Driving 'The Beast' through Africa (and the Middle-East)
Oman
by Isabelle Demaeght, January 13th, 2026
We drove one last loop through Kenya, heading north, and found things along the way that you can't plan for: beautiful places and unexpected encounters. That's how we ended up meeting Ken and his friend—who also happens to be named Ken. He owns a farm where green beans are grown: neat, green shoots that leave for Europe every evening on KLM and end up on the shelves of Albert Heijn/Delhaize (and Aldi) a day later. The idea alone remains strange: here, between red dust and acacia trees, begins a chain that ends in a European supermarket.
We stayed for a few days. Perhaps too long, because it was the kind of place where you easily get stuck. It was also intense. In the evening, a fire was lit and young people gathered around it. Two men in their fifties — Ken and his partner — shared life lessons about everything that matters. It was clearly ‘men only’. I only heard the stories later from Adriaan. So funny that they even had a few dressed-up mannequins here and there.
Like our next host, Teddy, Ken had big dreams: plans for a campsite, expansions, constructions. There were plenty of ideas. Teddy took us on a short walk through the area and introduced us to local Kenyan food — simple, nutritious, warm.
Then Mombasa beckoned. Time to prepare The Beast and our luggage for a sea voyage to Oman. Wash clothes, prepare the car for sea travel, wait. After the misery of the crossing from Ghana to Namibia, Adriaan only wanted to leave once The Beast was actually in a sealed container. Via Facebook — who would have thought — I found Filip, who wanted to share a container. Suddenly, the whole thing became a lot more affordable.
The crossing only took five days, but the shipping company wanted the container delivered five days before departure. After some calculations and deliberation (about our ecological footprint versus ‘waiting’ in beach hotels), we decided to do things differently: ten days in Belgium.
We helped Floris and Céline move to a new home — boxes, stairs, laughter in between. Help from handy Adriaan is always welcome. For me, it turned into a week in Antwerp. Adriaan had meanwhile retreated to Odrimont, where he rested and arranged the visas for our next countries. It was varied, intense, and enjoyable. I enjoyed every minute. Short periods can be surprisingly productive: tiring, but heartwarming.
My body had other ideas. A visit to the Tropical Institute was necessary; it felt as if I had brought an uninvited guest with me from Africa. Medication (which had to come from France) followed and slowly things seemed to improve.
On December 22, we left for Oman. Via Frankfurt and Muscat, after almost eighteen hours of travel, we arrived the next day in Salalah, in the south of the country. Adriaan had wisely booked a hotel in advance. After a small meal, we fell asleep almost immediately.
On December 24, Adriaan, visibly relieved, retrieved The Beast and Filip's car from the still-sealed container. In Mombasa and Oman, no one had bothered to check the contents. Sometimes things work out.
Meanwhile, the hotel management had pulled out all the stops for a Christmas Eve celebration for their mainly European guests. A beautiful buffet: rich, varied, abundant. There was also an enthusiastic DJ, clearly aimed at a young dancing crowd. One of the European guests discreetly turned a loudspeaker in the other direction.
Our reserved table had been forgotten. We ended up in a separate family room: small compartments separated by curtains where families can eat, free from prying eyes. Most women here wear a burqa, their faces largely covered. I am sick again and skip most of the buffet. Adriaan does not.
After Africa, Oman feels like another world. Everything is clean, organized, smooth — as if chaos never existed here. Malls and supermarkets gleam, filled with an abundance that seems self-evident. Until 1990, this country remained closed to tourists; only recently has Oman opened its doors. The traces of this are visible everywhere: modern hotels, wide roads, an infrastructure that shows progress. Everywhere there are rental cars with Westerners (or their Omani guides) behind the wheel. Oman has big plans for 2030 and wants to further expand the tourism sector with new hotels, additional airports...
We drive south, towards Yemen, until the road ends. On a cliff, high above the water, we find a place to sleep. The silence, occasionally broken by the sound of waves, is deep and all-encompassing. People come to look, stand for a moment, and then disappear again. We remain behind, with the sea below us and nothing else moving.
Further north, we visit a frankincense park. Incense is extracted by making small cuts in the Boswellia trees in the spring—an ancient ritual, almost tender. In the city, everything is modern and big, but once you're in the backcountry, it becomes empty. Few shops. Lots of desert. A little search for bread and vegetables. I have already adapted and now eat a breakfast of stewed peppers and onions with egg or yogurt with fruit.
