Muscat, Oman

So how do you even get to a country with a screwed up name like "Oman?" Well, my guidebook didn't really have much information on this minor detail, but it did say that buses left to Oman from a station from Dubai. So I went to the place in Dubai where this alleged station was located, and of course found no station. On closer examination, I did find a tiny little shop with a sign listing bus departures to Oman. This was a stationary shop. It was also a bus station. I got a handwritten ticket for the next day. Attached to the ticket was a coupon proclaiming "Get Your Free Meal at Penguin Restaurant in Sohar!" Really? I showed up at the stationary store the next morning where sure enough a bus left for Muscat at 7:30 AM, 15 minutes late. At Omani customs all passengers had to get off the bus, collect their baggage and place it on a long table, then stand in front of it waiting for inspection. I was asked to open my bag and the official felt around the top layer. First time my bag has been searched on the entire trip. Then we were ordered to place all of our luggage in a line and clear the area. I didn't understand what this was all about until I saw the most adorable little black lab puppy bounding playfully towards everyones luggage followed by an officer. This was a drug dog? With lots of energy he enthusiastically jumped over all of the suitcases wagging his tail. He seemed to be the happiest dog in the world. Omani immigration was in a big, cheezy Vegas style Arabian palace, in contrast to UAE immigration, which was just a trailer in the middle of the desert. The bus stopped in Sohar where, sure enough, everyone got a free meal at the Penguin Restaurant. Muscat is very beautiful with a quirky mix of old and new. And oh my God is it sleepy. I feel more like I'm in a tiny fishing village than a national capital.
P.S. To clarify, when I said I've been to the real Dreamland, I was referring to the forbidden chunk of land between Nellis Air Force Base and Rachel, Nevada, not a brothel.