Oman: Wadi Shab and Tiwi

Mrs M's intensive visitors' programme commenced with a trip to Wadi Shab. After the usual comments about my tardiness (late for what exactly?), we began with a tour of some of the local supermarkets in search of camping gas, which mother assured me was not necessary to buy a few days ago. Not a sausage. Mike bought a kettle and confused an American gentleman at the checkout by asking if he knew where he could purchase gas. With no gas at supermarket number two either, tin foils trays were purchased as an alternative 'Ray Mears' solution.

Arriving later in the day at wadi Shab meant that we were walking in shadow for much of the time, a welcome relief in temperatures around 40C. I stayed behind at the pool while mother lead the team, forcing them through the keyhole entrance of cave. I could hear them jabbering for several minutes before they hove into view on the return, where copious amounts of water were downed before the sweaty hike back to the car.

At Tiwi there was the usual flap about finding the right beach from mother who clearly mistrusts the GPS. As the sun was beginning to drop behind the mountains, Mike and I decanted the car to search for wood while Kay and Mrs M with the backup tent. Upon our return from our wood sortie, it was clear that the tent had won. With brute force and bad language they eventually succeeded and the rest of the camp was soon erected requiring a much needed dip in the sea and chilled beer.

We consumed barbequed animal pieces under clear skies lit by a chink of light from the new moon before the port was produced. We could only manage one tumbler each before retiring to our nylon sweat chambers. It was not easy to sleep in the warm and clammy conditions. Loud braying from Roger the donkey to one of his mates did not help either.