Friday, March 29, 2024 | Ramadan 18, 1445 H
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EDITOR IN CHIEF- ABDULLAH BIN SALIM AL SHUEILI

The adventures of a blonde and a very old car

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“You can’t fight the desert... you have to ride with it” Mrs J exclaimed, obviously in her philosophical mood.


”Impressive”, I nodded.


“Well, it was actually Louis L’Mour who said it first”, she admitted “but nevertheless”.


We were driving in a convoy of 10 vehicles through Rub al Khali — The Empty Quarter. It was still early morning and the sun had not yet worked up its strength, but we were under no illusions that we wouldn’t be sweating buckets later. We had already packed up camp, had the first strong cup of coffee and as clockwork scattered in all directions to find a bush. Except, there weren’t any, of course. Only sand. And more sand.


Now we were driving on a flat, firm stretch which looked like it once upon a time could have been a riverbed. “We’ll soon hit the soft sand and the dunes”, our driver Mohamed assured us with a wider grin. This was what he had come for. All Mrs J and I had to do was pack up our tent and sleeping bags in the mornings, get to the kitchen tent for breakfast — and try not to wet ourselves when charging full speed up a sand dune, only to fly over the ridge, and hurl down the equally steep back.


For two 55+ year olds, who hadn’t bothered with their pelvic floor exercises after giving birth many moons ago, this wasn’t easy. I gotta be honest with you.


“Stop! Look!”, Mrs J pointed to something sticking out of the sand close to the car. Reluctantly Mohamed stopped to let us out, thereby holding up the rest of the convoy behind us. But this was too good to miss. To the right of us, scattered like a giant’s marbles, were dozens of geodes. These hard round balls of rock, which most of all looked like fossilised cauliflowers in varying sizes, were not anything special to look at. Until you cracked them open. Then the inside revealed itself, hollow has a layer of hard silicac, showing up as beautiful quartz crystals fit for a queen.


In Rub al Khali you often find these in old dried up riverbeds. They were truly amazing to look at, and just like when finding your first 4-leaf clover, you hold it in your hand and feel incredible lucky and special. Until you realise that there is another one next to it, and another one, and another one.


The one Mrs J had spotted from the car, was indeed a prime specimen. It was the size of a football. She dragged it back to the car. “Just imagine this being created over thousands of years ago” she marvelled “only to be found by little ol’ me!” And she was off again in a frenzy, plucking geode after geode off the ground and clutching them against her shirt front. She came running back to the car and unloaded her loot. “Just one more”, she shouted.


Mohamed cleared his throat. “She knows she can’t actually take the geodes with her, right? They are supposed to stay where they are. Dhofari geodes are some of the most trafficked geological heritage in Oman”. I looked at him in horror. “So, at the moment Mrs J is actually the desert equivalent of a cat burglar?” I asked. “Well, maybe not quite”, he looked down at the growing pile of geodes next to his car, and back to Mrs J rushing around hording rocks while mumbling to herself “just one more, just one more”.


“All she has done so far is just moving them from one place to another. I was kind of hoping she would tire herself out”.


With the rest of the convoy growing restless, it fell unto me to drag Mrs J back in the car and explain. I wasn’t sure if it was Mohamed’s wish that had come true of if she was just sulking, but the silence from the backseat was bliss.


“You can’t fight the desert”, I reminded her “you just have to ride with it”.


I smiled to myself. A tiny geode was safe in my pocket. I would give it to her later.


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