Lonely Onanism

Oman sounds like Onan, which reminds me of Lonely Onanism, the name that Brian the Really Cute Bartender and I christened a cocktail we concocted one Minnesota evening in January at Bronc's on Broadway some time in the late 80's, when we had zero customers because global warming had not yet kicked in and people were afraid to leave their houses for fear of freezing to death. But that's another time, another story...

I'm on a Swissair flight from Zurich to Dubai to Muscat, which I booked using my United miles. I'm tempted to elbow my dozing neighbor and direct his attention to the sunset out our window: "Hey, getta loada this!" I refrain from doing so.

Hours later, approaching Muscat, the familiar pre-approach panic sets in: we're descending, yet I spy no headlights, no streetlights, no houselights, no nuthin': just blackness. Crap. I booked a ticket to nowhere. Will never be heard from again.

Midnight: The landing is smooth; the airport a breeze. Visas are now available at the airport, but they can be obtained in advance (call the Oman consulate at 202 387-1980 to request that they mail the paperwork). The driver that I had pre-arranged is nowhere to be found, but the curbside taxis charge only seven Rial (approximately $21 USD), which is less than the fee that my scheduled driver had quoted.

Not wanting to squander dollars or points on a bed for eight hours of unconsciousness, I booked the Coral Boutique Hotel through AsiaTravel.com for $130 (or e-mail the hotel directly). It suffices just fine. In fact, the retro music piped through the lobby--Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me and Close to You--is comforting to this weary traveler far from home.

Morning now. I'm the sole diner in the restaurant, a timely opportunity to practice my Arabic on my server (a good sport: he humors me): Marhaba ("hello"); Min fadlik ("please" to woman), Min fadlak ("please" to man); Shukran ("thanks"); Afwan ("excuse me"); Ma is-salaama ("goodbye").

The general manager makes an effort to chat up the other guests and me as we check out. I drag my luggage across the street to the Grand Hyatt Muscat, where I'm staying on the Grand Club floor in exchange for several thousand Hyatt frequent stay points. The points are well-spent here, as the rates are high and a nightly complimentary cocktail reception in an Islamic country where alcohol is scarce and expensive pays for itself.