Under the Knife

February 23rd^h, 2011.   Kim drove me to the orthopedic surgeon first thing Monday morning, and we were both impressed with his knowledge and attitude.  He confirmed it was a nasty fracture, with two options: have the bones re-set (they weren’t all pointing in the right direction any more, it was really quite gross), wear a cast for six weeks and go forward with a potentially painful wrist for the rest of my life, or; go under the knife and have the fragments pinned together (along with straightening the major bones out and cleaning out the wound area).  The remarkable aspect of option #2 was that this could be accomplished as out-surgery and would only require a cast for ten days.  Of course it would be quite painful the first few days after surgery, but there was no difficulty in making a selection.

So we made arrangements to go into the hospital Tuesday at 5PM, which seemed a late start for an out-patient procedure?  Tuesday was a challenge because I needed to fast for eight hours beforehand (mainly to ensure my stomach would be empty), which meant adjusting my insulin routine.  I usually inject four times daily: there is a shot of Lantus, a basal rate insulin which works slowly throughout the day, and; three injections of Humalog, a quicker acting insulin which I take immediately before breakfast, lunch and dinner.

A bit clueless on how to keep me blood sugars normal throughout this trying day, I opted to omit all of the Humalog and reduced my Lantus 25%, hoping it would tend to the light breakfast I had around 6:30AM.  This scenario was a bit conservative and when they tested my blood during the operation preparation I was over 300.  Well, the last thing I needed was to go low on the operating table, so I wasn’t terribly concerned.

Of course this did merit attention from the team of folks constantly huddled over me during the hour before surgery began.  To insure my safety, a battery of tests were conducted and I was bombarded with questions.  I was appreciative that my input counted and they reduced the insulin injection to bring my blood sugar down after gaining my feedback.

Discussions with the anesthesiologist were perhaps the most fascinating part of the indoctrination.  I had never had surgery before and confess ignorance around the notion of a ‘local’ anesthetic.  My assumptions were that I would be awake during the procedure, but it would be quicker and less costly.  While I don’t consider myself squeamish, who knows how they will react to such a startling new experience?  I was committed to opting for the local despite harboring a fear of the unknown.

My anesthesiologist quickly provided an education around taking me under which was informative and comforting.  He first explained that I would be unconscious either way, alleviating concerns around my response to awareness that someone was knitting my bones back together…

More fascinating was learning how the local method worked by identifying four key nerves in my arm via ultrasound (I actually watched the screen he was using to pin the suckers down) and subsequently “blocking” these with a minimal drug dosage.  IV’s were also inserted and after an EKG and other tests performed, a cocktail was introduced into my drip that led to la-la land.

I recall scrambling out of the gurney onto the platform in surgery and chatting briefly with my doctor and the nurses --- and then nothing until it was all over and they wanted me to scoot back to the roller unit.  There was no pain whatsoever and soon I was in recovery for some crackers and sugar-free ginger ale (to ensure I could keep food down).  Only discomfort was hearing one of my neighbors howling about her pain, which left me feeling somewhat blessed.

Soon I was plunked into a wheel chair (stood up with no problems) and rolled out the front door to where Kim had pulled our car up.  Think this was around 9:30PM and just amazing that everything could be wrapped up so efficiently.  Of course it was straight to bed and then the post-op learning curve began…

Not a fun event having your completely numb arm propped upon your chest.  It was discomforting feeling this blob weighing me down while possessing the sensation my arm was really laying alongside my body.  But I am thankful part of the post-op advice included getting pain killers into my system before the ‘block’ wore off.  Apparently  it takes a bit for the medication to ramp up and I was advised to be prepared for when the shock waves began.  They started about 2:30AM and hurt like the dickens.

Kim had set her alarm for 4AM to give me the next pain killer…but she sure didn’t need to wake me up as the pain was intensifying and the drugs winding down.  I thankfully returned to slumber about twenty minutes after the second round of pain medication, but despite the pain I still had zero sensation in my arm, which was a bit unsettling.

When the morning finally arrived I did have quite a bit of sensation in my arm, all of it painful.  Be careful what you wish for!  Wednesday would be the first sick day I had taken off from work in over ten years, and I assure you there wasn’t a single enjoyed moment during this long, long day.  But the road to recovery has begun...

Oman? Oh, Man! Part VIII: Rim Shots at Jabal Shams

Wednesday February 24^th, 2010.  Dawn for the second day of hiking revealed the stunning setting which Jabal Shams rested in.  Feeling sunlight on your face this far up was bracing, the air still chilly from last night but whispering things would shortly be nice and toasty warm.  Everybody congregated in the restaurant for a buffet breakfast and soon returned to our rooms to re-pack.

Carted my pack out to Naseeb’s Patrol and dropped it along with a plastic bag containing wet clothes from yesterday’s hike, then strolled around the grounds to take in some of the views.  Heard the others and walked back, only to discover my wet clothes strewn all over the place – damn goats!  The incident would lead to a running joke that goats ate my underwear at Jabal Shams.

