Over the Eid holidays, we went back to Oman – again.

But this time, it was different. It became our longest road trip so far: six days of mountains, wadis, winding highways, and quiet stretches of dusty roads that seemed to go on forever. Join for some fun stories from our journey while exploring Oman.

Petrol Station Shenanigans

Our grand Eid road trip to Oman kicked off with a bang – or more accurately, with the wrong type of fuel. We rolled into the petrol station all smiles, ready to conquer the open road… and got left with a car full of petrol. Not diesel. Petrol. And we drive a diesel car.

Yes, our diesel-loving engine got a surprise cocktail it never asked for, thanks to a very sleepy attendant who confidently pumped in the wrong juice. The moment we realized? Glorious. A mix of horror, disbelief, and the slow, creeping dread of “Well… there goes the trip before it even began.”

Just to let you know what you have to do in such case: drain the tank, wash the car, put the right type of fuel. It added a solid two hours to the start of our trip – but hey, what’s a road trip without a little chaos and character development, right?

Spoiler alert: we survived. The car was working fine. Someone might have gotten their hands on a cheap mix of fuel and diesel (not sure who it would work for, but they diligently saved the buckets full of this concotion behind the station). We never chose Shell as our station of choice ever again.

The Wadi of Dreams

After the wrong-fuel fiasco and a lot of nervous laughter, things started looking up. We found the perfect camping spot next to a wadi that looked like it had been painted into the landscape – turquoise pools and smooth rock walls. It was quiet, calm, magical… for a couple of days until the rest of our party showed up.

Enter George — the enthusiastic photographer, tanned Bulgarian friend (yes, that one), who had joined us in his well-equipped Jeep. Most people would enjoy the serenity of a night wadi. Not George. George was on a mission.

At 3 a.m. he was taking selfies against the giant rocks (as one does naturally), when he noticed a giant spider. He didn’t abandon his task thinking that he would get to the spider in a moment, but when he turned around the spider was gone. It didn’t stop George from looking for that spider with a flashlight for another couple of hours, ruining night photography for everyone else. The spider, of course, never showed. Smart spider.

The Snake

But George did find something else – a water snake gracefully gliding through one of the pools. Most people would scream and run. George? He whipped out his water-proof camera and started an impromptu photo shoot, marveling at its elegance. “Look at this guy! He’s beautiful!” he kept saying, chasing the snake with the enthusiasm of someone discovering wildlife for the very first time.

Just when we thought the night couldn’t get any more eventful, morning rolled in with a side of stuck Isuzu.

A group of friendly Omani guys had come by for a swim (as one does in this paradise), but somehow managed to wedge their pickup truck into the soft gravel with the precision of someone trying to park a boat in a sandbox. Cue the classic “yalla, push!” moment, with half of them digging and pushing, while the other half pretended to supervise.

Eventually, we freed the mighty Isuzu from its gritty prison and the Omanis dove into the coolness of the wadis. They also showed George that there was another way to enjoy the pools by jumping from the rocky sides of it. George of course had to join the fun and climbed in for the epic splash.

The place was magical but it was time for us to hit the road.

Drive to Bat, al-Khutm and al-Ayn

Eventually, we packed up our camp that was getting sunburned, waved goodbye to the imaginary spider and George’s new snake muse, and hit the road toward a UNESCO World Heritage site. We’d actually visited it before – the bronze age burial towers, rising stoically from the desert like ancient WiFi routers left by aliens with excellent design taste.

Back on the road, we were treated to the leisurely pace of Omani camels, who clearly couldn’t care less about traffic laws, urgency, or the concept of moving out of the way.

But no road trip is ever smooth when you’ve got Jeeps in convoy. The Jeep, rugged as it may look, apparently drinks fuel like it’s coffee at a Emiratis afterwork gathering. So naturally, they had to detour for an emergency top-up. While George and Hamdan went off to hydrate their metal beasts, we directed our wheels to the elevation point with the said towers in complete darkness.

By the time we arrived, our cars looked like they had just survived a sandstorm, a mild apocalypse, and possibly an archaeological dig themselves. Layers of fine desert dust covered every surface, inside and out. The windows were no longer see-through.

But as the towers came into view – weathered, quiet, monumental – we remembered why we came. And then immediately remembered how hungry we were and that we still have to set up for the night. Thankfully an ample amount of lamb chops were grilled and distributed around to satiate every hungry adventurer.

Next Day

The next morning started, as always, with a bit of a George-shaped delay, since our beloved Bulgarian prefers to rise with the second sun. By the time we had packed up camp and finished our coffee, George was still comfortably hibernating, soon emerging like a slightly disoriented bear in shorts that showed the moon we didn’t ask for.

Eventually, fueled by caffeine and questionable enthusiasm, we pointed the cars toward Snake Canyon – a winding stretch of road that’s as dramatic as its name suggests. But what made it feel longer than it really was was George’s new mantra: “Are we there yet?” He asked it at every stop, every vista, every patch of gravel we slowed down for. According to him, we had driven too much on this road trip. On a road trip.

