In case you are new to reading this blog, I used to live in Mutrah. Every morning, and every sunset, I would walk the corniche. I became a local in the back alleys behind the souq and shops. I miss those days of lazy freedom, and go back to remember. The days always starts in Mutrah at the docks, with the dhows sending boats to the pier to unload the morning's catch.
Then down along the conriche, strolling up and past Riyam. The dhows are parked, and His Majesty's yacht. The sun comes up along the fort, and warms the pavement and marble. I have seen dolphins and sea turtles swimming here.
I love the souq itself, even when everything ic closed. Maybe especially then, at that time. I can admire the architecture, which is always Muscat to me, a bizarre mix of Omani, Persian, and Portuguese design, without the buzz of broken Arabic, Farsi, and Urdu being spoken behind.
My steps are always quick in the back alleys of Mutrah. I know my way, or seem to, so the locals don't find me such a curiosity. Did you know Mutrah, like Dubai, had homes built with wind towers? Behind the souq my friends. There is a wall with turrets amid roads and tailor shops. Beautifully carved balconies in disrepair, old roofs of palm thatch and beams stick out under tin, telling of another time.... Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and think that I am still in Mutrah. I love that place.
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