Switzerland on the Arabian Sea, Oman, Middle East

The Sultanate of Oman, to my mind, bears an unexpected resemblance to Switzerland, chiefly for its remarkable sense of order. The roads are immaculate, even far into the hinterland. In Muscat, the capital, traffic is meticulously monitored; people are unfailingly courteous, their smiles as warm as the sun; and the Arab–European style villas gleam a pristine white, as if freshly dusted with snow. Gardens brim with blossoms in shades of blue, pink and violet, and not a single petal appears anything less than perfectly tended.

Houses around the Sultan's Palace, Muscat, photographed by Barbara Athanassiadis.

Travellers can admire this harmonious aesthetic in the flowerbeds lining the streets—an endless ribbon of colour that a small army of gardeners is constantly pruning. I was told that Sultan Qaboos developed a love of flowers during his studies in England, which perhaps explains the great attention devoted to their presence throughout the city. Banks, major public buildings and corporate offices follow a modern architectural idiom reminiscent of the Mediterranean, where stained glass and white plaster prevail. The Grand Mosque — one of the largest in the Arabian Peninsula — is built entirely of white marble from India that dazzles under the fierce sunshine, and inside lies a vast, hand-woven carpet from Iran, reputedly among the largest in the Arab world.

Traditional dhows in Muscat, Oman.

By contrast, Muscat’s old town and its harbour possess an intimate, almost enchanting charm. Everything is built on a smaller scale and follows traditional Arabic lines, exuding the quiet mystery of a place to which traders have sailed since antiquity. The sea here is a deep, lustrous blue, set against stark rocky hills and stretches of sand where the desert comes to rest. In the old town stands the Sultan’s principal residence, adorned in turquoise, white and gold, while the surrounding villas overflow with flowers rather than being barricaded behind high, forbidding walls.

My guide — an imposing Bedouin who had studied in England and served as the first cartographer of the Sultanate — delighted me with stories of Omani life, which has changed beyond recognition in recent decades. As a boy, he travelled from his desert village to Muscat on camelback, part of a slow-moving caravan. Today, he returns to that same village in a modern jeep with so many switches on its dashboard that it resembles the cockpit of an Airbus. His village was typical of those scattered across the desert, encircled by towering dunes of sand so fine it felt like sifted flour, and we frequently encountered camels wandering alone across the landscape.

The author at the Fort of Nizwa, the old capital of the Sultanate of Oman.

Before reaching the desert proper, one passes through ancient towns, each with its casbah, old fort, mosque and Qur’anic school, each possessing a character entirely its own. Many lie nestled within mountains or valleys that once shielded them from invaders. Beyond these mountains lies the border with Saudi Arabia and the vastness of the Empty Quarter — the world’s largest continuous desert, a place so immense and so unforgiving that only a handful of people have ever managed to cross it.

The first Omanite vessel that sailed to the Indian Ocean, Muscat, photographed by Barbara Athanassiadis.

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