Jebel Shams and Oman’s Grand Canyon

This road leading to an imposing  mountain reminded me
of Nevada's Basin and Range landscape.

It would be easy to spend a week or two exploring and hiking Oman’s Western Hajar Mountains and wadis. We had only two days. Definitely on the list, though, was Jebel Shams. At 3,009 meters (9,872 feet) Jebel Shams is Oman’s tallest peak. Down below, Wadi Nakhur Gorge is known as Oman’s Grand Canyon.

This isn't a small fissure. It's a giant, gaping chasm.

Driving toward the massive peaks looming ahead, we began to see huge fractures in the landscape which, as we grew near, we realized were even bigger than they appeared from a distance. What can cause such a rift? Certainly not water, as with the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River. We could see that the earth was literally cracked open. For scale, note the trees and ruins in the distance.

We supported the local weavers.

Part way up the mountain, we stopped at Ghul, to look at the Omani weavings. This mountainous area supports sheep and goats, and Ghul has one of the highest concentrations of weavers. The Omani gentleman pictured here with Mark offered us coffee and dates, and told us that he wove these sheep’s wool rugs. I read in the guidebook that women typically do the spinning, and men do the dyeing and weaving.



We bought the second weaving on the right, with the red center, as well as a camel bag with two pockets that drapes over the animal’s hump (what will I use that for?) and some delicious dates which came in handy later in the day.

Our weaver also told us about the old stone houses across the wadi from the newer village. The people were moved out of the old village, he said, 30 years ago. Back then, there were only 20 people. Now, he said proudly, there are 100! Notice the football (soccer) field in the wadi. Every village, no matter how small, has one of these – at the sea, they are built on the tidal flats.

Panorama of the old and new Ghul.

Mark could not bring himself to even approach the fence.

On uphill we drove, until we were literally at the edge of the earth. I wanted to stop and take some photos, and Mark reluctantly pulled over. He seems to be getting more nervous around heights. He only took a few steps away from the car!

I would need a diaper to go any farther, myself.

Meanwhile, I ventured past the fenced area, to try to get a better look down below. But, no matter how I tried, I just couldn’t get myself close enough to the edge to look straight down. My legs and gut just wouldn’t let me do it.

Local businessmen

Up here, people in barasti huts were selling woven souvenirs – mostly little trinkets like bracelets and key chains, so Mark and I each bought a handful, but not without spending some time bargaining. I bought from the husband and wife, and Mark bought from the young boys – they were all selling the exact same things, but they said they were three competing businesses, and each wanted us to buy from them!



Finally we came to Al Khitaym, the end of the road. This is one end of a hike called the Abandoned Village Walk, which we’ll do next time, inshallah. There’s an eco-camp named The View up there that I had wanted to check out, but they were booked – and very pricey. So I was interested to see what looked like a group of campers up on the rocks. In Oman and the UAE, you can pretty much camp anywhere. It’s interesting to drive on a weekend night outside of Dubai and see hundreds of cars pulled off of the road, and dozens of campfires just a few meters from the cars whizzing by at top speed. People here love to sit outside around a fire at night, even if it’s just for a few hours, and right next to the street.

Camping on the hard

This group was obviously European, though. Instead of a Bedouin-style galvanized steel barbecue, they had modern camping gear, which they were packing up while the goats lingered nearby, waiting for something to drop. I sensed that the humans had had enough of the goats.

Litter is everywhere. I picked up some, but ... sigh.

One hugely disappointing and worrisome thing that we see everywhere we go is the trash problem. It’s twofold: most often, people seem to just discard their trash as they go, throwing water bottles to the ground and plastic bags to the wind. Or, if they do bag trash, they leave the bag where it will crack in the sun and blow apart, or be ravaged by goats.

Jebel Shams Goats VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Good campers, too few.

I was glad to see these guys hauling their trash away, and I only hope they were going to a secure debris box that wasn’t already overflowing, as is so often the case… still, the whole place was just littered.

Maybe next time we will camp up here for a night. We have chairs, and cots for sleeping, but we don’t have a tent yet. It’s so wonderfully peaceful and quiet up there.

