent vistas of the surrounding area. As we took in the view, a couple of western-looking gentlemen joined us. ‘Mike’ and ‘Sam’ offered to take a snapshot of Nick and I with my camera and we soon got to talking. ‘Mike’ and ‘Sam’ lived in Bahrain. When I asked what they do there, they looked at each other. “Oh, a little of this, a little of that”, ‘Mike’ offered. They didn’t take off their sunglasses the whole time we talked with them.
Back in the car and after too much driving, we eventually what we were looking for: the Golden Tulip resort. This was a step along the way to finding good camping spots as we had been informed the Golden Tulip offered good excursion options. The hotel itself was odd. Located on the peninsula of the gulf that reaches closest to Iran, it is technically part of Oman. The remoteness of the place is like finding a sleepy but well-stocked inn at the top of some lonely mountain. Why anyone would build a resort here is a mystery. Despite its location, the Golden Tulip has plenty to offer including a dedicated dive shop and a full swimming pool just off the beach. One of the excursion guides we spoke to gave us directions to some good camping nearby and soon, we were out the door and headed off in the direction of the Dibba mountains.
See previous post for photo link.
Our inventory consisted of four people, eight bags, two tents, four sleeping pads, two bundles of firewood, and enough water to keep us hydrated for at least three days. To remind you, our transportation was a two-wheel drive Toyota Yaris, a car best suited for running from the suburbs to the office and not for navigating loose gravel paths in the back country of the third-world. However, by nothing short of divine intervention did we make it up to the top of the range, stopping along the way for photo opportunities.
Once we’d reached the top, we realized our decision to jostle ourselves along the bumpiest road in the region and fray our nerves on blind corners at the edge of 100-meter precipices had been a good one. The view from the top stretched for miles and we’d arrived just as the sun was going down, adding to the magic. I set about building a fire as the others began setting up camp. Soon, we were crowded around the flames like crusty cow-hands, making dinner and passing around the grub.
The sun had set, and the stars were coming out so I set up my camera and tripod for some long-exposure shots. Shuttling between the fire and the camera, I took a moment to appreciate the remoteness of the place. Off in the distance, lights could be seen but only one or two in any one place. Maybe they were fires or maybe they were huts, placed in impossibly remote spots on the hillside by some unseen hand. Dubai was a memory. That mighty city, the biggest in the region, was some far off place of little consequence or meaning to anyone. Before bed, I stared at the shadowed mountains through the open flaps of my tent. This was exactly the escape I needed.