We were practically at the trail head for today’s venture, the Rim Trail of Jabal Shams.  Not nearly as arduous as Snake Canyon, the appeal of this route was towering views and a visit to a deserted Arabian village nestled amongst the cliffs.  On the short drive over Naseeb asked if we minded him sitting this one out: he was tired and his sinuses were acting up from yesterday’s cold and wet.  In his stead he promised to hire Suleiman, a local who was intimate with the trail, to guide us.  We readily agreed, secretly pleased that we had outlasted our guide.

There were several decrepit huts around the beginning of the trail and Naseeb barked some Arabic at a pair of boys scampering about.  Suleiman’s wife (well, one of his wives) informed Naseeb that he had hiked down the wadi and wouldn’t return for several hours.  So the substitute for our substitute became Saif, Suleiman’s son.  While all of this was being sorted out, a really old dude with flowing white beard was holding a handful of rocks in my face, trying to get me to buy one.  Hurled all the Arabic I knew to make him stop, but he was persistent.  Fortunately Naseeb told me that the gentleman didn’t hear or see too well anymore and it was okay to ignore him.

Naseeb accompanied us for a short ways and I followed him a bit too closely.  When he stopped suddenly I put my left foot down in the wrong place and heard a distinct snap, followed by excruciating pain.  I didn’t say anything, but after a few steps I knew this wasn’t one I was gonna walk off.  However, I would probably never pass this way again and already the views were amazing.  When Naseeb turned around I didn’t accompany him, committed to pushing ahead so long as I felt it was safe and could endure the pain.

Please stay on the trail!  Rim Trail at Jebel Shams – see the village (cluster of white squares along creek  in the center)?

The Rim Trail basically follows goat paths along the edge of Wadi Nakhr, an enormous and spectacular gorge.  Though the trail skirts the rim, it is a safe jaunt, probably a little under five miles to the deserted village and back.  Even though Saif only spoke a handful of English words, the relative ease of the path didn’t require any intense communication and he proved to be a wonderful guide.  Incredibly sure footed, Saif would point out interesting sights along the way and had an uncanny knack to spot fossils along the trail.  All of the fossils he handed to us were ancient sea critters and it was hard to get my head around the fact that this trail, 10,000 above sea level, had once been underwater!

Took about two hours to reach the village, absorbing thrilling views and scenery the entire way.  Sitting inside one of the hovels, Saif gestured at one nearby and uttered “baba”, which means father or grandfather, and we were stunned.  Perhaps the old guy trying to sell rocks had lived here?  We would learn later that this isolated spot had only been given up thirty years ago.  Both Saif’s father and grandfather had lived here.  The government apparently funded construction of the tenements at the trail head to lure everyone back from the edge.

Abandoned village along the Rim Trail at Jabal Shams

What we learned directly from Saif was that he was twenty years old, attended school in Al Hamra where he was in the twelfth grade, and that a school bus actually transported him back and forth.  That didn’t explain what he was doing leading hikes on what one would have thought was a school day, but there could be many reasons why he was out and about today.

At the abandoned village we posed a question to Saif where the inhabitants got water.  Saif gestured up the path beyond the village and indicated fifteen minutes, or so we thought.  John and Mark took him up on the offer to visit, but my ankle was screaming with pain so I bid them farewell and found a shady spot to do some journal writing.

Naturally the side tour took a full hour, but I savored the utter peace of the environment.  Surrounded by magnificent views, a yawning chasm and towering rock faces was balm for the soul and I relished sitting on the sidelines.  Did get somewhat nervous when they ran late, but when they came back I learned Saif had introduced my companions to the village pond.  Saif went for a quick dip and tried to entice the others to take a drink, but since they wouldn’t even sample tap water, the cultural immersion would be limited to photographs…...

The return walk was mostly uphill, which was easier on my ankle although I wasn’t too happy that the leg which could potentially buckle was now poised on the edge of the rim.  The side trip to the pond had put us seriously behind schedule – Naseeb was expecting us back at the village at 1PM, and it was 12:40PM when we started back.  We made the mistake of explaining this to Saif, who set a blistering pace.  Well, Saif simply appeared to be floating along, but it was a pretty brisk uphill tempo for the rag tag collection of old farts behind him.  He would get way ahead, stop where there were a few rocks suitable for sitting on and give us a minute to catch our breath, then raise his arm and suggest “go”?  I was surprised how quickly we made it back, probably around 1:45PM, and I didn’t even mind having the old man pester me to buy his crappy rocks again.

Keeping up with Saif on a mangled ankle at Jabal Shams (John Keener photograph)

Then Saif invited us inside their majlis, or family room, for coffee and dates.  This was quite an honor and reinforces the value of hiring a guide.  Naseeb was not only a capable guide and wonderful resource for all of our questions, his contacts had given us access we never could have imagined.  The majlis was a small, separate building with carpet, pillows and a few knick knacks adorning the walls (an umbrella was one of these decorations, perhaps the majlis also served as a closet?).  We entered after removing our shoes and settled in.  Now Saif assumed the role of attentive host, plying us with dates and coffee that were refreshing after our hike.  A really special moment with the sole regret that we couldn’t do much more than acknowledge Saif’s graciousness due to language barriers.

The family started to gather around the door as we were enjoying the hospitality.  Saif had several younger brothers and soon they brought the air rifles down off of the majlis walls and started target shooting, doubtless enjoying the attention from a captive audience.  Naseeb even squeezed off a few rounds and I cannot begin to share how much I treasured this feeling of welcome.

