| Fishing Oman |
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A quiet courtyard at Shangri-La’s Barr Al Jissah Resort and Spa outside of Muscat
Sultan Qaboos is revered in the region for bringing the Gulf countries together, and the official state objective of Oman is “Peace.” You can see the effects of the sultan’s policy everywhere. Life in the capital city moves along at a calm and orderly clip without the remotest sense of watch-your-wallet danger, and Omanis laugh easily, avoid arguments, and are quick to help visitors. Omani manners extend even to Muscat’s old Muttrah souk, which has to be the cleanest, best-smelling, most unannoying bazaar on earth. Nobody chases after you and tugs at your sleeves, and nobody tries to rip you off. True treasures can be had here—nothing has Donald Duck or John Travolta silk-screened all over it—and shopkeepers show their gold, silver, and perfume oils with genuine pride, not guile. Negotiations produce real results, fast. And every wending twilit alleyway is scented with frank-resin from the southern desert. Outside, the skylines of the city blaze with the parrot-colored onion domes of new palaces and mosques. Beyond town, the landscape is stippled with the stone towers of recently restored historic forts and marked by nature preserves for thousands of resident green sea turtles and dwindling Arabian oryx. The sultanate’s wandering leopards, ibex, Arabian tahr (goat-antelopes), gazelles, and birdlife are also strictly protected. It’s clear why Oman is considered the most conservation-minded country in the Middle East. The natural bounty extends to the sea, where reefs and canyons support an extravagance of ocean life. Think of Baja’s Sea of Cortez in John Steinbeck’s day, and you’ll have a good idea of why Oman calls Ed Brothers like a siren. So there he was in Muscat last November, with Andersen in tow to try out saltwater fishing, checking into the Barr Al Jissah Resort. They had come for the smoking-hot marlin, tuna, and mahi-mahi fishing. But along the way, they’d also discover that Oman is indeed the most untapped haven this side of Bhutan. By six the next morning they were at the main marina, only minutes from Al Jissah. Soon, spinner dolphins pirouetted in midair off the boat’s port side, and a lethal sea snake writhed by in the fresh chop off the stern. Half an hour later, the fishermen already had two strikes against them. It looked as though they’d miss big-tuna season, as the fish hadn’t yet arrived from the Persian Gulf. And while the tuna were up north, the weather was going south. Their skipper, Robbie Gerrard, gave the Gulf a 40-mile stare. |
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