Oman: the Dive Centre

As the chaps return to London tonight, we squeezed one more day in the sun at the Dive Centre. It may seem like I’m ranting, but what on earth are they doing here? Four years ago, it was an idyllic spot. Now it’s like a British holiday camp. OK, that’s a bit unfair, it’s still one of the best places to stay or visit for the day, especially for families. It's certainly popular.

The mini-Foys played tirelessly for hours in the shallow sea while dad went for a wander over to the next cove and mum crisped in the final hours of sun. The Dive Centre provided an unexpected opportunity for Andrew to grab a last-minute camel burger before returning to deepest, darkest Bracknell. Even LMF almost ate a plate of fish and chips.

The sun set speedily as we threw almost all of our possessions into the car. My strategy to return via old Muscat rather than Ruwi was not only quicker, but provided a sombre example of the dangers of driving in this country. The pavement on the road leading down to the palace was littered with the wreckage of a car lying on its roof. Not any car, but a learner car. Usually it would be a taxi. I would not normally photograph or post images of such tragedies, but anything to make a point. Driving here is a matter of survival.

In the late evening, the cats sniffed around a pile of suitcases while we watched ‘Freaky Friday’ before departing for the airport. After unloading the Prado in front of the departure terminal, Mandy eventually remembered they were one person short and returned to the car to unbuckle Ethan. I drove away with a little wave knowing they had enjoyed a brief but action-packed few days with Mrs M Tours. 

We have three days to wash the sheets before the next group.