1. Find an occasion that requires an outfit. When you think of the Middle East, what comes to mind for most Americans are images of either war-ravished waste-lands or wealthy, fossil fuel tycoons. Culture, in the sense of visual and performing arts are usually assumed to not have much of a place in the desert. And yet Oman’s sultan, a fan of classical music himself, ordered the building of an opera house in 2001. Fletch and I knew nothing about this, but when Stefan and Tanja asked us if we wanted to go to the opera, I was all too excited
A few lovely ladies who also blog and myself recently formed a little group where we swap articles to edit for each other prior to publishing. My first post on Oman came back with a note that said, “Can you add what makes this a good place to dive? As I’m not a big diver myself, I’d love to know why the Gulf of Oman is a good place to dive.” A perfectly fair question, and one that should definitely be addressed if you fancy yourself a halfway decent writer. I had to laugh at it though. Oh, if only
“The air of the place had something Mediterranean or maybe Caribbean about it. Will had never been out of England, so he couldn’t compare it with anywhere he knew, but it was the kind of place where people came out late at night to eat and drink, to dance and enjoy music. Except that there was no one here, and the silence was immense.” -Philip Pullman, The Subtle Knife Panoramic view of the harbor at Jebel Sifah, Oman Fletch and I walked outside the flat on our first morning in Sifah, Oman, eager to see our surroundings after arriving and promptly crashing into
After the beer Olympics, our slightly hungover caravan made their way back down into town to rest and recoup. Fletch and I still had the camper jeep for one more night and didn’t have any plans. We thought about going back to Kipahulu, but didn’t want to drive that far for one night. Matt recommended a spot, but it wasn’t officially a campground, and therefor didn’t have any facilities. We wanted someplace like Kipahulu but closer, and so after a little bit of internet scouring, came up with a campsite called Olowalu that had beautiful photos of lush green campgrounds,
Continued from 48 Hours of Jet Lag in Singapore, Part I Singapore is a shopping-lovers haven, and if it weren’t for the food, would be my worst nightmare. I seem to have missed out on that female gene that compels the rest of my gender to shop. You could spend days riding the metro from one mall to another, never seeing the light of day, and getting blissfully (or horrifyingly, in my case) lost in store after endless store. From the bus stop, we were supposed to transfer over to the Sentosa Express, which should have been easy enough. But this stop,