Driving back down the mountain we talked about the need to invent an alternative to plastic – not just biodegradable, but digestible. Then we were struck, as we often are, by a reminder of home in the landscape.Doesn’t that look a little bit like Half Dome? Or, maybe Little Half Dome, on Highway 50 at Strawberry?

Jebel Shams Views VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

It was lunchtime, but Mark wanted to explore the bottom of the canyon, so we took the turnoff back at Ghul, into Wadi Nakhur Gorge or, as the guidebook says, “the heart of the beast.”

They can hear you before they see you.

The first thing that happened was, as we entered the canyon, a group of village boys ran toward the car. Mark stopped to give them the few candies we had left, but as soon as they looked in the window they started yelling “Dates! DATES!!!”

DATES!!!

So Mark opened the jar to give them some. In a split second, they almost emptied the container, and Mark had to slam the lid back on! I have to agree, though, that those dates are way better than candy.








We threaded our way through the canyon, marveling at the soaring cliffs around us. Once again, we had to turn around and head out before we were ready, swearing we will come back and spend more time, but we didn’t have lunch and our emergency rations, the dates, had been severely depleted.

When we come back, we can do the Abandoned Village Walk into this canyon. The best way to do this, I think, would be to leave one car at the top and one at the bottom. For that you need a friend with a car – which we now have, in Nizwa! But I’m getting ahead of the story.

Wadi Nakhur Gorge VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

At this point we were badly in need of food, and it was about 1:00 p.m. We were worried that nothing would be open, as is so often the case between 1:00 and 4:00, so we were relieved to find a little “local” restaurant. They were roasting chickens on a spit outside, so we went in and had a seat. Half chicken and rice? Yes, please. They bring you a little place of freshly sliced cucumber, carrot, and tomato first, and then a half chicken, rice on a separate plate, and a bowl of delicious, spicy sauce. It’s plenty of food, and the locals eat with their fingers, balling up the rice and then grabbing pieces of meat with it. This, as you can imagine, makes quite a mess. As Mark's colleague Abdul Aziz says, “You can always tell where the Arabs have been eating. It’s a (expletive deleted) mess!”

Of course, I was the only woman in the restaurant, and the other tables were filled with locals. But we did see someone we knew! The weaver from Ghul who sold us the rug and dates.

Al Hoota Cave has formations like these underground.

We still wanted to see the formations in Al Hoota Cave, a local attraction. It used to only be accessible to experienced spelunkers, but the Omani government refurbished it, added facilities including a visitor’s center, and opened it in 2006.
Unfortunately, recent rains had leaked in and damaged the cave, and it was closed for repair. Instead, we went to the geology museum, which I found fascinating, having studied a bit of geology many years ago.





Oman attracts geologists from all over the world. As I walked around the landscape, it had struck me that I was seeing some of the same rocks that I saw in places on the California coast – pillow basalt, formed under the ocean. In the museum, my suspicions were confirmed. Geologists who come to Oman have the opportunity to study rocks that are usually only found in the deepest trenches of the ocean. When the Indian and Asian continental plates came together, the ocean floor heaved up over what is now Oman, instead of being thrust below. Then, over hundreds of millions of years, as the plates continued to move, the crust uplifted and built the mountains we see today. It’s such an interesting and diverse landscape, because there are layers of sedimentary and metamorphic rocks overlaid by ocean floor, then uplifted and cracked open for us to see. Amazing!

It was a very impressive and professional little museum, with interactive displays. If you like geology, take a look at these photos of some of the exhibits.

Al Hoota Geology Museum VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Well if they were getting a photo, so were we.

When we came out of the museum, this family visiting from India wanted us Americans to be in a photo with them.









That evening, we met a new friend. I knew her from her blog, catbirdinoman – a nomad in the land of nizwa, which I’ve been reading for a year. I felt like we had a lot in common. Other than being around the same age and American, we are both teachers, and she loves the outdoors, writing, photography, art, wine … the list goes on. When Mark and I decided to go to Nizwa, I emailed Cathy, and we agreed to meet for dinner.