Even Suleiman returned before we got out of the majlis, much older than I had anticipated (at least he looked old, I’m sure such a rugged lifestyle ages one).  One of Saif’s younger brothers reminded us life was difficult here: he had a nasty eye infection and walked around covering the eye with his hand.  In spite of the apparent poverty there was a palpable joy here you seldom sense.  On the way out in Naseeb’s Patrol, he stopped at the little souvenir stand Suleiman’s wives had set up.  Living at the beginning of such a splendid trail had certain economic advantages and we noticed four other white 4WD’s parked nearby.  Naseeb paid one rial for a key chain the wives had braided from goat wool and I opened Pandora’s Box by buying another from the same wife.  Competitive spirit kicked in and Suleiman’s second wife aggressively marketed us to insure a sale of her own!

Mark and John wound up buying a few more and we headed off into the sun with no worries about what to do with those pesky extra keys…

Saif and John enjoying coffee and dates in the majlis (Mark Kirchner photograph)

We retraced our pathway through Al Hamra, stopping at Khaleej Al-Gubaira restaurant for a late lunch.  Clearly a tourist guide favorite, there were several more white 4WD’s parked along the road in front of this eatery.  While we were eating an obvious tourist (i.e., white male in western dress) opened the back of our vehicle, rummaged around in our cooler and plucked out a bottle of water.  John was watching this and when their eyes met, the guy realized what he had done.  He sheepishly returned the bottle and any tension was relieved by laughter – everyone appreciated how easy it was to confuse which white 4WD was your own!

It was a few more hours back to Muscat with one more photo opportunity.  Shortly after Nizwa we sidled down a narrow lane through a palm-studded oasis town.  I remarked how beautiful it was and asked where we were.  When Naseeb informed us this was Tanuf, I asked whether this was the town bombed out of existence by the RAF during the Oman civil war in the 1950’s.  He told us it was indeed and pulled over so we could take some photos of what appeared to be a strafed village (though in hindsight it resembled the frequent abandoned villages we kept coming across in Oman).

During the home stretch we enjoyed one last conversation with Naseeb.  It actually got rather intense as several topics were political.  Said goodbyes with regret and admiration for all of the insights Naseeb had provided into his world.

Rounded up the night by heading into Duke’s at the Crowne Plaza in Qurum Heights.  Mark raised this opportunity to visit the sister establishment of the famous Duke’s Canoe Club in Waikiki.  Only this wasn’t – it was simply Duke’s Tavern, a hangout for the local British ex-pats, lol.  It was disappointing because we had to battle all the cars which seem to jam Muscat roadways after nightfall.  The traffic helped us decide that Duke’s was a swell place for supper, a haven where we could wait for traffic to dissipate.  Still a fun dinner as we revisited highlights from the last two action-packed days.

A Wristed Development

February 20^th, 2011.   I must have been saving up embarrassing moments for when I went public with this blog, guaranteeing full public airing.  It is with massive chagrin that I share news that I managed to tumble down the steps in our garage and break my wrist Saturday morning!

As painful as the impact was, my immediate concern was fending off our dog, who considered my sprawled form a target for massive licking.

Kim took me to a nearby Urgent Care where I was x-rayed (confirming a fairly nasty fracture of both wrist bones with fragments), splinted and set up to meet with an orthopedic surgeon first thing Monday morning.  The pain is rather incredible, though nothing to the chiding I keep giving myself over how I could have done something so stupid.  The running program has suffered a big hit.

The pain of laying a fractured wrist into the sling is quite intense.

Despite a wristed development, I still got my Sunday run in.  After all, it was an OFF week and I only had to go eight miles.  Kim snapped a few pictures of the silly man out for a run with a splint on and away I went.  Wore my sling even though I didn’t think it would work for running, figuring it would be a blessing to cradle my injured arm in the event I needed to punt and walk back.

I finally know what a ‘pod cast’ is…

Altered the route to head for my one mile loop, where I could bail if need be and not be too far from home.  After I got going and started to shake the rust, I was psyched to get in five of the one-mile laps, which would have resulted in an overall distance around 8.5 miles.  Despite occasional twinges from the wrist, which I held upright as I trotted along, the going was fairly smooth…until I started the fourth lap.  I was 5.5 miles into the run and my arm started getting weary of the constant upright pose.  Unable to keep the position steady, my wrist started sending mighty jolts of pain whenever it twisted (ever so slightly) or bounced around in time to the rest of my body.

It was a quick decision to abdicate the last lap, although I still ran a half mile beyond the usual finish line to log the full eight miles.  But crap, if I am stuck wearing a cast for eight weeks and it is this painful, the marathon is in jeopardy.  I am anxious to see the orthopedic doctor.

My wife is a terrific photographer…’sling shots’ are her specialty.

Oman? Oh, Man! Part VII: Snake Bit

Tuesday February 23^rd, 2010.  The gang arose at 7AM and got ready to meet up with our guide for his planned 8:30AM arrival in the parking lot of our hotel.  A beefy white Nissan Patrol pulled in on schedule and I was delighted to discover it was Naseeb, the owner, whom I had exchanged numerous e-mails with to customize our two day adventure.  Though I figured Naseeb would hire on somebody else, it turns out there are very few folks who want to be the guide for Snake Canyon, so Naseeb was stuck with us.

