So when I received an invitation to participate in the Oman tour, I was surprised as anyone when I immediately replied that I would like to participate. I guess in a big game to get a new stamp on your passport compared to seeing a sporting event: the stamp of the passport wins.
To find out more
You may not be familiar with the Oman’s tour. But I’m sure you’re familiar with the Tour de France. The Oman’s tour is managed by the same logistics company and is now in its 14th edition, the Ministry of Culture, Sport and Young people of Oman has heavily invested in making it one of the main elite cycling competitions in the world. A rather extraordinary company when you think Oman did not have a professional cycling team at all until about five years ago, and that competitive road cycling is certainly not a traditional pastime. But this is also so symbolic of Oman as a country – immersed and deeply proud of tradition, while looking for modernity, innovation and global opening.
On the morning of the race, I woke up in the Oman desert where I had slept in a tent that was frankly more beautiful than some apartments I rented. I washed with a bucket of water heated by the sun and then, Samir, our guide, zigzage our 4×4 through the sand dunes, beyond rangy, dusty camels, expertly up to the starting line.
Now, I’m not a total sporting rubbish. I participated in a game of Norwich City FC when I was seventeen with my red flag of a twenty -eight boy. At university, I worked for the games at the Twickenham Rugby Stadium by collecting plastic glasses full of hot Pish and, more recently, I got drunk and screamed in a ice hockey game in Nashville. However, frankly, I don’t think we can really call ice hockey sport.
However, this was a completely new game, literally. The starting line, in a small village in the desert, Impi, was a compelling mix of ease and anticipation with the vehicles of the breed organizer, the support vans, the representatives of associated press press posters of Hongover, the motorcycles that run with videographers on the back and, of course, an environment of elite cyclists who suffocate in lights in light neon ( I knew the kicks but this is Oman, so there were also local children who went around their ancient BMX and the boys standing on a huge mountain of rubble, screaming and greeting.
I was lucky enough to ride the deputy director, Pierre-Yves Thouault’s, cars, together with, of course, why not, a hotel tycoon from Greece. Ours was the second car of the procession and, from the rear seat, Pierre-Yves, organized the logistics and listened to the race internships via radio in French on quick fire.
Rather, it is the show to look at the men in strictly suitable Lycra, the color of the sweet penny, make its way through a mountainous and arid landscape. While elsewhere most of the Oman’s landscape presents Tozzo Bianchi buildings that reflect both the sun and the building standards designed to reflect and protect the architectural tradition of Oman, most of this course is built through a landscape that recalls the images of Mars.
Overhead, a blue and white helicopter buzzing around us, the lilac police and blue camouflage on motorcycles escorted the knights, while some officers were apparently entirely alone in the middle of the hot oven desert. The tunnels crossed the mountains like Wormhole, there were high high and, occasionally, villages, where the children greeted the flags of the omani who screamed in unison, “How are you?” In English. Along the way, the cyclists gave brand water bottles to spectators. At one point at the beginning, Pierre-Yves gives an official race program to a father in line with five sons and two daughters.
Halfway, the race is suddenly stopped and many French screams take place on the radio. Pierre-Yves explains that this is not normal, but a multvial pole and the climate have created a slippery surface, similar to a lichen, on the road. While cyclists gather in a pack behind the car, chatting in a partner, Pierre explains that the accidents are less frequent in Oman who during the Tour de France but can create a terrible pile if they happen. While the course is evaluated, it tells me how many cyclists enjoy this race. It is not just an excellent heating for the approach of the Tour de France, but the climate is good, the roads are excellent and, with only a difference of three hours from Europe, there is a small jetlag.
Soon it is our turn to take the back of the race, and so the knights accelerate, flow into color, and we jump in our places and run behind them beyond a very relaxed man waiting for a bus that suspect will not arrive. On our right, a member of the jury of the race rises and leaning out of the canopy as opening as if it were the spring break.
Really, I can’t say I understand more about road cycling than when I started, but, in terms of a fascinating, unique and human experience it was unbeatable. As Pierre-Yves said, like going to a football match, but standing on the central sign for the duration of the game. This is the problem of saying yes, life continuously surprises you, spoolding in front of new interests and beautiful memories behind the new streets of black asphalt through ancient mountains of Oman.
Kerry Hudson is a award -winning and most sold novelist and memoryist. You can find it on Instagram and on thread @thatkerryhudson