"Oh, hats. Let's put them on for the picture."

What a fun night! I felt like I had known her for … well at least a year. I had somehow neglected to mention my blog in my email to her, so she didn’t know anything about me or Mark. But it didn’t matter! We talked and laughed over a bottle of wine, and exchanged similar stories of the frustrations of being an American living in a foreign country, and an Arab one at that. I admire Cathy because she’s living her dream of traveling. She’s also very open in her blog, writing about her challenges.




I do believe we are kindred spirits. We got together one more time, when Mark and I were on our way back through town and went shopping at the Nizwa souk. She wrote about both meetings in her blog. You can click these links to read them:

A Night at Falaj Daris with a Fellow Blogger
A Morning at Nizwa Souq

Thanks for reading, and may your 2013 be happy, healthy, and filled with simple pleasures.

One of my favorite things about Oman is the tiny forts dotting the landscape.

Two Omani Villages – Old Tanuf and Al Far

Ruins at Old Tanuf

Our Christmas trip was the realization of a year-long goal for me. Well, actually, maybe even two goals. Ever since we arrived on the Arabian Peninsula, I’ve wanted to explore the mountains, wadis (ravines) and villages in Oman. Having spent time building trails and hiking in the Sierra Nevada, I really miss having access to mountains.

a nomad in the land of nizwa -- and my muse

The second goal was to meet someone whose Oman blog I’ve been reading. I’ve been a regular reader of catbirdinoman, an American blogger who lives in Nizwa and teaches ESL at the university there, since our first trip to Muscat last Christmas. Cathy had visited Oman’s capital city and written about it, and I stumbled across her blog while I was researching for the trip. I was intrigued because I immediately saw that she and I have a lot in common.




Over the course of a year, I read about hikes that she took and viewed her amazing photos of the villages she visited. She wrote about her sons’ visit to Oman, her work, and many other parts of her life. I kind of got to know her, although she didn’t know about me.

A few days before the trip, I emailed Cathy and introduced myself, asking if she had any recommendations, which she if course did. We agreed that it would be fun to get together for dinner and a glass or two of wine. Mark and I both began to look forward to meeting a new friend in Nizwa.

So on December 21st, Mark and I drove across the desert from Abu Dhabi to Ail Ain, the closest border crossing to the ancient city of Nizwa in the Hajar Mountains. At the first border station, the guard waved us through. The guard at the second stop took our passports and car insurance and, without looking at anything, folded the insurance paper and handed everything back. “That was nice of him,” I said. “He folded it for us.”
The third and fourth stations were empty. Mark kept saying, “I think we need to stop and get a stamp.” Instead we said, “Let’s just keep going and see what happens.” Before we knew it, we were checking into Oman and buying our temporary car insurance. We drove through the last Oman checkpoint, and we were in.

As we drove off into the mountains Mark said, “I think we really screwed up, by not checking out of the UAE. I hope they let us back in. It’s not going to be easy.”

“We can still go back and get the stamp now,” I suggested. No, he didn’t want to bother. “So, are you going to worry about it all week?” I asked. No, he promised. Well, I thought, whatever happens, it could make a good blog story.

The road to Nizwa

So we continued on, and after a 3-hour drive across the slopes that drain the Hajar Mountains, we arrived and checked into the Jibreen Hotel, happy to find the excellent restaurant there still open for lunch even though it was almost 3:00 p.m. 






Knowing we would need a powerful 4WD vehicle for any serious mountain driving, several months ago we bought the turbo Cayenne. Now, we could try it out on Oman’s steep paved roads and gravel paths. Using the Oman Off-Road guide, we picked out several routes. I was especially interested in seeing the villages that I’d read about in Cathy’s blog posts, some of which are in ruins and some still inhabited.




