The Two Muscateers

A, Carol's friend, picks me up at the Hyatt. We drive through the Qurum district, the *"Ellis Drive" of Muscat. The residences here put the shacks around the Hyatt to shame.

Ten minutes of driving and we arrive at the old Muttrah souk, a labryinth of shops and stalls peddling claw-like Khanjar daggers, bronze coffee urns, incense, silks, and elaborate jewelry: the bigger, the older, the golder: the better. The shop owners are pesky, but manageable.

We leave the souk, bound for the venerable Al Bustan Hotel for lunch, stopping along the way for a photo op of the oh-so-seventies Sultan's Palace. Golf, anyone? I'm on the lookout for swarthy men clad in pastel dishdashas, recalling Carol's insider tip that the never-married sultan, well into middle-age, employs quite a few single male employees, who can be distinguished by their vernal attire.                

The Al Bustan, once THE place to stay in Muscat, is beginning to show her age. The exterior is outdated, and the lobby begs for a face-lift, but the dramatic five-storey arch, decorated in tiles, is worth viewing. The Al Bustan is best enjoyed outdoors: it boasts an expansive lawn and garden, which will undergo a massive overhaul (including the addition of a long-awaited spa) in the near future. A and I enjoy our lunch al fresco, and I'm growing fond of this tart lime and mint softdrink A recommended.

We detour slightly before returning to the city, past the dive center, along the rolling coast, to the Shangri-La Hotel. A and I eye it critically: it's in the middle of nowhere, it lacks windows, and it resembles a correctional facility. However, perched atop a cliff, I bet the view of the ocean is spectacular. Still, I'm glad that I'm not staying here.

The Chedi Hotel is our final stop of the day, as I am fading quickly: my body just realized that it's something like 6:00 a.m. CST. The Chedi is slung low to the ground, inconspicuous, low-key: it's cool and it knows it: no need to announce it. Like Bananarama in their day.

The lobby is sexy. Dark, and sexy, and well, sexy. And dark. Moorish, sultan-ish, 1,001 Arabian Nights, sultry, harem-esque decor. So this is where the hipsters hang out! I can't suppress a pout when I compare the lanterns loll-about couch to the Hyatt's plastic palm trees straight out of the set of Gilligan's Island.

We tour the swanky restaurant and perch at a table near the pool for a second round of these addicting (alcohol-free!) lime and mint drinks (we were primed for a beer, but apparently alcohol is verboten in the afternoon at The Chedi!?!)

A deposits me back at the Hyatt and I retire to my room for a nap/coma. I awake just in time for cocktail hour in the lounge, where I sit on the balcony and catch-up on the Tomkat wedding in The Oman Observer by candlelight, tabbouleh, and a glass of cabernet.

p.s. According to The Oman Observer, today is World Toilet Day. Cheers!

*A private joke for my multitude of Charles City readers (both of them!)