Off we went.  Naseeb jetted us away from Muscat and through Barkha to Nakhl, our first arranged stop.  Think it took just under two hours, but everyone was gabbing and I can’t claim paying close attention to driving time.  Nakhl is an oasis town embedded in the beginnings of the Hajar Mountains.  We were enthused to enter Nakhl not only to enjoy the mountains which we could barely glimpse from Muscat, but also because there were a bazillion palm trees!

The splendid Nakhl Fort was the first place Naseeb took us, then he put our anticipation on hold and drove right past it.  I’m glad he did, because his slight diversion brought us to the hot springs about three kilometers beyond the fort.  The Nakhl Hot Springs (Ain A’thowarah) are popular and you can only get there by taking the tarmac road past the fort.  There was a decent crowd of locals hanging out and this was our first chance to really get up close and inspect a falaj, the ancient irrigation system still used extensively in Oman.

The fort beckoned, however, so we didn’t tarry long at the hot springs.  Soon we were back at the monstrous Nakhl Fort.  Even though Mark had previously toured this fort and I had read about how easy it was to overdose on the many forts in Oman, this was the entrée for John and myself and we were quite excited to jump in.  The Nakhl Fort was constructed pre-Islam, so it is among the oldest around and brilliantly woven into the chunk of stone it sits on.

Naseeb accompanied us and pointed out some fascinating tidbits.  He showed us how you can distinguish a hand made coffee urn from a manufactured one (no seams) and introduced us to the “date room”, where bags of dates would be stacked up.  The weight of the upper bags served as a press and there were funnels guiding the resulting syrup into urns resting in holes dug into the floor.  A clever operation to manufacture this commodity that could be used as a foodstuff or heated and dumped on warriors besieging the fort!

Nakhl Fort

Before long Naseeb herded everyone together and we piled back into the Patrol for the push to Snake Canyon.  It may have been 20 or 30 kilometers outside of Nakhl when the blacktop disappeared.  Now we had a twisty dirt pathway strewn with rocks galore.  I know better, but swear Naseeb accelerated after we hit the rocky road. Simultaneous with the change in road conditions, I found it amusing that Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” started playing on the car’s radio, lol.

It was probably an hour or so banging down the dirt track before we entered a valley where five white 4WD’s were congregated.  Naseeb had made a call on his cell phone earlier to coordinate a pick-up here, the end of the trail, and get driven to the trailhead at the top of the gorge.  I figured one of these vehicles was our ride, but disappointed there could be so many tackling a hike I had envisioned as seriously intimidating.

Date press room at Nakhl Fort

On the ‘road’ to Snake Canyon

I was wrong on just about everything.  Naseeb said hello to one of the guides in the caravan and we soon learned this group of twenty five was only sightseeing at the gorge.  Had I taken a moment to discern the age, dress and physical condition of the group I could have inferred that.  Our ride, however, was absent.  Thank heavens for Naseeb’s contacts and the gracious attitudes of Oman.  The guide Naseeb was chatting with told us he’d shoot us up to the top, no problem.  Off we went.

The way to the top was gut wrenching.  The road was nothing but a perpetual switchback…and still seemed to head straight for the heavens!  Looking out my window I could see the gorge was a narrow crack at the bottom of a valley.  Excitement was building along with our elevation gain.

If we don’t plummet off of this road we’ll soon be hiking that crack in the Earth!

Our group started off immediately after being dropped off.  The first five minutes we walked beside a small, rocky stream.  In one spot the stream vanished beneath the ground for about forty yards, then re-appeared.  Before long the gorge tightened up and began descending, the way turning into a bunch of loose rocks.  Now you had to watch your step and look ahead to identify the best way down among several options.

After twenty minutes of this warm up, the descent got serious.  The ‘best way’ was typically the sole option where you could shimmy down, extending arms and legs to render yourself a plug that could ease down a shaft in the rocks.  Your reward for each harrowing descent was dropping into bone chilling water.  Naseeb had already shared his distaste for Snake Canyon because of how cold it is.  He further shared that the canyon is constantly changing.  Apparently there had been a flash flood just a week ago and the game had changed again…we would learn this more fully in a little while.

C’mon down……..I’m waiting!

In the water I performed an awkward side stroke while holding my camera aloft with one arm.  I had purchased my first digital camera, an Olympus Stylus Tough, for durability in anticipation of Socotra.  Unaccustomed with cameras that could take a wet beating, I was vainly attempting to keep it as dry as possible.  The camera would earn its stripes at Snake, frequently getting dunked and picking up a few battle scars against the rocks as we made our way down.

The canyon was stunningly beautiful.  Often a six-foot wide stream flowing between twin rock faces that shot up roughly 200-300 feet.  Of course this architecture meant there was no sunlight, explaining the cold water.  Both air and water were chilly and after an hour I couldn’t stop shaking.

