The Best Days of My Life

Yes, it was Salalah, the place that gave me the best days of my life—just over four years of bliss, accomplishment and fulfilment.

Curiously, even after landing in Muscat, the Capital city of the Sultanate of Oman, I knew nothing about Salalah. My bosses told me that I was deputed there, and the next thing I knew was that I was flying South, to take up my position in the College in Salalah. I was met at the airport, taken to my temporary lodgings in the College, and was then left pretty much to myself. I didn’t have to worry for too long, because the official who met me at the airport was soon to become my Omani brother, Mahad. He offered to give me accommodation in his capacious bungalow and when I moved in, the warmth of his welcome made me realize that I had found my (temporary) home with him. It was he who opened up to me a new culture, a new language, a new way of life. He took me to many places of interest in the city and, when the weekend came along, he introduced me the Dhofar range of hills and mountains, below which the ancient city of Salalah hugs on to the Arabian Sea.

Salalah is unique, mesmerizing, quaint in its own modern way, and traditional in the true Arab sense. Don’t ever be conned; you can never take in all of Salalah in a day. The city, yes; but that’s only a fraction of the delights that Salalah has to offer. This time, I will introduce you to perhaps the most exhilarating picnic-spot ever: Wadi Darbat in full flow. For the novice, Wadi means “valley” in English, but the English word hardly does justice to the feast for all the senses that the Wadi provides.

From the city, Wadi Darbat is about a forty-minute drive. Avoid the town of Taqah (which must be reserved for another day) by sticking to the left of the road and as you start to climb, take a left turn that will leave you breathless. The road is excellent, but during the Khareef (or monsoon) season—from late June to early September—what captivates you is the water, water everywhere, gently meandering or surging and gushing and rushing its way to the sea. All this is even before descending into the nature-retreat par excellence—the Valley below.

The drive down can be a bit frightening, but again, the road is superb. Follow it as it follows the stream till you can no longer navigate further, as the dense foliage makes it fraught with danger. However, there are umpteen spots of undisturbed seclusion for you to choose from; open up your hampers for a snack, but always remember to carry your trash with you when you leave. The Valley is sparsely populated, but the tell-tale marks of the average tourist may make you want to scream in these surroundings of silence and serenity.

What is it with water, dear Reader? Why are we so fascinated by it—the way it flows along, nonchalantly, always finding a way, often gathering strength as it rushes to meet the sea or ocean, sometimes overcoming obstacles in its path as it thunders down ravines and precipices, ever searching for the fulfilling union with the larger tracts of water that surround us everywhere?

If this is really so, isn’t the flow of water similar to the course of life, with all its ups and downs, its gives and takes, its triumphs and tragedies, until we are all gathered up into the great unknown?

But what of that? As a famous Elizabethan dramatic figure explained: “Mine is another journey”.