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I am not a born adventurer， which is not to say that the appeal of the unfamiliar or the power of nature is lost on me； nor do I suffer from a lack of curiosity. But I don’t like heights， and I’m not particularly fond of not knowing what comes next.
So when I find myself some 9，000 feet above sea level， tiptoeing along a narrow path on the side of Jebel Shams—the highest mountain in Oman and part of the Al Hajar range， which curves along the Arab country’s northern coast—I can’t help but think that I’ve come a long way. Below me are the unforgiving， Wadi Ghul rusty brown ravines of Wadi Ghul， known as the Grand Canyon of the Middle East； above， the jagged peaks seem to rise higher and higher into cloudless skies.
“So do you feel like Indiana Jane yet？” asks my French boyfriend， Jerome， who is waiting for me to catch up. He grew up in the Alps and for him happiness is climbing up， skiing down or just looking at a mountain.
“A little，” I say， watching where I put my feet， as the so-called trail is barely perceptible. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t confirmed that the cragged facades look steeper than they really are. We reach a bend where the cliffs form a towering U-shape around us， then we sit on a boulder and eat an orange.
We don’t say much； it feels somehow impolite to disturb the quiet. Two days before， we’d set out on the five-day， 500-mile road trip from Abu Dhabi， in the United Arab Emirates， to Muscat， the capital of Oman， in search of such serenity. That， and the diverse and rugged landscapes for which Oman is known， including towering mountain ranges， stretches of untouched desert and lush oases tucked in rocky canyons.
We’d left Abu Dhabi before dawn， stopping in the desert between there and Al Ain—the Emirate’s second largest city—to go dune-driving at sunrise. We tore through stretches of camel-colored sand， me sitting in the back seat of our Nissan Patrol， Jerome at the wheel， Jimi Hendrix’s Voodoo Child blasting from the stereo. I squealed as a mix of elation and nausea took hold.
From there， we headed east into Oman. Jerome marveled at the highway that had been a dirt road when he last visited the country a decade ago； mosques and houses were being built by the dozen， rising from the otherwise barren lands that flank the highway. The further we went， the more building sites， road extensions and infrastructure improvements we saw； Oman feels like an entire land under construction. And， in fact， it sort of is； in the next five years the country plans to spend $8 billion to build some 7，500 miles of road. Deep in the Al Hajar range， in an area known for its temperate climate and terrace-style orchards， where pomegranates， apricots， apples and figs have been grown for centuries， we spent the night at a cliff-side hotel on Jabal Akhdar （Green Mountain）. Our room offered views of verdant mountaintops and plunging gorges that seemed to swallow the sun at dusk.
The next morning， we roamed the pomegranate orchards of the Saiq Plateau. By mid-afternoon we headed for Nizwa， one of the country’s oldest cities， where we visited the Nizwa Fort， a cylindrical 17th-century defense tower that is an imposing example of traditional Islamic architecture， with intricate detailing and a symmetric building style. We spent the early evening perusing silver shops—Nizwa is famous for its chased and pierced jewelry. Then， while sitting on plastic chairs in a parking lot across from the souk， we ate the best chicken shawarma of our lives to the sound of evening prayer.
Some 12 hours later， we’re sitting on a boulder and eating our orange， with no other humans in sight. The sense of being the last two people on earth makes it impossible to avoid getting a bit reflective， and I think about the privilege of being out of one’s normal context and comfort zone.
I wonder if I am catching on to this adventure thing， as we’re back in the car and making our way down the mountain via steep， unpaved strips of rocky earth that take us through Wadi Bani Awf—a gorge that is considered Oman’s most thrilling off-road experience. The four-hour descent is spectacular and terrifying； the only things stopping the car from tumbling into a ravine are Jerome， who learned to drive on the icy roads of Chamonix， and a bit of luck. Longhair mountain goats scale cliffs as we pass through the tiny， remote town of Balad Sayt， situated in an oasis of palm trees， before emerging from the rocky trail and finding our way back to the highway.
We drive the remaining 100 miles or so toward Muscat， where we’ll spend the next day lying on the beach， haggling at the Old Muttrah Souk， ogling Sultan Qaboos bin Said Al Said’s palace and admiring the coastline dotted with elegant white houses， before heading back to Abu Dhabi for a flight home.
