When I think of the concept of a “romantic weekend getaway,” wreck diving and off-roading on the back of my boyfriend’s motorcycle wouldn’t normally spring to mind. Yet somehow, as I snapped pictures of Charles attempting to haul his 200 kg bike out of a ditch between Wadi Sana and Wadi Sidr, all I could think about was how much I love this man, and how happy I was that our return to the urban chaos Dubai was offset by a little bit of calamity in the middle of nowhere.
After a particularly grueling week, Charles spontaneously took off a Thursday off we decided to make use of his motorcycle – a bright orange and black Austrian-made KTM Adventure 990 that was gathering dust in the garage– by making a quick escape to the clear waters of UAE’s East Coast, just north of Fujairah. I had been on a bike only once before, when we had taken the coastal route in Oman to Khasab, but this was my maiden off roading escapade. What could possibly go wrong?
Prepping for a trip like ours is the hard part, and we waited until the morning of our departure to throw it together. When packing for a three-day bike/dive/beach resort trip, the discriminating packer wins. A massive effort goes into packing only two side cases and a dry bag; it would be much easier to throw the “kitchen sink” into the rear of your car. Needless to say, we forgot a few things, but we managed to find space for some eggs, which made the trip unscathed save for one.
As is our usual misfortune, we surveyed a sandstorm enveloping Dubai as we made our final prep. There was a hint of doubt on Charles’ face, and knowing that he would never deliberately push me to do something reckless I said, “can you imagine how much we’ll regret not taking the bike if this is just passing through?”
The bike was blasted from side to side all the way to Al Ghail. Communicating over a Bluetooth headset and intercom that Charles had lovingly installed into our helmets, we assured each other that all was well. The river of sand that we were driving through seeped into my socks and pelted any exposed flesh. “In retrospect, that was really dumb,” Charles expressed to me later. It wasn’t the first time he’d uttered the words. “But you didn’t seem scared, so I didn’t feel like we needed to stop.” As a passenger, I only assumed that my boyfriend had my safety on the top of his mind. “He would never put me at risk,” I told myself, rejecting my instincts of self-preservation.
The paved road came to a head at a mosque in sleepy Al Ghail. We took a right turn where we should have taken a left, and began a labyrinthine foray into the mountains. The road was unmarked and difficult to navigate, with offshoots that appeared to us as significant arteries. We hadn’t studied the off road guide thoroughly before departure, and relied on our ability to improvise. In the end, our best method was to defer to wooden telephone poles, which generally ran along the thru-road. Worst case, we’d simply hit a dead end and turn back. We were not in a rush, but we felt the journey’s physical toll on our joints. There may have been moments when one or both of us wanted to abandon the trip and make for the main road, but no one spoke up.
The angular bike clung to the rocks and loose gravel. At some points, the gravel had collected into thick piles, challenging wheels and driver to stay the course. Eventually we made it out of the wadi, exchanged high fives and booked it for the coast. The trip, including lost time, took about three hours.
We arrived in dramatic windswept fashion at Sandy Beach Resort, which sits off Dibba Khorfakkan road, about 30 minutes north of Fujairah proper, and checked into a one-bedroom bungalow. Every joint of my body protested any movement, but we dashed to the ocean, which we had to ourselves, because it was Thursday and the droves of Russian weekenders wouldn’t arrive for another day.
We awoke to a beautiful Friday morning and made our way to Sandy Beach’s dive center. I had recently banged out my PADI certification in three days at the Jumeirah Beach Hotel in Dubai, and this was my first official recreational dive. The visibility was spectacular at nearly 20 meters, and our dive master, Ravi, was an all-star. We descended along a chain down to a wreck, where Ravi led us to see countless schools of baitfish, lionfish, eels and more.
As we sun-soaked on the beach after our dive, we contemplated diving again the following day and opted against it. “We’ll save something for next time.” We would most certainly be back. I leaned over to Charles and said, “Well then, should we discuss how we’re getting back to Dubai?” He wouldn’t have suggested it, but I had that look I my eye. Of course we were going to off road back, the only question was what route.
On the way back we took a route from Wadi Sana to Wadi Sidr and then back through to Al Ghail, hitting some parts of the road we had passed at Wadi Al Fara. As the bike climbed the path, the rocky range materialized behind us. The steep road wound up to the plateau and we took one turn too wide, finding ourselves off-off road, forcing the bike to a half. The bike began to roll backwards with gravity until Charles took a defensive lean to the ground, sending me on a preemptive and perhaps overly dramatic roadside dive. After a few rounds of “baby, are you OK?” Charles began to heave the bike while I enjoyed the scenery. Of all the places to breakdown, he had fallen upon quite the scenic overlook.
The rest of the trip went without a hitch, as we descended to Wadi Al Sidr and eventually hit familiar territory from our ride on the way out. This time Charles knew the route and we were through within minutes rather than hours, which garnered some nods of acknowledgement from locals who’d witnessed our romp through the wadi from the comfort of their 4×4’s as we’d passed them.
Dubai’s skyline jutted out of the sand on our approach back to the city. I squeezed Charles a little tighter, impressed with the totality of our weekend getaway. “What should we do for dinner?” I asked, as we bobbed through traffic, back into a world of normalcy.
Published in May 2012
