Berkley Center

The Dive: A lesson that I painfully learned from my diving experience in Oman is to make sure that your entry point is generally free of jellyfish. Still, despite the occasional stinging incident, there's something cathartic about diving that makes me return to the deep time and time again. Perhaps it's the sensation of weightlessness; that liberating rush I feel when I am gliding through the crystal clear waters off the Arabian Gulf. Right now, part of my right hand feels slightly numb from accidentally brushing one of the jellyfish's long tentacles. I cannot help but stare at a passing school of jellyfish that serenely float past me. They are mostly transparent, although when sunlight penetrates the water surface, they take on a salmon-colored hue that is at once mesmerizing and menacing. Today is my lucky day. The cold currents off the Dimaniyat Islands have brought with it an abundance of marine life.

Thanks to actively enforced government regulations, the waters off the Dimaniyat Islands have become a vital marine sanctuary. The lack of nearby human developments means that the visibility is not affected by any pollution whatsoever. The result: sky blue waters so clear that one can sometimes suffer from underwater vertigo. Fortunately, the air bubbles are useful in showing me which way is up should I suffer from disorientation underwater. From a distance, I observe a group of barracuda in search of their next prey, as well as a swarm of baby yellowtails milling over a hard coral formation. In the last 10 minutes that I have been at this depth of 25 meters below, I have spotted more honeycomb eels than in all my other dives worldwide combined. On the sandy bottom, I spy a white-banded sea snake as well as an octopus milling about nearby. I make it a point not to go too near despite how tempted I am to give the octopus a friendly pat on its head. As I kick my way through the water, using my Mares fins to chase the giant turtle, the song “"Heaven” by the Lost Lonely Boys" plays in my head. The lyrics go, "“How Far is Heaven? Lord can you tell me?”" Heaven isn't far anymore. It's right in front of me. I feel at peace with the world.

The Run: The first Lonely Planet book I ever read said the best way to truly explore a city is to feel its heartbeat, to hear its rhythmic pulse, and to savor the different smells that define it as such. The process, according to the travel gurus working at Lonely Planet, is best achieved on foot. How else, they argue, can one traverse through a city's tiny back alleyways and enjoy sufficient interaction with the everyday man on the street? Here, one gets to encounter the hawker at the roadside stall or the overly friendly chap who's suddenly your long-lost brother from another mother trying to sell you yet another Persian carpet at “a family” price. Ever since then, my running shoes have been steadily chalking up “frequent-runner” miles in various countries in the Middle East. They have seen action in the old medina in Fes as well as the main boulevard in Doha.

However, the run along the Muttrah Coniche in Oman has thus far been my most memorable and exhilarating run. The run along the Muttrah Coniche is lined with a series of old Portuguese forts that function as useful distance markers. They are interesting vestiges of Oman's colorful history, a reminder of Oman's important location as a vital trade hub and rest stop for weary traders from Zanzibar or India. As the route hugs the Omani coast, I cannot help but be distracted by the radiant golden glow of sunlight coating the ocean. The time is 5:00 p.m., and the sun is at that angle in which you cannot avoid it shining directly into your eyes unless you stare at the ground. There is not a single cloud to spoil this display of nature's perfection; and I am running fast now trying to beat the sunset.

I reach my destination: this fort perched high on a rocky outcrop. My legs are slightly wobbly, and the stairs just make them even number. Yet I soldier on, knowing that all this pain will soon be worth it. 6:00 p.m. I am at the top. The sun is almost dipping past the horizon. Only a small arch of it still remains. It’s not often one gets to see the perfect sunset. Multi-hued, no clouds, against the background of the sea. This is what artists search their whole lives to paint. "“In Search of the Perfect Sunset”," I call it. The song “"Infinity”" by Josh Guru Project plays on my iPod. Just as the sun finally disappears below the horizon, it turns green. For a second or two, I come to know and feel what infinity means. It is a fleeting moment, and then it’s darkness all around. In search of the perfect sunset. Until the next time, you never stop running.