We continued downhill, challenged by a myriad different obstacles – but a splendid test of mind and body that confirms you are alive. There were several leaps into a pool of water below, but nothing approaching the 12-meter plunge I had read about in one of my guide books.  More common was pin-pointing were you could spread-eagle yourself to inch down a chute and avoid a leap of faith.  Naseeb was invaluable, aware of good bets for passage despite the continuous re-shaping of the gorge.

Two hours into the hike everyone was freezing and Naseeb showed us a neat trick.  Many of the massive boulders littering our path were quite toasty, apparently hanging on to heat received during the brief period when sunlight struck the depths of the gorge.  When you found a warm boulder you just sprawled out over it and gathered every shred of heat you could!  We were all banged up by this stage and everyone had at least one bloody knee, shin or elbow and the hot rocks were about the only positive development.

Jump or climb down?  The perennial question in Snake Gorge

Geronimo-o-o-o-o-o !!!

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, we arrived at the entrance to the cave you have to swim through and it was a coagulated mess of plastic bottles, sticks and miscellaneous trash.  Naseeb reminded us that there had been a flash flood last week and this was where all the detritus apparently collected.  We must have been the first group back since the washout, so we won honors for breaking the logjam.  There are plenty of warnings not to attempt Snake Canyon if there is rain, and the mess in front of the cave entrance gave us quite an appreciation for the caution.

We stood around sheepishly for several minutes as nobody was excited about wading into the swill, so John reminded Naseeb he was the guide and a chagrined Naseeb gingerly stepped in and started wading.  I spotted him ten yards, hoisted my camera and followed behind.  Our pre-hike excitement to snap pictures in the cave was put on the shelf as anticipated joy dissolved into a grim task.

John, Mark and Naseeb relieved to be past the cave – see the clog of logs in the cave mouth?

I struggled with my ‘camera stroke’ through the lumber and heard Naseeb exclaiming he was having a hard time moving forward.  Soon I bumped into him and joined the aqua-bulldozer effort, but it was strenuous going.  I was starting to wonder if we were going to be able to push through when light appeared at the far end!  Naseeb swam over to the side of the cave where you could grab onto some rocks and we both just hung on for a minute to catch our breath and give our weary muscles a rest.

The tension was somewhat dispelled with the end in sight and then John came floating by on a big log he had latched on to.  Didn’t hesitate for a moment to accept his invite to come aboard and it was indeed a pleasure cruise the rest of the way out of the dark.  It was exhilarating to escape from the clogged cave, especially because the tremendous expenditure of energy had halted my shivering…for about five minutes.

My camera took a licking and kept on clicking! (John Keener photograph)

There was only another half hour back to the car, more freezing water and several cautious descents (though nothing comparing to the earlier part of the canyon).  The gorge began to broaden and sunlight was extending its fingers further down the walls.  When it got reasonably close, Naseeb headed to the side and climbed up a ways to find his place in the sun --- and we were all right behind him!

Reaching the car again was a moment of jubilation.  Everyone agreed it was one of the most challenging hikes we had ever attempted, and we could revel in the glory of having conquered it for the rest of our lives now.  It was particularly rewarding because all of us will soon be too old and decrepit to attempt something this idiotic…

Then it was into the Patrol for two-and-a-half hours to Jebel Shams Resort, where we would park our tired butts before tomorrow’s hike.  Our path to the Shams re-traced the same climb from earlier in the day to reach the trailhead and already there were fond memories of a grand adventure.  Naseeb continued to make exceptional time along the tortuous dirt track and I eventually realized this was the road system out here: we would occasionally pass by a shiny new road sign indicating directions and distances to nearby villages.

I was truly grateful that John had accompanied us at this point, because he asked Naseeb whether it was considered offensive for westerners to wear traditional Omani dress while visiting.  We had read in the guide books this was taboo, but Naseeb forcefully denied this…and to validate this assertion donated one of his mussars (turbans) to John and showed him how to tie it on!  Very cool.

Seems like we climbed continually for the first hour and once Naseeb pulled off and clicked a picture of our party on an outcrop above the world, providing the gang with a treasured memento.  Shortly after the photo opp the road miraculously returned to blacktop and started heading back down.  Naseeb cruised down through switchbacks galore into Al Hamra, the largest village in this area.  Once through Al Hamra it was back up again, and naturally the blacktop went bye-bye.

Our gang atop of Oman - note John is wearing Nasseb's mussar!

Bounced and careened through the dark for the final 45 minutes of our steeple chase, arriving at Jebel Shams Resort around 7PM.  Naseeb had secured two doubles for our trio and since I had valiantly volunteered for the couch in back in Muscat, the boys graciously allowed me to assume one room for myself.  Jebel Shams Resort is about the only game in town for this remote speck that is the highest point in Oman at around 10,000 feet.  The rooms were spacious and clean, all that was required for our worn out bodies.  It clearly wasn’t a resort…but it wasn’t a sham either.

After unpacking we rendezvoused with Naseeb at the restaurant on the grounds, which was quite nice. It was typical buffet fare, but served family style at our table.  Better yet, they allowed you to consume alcohol (of course they didn’t serve any, but Naseeb had tipped us off and we packed a cooler along) and a beer never hit the spot like it did at Jebel Shams that night.  While we relaxed with a beer, Naseeb entertained us with humorous stories from his lengthy annals of tour guide nightmares.

