Frankincense Dreams

Thursday, March 20 Salalah, Oman

I’m walking the deck before sunrise. The sun pops out of the sea, shining like of a pot of cherry colored lip gloss. Three dolphins accompany us port side. And yes, I’m expecting to see Sinbad the Sailorman appear to guide us to the dock. But instead, ordinary looking tugboats run along side. The ship is cleared for disembarking by Oman security. I rush ashore, thinking I’m late to meet my tour bus. I’m escorting a tour called Panoramic Salalah. I grab my sign and hurry to bus #3 where the guide, Ali, introduces himself. I greet him in Arabic and he replies with raised eyebrows. He’s very dark and handsome in his long white disdasha (caftan) and intricately embroidered hat. He wonders at my few words of Arabic, but I sense I should not tell him I’m a bellydancer. Leaving the port, the landscape out the left side of the bus looks like central California, a dry and arid, flat plain leading to a low mountain ridge. Out the right side, the intense blue and crashing waves of the Arabian sea, makes me certain, though, that we’re not in Fresno anymore, Toto!

We travel a short distance to our first site. Pulling off the road, we see the source of Salalah’s most ancient and famous natural resource, two scraggly trees. Everyone off the bus. Ali leads us over rock and sand. He tells us how the tree is tapped and the sap harvested, then burned over charcoal to emit the fragrance that was so prized it was one of the gifts brought to baby Jesus by the Three Wise Men. This, of course, is frankincense. I ask if the trees are cultivated now. “Yes,” he says, “but the scent is not the same as from the trees found in the wild. They live to be 200 years old.”

We move on. Turning off the main road to Salalah we head up into the mountians. A half hour drive through twisting turns, past grazing camels, and small farmer’s dwellings, we see the tower of a mosque. We’ve arrived at Job’s Tomb.
Walking up a gentle incline lined with bright magenta bougainvillea bushes and an oasis of green bushes and trees, we come to a small concrete building with a domed top. Women must cover their heads and all must remove their shoes. I enter the tomb. A long rectangular black cloth with beautifully embroidered gold Arabic writing covers the grave which is marked by a raised stone on either end. An old man rises from a metal folding chair to place more frankincense on the coals. Heavy smoke rises in the air up to the modern crystal chandilier that hangs from the center of the dome. Though it’s crowded inside, I center myself and try to feel the quality of the energy that has made this a place of pilgrimage for centuries. Job’s life was recorded in the old testament, so we’re talking very ancient history. Remembering his story, I ask to be granted the patience of Job and leave the building to make room for the line waiting to come in. Right outside is a square hole in the ground. The metal lid is lifted and we gaze inside to see an impression in the earth. We’re told that this is Job’s footprint preserved through the centuries. Apparently he came from Palestine to Oman and lived out his life here.

On to the Sultan’s palace. I ask Ali about him. His family has been in power for 200 years. He is 68 years old and has two wives, but no children. He has no brothers and his sister has died. I ask who will take over when he dies, and Ali just shrugs his shoulders.

We travel through central Salalah to the frankincense souk.
The whole area has been unremarkable. I expected old villages and casbahs like in North Africa, but buildings are all relatively modern—many apartment buildings. All light colors and rather non-descript. In the souk, which is really a steet lined with stores, there is not much of interest to buy, mostly the frankincense and the burners in many sizes and materials and designs. The only thing that hints at antiquity, unfortunately, is the veiled women. They are completely covered in black burkas with only a slit open for their eyes. I won’t get into what I think about this custom, but I am reading an interesting book from the ship’s library. It’s the story of a woman who married one of the Bin Laden brothers and moved to Saudi Arabia. Fascinating and disheartening look at the world behind this modern day veil.