In the middle of this city of half a million souls is a very large oasis (see photo), an area of calm, dusty walkways between shoulder-high walls and irrigation channels of much the same colour, and thousands and thousands of palm trees. The occasional sign says it is only accessible to farmers and tourists, which I rather liked, although that might be a warning for the country’s huge underclass of foreign workers to stay out. Most of the cheaper, more colourful restaurants dotted around town are Pakistani and Indian affairs with flat bread, rice and either vegetable or mutton casseroles, along with a wash basin to clean greasy hands (or at least the greasy right hand) after the meal is complete.
Many of the gates of the walkways walls in the oasis are locked. Some sport a sign saying they had been sprayed against vermin. I found one gate open and walked in, to sit on a canal wall (few had water in them) and enjoy the cool silence. Red-vented and Moustached bulbuls flitted around, and a Green bee-eater made sorties into the area.
There are several dun-coloured forts dotting the city, too. This might be because the United Arab Emirates’ first president Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan al Nahyan was born there. Then, maybe it is not because of that. The Eastern Fort is now part of the Al Ain National Museum, which I spun around quickly. Another fort, by a park and the Rotana Hotel, has been recently restored.
The large mosque just north of the bus station is not the prettiest one I have seen, and close to it I ate at a local restaurant called Al Matar, which I am sure means "To the death" in Spanish. The name appealed to me. Rather, visit the gleamingly white, spectacular Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque back in Abu Dhabi, which is named for the Al Ain-born founder and is his resting place.
The central courtyard, white, white, white, with a large rose mosaic, is large enough to supposedly fit 40,000 people. I arrived there at 6:20 in the morning, when the mosque was beautifully blue and purple, before the morning sun turned its exterior into a golden honey colour. Open to tourists only at 9 a.m., I was given directions to a coffee chain establishment, where the only visitors were a long stream of ex pats who lived in tall blocks of flats around about it in the Zayed Sports City district.
The columns and huge expanse of courtyard are gracious and calming, and it is easy to forget that the mosque has only been here since 2007. Inside the mosque itself there are a couple of ugly chandeliers, but apart from those I very much enjoyed my hour here walking around. Just do not sit down. You will be barked at. No, it was not who perpetrated this apparent crime.
Another joy back in Al Ain was the mountain of Jebel Hafeet, one of the tallest mountains in the Emirates. More than one-thousand, two-hundred metres in height, from the top it is possible to see the mountains of the neighbouring country of Oman, as well as Egyptian vultures and Hume's wheatears. There is a border crossing near. Ten or so years ago it was possible to walk from the centre of Al Ain to the Omani town of Al Buraimi, which is pretty much incongruous with Al Ain, but with the rise of geopolitical angst, a wall was built, and now foreigners need to head south and across a no-man's land for some 25 kilometres. Visas are needed, too, and there are checkpoints.
I ran the 10 kilometres or so down Jebel Hafeet, the road almost twisting around to join itself so steep is the descent. French hotel company AccorHotels has a Mercure property perched close to the top. At the bottom, I had forgotten which way my taxi had turned on its way to the summit. A lorry driver gave me a lift to a bus stop, and just when I was told a bus was due to stop, an off-hours school bus driver in his school bus stopped for me and took me back into the heart of Al Ain.
The bus journey to Abu Dhabi affords views of spectacular dunes to both sides, and I espied camels.