Our first exploration route was Wadi Tanuf, and the first stop was the ruins of Old Tanuf. These ruins are easy to get to, unlike other ruined villages that are more difficult to access, tucked away as they are in canyons. Old Tanuf was bombed by the British in the 1950’s, under the orders of then-Sultan Said bin Taymur who wanted to rout out a dissident tribe under an opposing sheikh. I found an elegantly written version of the sad story at a blog called How to Live Like an Omani Princess, and I encourage you to read it. It contains far more detail than any of the tourist guides I’ve read, and although I can’t vouch for its accuracy, it sounds like it’s written by someone who knows the true story, and it’s a good read.
Walking among the ruins, you can’t help but imagine the 1,000 pound bombs exploding.

Ruined Village of Old Tanuf VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

After exploring Old Tanuf, we continued up the road. We drove past the recharge dam, which collects water after the rains to recharge wells and aquifers, and the Tanuf water bottling plant, one of the main suppliers of water throughout the country. In these mountains, water is the all-important resource, and for thousands of years the people have been collecting water and distributing it throughout the land using a falaj system, small aqueducts that snake their way along ledges and through plantations.

We were impressed with the sheer cliffs

We were heading into a steep-walled canyon, where Wadi Tanuf meets up with Wadi Qashah. You would not want to be here if there was any chance of rain. The road was getting rockier and steeper, and finally we came to a rise that took several tries to get over.







Mark was muttering that he wished we had more rugged wheels and tires – he had bought some, but it turned out that they were the wrong size – and that this would be easy if we had a Jeep. I saw that there was one hump that was hanging us up and, if we had a shovel, we could knock down the gravelly dirt. But there was really no way to do it by hand.

Candy is dandy, but ...

Finally, with me outside the vehicle directing (if you can imagine that) we managed to keep three wheels engaged and made it over the hump and on up the road to a little parking area. Immediately, three young boys appeared on the path from the village.

... cameras are really cool!

We had read in the guidebook that the local children are fond of sweets, and we came prepared. We handed them some candy, but what they were really interested in was my camera. They didn’t really want their picture taken – Omani people, who value their privacy, often will say no when you ask if you may photograph them. They wanted to take our picture.




Against my better judgment, I handed my camera to one of the bigger boys, who took a photo of Mark and me.

No, no, ok, here I come ...

But then, the smallest boy became insanely jealous, and snatched the camera away. The older boy tried to grab it back, and a fight ensued. Oh, no! My camera! “No, no, no!” I said, running toward them. What I should have said was “La la la!” I managed to get a hold of it before it landed in the dirt, but not before Little Brother snapped a photo of me hurrying toward him with a worried look on my face!

The name of their little village is Al Far. It’s so tiny, we think only four or five families could live there. As we approached, voices rang though the canyon, bouncing off of the cliffs. Even with just a few children calling, it sounded like a whole schoolyard full.

He obviously loves his kids

Up the stony path we went, right into the heart of the village. We came upon a woman and small boy, tending to their goats. I asked if I could take a photo, and to my surprise she said yes. The little boy posed with his kid goats, just like an American child would pose with a puppy.







We felt like an intruders, but the villagers smiled and pointed the way up through the village. I was surprised at how young they all were – the men were young and handsome, and the women were all pregnant.

Village view, Al Far

As we worked our way through the village, we came upon two men, probably in their late 20’s, who were returning from performing their ablutions at a little pool, in preparation for the sunset prayer. It was late afternoon, and the sun was disappearing behind the tall cliffs. They made their way past us, smiling and friendly, saying “Salaam alaikum,”  which means “Hello, nice meet you.”




Have I mentioned yet that they’re handsome?

I was happy to be safely back up on the ledge

We found ourselves at a fence surrounding a small plantation, really a grove of palm and banana trees, which the guidebook said to cross through to get to the wadi hike. The wet rocks were very slippery, but we finally climbed down the ledge, realizing afterward that we had gone the wrong way – there was no way to get to the wadi from where we were because of a dangerous dropoff.

T

his did not surprise me, because I had read in Cathy’s blog of similar experiences. You have to be patient and flexible in finding your way around the maze of wadis and villages. And the guidebook is too big to carry on the hike!

Whether he was calling for dinner or prayer I do not know,
but his voice echoed beautifully across the canyon.

