Let's Talk About the Weather

There is no cold water from the pressureless shower. Or the sink. At least there is none in the middle of the day, when I might want it. My shower runs hot, scalding hot. The water tank is on the roof, and after, say, 10 in the morning, I have to run it for some time before the water cools enough to not actually burn my skin. But it's still to hot to stand under, and will never even get to tepid, much less cool. And also quite naturally, this is the time when I’m craving cold water, since the temperature outside, while only about 100 degrees (compared to Muscat at 120+,) is very humid. I would pay extra for a sauna like this. In somewhere cold anyway. At night and first thing in the morning the water is tepid to cool and this is a snorting delight. My body radiates heat, even as I get out of bed. It’s hot to the touch. Hot everywhere, the small of my back, my armpit, foot, face, knee, neck, ears, all of it. So my friend tells me such a simple trick. Use the hot water he says. See, the hot water tanks are located in the apartments themselves. So if I turn off the hot water tank, then this water will have been sitting in the comparative cool of my bathroom as the roof tank boils. The hot water tap will run cool, while the cold water tap can be use

d to make tea. Smart, huh? Except that somehow, my hot water supply itself has disappeared.

I need to speak to the super.

Initially, when I came back from the US, my apartment was really hot. Too hot to stay in actually, and airless. Can’t open the windows because it’s worse outside. The spare bedroom was cool though; the A/C in there worked, when used with the fan. Can’t say why. It’s probably on a different circuit than the rest of the entire complex. They are doing transformer work outside, and have been since February at least. Which means we lose power every 5-6 minutes, for 30 -60 seconds. The electronics love it. No wonder the air conditioners give up! After moaning and complaining for a couple of days, and the new a/c s were no improvement, I discovered how to keep my place livable. Sacrifice the kitchen and bathroom first of all. Close them off; they’re on their own. I am on the 2^nd floor and get the late afternoon sun and it just bakes this place. By leaving the a/c s and the all the fans on at top speed, and keeping everything closed off, and the curtains closed, the apartment stays a tolerable temperature. And in the morning I can even use the kitchen. I can use it at lunch too, because even though it’s hot, it’s only in the evening that it becomes literally like a super hot sauna. I invited my neighbor up to see it. You open the door and whoosh! It’s hotter than Muscat I think. I go in waving my arms around, grab what I need and scram.

But lately we’ve had a nice breeze on the beach in the evening. Only on the beach though. I want to go camping with my friend but he is adamant that it has to cool off first, just a bit. So every evening I text him: Hi! We’ve got a nice breeze here on the beach! If I was to sleep right now I’d need a sheet! It’s almost chilly! And clouds! But he just harrumphs. When I’m halfway back to the parking lot I see why. By the time I’m back home, which is only about 200 yards from the beach as the crow flies, I scuttle inside as fast as I can. The air is so heavy it could mug me. You can see the steaminess in the bottom of the photo below.

We only have a little while left of this though, before the rains come. Khareef season is special to Salalah. It’s the Monsoon, basically, and lasts from mid-July to the end of August, more or less. Temperatures drop, and rain falls daily, making the Dhofari hills green and fertile. Waterfalls gush, flowers bloom, roads flood, and the entire Arabian Peninsula descends on Salalah.

I do my little frangipani harvest in the morning now, although it’s actually more humid earlier. The trees are going nuts, exploding blossoms like mad.

I’ve been in Salalah for just over a week now, and as usual, it’s completely different this time. I’m like an airplane trying to land at jfk. Circling, circling. “Comfortable with Uncertainty.” There’s a worthy goal. Anyone thinks they are? Want to test it out? Then just move to Oman. But I am learning to give it right back and this is very satisfying. “Yes, I don’t know, maybe tomorrow, or the day after. Maybe. Some time. One of these days. Inshallah.” and I wave my hands dismissively and people just laugh. Well, if they can talk in circles then so can I. I find it’s easy and natural. And it takes away a lot of frustration. The trick is to mean it, and I have no problem.

It’s all I can do to say “Ma’arafshee. Yimkin. Bukra. Inshallah. Khallas. Ma’asalaama habibi!”

So Seduced

I wasn’t going to let this happen. But then what do I know?
Last time I was here, before I left, some intense crap went down. Stupid bullshit but the cumulative effect nearly took me out.