While inflating the tires for a part of our adventure we spotted more camels and a donkey being proudly driven atop a pick up truck.

Snake Canyon

Snake Canyon itself delivered: goats galore, some doing tightrope acts along cliffs, and views that swung wildly between epic and mildly terrifying. Of course we met some questionable car enthusiasts who thought it is a perfect place to ride their Nissan Sunnies and not deflate the tires at all.

What Is At The End Of The Snake Canyon

After conquering the twists and turns, we came across a weird little shed on top of a mountain – half shed, half cryptic art installation. Naturally, I had to stop and photograph it while the others focused on more practical things like reinflating the tires and questioning our life choices in the heat.

So you’ve made it to the end of Snake Canyon Drive in Oman and your car still intact? Achievement unlocked! And what do you stumble upon? Not treasure, not an oasis… but this delightfully sketchy metal hut that looks like it combines a cowboy saloon and a makeshift art installation.

Inside, we’ve got three mysterious burlap sacks hanging proudly like they’re on display at a weird desert fashion show. Are they curtains? Capes? Rustic wall art? Who knows – but they’ve definitely seen things.

The walls are a charming combo of plastic tarp and wooden lattice, probably more for vibe than actual shelter. And let’s not ignore the graffiti on the ceiling, which adds just the right touch of “desert rebel chic.” The dirt floor? Authentic. The bench? Perhaps a refuge for someone.

All in all, it’s like a pop-up lounge for goats… or a roadside stop for anyone who enjoys mysterious vibes, direct sunlight, and the feeling of being watched by spirits of the canyon.

With temperatures creeping up and patience gently unraveling, we made the very rational, definitely not impulsive decision to drive straight to the top of Jebel Shams for the night, chasing cooler air and the possibility of some peace and shade. Spoiler: we found neither. But the views? Worth every dusty kilometer.

Jebel Shams

When we finally arrived at Jebel Shams, hoping for a peaceful night under the stars, we were greeted not by silence, but by a fully booked mountaintop. Every decent camping spot had already been claimed – neatly arranged tents, and people who clearly got there way earlier and took this whole “planning” thing more seriously than we ever will.

After a short, very serious group discussion about whether we should just camp next to some giant water tanks, we decided to live on the edge – literally – and settled into a questionable, uneven plot of gravel dangling a little too close to the cliff’s edge. The view? Stunning. The sleep? Well, we did some. My apple watch said next morning that the oxygen level in my blood is lower than normal. Which might be due to the fact that we were on the highest mountain of the region.

Our neighbors? A surreal mix: on one side, what looked like an Amish family with a small army of children. And on the other, a group of very enthusiastic Bangladeshis blasting music that defied genre, language, and probably human rhythm. Thankfully it didn’t last very long.

And then — plot twist – George announced he was waking up for sunrise to take photos. Yes, George. Mr. “I’ll get up when I feel like it” was suddenly filled with photographic ambition. Not only that, he decided Hamdan (bless him) should also wake up and take photos of George. Before that Hamdan nearly walked off the cliff at 4 a.m., confused in the dark, accidentally trying to get into George’s car instead of his own, mumbling things that were either curses or prayers.

Morning Views

Meanwhile, John launched his drone, soaring over the cliffs to capture truly breathtaking views – with absolutely no permit, of course. There were no authorities in the area to complain about it though.

My husband? Oh, he spent three hours on a business call with his office, chilling in the tent, while the rest of us slowly roasted under the brutal sun. At some point, we checked the UV index and realized it was 13. Not ideal. Great for solar panels, less so for human skin. Which didn’t encourage George to get into the shade of course.

By noon, sunburned, we finally packed up our gear, our dignity, and our leftover snacks, and pointed the cars back toward Dubai – dusty, tired, and already romanticizing the chaos we had just survived.

End of Exploring Oman and The Long Way Home

The road home was long, hot, and wildly uneventful – the kind of landscape that makes you question if time is still real. The temperature hovered around 40°C, the scenery was a never-ending loop of beige and police academies, and the only entertainment came from watching mirages appear, shimmer, and disappear like they, too, were over it.

In George’s car, things were slightly more… educational. He spent the drive fully immersed in Neil deGrasse Tyson documentaries, which sounds impressive until you realize he was not entirely focused on the actual road, occasionally getting out of the lane like the cosmos had personally distracted him mid-drive. Nothing says “safe return home” like your driver pondering black holes while doing 100 km/h.

Thankfully, crossing the border was smoother than expected, thanks to the handy perk of traveling with members of the UAE royal family, who, as it turns out, can gently accelerate the customs process. No red carpets or fireworks, just a subtle nod and priority line – which, after six dusty, sun-baked days, felt like a luxury in itself.