Yes, another visa run has us spending the night in Muscat, Oman with the decision made to play tourist and enjoy the sites. It was a bit of a surprise to find after we returned home that this particular weekend was the point in time that the Omani people decided that Tunisia and Egypt were getting too much world press and to start protesting against their own government.

We saw nothing at all the entire two days to suggest that even one local citizen was unhappy as everyone in Muscat was friendly with smiling faces – probably at the prospect of separating us of our money since B had her shopping face on the entire time. Apparently there were anti government protests in some of the rural areas of the country which to me seems somewhat of marketing blunder as there aren’t many people out there in the middle of the desert. If you ask me how to get attention, go to the big city and throw rocks at the Presidential Palace.

Nary a rock thrower in sight at the Sultan's Palace.

Perhaps the Omani citizens are merely shaking their proverbial sticks in the air and scowling in front of the cameras to see what goodies the Sultan will give them, seeing how some great reforms have been granted in some of the other neighboring countries for the same kinds of actions.  Sure enough, The Sultan was spooked enough to announce a few days later that the minimum wage had been doubled, a few of his cousins had been thrown out…uh…replaced in high government positions and a dialogue would be opened up with the people, a popular promise in this part of the world over the past few months.

Fun at the Muscat Festival

We attended the last night of the Muscat Festival, a kind of Fatacil (for my Algarvian friends) and felt very comfortable walking among everyone. We were even interviewed by a local radio station – typical questions. How do you like the festival? Where are you from?  So thank you to the dozens of our American friends who expressed their concern that we might have been beheaded during the weekend but we are fine, rested and ready to explore again during the next visa run, probably to Qatar next.

The incident took place here.

B was spending a couple days in Dubai last week working at her “paid-volunteer” job and staying at the Citymax hotel in Bur Dubai. The company I work for has two offices, one here in Abu Dhabi and the other in Dubai. She’s been working since early January and splits her time between the two cities with a promise of a contract and a salary but continually being put off with various excuses as to why she hasn’t been signed on or even paid. At least they reimburse her expenses.  I will force the rotating blades of the air cooling machine to receive a fermented load of excrement next week if this situation is not resolved.

Anyway, B calls me from the hotel room in a bit of a panic telling me there had been an incident at the hotel.

“A voice came over the loudspeaker in the hall way stating there had been an incident in the hotel and we were to stay in our rooms until further notice,” she stated.  “I’m really freaking out.”

My first thoughts were terrorist attack or a murder in the hotel but not to make B worry even more I decided to play it down.

“Well, look outside the window and see if there is anything unusual looking in front of the entrance,” I replied.  Her answer came back negative.  “I’m sure it’s nothing. Why don’t you call the front desk and ask?”

About twenty minutes later B called back. “It took me forever to get through downstairs. The incident is over, we can leave the room now,” she informed me. “Someone lit a cigarette in a non-smoking room.”

Will smoking in the hotel get you this?

Relieved that no one had died, I wondered if the culprit had been taken away in shackles and jailed for a few months.  How did they know this had happened? Are there security cameras in the rooms? Did everyone stay in their rooms as instructed? Was the culprit’s room locked from a central security station so he couldn’t escape? I have a lot of questions. The safe and secure feeling you have living in the UAE is countered, I’m afraid to admit, by a really Big Brother in the room.