On the beach

Vanessa and I went camping just south of Fujairah, on the Gulf of Oman. Signage in the UAE leaves something to be desired so we ended up pitching our tent in the dark. I kept waking up all night thinking someone was about to drive over us in their SUV, as the beach was gouged with tire tracks everywhere, that'd be tyre at Wheels magazine. Speaking of Wheels, they're sending me to Abu Dhabi next week for a Rolls Royce, er, roll out. When you grow up with a sleeping bag for a bed spread this is unexpected (just kiddin' Ma).

Consider the fact that we found our campsite in the dark and you'll understand why there are no pictures of where we actually spent the night. Vanessa snoozed unperturbed by the parade of cars, distant hindi hop (my own term), and the religiously fervent volume of 4am call to prayer blasted out of Mosques up and down the coastline. I'm quite accustomed to this sound now, it's just a different level of intrusion when you're sleeping outdoors. We had lunch in a fishing village called Khor Kalba, the food was good and affordable (brawns biriyani [sic] and fatoush salad), and the staff were kind enough to let me siesta amongst their riot of pillows and persian rugs. We drove home through the Arabian rockies, known locally as the Hajar (meaning rock) Mountains. Vanessa led us on a slight detour to an archeological site, neither Dr. Jones or his improbable alien buddies made an appearance (hi to Rob if he's reading) and I've come to call it the road to nowhere.