Relocating to Muscat: A Coffee Snob’s Survival Kit – And Why You Should Bring a Thermos (Literally)
so i’m sitting here, staring at my half-empty thermos of lukewarm drip coffee. muscat’s midday sun is basically a personal attack, and i need caffeine that doesn’t taste like regret. which is ironic because i just moved here from amsterdam where i had this fancy Jura machine that made my latte art look like it was designed by a toddler with a grudge. here? my espresso machine smells like the alley next to the souk where they sell expired spice blends. let me tell you about it. ">here
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first, the data. i know, we’re in a blog post, not a financial report. but hear me out. rent for a 1BR in the old souk area is like $350/month if you’re lucky and don’t mind sharing a bathroom with a landlord who’s ever watched saul bathory. safety? it’s fine. you’ll get mugged if you leave your ‘live one mug up’ sign out, but that’s true everywhere. job market? it’s bleh. unless you’re a tech person or willing to teach english. no one’s hiring chefs here unless you’re willing to make biryani with a 10-year-old’s attitude.
here’s the chaotic part. i’ve discovered that muscat’s coffee scene is a lie. sure, there’s Café Al Nafha which looks like it’s from a 90s premise file, but the barista there put cinnamon in my macchiato once. i asked for a double. and i swear, the traffic here is like oxford circus during rush hour but with more camels. my advice? forget the starbucks app. just find a local place called Zafran. they overcharge, but their qahwa (that’s ‘coffee’ in yemeni) is so strong it’ll wake a ghost.
oh, and the weather? it’s not hot. it’s like someone turned the thermostat to ‘nuclear weapon’ and forgot to turn it off. but the coast? i drove to al kharrat for a sunrise. it was peaceful. a 15-minute drive from the chaos of the souk. neighbors? seriously, the man two doors down plays loud arabic pop music at 3am. i thought i was hallucinating when i heard a woman singing in shia funerals from his living room. true story.
now, the driven advice. overheard a local in a bar saying, ‘don’t trust the guys at the visa office. one tried to charge me $50 to change my name to ‘al说得’ (which is ‘the said’ in arabic, not my name). another one repeated my name seven times before handing me a form. drunk? maybe. but i paid anyway. over a cup of sweetened date milk. i’m a coffee snob, not a scammer.
there’s also this rumor about a secret café in the desert that sells belly adaptations. completely unsubstantiated. maybe. maybe not. my point is, muscat’s underground coffee scene is the size of a teacup with a hole in it. but then again, i found a place called Al Zain where the espresso is so good it made me question my life choices. and my thermos. and the british accent of the barista. goes off tangent
so, to wrap this up (which i don’t really do). muscat’s not for the faint of heart or the caffeine-averse. rent’s okay, the coffee’s a disaster, but if you like waking up to a 90% chance of heatstroke and a 10% chance of discovering a new way to hate yourself, then you’re welcome. just bring your thermos. and maybe a raincoat. it rains here. not often, but when it does, it’s like the sky is apologizing to you.
check out zafran on tripadvisor for actual coffee reviews. yelp muscat flower market if you want to buy spices that taste like regret. reddit r/muscat for tales of landlords who threaten mice.
oh, and this map
nostalgic for the glacier-melting coffee of my home country? no. i’ll take a muscat summer with its 50-degree shade and questionable zarbi (chili tea) any day. even if it means buying a new thermos every month.
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