Returning to our rooms, John hit the sack, but Mark and I played a single match of Spite & Malice.  It was a winner take all contest for Jebel Shams and Mark prevailed.  After one quick game neither of us had a drop left in the tank – it had been quite a day.

“Easy” Ohio Week

February 17^th, 2011.   Back in Ohio this week.  I’ve been fortunate the last two returns coincided with the “easy” weeks since it minimizes the amount of gear I need to pack along.  In addition, the winter weather has been trying, so the fewer runs the better.

But the February visit was a rare respite.  It was sunny and upper forties on Tuesday for my fifty minute program, which wasn’t ideal, but the best conditions here since November.  I finally got to run in Ohio with my Garmin Sports Watch, which indicated I covered 10K for the jaunt and an 8:05 pace.  I was happy with this pace as I reminded myself consistently throughout the trot that I had just logged nineteen miles two days ago.

Unlike December when I ran in the snow, there was but an icy patch or two to dodge.  The only dilemma, and a minor one at that, was side-stepping all of the downed tree limbs from a recent ice storm.  Of course there was a bit more elevation gain and loss with the Ohio runs, and that should be a plus in preparing for Le Grand Raid.  Once I get beyond the marathon there will be a quest for hills…

Oman? Oh, Man! Part VI: I Refuse to title this ‘Muscat Love’…

Monday February 22^nd, 2010.  Our first dawn in Oman was quite pleasant.  We walked on the beach and enjoyed our first glimpses of Qurum in the sunlight.  Pleasantly warm, there were already hints of steamier temps to come as the day progressed.  Next was breakfast at the Beach Hotel, and it was first class.  This was my first ever Arabian buffet breakfast where hummus wasn’t present – it is usually the main ingredient.  We talked over a loose itinerary for the day and leisurely returned to the vast expanse of our apartment.

Here I donned my “Eddie From Ohio” t-shirt, which I wear every time I get to travel outside the US.  This prompted comments of how blatant a tourist I was from John and Mark, who donned their own tacky t-shirts:  John put on his “Lancaster Chopper Riders” tee (a hilarious combination between an Amish buggy and Harley Davidson motorcycle) and Mark his “Lancaster Barnstormers” (Lancaster, PA’s minor league baseball team).  Inadequately attired, the tacky trio ventured out to explore Muscat environs.

Qurum Beach, Muscat (Mark Kirchner photograph)

Our first stop was in Muttrah, the biggest village in the Muscat metropolitan area (much larger than Muscat).  Here we parked and walked about the local fish souk, a smelly but vibrant experience.  I found it refreshing to see so many people cheerfully performing manual tasks in traditional dress…this group appeared more content than the “wealthy” folks I interact with back home.

Muttrah Fish Souk (Mark Kirchner photograph)

Next we dropped in on old town Muscat and parked at Merani Fort, next to the Sultan’s Palace. Slowly the mystique of Muscat began to evaporate.  This ancient port should have been cluttered with narrow alleys to accent stories of sea storms, pirates and intrigue.  However, the palace has completely replaced the harbor buildings and despite a handful of museums scattered about, Muscat is basically the palace and government offices.  Muttrah was a bustling contrast to the silence of Muscat.

I suppose the trick is to consider the larger area as Muscat to recapture the charm.  The official village of Muscat, however, was a disappointment and we shortly pushed on along the coast.  Our destination was Sidab, where we had contacted a boat operator to take us snorkeling and cruise the Muscat coastline.  We couldn’t pinpoint the location and continued to wander, eventually diverting to check out Haramil, another tiny fishing village tucked into the shore.  After snapping a few pictures we repaired to a teensy eatery for lunch, a stereotype ‘hole in the wall’, but quite delightful.  About five tables were jammed into the small interior, with two occupied by Omani men in traditional garb.  I ordered chicken massala, Mark and John the prawn massala.  One thing we were gaining an appreciation for was the value illusion of an Omani Rial, as lunch only cost us 4.5 OR for all three (about $15US), much more reasonable than the 45 Dhirams we would have paid in the UAE, lol!

We had given up on locating the original boat operator, but I had noticed a “boat cruise” sign earlier as we wound down the coast, so we back tracked.  Reading about this area suggested it was quite easy to hire a boat, and that advice was spot on.  Though a bit pricey at 20 OR apiece, we simply walked in and minutes later had already picked out our snorkel gear.  Following our pilot to the nearby dock, we were aboard and underway for an impromptu private cruise in probably a half hour.

The Muscat coastline was exquisite.  Rocky outcrops aplenty, most sporting a stone turret, were immersed in the beautiful blue waters of the Gulf of Oman.  We went up the coast as far as the Sultan’s Palace, then worked our way back until navigating into a sheltered cove where we weighed anchor for snorkeling.  Before diving in, the pilot pointed out some elevated white boxes on the shore and informed us they were mausoleums for Portuguese sailors, several centuries old.

Boat cruise along the Muscat coastline

A superb snorkel.  Not the best selection of tropical fish I’ve ever witnessed, but more than enough to dazzle you.  Mark got to try out his underwater digital camera for the first time and captured a moray eel, conch, and cuttlefish on the trial run!  For John and I, the beauty of the snorkel was simply swimming in the ocean after arriving a couple days ago from winter back in the States.

