Journal

Muttrah Souq, Muscat Oman

The idea was not to linger in any one place, but to stay on the move, to drink in the never-ending panorama of the Muttrah Souq. Like most things, ideas are almost always good in theory; but they tend to wane in the most crucial of moments. For me, that moment came in the form of a single light beam fixed on a rose-colored pashmina, strung high above a collection of Arabic spice sacks and stacks of silver.

I began moving at a glacial pace, framing and shooting; camera pressed to my face. Navigating never-ending, ever-winding alleyways and passing pleasantries with myrrh merchants. Breathing in the scent of shisha and sandalwood; frankincense from far off places. Corniche café and Turkish coffee. Massive sacks of aromatic sweets. I was swooning over Arabian swords and silver from another era. Stepping into the souq was like stepping into a storybook.

Still, I wanted to see the glimmering spaces in the distances that lay between; the roads that led to nowhere. In my mind, Oman was still out there.