As we approach Muscat by night we pass the spectacularly lit Grand Mosque， which dominates the low skyline， its glowing dome an ornate sphere floating atop tons of pale Indian sandstone.
And then we pass it again， and again， stuck in a maze of roadwork and detours that seem to get more tangled at every turn. Recent changes to the highway have rendered our 2012 map useless， and the city is apparently so much in flux that even our GPS can’t keep up. I consider turning on my iPhone to see if that little blue dot will help us find our way， but I decide we should allow ourselves to be lost， at least for a little while. 我不是一个天生的冒险家，这并不是说未知事物或者自然力量对我没有吸引力，也不是说我缺乏好奇心。但是我不喜欢高处，也不是特别喜欢那种不知道接下来会发生什么的感觉。
因此当我发现自己身处海拨高度约9000英尺之上，踮着脚沿着杰贝尔夏姆斯山的一条狭窄通道行走时，我不禁想到自己已经走了很长一段路。杰贝尔夏姆斯山是阿曼最高的山，也是艾尔哈贾尔山脉的一部分，这条山脉围绕着阿拉伯国家的北部海岸。我的脚下就是无情的銹棕色瓦迪古勒沟壑，有“中东大峡谷”之称；而往上看，则是锯齿状的山峰，节节攀升，仿佛一直延伸至无云的天际里。
“有感觉自己像是女版印第安纳·琼斯吗？”我的法国男友杰罗姆这样问道，他正等着我跟上去。他从小在阿尔卑斯山长大，对于他而言，幸福就是攀山、滑雪或就只是盯着一座山看。
“有一点儿，”我边回答道，边留心着下脚处，因为那所谓的小道几乎微不可察。要不是确信崎岖的山势实际上并没有看起来那么陡峭，我现在绝不会站在这里。接着我们到达了一个转弯处，峭壁在我们周围形成了一个高耸的U形，我们坐在一块大圆石上吃了个橙子。
我们并没有说太多话，总感觉打破这份宁静是件不礼貌的事。两天前，我们从阿拉伯联合酋长国的阿布扎比市出发，进行为期五天、全程长达500英里的自驾游，目的地是阿曼的首都马斯喀特，只为寻找这样的宁静。除此之外，还能欣赏到阿曼那多种多样、崎岖陡峭的著名地形风貌，包括高耸入云的山脉、连绵不绝的沙漠和岩石峡谷中郁郁葱葱的绿洲。
黎明之前，我们就离开了阿布扎比市，在阿布扎比市和阿莱茵——阿拉伯联合酋长国的第二大城市——之间的沙漠停留，日出之时我们在那儿的沙丘上驾驶。我们穿过了长长的骆驼色沙丘，我坐在东风日产途乐越野车后座，杰罗姆在驾驶，音响大声播着吉米·亨德里克斯的《巫毒之子》。当兴奋感和恶心感同时袭来之时，我开始尖叫起来。
我们从那里向东行驶到阿曼。杰罗姆惊叹道，眼前这条公路在十年前他拜访阿曼时还只是一条泥土路；高速公路两旁原本贫瘠的土地上也建起了大量的清真寺和房子。我们走得越远，就看到越多的建筑工地、道路扩建和基建项目；感觉整个阿曼都在建设中。而事实上，确实如此；在未来五年里，阿曼计划投入80亿美元来建造大约7500英里公路。
在艾尔哈贾尔山脉深处，有一个地区以温和气候和梯田果园而闻名，在那里，几个世纪以来，石榴、杏子、苹果和无花果被广为种植。我们在雅巴尔艾和达尔山（绿山）上的崖边旅馆过夜。在我们的房间可以观看到青翠的山顶，还有陡斜的峡谷，看起来就像是要吞噬傍晚时分的夕阳。
第二天早晨，我们游逛了塞奇高原上的石榴果园。下午三点左右我们出发前往尼兹瓦，这个国家最古老的城市之一，在那里我们参观了尼兹瓦城堡——建于17世纪的一座圆柱形防御塔，典型的传统伊斯兰风格建筑，以错综复杂的细节设计和对称的建筑风格著称。我们花了整个傍晚细细浏览银饰店——尼兹瓦也因其精美的浮雕和镂空珠宝首饰而闻名。接着，坐在露天市场对面停车场的塑料椅子上，伴随着晚祷声，我们吃掉了此生吃过的最好吃的鸡肉沙瓦玛烤肉卷。
大约12个小时后，我们坐在圆石上吃橙子，周围荒无人烟。那种作为地球上最后两个人类的感觉，使我们不得不陷入沉思，而我当时想到了那种置身于平常处境和舒适区之外的自由。
当我们回到车里，沿着陡峭、未经铺砌且崎岖的小山路下山，去往瓦迪贝尼奥夫时——一个被称为拥有阿曼最惊心动魄的越野体验的峡谷，我不知道自己是否突然领悟到这种冒险的意义所在。长达四个小时的下坡路实在是壮观和惊险；如果说有什么能够阻止汽车撞入峡谷，那就是杰罗姆，他是在夏蒙尼结冰的路面上学会了开车的，再者就是一点点运气了。当我们经过偏远的巴拉德塞特小镇时，看见长毛山羊正攀登着上悬崖。小镇坐落于一片棕榈树绿洲中，然后，我们走出了岩石小道，回到了公路上。