So this time I’m approaching Oman differently. I had been lulled by the loveliness and safety, and wound up taking a lot of reverse turning kicks to the head as I sat there blinking, half awake. Well, it’s not exactly like that but it will suffice for a metaphor.

So here I am again, fully recovered, and not nearly in the same place as last time; I don’t intend to put up with any of the same situations.

I’ve spent most of my 3 days (!) sitting chatting with friends, and in meetings, which is basically the same thing. Trying to sort out this Luban thing. Tonight, after having internet problems the entire time I’ve been here, miraculously, I could log on and so spent until 10 pm or so sitting in the coffee shop, which gradually grew louder and louder, until I realized it was deafening. I should mention that Muscat is getting hot, as in Gulf Summer hot. It’s not so bad yet, and I’m actually still enjoying it, but tonight the humidity shot way up. And let’s put it this way: long after the sun sets, it cools to about 100 degrees. And this is only May. Being outside can still be enjoyable but must be approached with care. But you can see the humidity in the photos of the Palace.

As I drove myself the two short blocks home (I know, I know, but what did I just say about the heat?) I decided to pop over to old Muscat and absorb some sweet Omani elegance. And off I went.

Well, I’ve probably said this ad nauseum but I’ve got to say it again: there is no place lovelier. None. Forget about it. I don’t mean the natural setting, although I love love love it; here it’s what humans are capable of building. The architecture is sublime, the materials, the lighting, the atmosphere, all conspire in the most elegant and harmonious way, right down to the neem trees lining the marble walkways. Actually, not marble, some other stone, softer and rounded, not as male as marble, but clean and vibrant, way nicer than marble. This picture was taken with my blackberry camera, which is quite a good camera, for a blackberry camera. But tonight I will try to take more, with my "real" camera.

And so I fell right back, totally seduced, completely captivated, whimpering in delight.


Last night was something fun and totally dorky. I went out with my Indian friend, Amit, and ended up completely geeking on flowers down at the beach at 2 am. There is a charming and ridiculous path at the sands edge, that passes through some gazebos and is lined the entire way with hedges that I thought were jasmine but are smaller, like tiny maybells (I think.) You can even run along this sandy path at night, unimpeded, drunk on sweet blossoms with the occasional frangipani burst. Those trees are just the other side of the path though and we walked back along that one. That path is paved and passes between private homes built and decorated in fine Omani style and the hedge of blossoms with trees interspersed, so here it smelled more like frangipani with sweet bursts of something I couldn’t find and don’t know and the occasional punctuation of mud, with a subtle mantle of the maybell hedge and the ocean. It’s just ridiculous. I felt like a little kid. Amit is from the other side of town so he doesn’t know these little pathways, so I’m dragging him here and there and there’s no one out cause it’s so late. There’s a huge empty walled lot just off the beach that is utterly amazing—what a piece of property! It’s acres and acres! Right on the beach! You could have a horse farm in there! And I know a way in! Yup! We passed the rest of the evening sitting on benches deep in flower land telling stories that sounded like lies they were so fantastic.

Outside of this I have been very serious so far.


Back in New York, I meant to write about this. My friend Joe invited Tom and me to his place to try some of his past summer treats. Joe is from rural Ohio and knows how to find things like blackberries when others can’t. Every year he makes multiple harvests from Central Park: blackberries, black raspberries, crab apples, linden blossoms……He makes jams, cordials, brandy, sorbet, or just Bisquick biscuits and has us over for those with real ripe rich blackberries on top. That it’s a wild, sneaky (and probably illegal) harvest from Central Park makes it even better.

We were treated to Linden Flower sorbet first, which managed to impart none of the bitterness of the plant, but only the voluptuousness of the flower with the sweetness of honey. Joe has spent much of his life making things out of wild forest plants, and soap too, so he knows all about when and how to coax what out of whom.

Next we had sour cherry sorbet, which might have even been better. It was stronger, more assertive and robust. These cherries were from the farmers market. We also tried Hawthorne Berry jam, Crabapple/Rose jam, and Black Raspberry cordial. All of his creations are delicious and delightful, and of course, the way in which he obtains them makes them sweeter indeed.
Joe is actually one of my heroes. So sweet, like his tidbits, with something of the Wise Elder in him too.