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On Time Spent in Oman
A 24-Hour Layover
We arrived in Oman groggy and disoriented from an arduous twenty-four hour travel day. We landed in Muscat under-caffeinated, visa-less, and without a plan. As we approached the immigration desk, I admired the stunning woman wearing a silky pink hijab. As she explained the process in a soothing voice, I watched her well-manicured nails dancing across the keyboard. Within minutes we were passing through immigration getting yet another stamp on our passports.
After getting a much-needed Americano and Omani currency from the ATM, we were in a taxicab cruising down the massive highway. Having been in Tanzania for the past year it took my brain quite some time to realize that the driver was sitting on the left side of the car. I was shocked at how accustomed I’d become to what used to seem so foreign. This is perhaps one of the things I admire most about humans — their ability to adapt to the unknown. The road was smooth and familiar though. The air-conditioning tickled my skin as the Middle Eastern sun beat down through the window. The smell of the driver’s after-shave was nostalgia-inducing, but for what I could not be sure. It was October 31st and we had somehow found ourselves, of all…