We camp in a place surrounded by camels. It is cold. I realize that I left my jacket on the plane. On Sunday, we drive back to the airport. Without success. Someone else will be happy with a piece of clothing left behind. Again, because in the meantime, my forgotten clothes seem to have taken on a life of their own all over the world. Something to work on for 2026?
We abandon our plan to travel through the interior. Instead, we opt for the coastal road: spectacular, rugged, breathtakingly beautiful. This part of Oman is still relatively undeveloped, which means there is less traffic. In a large bay, we turn off to the Sugar Dunes. Beautiful, but the wind makes our stay an exercise in enduring sand.
A big advantage of Oman is that you can camp anywhere. There are virtually no campsites, so you can legally choose any spot you like. Wild camping remains a lasting pleasure for me.
After Africa, where Adriaan mainly helped motorcyclists in distress, he finds a new challenge here. Together with The Beast, he first pulls a truck (!) out of the sand. That went smoothly. Then a Toyota Prado, with three Indian priests on board — a different story, but they managed that too.
The wind continues to blow. We spend New Year's Eve in a hotel. According to the Islamic calendar, New Year's Day is not celebrated here until June 2026. There is no countdown, no fireworks, no parties. Only silence, air conditioning, and the gentle realization that we are already on our way again.
We find a spot for New Year's Day near some higher dunes, under a single lonely tree that stands proudly and gives us the shade we need. While we prepare a meal, we watch as various cars — rented or not — try to climb the steep dunes, but fail every time. We venture to climb on foot, to the top of a dune whose height we have no idea about. Climbing in the soft sand is harder than we imagined, but the view rewards the effort.
In Muscat, we check into a hotel and later take a walk towards the sea and the Mutrah souq, the most famous and therefore also the busiest market in Oman. I enjoy the color palette and the scents of the countless spices, but it is so busy that we don't want to stay here for long.
Omani men dress in a dishdasha, a long, often snow-white robe that looks identical at first glance, but differs subtly in its finish, especially in the embroidered stitching around the closure. At the neckline is a small frill where perfume can be applied. On their heads they wear a kuma, a small, flat, embroidered cap.
Some tourists dress up in Omani traditional dress, which makes for a comical sight. Others have not read the ‘clothing’ section in the Omani travel guide and walk around in a decidedly un-Islamic manner. We buy a long-sleeved swimsuit and a skirt (which I can combine with leggings - ankles must not be visible) and Adriaan buys his first pair of knee-length swimming trunks. They are from Speedo - you shouldn't try to change too much at once.
Adriaan is delighted because Oman is the country par excellence for dates, his beloved delicacy. He tries the different varieties. He has replaced his (also un-Islamic) alcoholic refreshment with a dessert of tea and dates.
My illness is not improving. ‘We’ decide, especially after Adriaan's insistence, to go to a hospital. The friendly Indian doctor orders a number of laboratory tests, which leads to three consecutive days of hospital visits for us. The Tropical Institute did not have a clear diagnosis, nor did Dr. Mohammed Ali. He eventually prescribes four medications, hoping that things will improve.
Nevertheless, these inconveniences do not stop us from visiting the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque and the Royal Opera House. The mosque is the largest in the world, and even for someone who is not religious, a visit is impressive. Marble everywhere, a gigantic Swarovski chandelier from Austria, and a hand-knotted carpet from Iran that is unparalleled. The dress code is strict: my long dress and cardigan are not enough, because my ankles are just visible, so I am not allowed to visit. Fortunately, we can change in the parking lot; we have our home with us. :) The opera house is also more than worth a visit. Italian marble, African wood, a construction period of four years, and a performance by Placido Domingo at the opening (in 2011).
Muscat leaves a positive impression: a neat city with beautiful residential neighborhoods and air-conditioned malls. In the Mall of Oman, you can even go ice skating or bobsledding while it's 30 degrees outside (in summer, it reaches 40 degrees every day and sometimes even higher). It is the largest and most dazzling mall we have ever seen. All the Omanis we meet are very friendly and respectful.
We leave Muscat and head into the mountains, to Jabal Shams. The mountains stretch out majestically before us. Given the strong gusts of wind in recent weeks, we decide to camp in the valley rather than on a 2,000-meter cliff. We are not the only ones with this idea, but we are the first, which gets us a nice spot. In the morning, we are awakened by a shepherd who is running high up in the rocks, shouting after his herd of goats.
