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Difficult - Etiquette - Attitude

Writer's picture: JoannaJoanna

Over the next few days, we covered a lot of miles. Mile munching…. A few full days of mile munching. I still love saying that… though my legs and my stomach are not particularly enthusiastic fans of the long periods of inactivity.


After one especially long day on the road… ten hours, to be exact… we finally reached the Ras al Jinz Turtle Reserve.


Turtles?

Yay!


Sure, I would love to see them and support conservation efforts. But honestly, the whole place felt more like a commercial enterprise than a genuine environmental initiative. It guess they truly are dedicated to protecting the endangered green turtles that nest on the Omani shores, but it just seemed a little too commercial. The reserve was a massive hotel. There was a small gift shop, but even a simple magnet was way out of my price range.


We weren’t staying in the hotel, sadly. Instead, we camped just beyond its parking lot, in a rocky expanse that felt like the killing fields. More rock camping.


Great.

By now, I was getting quite good at rock camping.


Just kidding.


I most definitely was not.


I debated joining the turtle tour but eventually decided against it. It was late, out of season and I was exhausted. The idea of spending hours on the beach, waiting for a nesting turtle or a crew of hatchlings to appear, didn’t really appeal to me… especially not in my current agonizing state of wrist discomfort. I couldn’t think of anything worse… although I do love turtles.


So… instead, I wandered back to our camp. The entire area around the truck was quiet. Everyone had either retired for the evening or they were waiting for the signal to head to the beach for some green turtle magic.


I was alone.


Or was I?


I was not…


Here’s a fabulous photo of our resident teapot

I sat outside the truck, working on my blog, when raised voices suddenly broke the silence. It was Rosanna and Martin… in a heated argument… mainly focused around how rude Martin had been to me earlier that day.


Shit.


Tomato-gate.


I knew Rosanna felt bad about how he’d treated me. She’d even made me a little “thank you for a wonderful meal” card in an attempt to make me feel better. It was lovely but I had not anticipated being an unwilling witness to their confrontation.


While I was glad she called him out on his behaviour, part of me wasn’t surprised. Earlier, I’d vented a small portion of my frustration to Mickey. In doing so, I was fully aware that whatever I said would definitely work its way back to the guides.


And what did I say?


“I’m sorry we’ve all joined at a time when everyone is exhausted. There should be a disclaimer on the website, warning us that the guides and the guests are tired and not going to be in the mood for us. Maybe a discounted price could compensate for the major inconvenience we cause.”



It was honest, justified… and a sentiment likely shared by every crew member who’d joined in Dubai.


I was irritated.

Hurt.

Exasperated.

Done.


Sad to say I was done less than two weeks in…


As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew Mickey would repeat them as quickly as she could… but I didn’t care. Now, listening to the argument happening on the opposite side of the truck, I realized the ripple effect. Rosanna was lecturing Martin on guide-guest etiquette and ripping into him for how he’d treated me. The conversation dragged on, tense and relentless. Italy was beyond awkward, even though I sat alone. Eventually, I’d heard enough and made my way to my tent, deciding against sending a message to apologize for any turmoil I might have caused.


After all, my only real crime had been adding tomatoes to the scrambled eggs.


Sue me.


Again… I had a full sleepless night and following day of “Why am I here?” and “How do I get out of this?”


What a debacle…


I’d like to say things were starting to go sideways…but honestly, they’ve been leaning that way since day one… and they just keep on tilting.


To brighten my spirits in the morning, I walked over to the hotel and washed my greasy hair in the sink of the lobby bathroom. We were on four days of bush camping and it had taken its toll on my hair, my hygiene… and my mental health. I was in desperate need of a beautification boost, however burdensome it was .



Even Denise seems permanently irritable lately. At first, I figured it was a bad mood and I gave her space. But it’s been so on & off now that I’ve started giving her a very wide berth. She seems so bothered by me and noticeably races to get away. She goes through bouts of not even looking in my direction… and will often walk past me without a glance. Then suddenly she’s fine and making plans. I just can’t… nope. Not after I’d spent so much time wracking my brain trying to figure out what I’d  done to upset her.


Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.