我们向着马斯喀特开去，走完剩下大约100英里的路程。我们将在那里度过接下来的一天，可以躺在沙滩上晒日光浴，在老穆特拉露天市场讨价还价，瞻仰苏丹卡布斯赛义德王朝的宫殿，或是欣赏点缀着优雅白色房子的海岸线，这些都是我们在返回阿布扎比市乘飞机回家之前能够好好享受的。
黑夜来临，我们驶进马斯喀特，经过壮观的亮灯大清真寺，衬着低矮的天际线，其发光的圆顶——一个华丽的球体，飘浮在数吨灰白的印度砂岩之上。
然后我们一遍又一遍地经过那里，陷入布满小道和弯路的迷宫中，越走便似乎变得越复杂。最近改建的公路已经使得我们那张2012年的地图无用武之地，而这个城市显然一直在变化，以至于全球定位系统都跟不上道路变化。我考虑过开启苹果手机看看小蓝点是否能帮助我们找到方向，但是我认为我们应该让自己继续迷失，至少还可以再迷失一会儿。
So when I find myself some 9，000 feet above sea level， tiptoeing along a narrow path on the side of Jebel Shams—the highest mountain in Oman and part of the Al Hajar range， which curves along the Arab country’s northern coast—I can’t help but think that I’ve come a long way. Below me are the unforgiving， Wadi Ghul rusty brown ravines of Wadi Ghul， known as the Grand Canyon of the Middle East； above， the jagged peaks seem to rise higher and higher into cloudless skies.
“So do you feel like Indiana Jane yet？” asks my French boyfriend， Jerome， who is waiting for me to catch up. He grew up in the Alps and for him happiness is climbing up， skiing down or just looking at a mountain.
“A little，” I say， watching where I put my feet， as the so-called trail is barely perceptible. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t confirmed that the cragged facades look steeper than they really are. We reach a bend where the cliffs form a towering U-shape around us， then we sit on a boulder and eat an orange.
We don’t say much； it feels somehow impolite to disturb the quiet. Two days before， we’d set out on the five-day， 500-mile road trip from Abu Dhabi， in the United Arab Emirates， to Muscat， the capital of Oman， in search of such serenity. That， and the diverse and rugged landscapes for which Oman is known， including towering mountain ranges， stretches of untouched desert and lush oases tucked in rocky canyons.
We’d left Abu Dhabi before dawn， stopping in the desert between there and Al Ain—the Emirate’s second largest city—to go dune-driving at sunrise. We tore through stretches of camel-colored sand， me sitting in the back seat of our Nissan Patrol， Jerome at the wheel， Jimi Hendrix’s Voodoo Child blasting from the stereo. I squealed as a mix of elation and nausea took hold.
