The Backpacker

Ha, I bet the Queen herself never set eyes upon her palace! But we did, after clambering over 150 concrete steps and slipping over loose rocks! We held our court, high in the Hajar Mountains. Had the good Queen of Sheba been alive, she would have found our little group an example of integrity, determination and much enthusiasm. 

 After all braving the sun at noon (never mind it is winter), the fierce winds, the sharp rocks that can easily cut you up, goat poo, straining lungs etc requires, if nothing else, a bit of courage. Determination because people living in the foothills of the mountain housing the remains of the fort barely know of its existence!! Add that ignorance to our own (of the local language!) and the gnawing need to locate the ruins which years ago was visited by an enterprising traveler who had the good sense to record the general direction of the place, but which over the years had changed...like the colour of the mosque which was supposed to be our guide!!

Anyway, having once located the water tank we made haste. The threesome, two Indians (including yours truly and another for whom seeking directions is a nightmare and sticking to it is even worse) and one sprightly German (who loves coffee more than I do and is ready to break into laughter) made it all the way up at last... And what do we see? Mountains, skies, trees...no sight was more beautiful and no group of women more silenced by the mere beauty of the place! With the Hajar Mountains playing their part in lending an arua of mystery, the colourful flag of UAE fluttering over what looked like a broken tomb, little piles of rocks that could pass of as remains of a wall...it was absolutely amazing.

Over the egde, the town of Al Shamal lay bare and square, interspersed by greenland and goats running wild. In the distance, the sea shone intensely and winds carried the nosie of the plain upwards, namely the bleating of the goats.

Our Palace was secure. Little wonder that to appease our lungs, the less adventurous of the two plopped down unsteadily under a lone tree and slept away while I content myself on the tree. Trees in the mountains make for a good climb :-) 

To reach here from Dubai, it takes a good two and half hours drive. From Ras Al Khaima, take the road that takes you to the Oman border (towards Musandam). Enroute you will come upon a village named Al Shamal (a small right arrow on the board after Emirates Market). Keep at it. Soon you will reach a art revival centre, keep left till you reach a mosque and a T-junction. Go left till you see a greenish water tank. Stop right there. The mountains rise high up on your right and crane your neck to see the fluttering flags and neat steps that go up a certain distance). 

Thereon we proceeded in our sturdy little car to uncover secrets of the desert town. Skirting mountianous roads, hugging the sea, some more coffee and driving past Al Ram and Al Sham, we finally reached the Oman border. Jeer is a sweet little town growing out of the mountain. But that was the end. To get into Oman in another story...an episode the Three Trekkers have planned.

Till then, its time to adjourn court. Hail the Queen!  

I have a Green Ticket.

(For those not familiar with the term, it is the Law's way of saying you are right. The motor acident is not your fault).  So I have a Green Ticket and yet I do know it is my fault. In some way it makes me uneasy. I wonder who the holder of the Red Ticket is.

I also wonder what would have happened had I not been a woman? Had I not been a little better dressed than those poor, underpaid drivers? Had I not had the calm or the poise to speak to the cops? Had I not been a journalist? Had I not been able to see eye to eye with the cop and not misquote myself upon questioning?

Would I have got the Red Ticket...and with it the fines?

Because when I think back, I know I could have avoided it all. All I had to do was move a bit farther left instead remaining where I was. It was his fault all right, to be parked where he should not have. But knowing the traffic situation, it is quite all right...I have done worse before).

But one of us had to be given a Red. He got the Red and am unhappy.  Because I know, despite the Green Ticket that it was my fault. Pick Up truck drivers are not exactly well paid. Can he afford the fines? The black mark (if any)? Have I been in any way responsible for his misfortune?

I dont know who he is, but I sure would like to say I am sorry. I never meant it to happen. It was unfortunate it did. But I wanted a Green Ticket and I was in a position to get a Green Ticket.

Yet, I know I deserved the other. 

The mountains wear different hues

Yellow, green and purple too

The winds whisper in shades new

The skies glow is colourful blues...

But I... wear the colour of YOU! 

Thank God for Umm Al Quwain with its quaint, crumbling infrastructure giving way to the newer town....thank god for the islands, the isolation, the crab and the fish and flamingoes...

But above all, thank god for the ability to love these things...

Thank god for love that makes the world a beautiful place to live in...

...and thank god for the feeling named Naveen...  

But dear God, give me not space which I cant fill

Which makes me aware of the emptiness around

Give me just enough place to rest my feet...

I cant fill a world that has no Naveen...   

Hatta Dam: Another day, another time! Every time I visit this place, it looks even more beautiful. Feels as though the mountains do have a life in them after all!