Border Stops, Honeycomb Beards, and Seaside Views: Our Zipline Road Trip Begins

The Musandam Zipline had been on my bucket list for over a year, and let’s be honest, I’m a sucker for anything that feels a bit risky. So when I heard about the world’s longest zipline, stretching over water, I thought, “Well, this seems like a perfectly reasonable decision.” From the videos I’d seen, it looked like the ultimate adrenaline rush — the kind of thing I’d have to pretend I wasn’t doing until after it was over.
Disclaimer: she knew.

We left Dubai at 10 AM, headed for Umm Al Quwain, where I had to swap cars. My cousin and I indulged in one of those therapeutic life chats that left me thinking, "We’re dropping wisdom like we’ve got it all figured out, yet here we are, driving three hours to jump off a mountain and fly over water."
After the car exchange, it took us 30 minutes to escape Umm Al Quwain, followed by an hour-long trek across Ras Al Khaimah — the fourth largest Emirate. But honestly, it was the most beautiful drive, especially after leaving the bustling chaos of Sharjah behind. As we neared the stunning Jebel Jais mountains, our eyes were treated to breathtaking views for the next hour. The rocky peaks stretched into the horizon, fading into a blur, while the scorching sunlight beat down on the empty landscapes below, dotted with just a few homes. I couldn’t help but marvel at the old apartment buildings lining the roadside. “These buildings may be small and a little worn down,” I thought, “but their garden view when they wake up is that majestic mountain range.” I couldn’t help but marvel at the old apartment buildings lining the roadside. Then another thought struck me:
Is this much absence from the outside world worth the view? Sure, waking up next to your loved one every day with that breathtaking scene outside your window sounds like a dream, but could you be content knowing that life beyond the mountains is miles away? Your only human contact might be the occasional walk to a grocery store ten minutes down the road, and the rest of the time, it’s just you, your thoughts, and the silence. Romantic or isolating? I wasn’t sure.

We finally reached the Oman border, which was the most nerve-wracking part of the trip for me, since it was my first time crossing a border by car. The lady at the border greeted us with a smile and casually said, "Please go back inside and stamp your passports." So, we did as instructed, and the immigration officer, dressed in his very formal uniform, began checking our documents. In my usual fashion, I asked, "Are you Dubai police or Oman police?" He corrected me with a giggle - "We are immigration officers". Bit of deluded moment from me. Then he stared at my beard for what felt like an eternity. "Your beard is very nice and curly," he said. "How you make like this? It is like honey... home." My cousin and I exchanged confused glances before we realised he meant honeycomb. We both burst out laughing and agreed with him. That was the moment my cousin coined a new nickname for me: Honeycomb Singh. To which the officer matched the surname to the one of my passport and after a few more chuckles, the officer stamped our passports for 'exit' of the UAE.

We headed into the Oman border office, where the officer told us to go to the next building to sort out the car insurance. After that, we returned, had our passports stamped, and the lady at the Oman border took our receipt, flashed a smile, and waved us through with a welcoming gesture. Next up was the car search. The officer asked if we had drones, checked for drugs as they do (we did not have any), and then, out of nowhere, greeted us with a cheerful, "Sat Sri Akaal Paaji. Kya Haal Hai?" At that moment, I realised that despite their official uniforms, job titles, or religious attire, Omanis might just be the nicest Arabs I’ve ever met—especially at a border.

The drive from the border all the way to Khasab, where the zipline awaited, was absolutely breathtaking. It was a gorgeous coastal drive. On our left, we were treated to stunning sea views, with rocky and sandy beaches lining the horizon. There were swings and small structures being built—beachside parks in progress. At one point, we passed a giant, pristine football pitch right by the coast, and we both thought, “Imagine playing football here.” On our right, there were various restaurants and those typical Arab homes you see in the Middle East, designed to keep out the heat. Every now and then, I’d spot kids running around with a football, but for the most part, it was serene. Honestly, I had no idea which buildings were homes and which were schools; they all looked the same—sand-colored and cube-shaped. The sun was shining, the drive was smooth, and my heart began to race because, within the hour, we were about to zipline.

The drive up the mountain was one long, winding road that took about thirty to forty minutes. The higher we climbed, the more spectacular the views became. At one point, we rounded a bend and saw the words "Welcome to Khasab" written on a yellowish painted background on the mountain. Google maps said “Five minutes away.”
After passing a couple of abandoned ships, we made our way up the final hill and arrived at the zipline. The colourful "Oman Adventures" logo greeted us on the sign. We parked, stepped out, and took it all in. Three hours of driving, me having downed two cups of coffee, hundreds spent on border fees and zipline bookings—and we were finally here. Ready for the thrill.

We entered, gave out booking details and they smiled back at us with nervous looks to one another.
“We apologise, but it’s too windy to do the zipline right now. You can wait for about fifteen minutes, but we know you’ve driven all this way and don’t want to stay overnight. Still, it’s just too dangerous at the moment.”