From there， we headed east into Oman. Jerome marveled at the highway that had been a dirt road when he last visited the country a decade ago； mosques and houses were being built by the dozen， rising from the otherwise barren lands that flank the highway. The further we went， the more building sites， road extensions and infrastructure improvements we saw； Oman feels like an entire land under construction. And， in fact， it sort of is； in the next five years the country plans to spend $8 billion to build some 7，500 miles of road. Deep in the Al Hajar range， in an area known for its temperate climate and terrace-style orchards， where pomegranates， apricots， apples and figs have been grown for centuries， we spent the night at a cliff-side hotel on Jabal Akhdar （Green Mountain）. Our room offered views of verdant mountaintops and plunging gorges that seemed to swallow the sun at dusk.
The next morning， we roamed the pomegranate orchards of the Saiq Plateau. By mid-afternoon we headed for Nizwa， one of the country’s oldest cities， where we visited the Nizwa Fort， a cylindrical 17th-century defense tower that is an imposing example of traditional Islamic architecture， with intricate detailing and a symmetric building style. We spent the early evening perusing silver shops—Nizwa is famous for its chased and pierced jewelry. Then， while sitting on plastic chairs in a parking lot across from the souk， we ate the best chicken shawarma of our lives to the sound of evening prayer.
Some 12 hours later， we’re sitting on a boulder and eating our orange， with no other humans in sight. The sense of being the last two people on earth makes it impossible to avoid getting a bit reflective， and I think about the privilege of being out of one’s normal context and comfort zone.
I wonder if I am catching on to this adventure thing， as we’re back in the car and making our way down the mountain via steep， unpaved strips of rocky earth that take us through Wadi Bani Awf—a gorge that is considered Oman’s most thrilling off-road experience. The four-hour descent is spectacular and terrifying； the only things stopping the car from tumbling into a ravine are Jerome， who learned to drive on the icy roads of Chamonix， and a bit of luck. Longhair mountain goats scale cliffs as we pass through the tiny， remote town of Balad Sayt， situated in an oasis of palm trees， before emerging from the rocky trail and finding our way back to the highway.
We drive the remaining 100 miles or so toward Muscat， where we’ll spend the next day lying on the beach， haggling at the Old Muttrah Souk， ogling Sultan Qaboos bin Said Al Said’s palace and admiring the coastline dotted with elegant white houses， before heading back to Abu Dhabi for a flight home.
