I don’t know whether something was lost in translation, but our guide claimed the town of Birkat al Mawz was called ‘too much banana’.

The dazzling white of the buildings was offset by the dusky outcrops of the Al Hajar mountain peaks- Helen Raine

To avoid offending any Muslim sensibilities in the pretty village, I’d donned an appropriately modest long dress for the visit.

So the irony was not lost on me when I slipped and fell into one of the centuries-old irrigation channels (luckily it was dry).

The dress shot over my head and tangled in the undergrowth, leaving me entirely exposed to our courteous and up to this point reserved guide, Ahmed.

As I thrashed about in the foliage, neither he nor my companion could lift a finger to assist me, torn between laughing too much and further offending my modesty by attempting to extricate me.

‘Too much banana’, if indeed that was the town’s moniker, had lived up to its name but it broke the ice with Ahmed, who spent the rest of the day chuckling intermittently and telling us tales of historical daring do as he toured us round his stunning country.

Oman has been on a steep development curve since the 1970s when Sultan Qaboos came to the throne. Before that, there were just two primary schools in the whole country and the nation was in a state of chaos.

It’s almost impossible to imagine that situation now. We found a thriving Muscat, perfectly poised between the old and the new.

Goats skittered across modern highways and men were wheeling their catch of fish in barrows past the sparkling, ultra-modern hotels in the centre of town.

The ancient mudbrick Muscat Fort sat brooding over the promenade, lined by whitewash houses with ornate lattice windows. Strict building controls have led to a subtle, imaginative architectural conformity which is easy on the eye.

In the world’s largest natural harbour, traditional sailing dhows jostled with modern boats for space. And everywhere we looked, the dazzling white of the buildings was offset by the dusky outcrops of the Al Hajar mountain peaks that dominate the city.

We sunned ourselves for a while on Muscat’s white sandy beaches, but there’s too much to do in Oman to sit on the beach for long. So we struck a deal with Ahmed, got into his pristine car and headed for Nizwa Fort, exotic, serpentine Om­ani music belting from the radio.

The barren, rocky landscape outside the capital ended abruptly in a swathe of date palms growing in a wadi outside Nizwa. Plenty of marauding swordsmen wanted to get their hands on Nizwa’s natural treasures but the 17th century fort here proved invincible, testimony to some great military engineering.

As we entered the impressive, circular tower Ahmed pointed out some of the fort’s secrets: false doors and a narrow, winding staircase with numerous offshoots to confuse and entrap the enemy. If an assailant proved crafty enough to get past these red herrings, he could expect to be showered with boiling date syrup.

In the nearby souk, little boys in long white dish dashas and squat, round hats peered from behind their fathers’ legs to giggle at us. Fantastically tasty dates were heaped in enormous white sacks guarded by wizened old men or women whose mouths and noses were covered by half moon-shaped gold ornaments.

Nizwa souk is justifiably famous for its beautiful Bedouin silver jewellery; luckily Ahmed was urging us on before we could expend too many of our rials with canny stall holders.

We tried kahwa here, a cardamom-flavoured coffee which was an instant hit. It came with deep fried balls of nuts and fruit, totally delicious.

All the while, hawkers waved us over to buy everything from honey to swords and goats, although quite what we were expected to do with the latter in our four-star hotel was anyone’s guess.

We went on to the restored Bahla fort, whose adobe walls have stood since the 13th century. The fort was on the list of World Heritage Sites in Danger in 1988.

Today it’s in impressive shape and well worth a visit; and risking fort overkill, we also wandered round Jabreen Fort, one of the most beautiful castles in the Sultanate.

The interior is decorated with weapons and crafts from 300 years ago, bringing the place to life beautifully, especially in rooms where the wall and ceiling murals are present. The architecture and design reflect the poetry-writing Imam who built it.

Still, it was the view of the distant, shimmering mountains through the earth-coloured windows that really created the romance here.

Being a true Omani, Ahmed couldn’t let us go without finding the perfect place to eat.

We headed back to Muscat and the Bin Ateeq restaurant. There’s nothing fancy here; in fact, there’s not even a table and chairs.

Dinner was served to us on a truly colossal platter, hoisted above the waiter’s head and then placed straight onto the floor.

We dipped flatbreads into sublime hummus drizzled with oil and lemon, and shovelled rice and coconut curry concoctionsinto our mouths with our hands, everyone digging into communal bowls. It wasn’t very decorous (the Omanis made it look simple) but somehow the food tasted much better without all the crisp linen and polished cutlery of our hotel.

We finished up with another Omani tradition: a stroll along the corniche, overlooking the Arabian Sea, with the smell of frankincense wafting from the city.

The final touch? Buying Omani chocolate-covered dates from a vendor – you may as well buy two bags straight away; we’d barely got 50 metres before we had to go back for more.

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