Whatever you do, DO NOT BUY A GOAT

I stood perched on the edge of a little ledge, marveling at the chaos around me when I felt a tugging sensation.  I looked down, expecting to see a local, waving me out of his way.  Instead I saw a goat.  A goat munching my long blue skirt.

I travel to see new things.  I want to learn about new cultures, try new foods, meet different people…the ‘smaller and smaller’ the world gets, the harder the feeling of experiencing something truly unique is to obtain.  This isn’t a pretentious post on the McDonaldsization of the world, rather just an observation and a self-reminder that there are still places where it doesn’t feel like I am back in North America.  There are places without a Body Shop and a Starbucks…you just have to look for them.  This morning I found one.

Rising early in Muscat, we set out for the 2 hour drive through the desert mountain terrain of central Oman dodging the easily triggered speed cameras that seemed to blanket this country.  The sun just started to peak over the horizon as we pulled into an almost empty parking lost at the central market.  My friends glanced at me inquisitively…no one came out and said it but the question of “why did you drag us out of bed for the promise of a unique experience at 0445 in the morning?” hung in the air. 

Putting on an air of unfounded confidence I smiled reassuringly and started to walk around a few random goats to what I guessed was the main market area.   Locals, notably all men, had started to show up and get there live wares ready for the big auction.  Nothing was said to us but it was clear that tourists, notably women, were not clearly part of this portion of their morning.  Wanting to create the least amount of offense possible and stay out of people’s workspace, we sat quietly off to the side while preparations for the weekly sale continued.

The minutes ticked away and my friends eventually wandered off to explore the remainder of the market leaving me with strict instructions NOT to purchase any livestock.  To quote, "Whatever you do, DO NOT BUY A GOAT".  What happened next was almost surreal.  People seemed to come out of nowhere, hundreds of them and form a large circle around a gravel catwalk.  Men would parade their goat around on ropes, sort of Westminster Dog style and when an interested individual saw a goat he liked…he would whistle it over for closer inspection. 

Omani rials exchanged hands if the inspection was a success, otherwise the prancing continued.  Baby goats were carried in the hands of the herders to avoid being trampled in the parade.  I have no idea what the criteria for selecting a goat is…but if it was based solely on cute little “blah” noises, I would have a dozen.

I took my chances once by sprinting across the pathway from the outer circle to the inner platform cheered on my locals who seemed to appreciate my spirit. It was here that I found my new vantage point, a little ledge above the action.  I got to be out of the way of the business below but get a great angle to sit back, try and figure out the proceedings and take a few pictures.  And it was here that I eventually provided an appetizer for a hungry goat. 

The livestock market seemed to wrap up as fast as it started.  Within a few minutes of the end of auction, it was as if no one had been there at all.  

Driving back to Muscat that afternoon, I thought about the fate of those goats - I don’t think any of them were destined to be pets.  I couldn’t help but wonder if some local family was going to be sitting down to dinner that night to a meal of goat and blue skirt. 

It's a good thing I didn't buy a goat in the end...I didn't pack nearly enough clothes.