Sultans of Slow

The first one built, and in the most spectacular setting, was the Bustan Palace, put up to host a summit of Persian Gulf princes and kings in 1985 and managed by Intercontinental. A whole fishing village was moved to make space for it in a secluded cove between the mountains and the deep blue sea. The suites designed for the regional potentates were said to have gold bathroom fixtures. I never saw those rooms, but the floors below, where I stayed in years past, were quite opulent enough. Each level had a different decorating theme: Chinese export, or European modern, or traditional Arabic with tiles, stucco and accents of carved wood. Double rooms were enormous, the service impeccable and the grilled lobster not to be forgotten. Alas, the Bustan is now closed for a massive multi-million-dollar restoration, so you won’t be able to stay there until December of this year.

The newest of the luxury resorts is the Bar al-Jissah, which is part of the Shangri-La group out of Hong Kong. It’s a little further outside Muscat than the Bustan, in another secluded cove, and parts of the resort are still under construction. Some of the palm trees look like they haven’t really put down roots yet. But its three hotels offer a wide range of prices and styles of accommodation. The Al-Waha (Oasis), is family oriented. The Al-Bandar (Port) is more businesslike and well adapted for conferences. Finally, the Al-Hosn (Castle) on the top of a seaside cliff offers sumptuous luxury in the style of the Persian Gulf, with lots of dark wood and gold trimmings, oriental carpets and spectacular views.

And, then, there is The Chedi, part of a Singapore-based group with hotels mainly in Asia (and the Setai in Miami’s South Beach). While the other luxury resorts are outside the capital, the Chedi is in town, between the airport and the old walled city. When I first went there, I thought I was lost, meandering along residential streets and through a low-rent shopping district. In fact, even when I drove up to the front door through what seemed a large vacant lot, I still figured I’d got the address wrong. Could this be the place I had heard so much about from wealthy and well-traveled Italian friends who stayed there?

Once I was through the door, I understood that it was. The Chedi is not about outward appearances, at least not outside the hotel; it’s about inward appearances and inner peace for the guests. The contrast with the hubbub of the street makes the Zen-inspired tranquility of the hotel all the more impressive. Palms and grass, freshwater pools near the rolling sea and an extraordinary variety of foods prepared to the best international standards—all make you want to linger and luxuriate.

As I sipped a glass of one of my favorite Chilean white wines in the Chedi bar one evening in March, it was impossible for me not to think again about the remarkable transformation of Oman, and, on reflection, to thank not only the present Sultan, who gentled it into the present, but his father, Sultan Said bin Taimur, who tried so hard to keep it in the past.

When I used to visit Muscat in the 1980s, the shadow of the old man could still be felt, and many stories were whispered. During his 38-year reign, he was known to say, “The people shall not have what they want but what I think is good for them.” And as I wrote in “Expats” (Atlantic Monthly Press), my 1990 book about travels in Arabia and Iran, his ideas on that subject were all his own: “Did they want to go outside the wall of Muscat after dark or wear dark glasses against the glare of the sun? These things were not allowed. At night, within the forbidding wall of the old city, each man had to carry a lantern to light his way through the narrow streets. No flashlights were permitted. And a hundred eyes were open, always waiting to report if the rules were broken, even after the sultan himself moved to Salalah, far in the south, for a sojourn of 12 years. Along the flat coastal streets in that land of monsoon rains, green fields and frankincense trees, he would travel in a car pushed by his retainers. He did not bother to have gasoline brought in. And so he ruled, running on empty, until 1970.”