Rebounding back to Muttrah after the cruise, we dropped in on the storied Muttrah Souk.  This souk got quite a lot of press and it was easy to see why.  Plenty of winding aisles, numerous stalls and heaping quantities of spices, gold, you name it!  John was excited to visit because he was intent on acquiring a khanjar, the curved dagger worn on a belt in formal Omani dress.  We dropped in on several dealers, all of whom were welcoming and provided us with an excellent education on these ornamental knives.

Buying khanjars in the Muttrah Souk (Mark Kirchner photograph)

One dealer in particular had impressed us, so we returned to his shop on the way out.  John initially purchased a pair of Yemeni khanjars (these are technically jambiyas, Yemeni term for the same thing) and I added one for myself.  Then John made the prize acquisition, an Omani khanjar with a pure silver sheath!  Adding one more jambiya, John raised his arsenal to four and we departed.  Hopefully John can get through customs when he returns home. E-mailed my wife about our day’s activities and she thought John’s acquisitions were ‘overkill’…

Wrapping up the khanjar transactions provided a brilliant example of the magic of travel.  Our shop dealer presented us with his card at the conclusion, revealing his surname to be Al-Balushi.  He asked us if we had heard of John Belushi and indicated that he was in the same family, though not closely related.  How often do you get to buy a dagger from John Belushi’s cousin, lol???

My khanjar – camel bone handle and camel leather sheath

After pumping up the local economy we headed back to the hotel, where we showered and returned to the nearby strip mall for dinner at O Sole Mio, obviously an Italian joint.  What a riot!  The head waiters were sporting Italian colors – one in a very bright red suit with white shirt and green tie, the other in a very bright green suit with white shirt and red tie, which smacked oddly of a very tacky Christmas.  The food was top shelf although we found the entertainment lacking.  Some guy with a keyboard was playing a string of pop classics and mumbling the lyrics, something like professional karaoke I guess.  I thought every number was rancid, but he actually got applause two times, which I suspect was because he had performed audience requests.

After dinner we packed up for the two day outdoor excursion (our guide will pick us up tomorrow morning and drop us back off Wednesday night) and everyone seems pumped for the daring hikes.  John had to excuse himself for a bit to continue his game of PINball, and I think he was finally successful.  During John’s absence I continued to beat up on Mark in Spite & Malice, virtually assuring that I will be adding Muscat to the win column.

Abandoning Goals???

February 13^th, 2011.   Conquered one of the final three L-O-N-G runs with mixed results.  The good news is that I did I crappy job of deciphering how to stretch the sixteen miler from two weeks ago.  I really enjoy running across Snow’s Cut Bridge and through Carolina Beach State Park, so I had simply added a zig-zag to extend the fourteen mile route to sixteen and this came out a bit short.

So I replaced the zig with a more serious zag to bolster things by a bit more than two more miles.  I have a landmark that is four miles from the finish and checking my Garmin Sports Watch at that point revealed I had already plod 15.3 miles!  Of course that feedback didn’t dissuade me from still running to the traditional finish line and logging a total of 19.3 miles.  Part of the motivation was my wife’s loving concern – I give her an ETA back at the home front and had I stopped running at eighteen miles and walked the additional 1.3 miles home I would have been pretty late.

My overall pace is the other reason I would have returned so late, and the bad news.  The entire run was completed at a miserable 9:55 pace, potentially crushing my hopes of completing the marathon in four hours.  Hopefully I can write the torpor off to valuable lessons learned, however.

If you’ve followed my blog, you are probably aware that I haven’t required too many supplemental calories during these longer runs.  In fact, I’ve been somewhat amazed by this lack.  But things caught up with me today in an unusual way.  Up to now I’ve not had to hit the supplements until mile eight with the alarm of becoming light-headed.  I continue to ask myself mentally how I’m doing and pose myself questions to validate everything is kosher.

Today my mental acuity seemed fine, but the mechanics were falling apart.  There were times when my strides were so awkward that I almost stopped (beginning around mile five) and my knees were bumping up against each other mid-stride.  My mind was clear and I could and I could readily solve the self-imposed questions (e.g., what is 13 times 96?).  Despite this positive feedback, I was running along a busy road and deliberately slowed my pace because I sensed things weren’t quite right.

The important lesson is that I should have taken corrective sooner, but it wasn’t until I glimpsed Snow’s Cut Bridge that I compelled myself to ingest a Hammer Gel.  Maybe it was the lack of railings at the top where you could easily plummet off the bridge or the painful tumble from a few weeks back, but that was the necessary spur.  And what a blessing it was.

After the Hammer Gel my stride returned and eventually I regained the standard pace, but the extended lethargic interlude trashed my overall time (logged four miles at plus eleven minutes).  Immediately after getting beyond the bridge I followed up with a Clif Bar and the critical lesson is to enforce a routine caloric intake during L-O-N-G runs to avoid any low-blood-sugar interludes.

Up until now I have been content with diagnosing the need for caloric intake on the fly, but you’d think I would know by know how perilous it is to self administer once your blood sugar starts going low (which is when you start to  lose cognitive ability).  This is probably a valuable lesson on the road to the ultra-marathon.

