By Eva Sohlman and Neil MacFarquhar
After spending the better part of a day exploring the museums in Sharjah, we headed towards Musandam. Our destination, the Six Senses Zighy Bay Resort, a two-hour drive from Sharjah, lies just over the border in Oman. The hotel arranges a border pass for guests lacking an Omani visa.
Musandam consists mostly of rocky, saw-toothed, blackish-yellow crags that tumble abruptly into white sandy beaches. There are few hotels — either upscale or downscale — with limited water access. We chose the Six Senses resort for its splendid isolation on its own cove, although the price caused some hesitation.
The final stretch of gravel road to the beach goes from the drab to the dramatic, with a steep ascent filled with hairpin turns up one side of a dun-coloured mountain. At the crest a breathtaking sea vista opened at our feet.
The hotel’s 82 stone villas are nestled in a beachfront oasis of more than 1,000 palm trees on the cove’s left end. To the right stands the old fishing village of Zighy, rebuilt by the hotel and the government to match the resort. Zighy means hot in the local dialect; during the low season from June to September, the temperature can hit above 50 degrees Celsius.
At the hotel, we hopped on the bikes available at each villa and pedalled past the spa, the saltwater pool and the organic garden. A large freshwater pool, two restaurants constitute the heart of the resort. We found our villa extremely comfortable. It had beamed ceilings, plaster walls and large flagstone floors.
It had two drawbacks, however. No screens meant we could not sleep with the windows open because of random mosquitoes, and it flooded badly in a rare rainstorm. But for our first night, it was clear. We opted for a barbecue outdoors in our own little walled compound, lit by scattered candles.
The resort offers distractions for the whole family, ranging from face painting to water sports to a gruelling bike ride up the mountain. So first thing the next day, we went on a dhow snorkelling cruise.
We launched from the local marina, which lies through the village of Zighy, population of 300. (Hotel guests are discouraged from wandering through it. Signs on the tracks leading to it read: “Please respect Zighy’s local traditions by covering up appropriately beyond this point.”)
After boarding, as we glided out of the cove across jade-coloured waters, the captain, Humaid al Shehi, 29, explained that the area was no longer the string of fishing villages as it had been when the hotel was built nine years ago. He was one of the first men hired from the initially hostile village. “It is a simple life, eating and sleeping and feeding their goats,” said Al Shehi. “They have lived like this for hundreds of years. They don’t know anything about fighting or what is going on in the rest of the world.”
The day started sunny and bright, so we snorkelled around admiring the fish. On the way home the sky darkened and began pelting the sea with hailstones. It rains about nine days a year around Musandam, and we had the poor luck to be there for about a third of them.
The hotel has its own security, said the resort manager, including a substantial checkpoint monitoring who drives over the mountain, the lone access.
We slept soundly after a day on the water. Early the next morning, walking along the deserted paths to the pool felt like being in an isolated Arab village. Goats bleated in the distance, while swallows and myna birds darted out of the palm trees. With its raked sand pathways, it was rather better groomed than an ordinary village, however.
It was not dolphin season, but we were determined to see them. We decided to visit the dolphin-dense fjords of Khasab, the peninsula’s port, three hours and two border crossings away by car. It is a bit of a long trek for a day’s outing.
We set out at 6 am. The coastal road is dramatic, winding along the curves of the mountains. Khasab boasts a small, handsome 17th-century fort, built by the Portuguese to control the nearby Strait of Hormuz.
We opted for a full-day dolphin cruise. Propped up on oriental cushions and carpets at the bow of the boat, we had a sweeping view of the harbour and realised that the most exotic sight around might not be the dolphins.
Dozens of small, powerful motorboats were skimming across the harbour, driven by tanned, wind-beaten men. It is a two-hour trip across the strait, one of the world’s major oil transit points.
While our dhow motored out into the strait, we were treated to fresh fruit and cardamom coffee. As the boat gathered speed, the dolphins emerged, frolicking playfully all around the dhow. At one point we had a pair on each side, and their bubbling effervescence proved infectious. The captain steered into a khor (narrow fjord), where the dolphins vanished and we made several stops to swim and admire the stark cliffs.
On the way back, we anchored in a quiet inlet. The captain turned off the engine, allowing for a delicious snooze in the splendid serenity. We had found the warmth and utter peace we sought. — NYT
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