It was going to be dark soon anyway, and I had been thinking for quite some time that it would be bad to be somewhere in the wadi in the dark without a flashlight. We climbed out of the plantation and wound our way back through the village. We could hear parents’ calls to their children echoing throughout the canyon. At the last turn, we came to the goat pen, where they were milking.

Mama protects her kids

“No picture,” the husband said this time. But he offered us a drink of goat’s milk. I might have taken him up on it but before I could think, Mark said no, thank you, claiming to be allergic. As we were walking down the path to our car, an older gentleman walked past us, carrying a bottle of milk, got into a pickup truck with several people already in it, and headed down the road to town.






We couldn’t help but wonder about the lives of the Al Far villagers. They tend their goats and palms, and raise their children. They are so friendly, and they were some of the happiest looking people I have seen in a very long time.

Gathering water

Their village life seemed almost idyllic to me. But, in reality, it’s a camping life – poverty, by any kind of modern standard. They go to the pool to get fresh water – as we were leaving, one of the women and her husband were on their way there, carrying large water bottles. So, I wonder. Do they live there all the time? Do they have members of their extended family living in modern houses in Tanuf?

God's Own Hills.
Something tells me these people appreciate the place.

As we left, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before: the words “GOD’S OWN HILLS” were painted on a rock at the entrance to the village. I reflected on the fact that it was December 21st, the last day of the Mayan calendar, which made some people think the world would come to an end. I’d never believed it but, even so, I thought it was a good place to be when the sun set on that day.




If you’re wondering about the rest of the story about meeting Cathy, and what happened at the border, those stories are coming soon.

Meanwhile, thanks for reading

Al Far Adventure VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Dispatch from Oman– Wadi Bani Habib

The abandoned village of Bani Habib is reached via a steep paved road up Jabal Al-Akhdar, the Western Hajar’s most impressive mountain. The road rises 2,000 meters in 25 kilometers, which is six times steeper than any road up the Sierras. Put another way, we climbed 6,000 feet in 15 miles, compared to climbing to the same elevation at Lake Tahoe in 90 miles.

The fun part was the descent.

There are many roads and villages up here on the Sayq Plateau. It's also a spectacular place to study geology.



We walked from the car park to the abandoned village in Wadi Bani Habib. We explored for about an hour. Amazing.

Mark’s remark: “How did these people amuse themselves? No booze, no casinos, no Internet …”
Me: “They prayed. And tended their goats and pomegranates.”

The villagers have moved into more modern houses nearby, or elsewhere for employment.

We will be back in spring, inshallah, when the trees are in bloom.

Wadi Bani Habib, Oman VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Global Village, Dubai–and the Nobel Prize for Malala

Need shoes  and headdress
to complete the outfit.

Mark and I recently went to Global Village in Dubai. Global Village is a carnival-type market that is set up for a few months each year. There’s a Fun Fair section with rides including a huge Ferris Wheel – which, come to think of it, is perhaps the only American contribution. I wonder how many people know that the first Ferris Wheel was built in Carson City, just 15 miles from our house in Nevada? But I digress.










For us, what’s interesting about Global Village are the tents. Each tent represents a country, and sells goods made there. Over 25 countries are represented, coming from the Middle East, Southeast Asia, Africa, and Europe.There is also a large stage with plenty of standing room in front, where troupes put on dance performances. As soon as a performance starts, hundreds of people are drawn to watch.

This woman was having a great time.

The first thing that Mark and I did while we were there was to taste a traditional Arab pancake. An Emirati gentleman standing next to me helped us out with interpretation so that we could order, because the women doing the cooking did not understand any English, nor even, really, our gestures. She was very gracious, however, when I asked if I could photograph her. I could see her smiling behind her Bedouin mask.

I will not leave the Middle East for good without
a large stack of textiles.

We went into several tents: India, China, Pakistan, Iraq, Afghanistan, Africa, Morocco, and Syria. The tents were packed with vendors selling clothing, textiles, handbags, foodstuffs, carvings, beads, trinkets, you name it. They all want you to come and look. And, because you are their first customer, you get a special deal!