The better news is that I’ve been getting really tense before these L-O-N-G runs, but having endured 19.3 miles, the twenty miler in two weeks should be no problem!  Perhaps the four hour goal for a marathon is ridiculous, but at least I am poised to tackle the twenty miler with a better game plan to avoid any excuses for why it isn’t…

Oman? Oh, Man! Part V: On the Road Again

Sunday February 21^st, 2010.  After fits and starts, we are in Muscat tonight.  Mark got me up around 9AM today and after breakfast we loaded his Explorer up and headed back to Dubai to retrieve John.  Traffic was wicked and twenty five minutes into it Mark realized he left his passport back home!  Our early start was not to be, though the hour-and-a-half delay would yield a benefit.

Because of dropping John off remotely last night we never had a chance to gather the books he had brought for Samia and she was disappointed there would be a week’s delay until we returned from Oman.  Because Sunday is a workday in the Middle East and Samia was in Dubai, after grabbing John we met her for lunch and passed along the reading material.  We were behind schedule, but the delay allowed us to convey the remaining books to Samia and it was off to Oman with all duties fulfilled.

At last the real journey was underway and with Mark at the wheel we steered out of Dubai and hellish traffic.  We were entering Oman via Hatta, one of several possibilities.  The amusing footnote about the Hatta route is that you actually drive through fifteen kilometers of Oman before re-entering the UAE and leaving again.  This first time there aren’t any border posts, but apparently there is no exit off of the road as you tool through Oman so they don’t bother.  We were confused when John announced receiving a text message welcoming him into Oman but we hadn’t reached Hatta yet (which lies in the UAE).  A good puzzle for the road, some map study permitted us to decipher the international mystery.

Unraveling this mystery was not the end of confusion, however.  After stopping at the UAE border post you have to drive a stretch before connecting with the first Omani stop (I had only entered at Musandam before and all the stops for both countries were within fifty yards of each other).  You only get your vehicle inspected at this first stop and if no contraband is detected, earn a ticket validating that fact.  There are several other office buildings along the road here, but the building where you have to stop and get visas is another two kilometers down the road!

Once we stopped at the proper facility, obtaining tourist visas into Oman was straight forward.  You have to fill out a form with real basic info (name, nationality, etc.) and then pay up.  I recall that Mark paid a lot less than me when we entered Musandam in 2004 since he is a resident of the UAE, but we were only quoted 150 Dhirams for all three, so no idea what the breakout was.  Interesting note was that the tourist visas for John and myself were good for thirty days, but Mark’s was only twenty eight?

Safely inside Oman, I assumed the driver’s seat for the next 300 kilometers towards Muscat along the Batinah Coast.  There are many attractions along this pathway, but the drive wasn’t very interesting.  The route stretches along the coastal flats a few miles inland, so you can’t see the ocean or the mountains on the opposite side.  Everything was lush and nicely landscaped, but fairly uniform.  I’ve been on utterly dull drives where you roll on forever past barren wasteland and it wasn’t that bad, but a bit of a letdown since we were keen to explore the many beautiful natural spots of Oman.  The sole exception was the random sculptures adorning most of the roundabouts.  Often very tasteful and arty, sometimes inscrutable and occasionally just plain nutty, these random works of art were always a break from the routine.

Mark took over once again as we encroached on the Muscat metropolitan area, mainly because he’s been here five times before.  I was glad he did because it was dark now and traffic was very thick.  Had to dial up the hotel for some guidance to the promised land and language barriers resulted in a few wrong turns, but we persisted and eventually wound up at the Beach Hotel in Qurum Beach, one of the numerous villages which today are known collectively as ‘Muscat’.

Typical Omani roundabout with flowers and unusual sculpture

Our reservation was for a two bedroom suite and though a bit musty, we were amazed at the palatial size of the accommodations.  Two separate bedrooms (each roughly as large as your typically hotel room), bathroom (with western toilet!), a fully equipped kitchen and large living room.  Yours truly volunteered to take the couch in the living room and after unpacking we inquired about dinner possibilities at the front desk.  A strip mall only a quarter mile away was the recommendation, and it was terrific.  The mall contained a multitude of restaurants and we were delighted to learn it was right on the beach.

We selected a Lebanese restaurant which seemed to contain more shi-sha smokers than diners, but it was total cultural immersion we were after.  Shi-sha tobacco is flavored, usually with fruit and the smoke is not unpleasant, so we were quite happy to be surrounded by a crowd of Omanis in traditional garb and fezzes.  As content as I was in this crowd (in the UAE you never see locals, it is mainly ex-pats), there was disappointment in the absence of women.  Despite Oman’s reputation for women’s rights, this first data point suggested there was still a ways to go.

After dinner it was back to the hotel where Mark and I took up our traditional grudge match of Spite & Malice.  Though we would have several more nights here, I took an early 2-0 lead in the duel for Muscat.

While we played cards, John tried to get his ATM card re-activated.  He never uses an ATM card and couldn’t remember his PIN, so his futile guesses in Dubai resulted in it getting shut down.  Sounded like he finally got things corrected and off he went at midnight in search of an ATM.  Alas, the one he could find wouldn’t accept his card at all and he never got to even try and punch a PIN in.