Grinda

"In the summer twilight islands seem to rise 

on the horizon. Old villages are on 

their way, retreating further into woods

on the seasons' wheels with magpie creaking.

When the year kicks off its boots, and the sun

climbs higher, the trees break out in leaves 

and take wind and sail out in freedom."

-Tomas Tranströmer, 17 Poems

On our last full day in Sweden, we took a ferry to Grinda, one of the islands in the Stockholm archipelago, where Tranströmer's lines seemed to come true. The whole world seemed ready to sail out in freedom -- leaves, birds, sky, sun....and us along with it.  

Inhabited since the middle ages, Grinda was largely farmland until it was bought by Henrik Santesson, the first director of the Nobel Foundation. Santesson built a lovely villa there, but sold the island to the city of Stockholm in 1944. It has since become a park and nature preserve. 

About half the island is a working farm, with cows, goats and chickens. Fresh eggs sit for sale inside the barn -- just take the eggs, and leave your money in a jar.

Trails fan through the pastures to the woods behind. We wandered through birch groves and cliffy outlooks, winding up again in the fields, surrounded by goats. Midway through our hike, our host realized that he'd spent his bachelor party creeping through those very woods -- army style, in the middle of the night. Our trip was a little less wild, but we enjoyed imagining his epic day a few months ago.

We have an ongoing debate over which is the greenest place in the world -- Evergreen State College in Olympia, Burke's Gardens in Virginia, or a little gravelly patch called Sowers Mill Dam Road....but Grinda, with its impossibly lush meadows backed by dense forest, gave us pause. You can see why...

Circling an island, however small it may be, makes us hungry. We stopped at the house Santesson built -- now a restaurant -- for lunch. (Lunch in Sweden is no sandwich affair. Sandwiches, we learned in Rattvik, are actually a breakfast food. Instead, we sat down for dinner, round one. And what a dinner it was!)

Two heaping baskets of bread, some seafood stew and asparagus-gnocchi later, we wandered back to the dock, full of sun and cider, ready to laze on the beach before setting sail (or, rather more prosaically, catching the ferry) home.

A quick jaunt to Oman

 

We should go to Oman more often, we concluded after our trip last weekend. It has everything. Huge rock formations....

 

 

Dinky towns that boast multiple castles.

 

 

Carpeted boats....

 

 

....fit for a young sultan....

 

...or even his lady.


These gentlemen are probably closer to being sultans than we are. When asked how many children he had, the man on the right first said he didn't know. Unsettled, the Dutch man who had asked inquired again, and got a vague mumble: "dozens." Nick had a brief conversation in Arabic with them, which involved much laughter.



We were on the Musandem peninsula, at the tip of the Arabian Peninsula. Though it is surrounded completely by the Emirates, it is part of Oman, a vestige of the tribal affiliations. And, unlike the northern emirate of the UAE, Ras al Khaimah, it is wonderfully empty.

Look carefully, and you'll see a tiny fishing town. No signs. No fancy hotels. Want to get there? You'll have to take your own boat, and you'd best speak Arabic.



There are other, more accessible towns, but they are almost as small and quiet as this one. And that means that their beaches are even quieter, though some are surrounded by little fishing boats. You can camp on many of them, including Bukha beach, with no questions asked. We will be back soon, sand tent in hand.


And when we do go back, we will take our new kayak, and will likely skip the carpeted boat. But the boat trip was marvelous. Here are butterfly fish (or so we're told), swarming to eat little pieces of apple.

 

And here are the peninsula's famous dolphins, playing nearby.

 

 

 

Perhaps they were more exciting in person.

 

The boat took us to Telegraph Island, which the British used to string wires to India in the 19th century.

 

 

We had a lovely hour of swimming in the coral reefs surrounding the island. We saw starfish, sea slugs, all sorts of medium sized fish, and a few different kinds of coral. And then it was back to Khasab, where there is a wonderful beach, just outside of town.

 

 

...with little huts to shelter in...

 

 

 
...lined by jagged rocks.


And populated by small children, a few people intently doing calisthenics, and some goats.

We ate dinner in the most beautiful parking lot on earth, surrounded by craggy cliffs, a crescent moon overhead, and calls to prayer ruffling the crowd mid-way through our meal.

 

 

We were happily reminded  of Washington's core strengths on the trip up.

 

 

No other apple comes close....but Oman's beaches will give Seattle's a run for their money.

 

Dubai Creek

Long before Burj Khalifa reared its glitzy, Armani-studded tower, Dubai was a regional trade hub. (For a sickeningly pretentious account of Dubai's current status as a global hub, see this op-ed.) In the 19th century, the British Empire regarded Dubai as the lynchpin for its middle eastern trade, and entered into an agreement to protect it from other imperial interests. Dhows from all over the region wound up in Dubai Creek, a salt-water meander that splits the city in two (it meanders at such a leisurely pace that Dubai's name, most people agree, derives from words meaning "to creep" or "locust").

Welcome to the Dubai Creek area circa 2013. (Some things have changed.)

The area remains a hub of sorts - certainly the hub of Dubai's hubbub, which is no mean feat. We were reminded of our fond encounters with Nepali traffic.

Others haven't changed much at all. Dhows still line the creek, and the sidewalks nearby are inundated with boxes - of vacuum cleaners, bicycles, flatscreen TVs, and other staples.

From the waterfront, Dubai's newer developments are just barely visible.

Near the banks of the creek on the Deira side you'll find a spice souq.... 

...some souqs about which guidebooks are curiously silent.....

....and (yes, really) a gold souq. Margaret's ring didn't quite fit in.

There was so much gold.

Window after window crammed with the yellow stuff.

We found specialty shops for every taste, filled (for example) with massive, unwearable rings shaped into frogs, snakes, and even (ugh) skulls.

Can't find the skull? Here he is, enjoying his Death Metal.

The glare out on the water was much more bearable (it was just the sun). We took a ride on an abra across the creek. (There are two prices for these rides. One, aimed at tourists, is priced at 120 AED. The other, for people who just want to cross the creek, is only one dirham). Nick sniffed out the deal immediately.

 The creek is full of boats, all making similar journeys.

And not to worry - crossing the creek does not necessitate saying goodbye to the souqs! On the other side of the creek is a textile souq, with the most aggressive vendors yet.

We emerged unscathed, and (remarkably) without any pashminas to show for our travails. Back on the water, Dubai was at its most peaceful.

But only for the length of the trip.