I admit it, I came there to buy. And in the Afghanistan tent, I found what I have been looking for since I arrived in the Middle East: a traditional Arab dress for my granddaughter, Kailyn. The gold sparkles and delicate pleating were beautiful, but what sold me was the trim on the sleeves, bodice and hem – it reminded me of peacock feathers. The price, at 80 AED ($22.78) was less than I thought it would be so I didn't try to bargain him down.



The little girls wear these lovely outfits on religious and other holidays. Because Kailyn’s dress is from Afghanistan, it made me think of Malala. She is, in case you don't know, the young girl, soon to be a young woman, who was shot by the Taliban because she dared to criticize them for shutting down the girls’ schools in Afghanistan. Malala survived, hamdallah (thanks be to God), and she is recovering in a hospital in England. The Taliban has vowed to kill her and her father, who is also an activist. 

My granddaughter is lucky because she gets to go to school, she loves it, and she is thriving. But still, in this amazingly connected world we live in, there are children who do not have the opportunity to go to school.

Malala

Malala is their champion. She has raised awareness, shining the light on the fact that, yes, children WANT to go to school. They are born wanting to learn, and we must give them that opportunity. All children, throughout the world. Only when all people are educated, and can read, and write, and reason, can we hope to achieve a more peaceful Global Village.




There’s a worldwide movement to nominate Malala for the Nobel Peace Prize. So far as I know at this writing, she has been nominated by British Member of Parliament Jim Fitzpatrick and Federal Party leaders in Canada. In my opinion, Malala is worthy of the Nobel prize not just for what she has done, but for what I believe she can still accomplish in the future. She is so young and she has already done so much. We need her. We need for her to keep working. People like Malala are much too few and far between. We need to honor and support her.

Please watch this video of a song written about Malala by an American girl in Lafayette, California. SamanthaAnne is inspired by Malala and made the video to encourage people to nominate her for the Nobel prize. It’s a beautiful song, and the video is beautifully produced.

Then, if you believe Malala deserves to win the Nobel Prize, please sign the petition.

Global Village, Dubai VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Christmas is for the Child

I delayed posting this piece because it didn't fit with the sadness I felt. But Christmas will not wait. There are many children who are eagerly anticipating the day, so I am thinking of them now. After all, Christmas is about the birth of a child.

Kathe Wohlfahrt Christmas store.
Talk about eye candy!

“The Germans invented Christmas,” my friend Sam pointed out to me when we came back to the UAE from our Germany trip. What she meant was that they invented the Christmas tree. According to German records, in 1419 a Christmas tree was decorated with apples, wafers, nuts, and gingerbread by a bakers’ guild in the southeastern town of Freiburg im Breisgau near the French and Swiss borders. Soon they were adding paper flowers, sugar canes, sausages and cheese, which they allowed the village children to swipe. After all, Christmas is for children.

Believe it or not I was once Mary
in the Christmas tableau at midnight mass.

Over the centuries, the tradition caught on and spread. By the end of the 19th century, people had become more affluent, and families began decorate their Christmas trees as an expression of their social standing. In my family, we always waited until Christmas Eve to put up the tree. It wasn’t proper to put it up sooner, while it was still Advent. We decorated the tree to celebrate Jesus’ birth, and took it down the day after the Feast of the Epiphany, when the Three Wise Men, or Maji, delivered their gifts. We always put an angel on top, which is a German tradition.

No photos were allowed.
This is from the website.

When we were in Germany, I paid a few euros to visit the Weihnachtsmuseum, or Christmas Museum, in the basement of the Kathe Wohlfhart store in Rothenberg. As I first stepped in, I fought a twinge of disappointment after the riot of color, twinkling lights, and heaps of decorations in the retail store upstairs. I was there to take a trip back in time to see how my mother, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers once decorated their Christmas trees.

The museum gives you the feeling that you are at your grandma’s house. Or, maybe even more so, in her attic.The trees are the old-fashioned artificial kind, the glass ornaments are tarnished, the paper decorations are yellowed, and everything looks a little … shabby.

