Good Morning,Muscat!-2

Re-entering Muscat after a gap of a little over 100 days is a bit like home coming. The aircraft touches and taxis down the tarmac to halt near the arrival lounge. A Corbus picks you up for the short ride where one enters the quiet visa/immigration enclosure. Not like Dubai where there are over 50 odd counters on a spacious hall spread over precious real estate. Nor even like Bahrain which again is larger than Muscat, but comparatively smaller than Dubai. That’s the ‘big difference’ in terms of arrival lounge area!

Following the swine flu threat, there are non-invasive electronic spotters to check body temperature in many airports. Muscat is no exception. One walks up to the pre-booked visa counter to join the sparse crowd. A young Omani woman officer deftly handles the issuance before one proceeds to the immigration counter that is properly regulated by Omani men. Here again, the crowd is thin because there is just one flight landed with less than 50 passengers from Bahrain – which includes me as well.

In no time, one thanks the officials and exit. Usually, this is the time I switch on my mobile with Omani GSM card and invariably receive a call or notice a missed call from Yusuf, who used to pick me up from airport over the past 4 years almost every month. This time around, that exercise is not executed because I no longer work for the same outfit and secondly I had exited Oman three months ago and did not retain any Omani mobile number. Another routine is to pick up few goodies at the duty free shop. I did not this time because I have no Omani currency. For the first time over the past four years, I silently reach the baggage claim area without entering the Duty Free Shop. I regret later, for a variety of reasons!

After collecting my baggage and getting through x-ray scanner, I come in the arrival lounge where receivers anxiously hang around the foyer. Again sparsely crowded. I look around for a British female whom I never met, but told to look out for. Emily Mathews is the name and she is my colleague in the new outfit where I will join this time. I notice a foreigner in pink apparel and enquiries, “are you Emily?” and receive a negative response. Suddenly notice another familiar face and a Brit girl. We wave at each other. “Meet Emily,” he says. Well, we met by now.

A sleek four wheeler carts me into Muscat’s Wednesday evening traffic. The weather is fine. No sign of any unbearable heat associated with August. Familiar sites glide past on both sides: Zubair showrooms, the Grand Mosque, Centre Point etc. Visit the office in Al Khuwair and then move to the guest house in the same area.

Penthouse bed & breakfast arrangement. Dump my stuff and step into the balcony. The view is panoramic. Mountains on one side and sea on the other. It’s night and nothing is clearly visible except lights all around and traffic 10 stories below. Eyelids threaten to shut down due to physical exhaustion. I see off my hosts-turned-guests and crash out with a promise to the Filipino housekeeper Leena that I would prefer a hot glass of milk at 9 p.m. I look at the watch showing 7.43 p.m. Close to 75 minutes nap bargained for. Let me crash quickly. I switch off lights and hit the bed.

Don’t know what happened. Perhaps the central air conditioner is extra cool. I woke up and got out of bed. Picked up the mobile to check out time. The digital clock reads: 02.17 a.m. What happened to my 9 p.m. milk? Not served perhaps. Or Leena could not reach out at the appointed hour. I step into the balcony with my Sony handycam and begin clicking pictures. The first shot was that of Muscat Municipal Corporation garbage van dumping the contents of roadside stationary garbage boxes into its maw. After a few more shots, re-enter my room. Should I step out for a morning walk, I debate, but give up quickly. Switch off light and hit the bed again to get into the clutches of Dame Sleep. Ready to snooze again. Bye.