Jebali

As our aromatic journey comes to a close, I can only say that Oman now has some new fans. It was an interesting experience, bringing people to my favourite country and quite challenging I have to say, but we managed to see quite a bit.

The rose harvest in Jebel Akhtar (Green Mountain) ended early this year, due to a lack of rain and high temperatures. So it was already over by the time we showed up. However, our delightful guide, Salim, found us a distillery in the village of Seeq and even though there were no more roses, we got to see the distilling apparatus which is very unusual. Omanis consider water to be an adulterant so the only water used is that from the roses themselves, and even that through condensation. The rosewater has a strong smokiness and the rose note only becomes apparent after the first taste has had it’s fun and run its course. And even then the rose note is nearly hidden, very subtle, but clearly there, and very concentrated. Omani rosewater (Mai-al-ward) used mainly in local desserts—Oman’s version of Halwa.

The extractor units resemble little pit ovens, each a few inches in diameter and stuffed with some fresh roses, a fire underneath. Above these roses sits a copper bowl in which the condensation collects—the condensation from the roses. Afterward we sat for coffee and dates with Mohammed (the distiller) and his family and conversation turned to other extractions. Seems he is experimenting with frankincense in his new little Tunisian still! So the next morning we came back to see this.

There is not much frankincense being distilled in Oman at the moment, even though there was plenty a few years ago. I think the main issue is with the harvesters, as I wrote before, but there are a few small distillations going on and the next morning, after a visit to the alpine juniper forest, we presented ourselves at Mohammed’s once again. Our luck was in. 2 kilos of Omani frankincense went into the little still, producing about 30 of oil, and several litres of hydrosol. We also dove into the milky leftovers, taking a part of everything home with us for treatment experiments.

We walked around the gardens that afternoon and into the evening, balancing along the edges of the irrigation channels, and admiring the pomegranate flowers, the remaining roses, the cotton bolls.

The alpine forest of Jebel Akhtar houses some of the most magnificently old and gnarled ancient crones anywhere. Some of these juniper, cedar, wild olive and fig trees are over 1000 years old—resting in the stillness and peaceful solitude of Omans alteplana with only the wind and a few feral donkeys for company. Elsewhere in the Arabic world donkeys are known as Hmar—a pejorative word laden with connotations of stupidty, willfulness and stubbornness, while here in Oman they are known as Abu Sabr—Father of Patience.

The alpine juniper forest is serene and magical—a place not known by too many people—it’s wild and old tree enthusiasts who will enjoy this place.

A visit to the little group of shops on the mountain showed that someone is happily cooking up a storm. We found aromatic waters—hydrosals—of myrtle, thyme, peppermint, in addition to the frankincense and rose (both traditional smoky and water distilled) already filling up the backs of the 4 x 4s.

The cool of the mountain was a happy relief from the heat of Muscat, already reaching over 40C, and we were sorry to leave for the drive down to Nizwa, but down we went, into the hot dry winds of the inland desert.