Charles Dunst

Muscat looks different than just about every other Gulf capital. There are neither skyscrapers nor demonstrations of obvious opulence. But at first glance, Oman doesn’t seem so different than some older parts of Dubai or Abu Dhabi. There’s money; there’s men in traditional, flowing garments and women in burqas; there’s beautiful buildings funded by oil profits.  Yet Oman is a peculiar place straddling past and present. There are echoes of empire, a people yearning for Oman to reclaim its status as a major geopolitical player, and a government facing the difficult task of preparing for a post-oil future. Omani became independent in 1951 after 60 years of soft British colonisation.

The E100 bus is not somewhere you will find an Emirati. Departing about every thirty minutes from 4 a.m. onward and taking passengers from Abu Dhabi to Dubai for just 25 AED ($7.80), this is not a place for the rich. It is the domain of the weary peoples, the migrant workers who make this minuscule monarchy work. At 5:13 a.m. in late December, this crowd was ready to go. Bags packed for whatever indignity might come next. They were ready long before most Emiratis are awake because, for them, the United Arab Emirates is an opportunity.