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masirah

Where the experience means more than the ultimate destination.
Text and photos by Mohana Prabhakar

Miles and miles of sandy earth lay shimmering away on either side as we looked out through the lightly tinted cocoon of the 4WD, unable to say with certainty where land ended and water began. This was Ras an Najdah, a strange but beautiful sliver of coastline we had ventured into quite by accident, having taken what we thought was the obvious road to get to the jetty to take the ferry to Masirah. Seagulls and salt ringed the sides of the graded road, the birds rather unconcerned by this metallic creature many times their size driving through their territory. In the distance we saw a impressive ship that turned out to be a low grey and white building, lots of shimmering pools that we were certain were mirages but probably weren’t, and ramshackle camps that were actually fishing boats on the seaside. The brilliant blue beckoned us towards what we hoped was our starting point for the ferry to Masirah island. Instead we met a bunch of very friendly fishermen and in few words in different languages, both parties had found out what they needed to know. They now knew we were visiting from Muscat and we had lived there for six years and we found out we had to go back to the same spot where we had hesitated before driving off the blacktop.

A flash of dark pink and slender legs caught our attention as we were about to drive off. Against a frame of the silvery, almost too-bright glitter of the sea were three dainty flamingos, again completely oblivious of the pesky human visitors, until we walked up to about 30ft of them. With very little fuss, almost as if we were too insignificant to spoil their day out, they gradually moved out further into the water. Our journey was already worth the 400-odd kilometres we had driven and we hadn’t even reached Masirah.

To go back to 5:30am of the same morning, when we set off from Muscat, Masirah was an exotic spot on the map that marked the end of a journey that would cross land and sea. Before we go further, it would be prudent to mention here that Masirah, by next morning, had completely shed its mantle of mystery. It’s a small island, with pretty beaches especially on the north-west side and peaceful sandy or craggy corners, depending on what you prefer.

There is a fantastic windsurfing spot we had read about, but this was the wrong time of the year. Birdwatchers would be happy with the 18-odd species that breed on the island, like kestrels, terns, plovers and western reef herons among others, the best period though being between April and November. For marine enthusiasts, loggerhead turtles are among Masirah’s most famous visitors coming there to nest between May and August. And here we were in Masirah in January.

The drive to Masirah is quite uneventful, particularly in terms of photographic merit. Yet, the desolation that stretches on either side of the road for the last 200km or so, with the dunes of the Sharqiya in the horizon is humbling and quite impressive for anyone not used to seemingly limitless spaces. The road is a fantastic one with great visibility but the monotony of the smooth tarmac laid out like a shiny ribbon through the dark stony land, mile after mile is enough to lull one into an autopilot mode, which is not a very good idea at high speed.

The road is blacktop all the way but badly signposted from Sinaw (see box) Your best bet is to pick up a current map (Family Bookshop stocks updated Ministry of Tourism maps) and then get familiar with the names on the route to make sure you are headed the right way.

The ferry is an interesting experience, where fearlessness and tenacity grapples with Newton’s laws and seems to win. Our 4WD was sandwiched between a gigantic cement trailer and a truck, whose drivers manouvered their vehicles on the relatively narrow approach to the ferry with such skill that we had to go congratulate them. There is very little space to move around, and while sitting in your car is an option, your best bet is to go up the stairs and perch yourself on the benches there. The view is amazing, but be prepared to inhale some fumes.
It takes anywhere between one to one and half hours and the slow pace can be a bit off-putting if you are a clock-watcher. More importantly, be prepared to wait at the jetty on either side. The ferry will only leave when it’s full. Charge per vehicle is RO10. The stay at the existing hotel on the island (five minutes drive when you turn left off the jetty at Bar al Hilf on Masirah) can be best described as clean. If you love red pieces of disturbingly big chicken, you can get your fill here, but you are much better off finding the small Pakistani restaurant, diagonally opposite the jetty. Good, fresh, non-spicy food with minimal oil and no after-effects. Our small excursion earlier in the evening had ensured a good appetite.

We had given in to our curiosity to drive through one of the many deserted army campsites standing sentinel on beaches, and this one had a cemetery alongside. It was eerie, with rows of dark temporary shelters, the wind whistling around the corners and the sea and sky cloaked in the evening half-light. No human or vehicle could be seen for miles. But when four black-clad women (we think) suddenly appeared out of nowhere and started walking up towards the camp from the sea, curiosity gave way to speed; in the opposite direction. Masirah can keep this mystery.