The adventures of a blonde and a very old car

“Sorry, the card machine is not working”

I looked at the petrol station attendant in horror. We had driven, without even a tea break, from Nizwa to Haima and Ol’ Martha, the Pajero stuck in 3rd gear, had literally rolled in to the forecourt on the fumes, which was all that was left in its very, very empty tank.

“So..? What do we do?” I asked the sleepy guy, who had just filled the Pajero to the brim. He handed me back my useless credit card with a shrug. “Cash only”.

“It would have been extremely helpful if you had told me this before you filled up my car”, I mumbled under my breath while going through every glove compartment, ash tray and coin holder the car had. RO 1.400. Hmm....

Mrs J had been fast asleep with her mouth open since Nizwa, and I noticed a small damp spot on her white linen shirt, where she had dribbled slightly. I shook her awake.

“We need cash”, I informed her. “I know”, she replied still half asleep. “No, not in general, well yes that too, but now. We need cash to pay the man for our petrol, I pointed out.

Ten minutes later, having turned every pocket inside out, checked under the seats and had everything out of our bags, we had... RO 6.300. Nowhere near enough to pay our debt. It was a Mexican standoff. We didn’t have cash, the petrol station didn’t have wifi; who would blink first?

In the end the petrol station attendant must have remembered the old saying about not being able to pick the hair of a bald man, and the sooner we got on our way, the sooner he could go back to snoozing.

“Leave your friend here and go get cash. There is an ATM in town”, he pointed down the dark road. Mrs J looked at me, eyes big with fear. “Leave me here?? she whispered “are you out of your mind? Anything could happen”

“Calm down, this is Haima not downtown Detroit. Nothing is going to happen here”. Mrs J looked around nervously; sand gently sweeping across the forecourt, a couple of tired donkeys snorting nearby and a hungry stray cat rummaging through the bin. “Alright”, she sighed “go!”

Cash in hand I raced back to the petrol station to pay the ransom money for my best friend. I knew she would be feeling terrified and alone, and forced the Pajero as fast as it would go in 3rd gear. But the forecourt was empty. No friend and no attendant to be seen. I started panic sweating and worrying how I would ever be able to explain to Mrs J’s children that I had somehow lost their mother in Haima. A faint light fanned out from underneath the door to the office. I knocked and was met with a cheerful “Come in”. Mrs J was sitting with the petrol station attendant on a floor mat drinking tea and scrolling through their phones.

“... and this is my son and his wife in the snow”, she would point to her phone screen. The attendant nodded and smiled, and in turn showed several family photos from recent gatherings in India. Mrs J clucked and admired the selection of beautifully dressed babies with heavily kholed eyes.

“Perhaps we could..?” I tried gingerly holding out my cash and nodding towards the car.

Only after a second cup of tea and an exchange of Facebook details did we finally get back on the road. We slalomed between small sand dunes, which had collected by the side and spilled over on to the tarmac. I looked at the fuel gauge promising a full tank and miles to go. I sent a silent prayer to the sky, hoping that it would at least take us to the next available petrol station.

“Isn’t it an amazing country?” Mrs J smiled, “friends everywhere”. I smiled back at her and being a good friend myself, I decided not to point out that she had spilled tea on her white shirt. It was going to be a long drive to Salalah. A long drive indeed.