But that’s the charm of it. Nearly everything in the museum is from the collection of one woman, who must have lovingly packed away each piece every year. I thought of the ornaments that my sister Mary and I made with our mom when we were girls. Mom ordered kits that we chose from a catalog, and we pushed sequins and beads on pins into styrofoam balls. I packed them away carefully each year, but now the sequins are turning black, some 45 years later. They look very tired, but I still hang them. Each day, their beauty grows in my eyes until I am sad to put them away for another year.

I will always have one of these
on my tree.

There is a lot more to the Weihnachtsmuseum than just looking at the decorated trees. Each tree has ornaments of a certain type, from a certain era or even from a geographic region. Click on these links to read the history of each type of ornament – glass, paper, cotton, pewter, and tragacanth, a type of resin. My favorite has always been the delicate glass. This Santa is just like the one I remember from my childhood – my favorite.


And speaking of Santa, I also learned that there’s a darker side to the story. When I was growing up, we were told that if we were bad, Santa would leave us no toys, and only a lump of coal in our stocking. What kind of heartless Santa would do this?

It was not our family's culture to be scary,
so we didn't really know about Krampus.

It wasn’t actually Santa who originally doled out the coal. The story has its roots in Krampus, a furry creature from pre-Christian Germanic folklore. Krampus is a creature with cloven hooves, the horns of a goat, and a tongue like Gene Simmons, who scares and punishes bad children during December. Krampus was eventually incorporated into Christmas tradition as the counterpart to St. Nicholas the gift-giver, but because he was so evil and scary – he carried chains and whipping branches, and would sometimes even cart children away if they were naughty enough – Austrian governments eventually deemed him inappropriate.


Some Krampus traditions still remain, such as Krampus greeting cards featuring the creature menacing children or women.






Interesting Christmas traditions and decorations developed country by country and region by region, but one of the most interesting stories, to me, is Erzgebirge. When the mining industry there declined in the 16th and 17th centuries, people developed creative and resourceful ways to earn income. Men made wood carvings, and women made lace. Traders sold the goods. The Erzgebirge products feature light, probably because it was so important to the miners, who spent most of their lives in darkness. Some of their designs have become symbols of Christmas.

Even with fall decorations,
the displays evoked Christmas.

It’s Christmastime year-round in Rothenberg, where there are piles of toys and treats in every window, and every kind of ornament imaginable is on display for sale on dozens of decorated trees in the Kathe Wohlfahrt store. It was so tempting to just grab a basket and start scooping up ornaments. What I really wanted was to find that special one. But it was impossible. There was too much. So I grabbed a few delicate lace snowflakes to put on our two houseplants in Abu Dhabi. I learned, in the museum, that many of the earliest Christmas trees were shrubs like boxwood. It doesn’t have to be a cone-shaped fir.

No photos allowed in the store, either.
But the saleswoman let me sneak one in
for the record.

Yet I had to spend some money there, so rather than buy a suitcase full of ornaments, I bought some small pyramids. These are the charming revolving towers with candles around the base and blades on top, typical  of Erzgebirge. The heat from the candles creates an updraft, turning the blades and rotating the figures in the pyramid. To me, the pyramid lights are a symbol of the light of Christmas and the spirit of love, giving, and renewal that the season should bring to us, no matter what our beliefs.






Mark and I are again spending our Christmas in the land of gold, frankincense and myrrh in Oman. We’ll be exploring the mountains and historic ruins around Nizwa. For our 13th anniversary this year on Christmas Eve, we will return to As Sifa, the beach where we spent our wedding anniversary last year. And we will visit Oman’s capital, Muscat. Maybe this time, I’ll follow Arab tradition and add to my collection of gold.
We’ll be in the USA for a visit in January, to celebrate three birthdays with family – Mark’s mom Angie will be 92, my son Brian turns 30, and I will be … 56. And, we will be at our home in Nevada together for the first time in a year and a half!

Our Arabian Christmas tree.

Merry Christmas
Frohe Weihnachten (German)
Miilaad Majiid (Arabic)