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I began to stir gradually as the melodious sounds of the call to prayer drifted through my window along with the woody aroma of frankincense. As my alarm sounded, I raised my head just enough to peer out of the window. The sun was rising gently, making its way above the jagged outline of the mountains to fill the sky with brilliant hues of red and gold before kissing the tip of my forehead. As the sun settled in the sky, she promised something special was to come. Armed with ropes, hiking boots and copious amounts of water, I sped along Muscat’s sleek highway, leaving behind the coastal breeze in favour of hot mountain air. The sun stood proudly in the sky by the time I reached the foot of this monstrous landform. As gravel cracked under the wheels of the car, I gazed up in awe at the mass of rock in front of me. It stood still, confident, a silent observer towering over the rest of the granite peaks. Even from the bottom, the views were unimaginable - clusters of latticed white houses dotted among the moon-like landscape and mosques wedged between charcoal hills were small reminders of reality in what could have easily been the set of a Science-Fiction movie. Despite my severe lack of experience, there was something about the winding paths which compelled me, so I began the steady crawl up the dusty roads of Jebel Akhdar. It soon became clear that I wasn’t the only person aware of my inability to cope with the challenges of the landscape. A faded grey-brown pick-up truck stuffed full of Omani men and boys trundled down the mountain, jolting to a halt in front of my silver Mitsubishi hire car which now looked as if it had been dipped in orange powder paint. Through a thick cloud of fiery dust, I could just about make out an old voice shouting, ‘Road no good, no good road.’ I held my breath. Is it even possible for me to turn around on this cliff edge? A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead, stinging as it settled in the corner of my right eye. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to escape the intensity of the afternoon heat for a split second. As I peeled them open, the cloud of dust began to clear, revealing the friendly smile and wise eyes of a Bedouin looking man. ‘So are you going to join us?’ Came a little voice from the back of the truck. Dubious, I felt I had to refuse at first but it soon became impossible to ignore the chorus of shouts: ‘Halas! Yalla, yalla!’ (‘Enough! Let’s go, let’s go!’) I clambered over the side of the truck onto a pile of animal feed behind Mohammed, a man from a nearby village and Akhmed, the little voice. Chalky sand hung in the air like snow as we zipped around the fallen rocks and precariously close to the cliff’s edge. I was soon lost in the dust and the clouds and the red screech of the engine. As the jeep grunted towards the top of the mountain, a squeal jerked me out of my daze and I turned around to see Akhmed jump up and point. His favourite goat, Amira, had wandered over to say hello. Her scruffy white coat glowed against the rubble and she nodded her head indifferently as he stretched forward to touch her nose. The jeep edged on. Before I could even realise we had come to a stop, I was bundled out of the truck and onto a hard patterned rug. The clink of porcelain was punctuated by shouts about ‘Qahwa’ (coffee and dates). Small coffee cups were passed around and sticky dates were handed out. I sipped the coffee; the sweetness of the cardamom erupted on my tongue at the exact moment that the bitterness of the strong coffee was about to hit; the perfect balance. As I gazed up at the sky, a shimmer of gold began to break through the sheet of blue. The sun smiled as she fell back towards the mountain top. She was right: the day had been truly special.