The Escapade in Oman...

"How did I end up here?!" I wailed. "Where is he?!"

“He’s not coming back –it’s 3am now –the boat was meant to be here at 7! We’re abandoned! Alone!”

“I wish we were alone –the thousands of ENORMOUS crabs are really freaking me out! They must weigh a few kilos each!”

“They’re so fast…and they’re everywhere!”

“Well at least there’ll be food –if things get any more desperate…”

“For us or for them?!”

Thousands of luminous eyes scuttle around us, dancing devilishly around our surrendering campfire.

We know that we have no idea where we are, that we have no maps and, though next to the swelling, salty sea –we have no drinkable water. We know that we’ll be sweating in the scorching, sweltering sun tomorrow…

We know that there’s a secluded, solitary, Omani settlement nearby –formerly the haunt of smugglers- it now skulks, silently somewhere in the shadows. An equally-abandoned ghost village…

We know that we’ve climbed -clung to- the cavernous cove’s cliffs, cautiously avoided it’s carnivorous crevices and yet, having conquered it’s cruel challenges, continued to crave reception. No telephone connection. Denied redemption. Our hope a deception! God’s Rejection.

Yes we were feeling rather sorry for ourselves. And perhaps a little melodramatic.

As if sensing our desire for melodrama, we suddenly heard our captain’s whisky-laden speedboat whirring towards us, whipping the waves wantonly, when WHACK! He’d driven it straight into a round, rudely-protruding rock.

Wailing. Woe! “WAAAHHHHH!!!”

Was he hurt?
We rushed to see.
Sensing an audience the man fell silent for a few seconds.

And then fell into hysterical laughter. Giggling, cackling, chortling, snorting, wriggling with glee. He wiped the tears from his eyes and, still tittering tipsily, still convulsing with chuckles, fell out of the boat.

Dramatically he waded, swayed, through the shallow water. The startled crabs, once bold & threatening, now stood still. Shell-shocked. A few timidly crept away! Collecting and crunching seaweed with each climactic step the Sea-Monster reached us at last… He stood still. After a compelling beat, and with dramatic timing that any trained actor would envy, he then sternly delivered his killer line:

“Want whisky! Where?”

Seconds of stunned silence. Finally one of our party recovered enough to ask:

“Where’s our dhow? You were meant to pick us up at 7pm!”

The Captain looked at us with the blissful, innocent incomprehension of a young child.

(Part 1, TBC)