Edge of Fear, Heart of Adventure: Ziplining Through Khasab's Jaw-Dropping Views

We walked back into the Oman Adventures building, this time joined by a few more people also waiting for their turn on the zipline. That’s when it hit me: the zipline was clearly a morning activity. A minor detail that, of course, was not mentioned in any email during the booking process. Lovely. The same staff from the day before were standing there, waiting for us with those knowing smirks that screamed, “Relax, you can do it now.” Helpful. As we waited, I turned to my cousin and asked, “Doesn’t that guy who works here look exactly like someone we know from London?” He agreed instantly, but we couldn’t, for the life of us, figure out who. It’s been a week now, and I’m still trying to crack the case. They say everyone has at least seven lookalikes somewhere in the world. I’m convinced I met one of his. The resemblance was uncanny—like, parallel-universe uncanny.

We stashed our belongings in a locker and braced ourselves—emotionally, mentally, and maybe even spiritually—for the zipline. While waiting, I struck up a conversation with a man from Luxembourg, originally from Germany, who casually mentioned his work with the United Nations. As you do. Naturally curious, I asked if Luxembourg had its own language. He explained it was more of a dialect, which led me to dive into a quick explanation of the language we speak. Apparently, my Karah bracelet had led him to assume I was Indian. When I explained I’m Sikh and that there are Sikhs from Afghanistan, his jaw practically hit the floor. He was fascinated—like genuinely intrigued by the concept of existence itself fascinated. Unfortunately, our cultural exchange was cut short when we were herded onto the vehicle that would take us higher up the mountain. For the zipline, of course. Not for a philosophical debate about linguistic identities and global diaspora.

It’s always during the short ride in a vehicle before something like this that the nerves really start to kick in. Usually, I’m alone with my thoughts, but this time, my cousin was right in front of me, a comforting yet mocking presence. As the bus climbed higher along the winding road, the view became breathtaking. The sea stretched out endlessly in the distance, glinting under the sun—a sight so stunning, it felt like a postcard brought to life. Easily one of the most unique landscapes I’d ever seen. But as I admired the scenery, reality hit me like a rogue wave. We’re about to launch ourselves off this mountain... on a damn rope.
“Yo, this is actually kinda scary,” I confessed, my voice a little shakier than I’d have liked. He shot back with,
“Chup kar, Honeycomb Singh,” - (meaning be quiet), completely unfazed.

We reached the top and stepped out of the minivan. Just a few steps later, the breathtaking scenery unfolded before us in all its natural glory. Directly below was the winding road we had just ascended, a narrow thread etched into the mountainside. To the right, the rugged mountain range rose majestically, its peaks kissed by sunlight filtering through their jagged edges. And to the left, the vast blue sea stretched endlessly, its waves moving in synchronized patterns. From this height, they appeared almost frozen in time—like a still frame from a movie too beautiful to hit play. I watched as three groups ahead of us suited up and flew off into the distance, my heart racing faster with each pair that disappeared from view. What concerned me most? None of them made a single sound. Not a scream, not a laugh—nothing. That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t a fast zipline. It was a high one. At 1,800 meters long, it promised the most mesmerising view—but also the most nerve-wracking descent. When our turn came, my cousin and I squeezed into our gear, looking more like overstuffed potatoes than adventurers. We shuffled to the edge, where the crew worked swiftly to secure our harnesses. And then there I was—laying flat on literally the edge of a cliff, staring down at the void below. My heart pounded like a drumline, but with one long, deep breath, I began to calm.

“Are you ready?… Go!”

“Wahhhhhhhhh!” I screamed as I soared towards the other mountain, the wind rushing fiercely against my face. Everything around me seemed to freeze in time—it was just me, suspended in the moment, zipping through the air. We flew over the winding road we’d driven up earlier and glided toward the shimmering water, savoring every second. There were screams, laughter, cheers—and an ear-to-ear grin plastered on my face. The view was beyond exceptional, a perspective so unique it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime privilege. As I neared the end, my speed began to slow, much like the Jebel Jais zipline in Ras Al-Khaimah. With the pace easing, I could actually look around, turning my head to soak it all in. “Wow,” I muttered to myself, utterly awestruck.
Following the instructor’s lead, we stretched our arms out wide like soaring birds as we approached the end. Gradually, the zipline brought us to a smooth and steady stop.
Epic. Just epic. The adrenaline rush was exactly what I needed.

Opposite the Oman Adventures building was a mountain with a footpath-like trail, and we immediately decided to climb it. We expected the familiar coastal views, just from a slightly different angle—but what really caught my eye was what lay behind the mountain. The back revealed a stunning, almost valley-like terrain of rugged mountains plunging hundreds of meters down. The peaks were so towering that sunlight couldn’t reach the depths below, casting the area in a dramatic shadow. It was a view so striking, so otherworldly, that I knew it would stay etched in my memory forever. Naturally, we tried capturing the moment, taking some awkward pictures of ourselves, only to realize the day had completely gotten away from us. What was meant to be a 12-hour trip had somehow stretched over 24. After soaking in the scenery one last time, we decided it was finally time to head back to the car and make the long drive home. One thing was certain: I couldn’t afford another eye infection from the relentless dust flying around. But honestly, the extra conjunctivitis risk was not worth going up any higher. That one-day layover gave us an unforgettable ziplining adventure and a view I’ll cherish for a lifetime.