The 4x4 is bumping across Oman, down the long, half-made road to Yemen, when, without warning, Mussallem Hassan, our driver and guide, veers onto the rocky hinterland beyond the tarmac. We are heading into the Empty Quarter, the largest sand desert in the world.
It’s a place experienced by few visitors to Oman. Most stick to Muscat, the attractive low-rise capital in the north; but some 500 miles south, the Dhofar region is now starting to attract tourists. A flash new airport opened in Salalah last year, and stylish resorts are being carved out along the sparkling coastline.
The last road, the last landmark and the last bar of phone signal is at least an hour behind us before I venture to ask Mussallem if he has a GPS. “No.” A satellite phone? “No.” He explains his map is all mental, before asking, “Are you afraid?”
The dunes turn from yellow to red, from nursery slopes to terrifying black runs. Then the car gets stuck in a dune. Mussallem deflates the tyres, digs around and wiggles the steering wheel. He’s sweating profusely.
“What if he has a heart attack?” I whisper to my boyfriend.
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Salalah’s contrast with Muscat is pronounced. Seen from the windows of our car, we could be in Zanzibar: to the left is a plantation brimming with banana trees, to the right a sea cut from blue crystal lunges onto an empty, coconut palm-lined beach. The region’s tropical climate is part of the attraction — temperatures hover around 30C, even in summer, when the rest of the peninsula is melting. June to August brings a light monsoon and an influx of Arabs looking to escape the heat. The mountains explode in green, the wadis bear water, and everyone takes to picnicking under cloud and drizzle. Just like Cornwall, then.
The rest of the year, the lowlands are stark, except for the odd defiant shrub, but the mountains retain a dusty green, ripe for trekking.
After an hour of twisting up a precipitous road, passing camels being ignominiously towed by Toyotas, we emerge at the top of Jebel Samhan, the highest peak in the south. I could happily have spent the day sitting on the edge, looking down on crows fighting off falcons, and shepherds screeching for their goats.
Kathrin, our trekking guide, has other plans. She leads us to a rocky crevice where rangers track leopards. It’s a vertical drop and clearly impassable — not even hungry camels come down here. But Ahmed, our driver on this particular excursion, starts nimbly hopping down. If he can do it in scrappy sandals, a restricting dishdasha and a beanie, I can manage it in my inordinately expensive hiking boots. I’m wrong: I spend much of the hour-long descent sliding down on my bottom. It’s thrilling.
When we return to base, at the Rotana resort, I decide I deserve a massage.
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The spa is splendid, as is the sushi at its Silk Road restaurant. But it’s the beach and the sea that I’m here for, stretching out for miles and occasionally offering a wave for bodyboarding. The Rotana is one of the newest resorts here. The staff and setting are lovely, but you share the place with holidaymakers on all-inclusive packages, and some noisy evening shows. An Anantara resort is opening in the summer, if you prefer a more exclusive, high-end place.
After a day’s R&R, it was back to adventure. We travelled by dhow to snorkel spots buzzing with dolphins. Later, inland, we stared into a sinkhole 670ft deep, where men were collecting water with their camels. The south also has several thick-walled forts and ruins; Sumhuram is an ancient port perched beside a lagoon. Dating back to 4BC, it’s still under excavation, but, with a little imagination, you can easily picture it bustling with frankincense traders and ships unloading goods.
The real highlight, though, is the desert. After 20 scary minutes stuck in the sand, miraculously we start to move, and Mussallem drives us to our camp for the night — a couple of basic tents protected from the wind by some handsome dunes. We don’t sandboard or dune-bash: that would be brash. Instead, we climb the dunes for sunset, feast on camel meat under the stars and listen to Mussallem’s stories of growing up in the caves and wadis, with only 4½ gallons of water to last his family three days.
In the morning, we follow the prints of a little fox that has been pattering around the camp. We find its hole, but it doesn’t come out, so we pack up and head back to Salalah. This time, we get stuck on a hideously steep dune, and even Mussallem admits he’s a little afraid — though only of writing off his car.
The brief
Francesca Angelini was a guest of Audley, Oman Air and Rotana. Audley can organise an eight-night trip to Oman from £2,295pp, B&B, including flights, transfers and activities (01993 838430, audleytravel.com). Oman Air flies to Salalah, via Muscat, from Heathrow; from £470 (0844 482 2309, omanair.com). Doubles at the Salalah Rotana Resort start at £121 (00 800 5551 0555, rotana.com).