As we approach Muscat by night we pass the spectacularly lit Grand Mosque， which dominates the low skyline， its glowing dome an ornate sphere floating atop tons of pale Indian sandstone.
And then we pass it again， and again， stuck in a maze of roadwork and detours that seem to get more tangled at every turn. Recent changes to the highway have rendered our 2012 map useless， and the city is apparently so much in flux that even our GPS can’t keep up. I consider turning on my iPhone to see if that little blue dot will help us find our way， but I decide we should allow ourselves to be lost， at least for a little while. 我不是一个天生的冒险家，这并不是说未知事物或者自然力量对我没有吸引力，也不是说我缺乏好奇心。但是我不喜欢高处，也不是特别喜欢那种不知道接下来会发生什么的感觉。
因此当我发现自己身处海拨高度约9000英尺之上，踮着脚沿着杰贝尔夏姆斯山的一条狭窄通道行走时，我不禁想到自己已经走了很长一段路。杰贝尔夏姆斯山是阿曼最高的山，也是艾尔哈贾尔山脉的一部分，这条山脉围绕着阿拉伯国家的北部海岸。我的脚下就是无情的銹棕色瓦迪古勒沟壑，有“中东大峡谷”之称；而往上看，则是锯齿状的山峰，节节攀升，仿佛一直延伸至无云的天际里。
“有感觉自己像是女版印第安纳·琼斯吗？”我的法国男友杰罗姆这样问道，他正等着我跟上去。他从小在阿尔卑斯山长大，对于他而言，幸福就是攀山、滑雪或就只是盯着一座山看。
“有一点儿，”我边回答道，边留心着下脚处，因为那所谓的小道几乎微不可察。要不是确信崎岖的山势实际上并没有看起来那么陡峭，我现在绝不会站在这里。接着我们到达了一个转弯处，峭壁在我们周围形成了一个高耸的U形，我们坐在一块大圆石上吃了个橙子。
我们并没有说太多话，总感觉打破这份宁静是件不礼貌的事。两天前，我们从阿拉伯联合酋长国的阿布扎比市出发，进行为期五天、全程长达500英里的自驾游，目的地是阿曼的首都马斯喀特，只为寻找这样的宁静。除此之外，还能欣赏到阿曼那多种多样、崎岖陡峭的著名地形风貌，包括高耸入云的山脉、连绵不绝的沙漠和岩石峡谷中郁郁葱葱的绿洲。
黎明之前，我们就离开了阿布扎比市，在阿布扎比市和阿莱茵——阿拉伯联合酋长国的第二大城市——之间的沙漠停留，日出之时我们在那儿的沙丘上驾驶。我们穿过了长长的骆驼色沙丘，我坐在东风日产途乐越野车后座，杰罗姆在驾驶，音响大声播着吉米·亨德里克斯的《巫毒之子》。当兴奋感和恶心感同时袭来之时，我开始尖叫起来。
我们从那里向东行驶到阿曼。杰罗姆惊叹道，眼前这条公路在十年前他拜访阿曼时还只是一条泥土路；高速公路两旁原本贫瘠的土地上也建起了大量的清真寺和房子。我们走得越远，就看到越多的建筑工地、道路扩建和基建项目；感觉整个阿曼都在建设中。而事实上，确实如此；在未来五年里，阿曼计划投入80亿美元来建造大约7500英里公路。
在艾尔哈贾尔山脉深处，有一个地区以温和气候和梯田果园而闻名，在那里，几个世纪以来，石榴、杏子、苹果和无花果被广为种植。我们在雅巴尔艾和达尔山（绿山）上的崖边旅馆过夜。在我们的房间可以观看到青翠的山顶，还有陡斜的峡谷，看起来就像是要吞噬傍晚时分的夕阳。
第二天早晨，我们游逛了塞奇高原上的石榴果园。下午三点左右我们出发前往尼兹瓦，这个国家最古老的城市之一，在那里我们参观了尼兹瓦城堡——建于17世纪的一座圆柱形防御塔，典型的传统伊斯兰风格建筑，以错综复杂的细节设计和对称的建筑风格著称。我们花了整个傍晚细细浏览银饰店——尼兹瓦也因其精美的浮雕和镂空珠宝首饰而闻名。接着，坐在露天市场对面停车场的塑料椅子上，伴随着晚祷声，我们吃掉了此生吃过的最好吃的鸡肉沙瓦玛烤肉卷。
大约12个小时后，我们坐在圆石上吃橙子，周围荒无人烟。那种作为地球上最后两个人类的感觉，使我们不得不陷入沉思，而我当时想到了那种置身于平常处境和舒适区之外的自由。
当我们回到车里，沿着陡峭、未经铺砌且崎岖的小山路下山，去往瓦迪贝尼奥夫时——一个被称为拥有阿曼最惊心动魄的越野体验的峡谷，我不知道自己是否突然领悟到这种冒险的意义所在。长达四个小时的下坡路实在是壮观和惊险；如果说有什么能够阻止汽车撞入峡谷，那就是杰罗姆，他是在夏蒙尼结冰的路面上学会了开车的，再者就是一点点运气了。当我们经过偏远的巴拉德塞特小镇时，看见长毛山羊正攀登着上悬崖。小镇坐落于一片棕榈树绿洲中，然后，我们走出了岩石小道，回到了公路上。
我们向着马斯喀特开去，走完剩下大约100英里的路程。我们将在那里度过接下来的一天，可以躺在沙滩上晒日光浴，在老穆特拉露天市场讨价还价，瞻仰苏丹卡布斯赛义德王朝的宫殿，或是欣赏点缀着优雅白色房子的海岸线，这些都是我们在返回阿布扎比市乘飞机回家之前能够好好享受的。
黑夜来临，我们驶进马斯喀特，经过壮观的亮灯大清真寺，衬着低矮的天际线，其发光的圆顶——一个华丽的球体，飘浮在数吨灰白的印度砂岩之上。
然后我们一遍又一遍地经过那里，陷入布满小道和弯路的迷宫中，越走便似乎变得越复杂。最近改建的公路已经使得我们那张2012年的地图无用武之地，而这个城市显然一直在变化，以至于全球定位系统都跟不上道路变化。我考虑过开启苹果手机看看小蓝点是否能帮助我们找到方向，但是我认为我们应该让自己继续迷失，至少还可以再迷失一会儿。