Between the endless chaos and drama of all these random individuals… and their opinions and habits and noises and behaviours and likes and dislikes and food preferences… I hardly need to deal with her crappy teeter-totter attitude too. I’m full to the brim with bizarre without catering to alternating passive aggressive behaviour.  I can’t play these games… on holiday… with a stranger.


It’s sad… cuz I thought she was my one and only kindred spirit on this tour.


Everyone is odd.



On a brighter note, my hand’s been slowly improving. Each morning, I notice significant progress.  First, I could move my fingers… and then, I managed a kind-of-sort-of pathetic fist. I got a little overconfident and decided to ditch the bandages, but that didn’t last long. I quickly realized I still needed the extra support and wrapped it back up again.


One thing I don’t really like about Madventures is the complete lack of local insight. Sure, it’s a budget tour and the guides aren’t really local guides… or even really guides for us at all… but… being left to our own defences to figure out absolutely everything on our own is a bit disappointing. It’s always nice to hear the history, quirky facts, myths, legends and stories about each of the places we visit.


I think so, anyway.


Take our visit to the traditional boatyard in Sur, for example. We stopped here to see the dhows… which are beautifully crafted African & Arabic boats… and remind me of old pirate ships from classic movies. Instead of a guide to walk us through the process or share the rich history, we were just dropped off, paid an entrance fee, and left to fend for ourselves. There was a tiny museum with some information, but no real connection or narrative to really bring it all to life.



No personal touch.


Rosanna flourishes with personality but so far, Martin has really fallen short. He has no personal touch. Hey… maybe he does… but I have yet to see it. By the end of each day, he gets as far away from us as he possibly can. It’s funny, considering he doesn’t interact with us much during the day either. He drives… and it’s not like we’re bothering him from the back of the truck.


Oh well.


Time shall tell…


He did put forth an enormous effort directly after I overheard their heated discussion. I think I need to just drop it and move forward…


What a time…


In the barren, rocky landscapes of Oman, discovering an oasis is always a delight, and we certainly found one. Wadi Shab.


Every guide book and smart phone trail app led us to believe this was a strenuous hike. It was apparently 5-6km in & out, with an elevation gain of approximately 350 metres. It was labelled (by many) as ‘difficult.’ Difficult frightened me. My heel had recently been acting up, my legs were feeling rather stiff from inactivity, my knees were still mangled from my fall… and I wasn’t really in the mood to take another tumble.


Let alone, a difficult one…



I wouldn’t necessarily say I would’ve backed out of the hike due to the status of ‘difficult’ AND the further failing of all of my ailments… but the consideration certainly did cross my mind… momentarily.


I had to be tough though.

Really tough.


Fake it until you make it. Right?

Considering I’d already pretty much broken it.


I had to keep going… and I definitely couldn’t let numerous injuries, my old age or my apprehension get in the way of a good time… no matter how difficult it was going to be.


I was determined to do everything on this tour until I physically couldn’t… which could be… let’s be honest… any minute now.



So… I did the difficult hike… and I’m glad I did it because some people didn’t and they could have… and they should have. There was zero elevation gain… unless you add up all the stepping up on to rocks… and then the stepping back down off rocks. The hike (which was more of a walk) was a rocky boulder trail through a beautiful oasis gorge, which followed waterfalls, streams and pools of inviting turquoise water. It was truly stunning, the blue sky against the towering cliffs in this lush oasis. There were quite a lot of people on the trail and we figured it must be a popular destination for people coming from the nearby city of Muscat. I took it easy and made sure I concentrated on each and every step, ensuring I wouldn’t fall again.


I succeeded.


I kept waiting for the difficult part… the sudden difficult incline or the difficult scramble…. but it never came. The guide books and trail advice were wrong. There was nothing difficult about this trail at all.


At the end of the trail, we reached a large pool of water, and without hesitation, we all dove in to cool off. It was the highlight of the day… and exactly what we needed. A refreshing swim.


The next morning, we found the enormous Bimmah Sinkhole, a crater-like wonder that looked as if it had been created by a massive comet. We climbed down and jumped in.


My first sinkhole swim.



After four days of bush & rock camping, we were definitely all ready for a hotel. Everyone except Sue, that is… who insisted that “camping outdoors” was what she lived for.


Cool.

Not me.

Camp on…

Be my guest.


I was heading towards a laundry, a hot shower, a comfortable bed and a buffet breakfast for two days.


Destination: Muscat.

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