On August 2, 2026, I travelled to the UAE and later took a road journey by bus to Muscat, Oman. What made the trip unusual was not only the geography I was crossing, but also the geopolitical reality surrounding it.
From Abu Dhabi, while looking across the waters of the Persian Gulf, my Pakistani driver pointed towards the direction of Iran and remarked that the Iranian coast was surprisingly close. The conversation immediately brought the ongoing US–Israel–Iran conflict to mind. Yet, what struck me most during the journey was the extraordinary contrast between the intensity of the war reported in international news and the normal rhythm of everyday life that I experienced in the UAE and Oman.
The conflict had entered a particularly uncertain phase by the time of my journey. The 60-day US-Iranian diplomatic window established through the June Memorandum of Understanding expired on August 17, 2026, without a permanent settlement.
The agreement had been intended to halt hostilities, facilitate negotiations and restore shipping through the strategically vital Strait of Hormuz, but negotiations stalled amid competing demands from Washington and Tehran.
The situation at sea has been especially significant. Shipping through the Strait of Hormuz has fallen dramatically following attacks on vessels and heightened military tensions. Only five commodity vessels crossed the strait on August 15, and none were recorded on August 16, compared with much higher traffic before the conflict. The waterway is crucial to global energy trade because roughly one-fifth of the world’s oil and LNG shipments normally pass through it.
I could not help thinking about this while travelling through the Gulf region. The geography itself makes the conflict feel almost surreal. The Strait of Hormuz, connecting the Persian Gulf with the Gulf of Oman and the Arabian Sea, is not some distant geopolitical abstraction. It is part of the maritime landscape surrounding the countries that I was visiting.
Yet, on the ground, the atmosphere felt remarkably different from what one might imagine after following war coverage. I spent five nights in the UAE, followed by another four nights in Oman. Hotels, taxis, restaurants and shopping areas continued to function, and daily life appeared largely normal in the places I visited.
This does not mean that the conflict had no consequences. It simply demonstrated how a geopolitical crisis can be extremely close geographically while remaining psychologically distant from ordinary life in neighbouring countries.
My driver also mentioned that petrol prices had risen because of the conflict. That observation was consistent with the broader economic picture. UAE fuel prices were indeed increased from August 1, with Super 98 rising from Dh3.40 to Dh3.60 per litre and Special 95 from Dh3.29 to Dh3.49. The increase reflected the volatility in international oil markets amid renewed US-Iran tensions.
After five nights in the UAE, I travelled by road to Muscat and spent another four nights in Oman. The journey provided perhaps the most striking contrast of the entire trip. When I reached the Gulf of Oman, I encountered remarkably clear blue waters and a calm maritime landscape. Ships could be seen around the ports, moving through a region that, on a map, lies immediately adjacent to one of the world’s most strategically sensitive waterways.
The Gulf of Oman is a gulf rather than a separate sea. It forms the northwestern extension of the Arabian Sea and connects the Arabian Sea with the Strait of Hormuz. Its northern shores include Iran and Pakistan, while Oman lies along its southern side. The geographical proximity of these countries makes the region central to the energy and maritime calculations surrounding the present conflict.
Standing there, watching the water and ships, it was difficult to imagine that just beyond the Strait of Hormuz, shipping routes were facing severe disruption. On August 14, traffic through Hormuz had fallen well below its monthly average, while the UAE accused Iran of attacks on two Abu Dhabi National Oil Company vessels. Two ADNOC tankers were subsequently reported attacked by drones while transiting the strait.
The contrast became even more striking because August is not the peak tourist season in the Gulf. The extreme summer heat naturally reduces tourism, while the regional conflict has added another layer of uncertainty for international travellers. Nevertheless, I found the practical side of travelling comparatively affordable. Hotels and taxis were cheaper than they would typically be during the busier tourism months, which generally begin later in the year.
The journey also allowed me to observe the distinctive landscapes of Oman. Outside the cities, the country gradually unfolds into an austere landscape of rocky terrain, dry plains and sparse vegetation, with occasional attempts at cultivation providing striking pockets of green. One tree repeatedly caught my attention, the ghaf, an iconic desert tree associated with both the UAE and Oman and highly adapted to arid environments.
Food and local culture became another memorable dimension of the journey. I tasted dates that were exceptionally rich and sweet, tried luqaimat, the popular Middle Eastern sweet dumplings that are crisp outside and soft within, and sampled Omani halwa, including the more expensive varieties. I also tried camel meat; its texture was noticeably coarser than the meats I am more accustomed to eating.
At Mutrah Souq, I bought some frankincense and collected souvenir plates and magnets, small objects that now carry memories of a journey through a region whose geopolitical importance is far greater than its appearance on an ordinary holiday itinerary.
I also received a free SIM card from Dubai immigration, another small but useful reminder of how efficiently everyday systems continue to operate despite the turbulence surrounding the region.
Perhaps the most interesting lesson of the journey was the difference between living beside a war and watching a war from afar. Several people asked me why I chose to visit the UAE and Oman at a time when the Middle East was experiencing such serious instability.
My experience, however, was that the countries I visited did not resemble a conventional war zone. At the same time, it would be inaccurate to conclude that the conflict has no effect on them. Fuel prices, shipping disruptions, aviation uncertainty and regional security concerns demonstrate that the war’s consequences extend far beyond the battlefield. Airlines have continued to adjust Middle East services, while shipping through Hormuz has been severely disrupted.
What I carried home was therefore not simply a collection of souvenirs, photographs or memories of food. It was an understanding of geopolitical proximity. The war was present, in conversations about fuel, in the disruption of shipping, in aviation uncertainty and in the news, but it was simultaneously absent from the ordinary scenes of people shopping, travelling, working, eating and living.
The calm waters of the Gulf of Oman perhaps captured that paradox most perfectly. The sea looked peaceful. The ships looked ordinary. The landscape was beautiful. Yet somewhere beyond that horizon lay one of the world’s most contested maritime corridors, where the movement of a single tanker can influence oil prices, international diplomacy and the global economy.
That is perhaps what travel teaches us better than maps ever can: geopolitics is not always experienced as a headline. Sometimes it is experienced as the price of petrol, the cost of a hotel, a conversation with a driver, a quiet coastline, or simply the strange feeling of standing beside a peaceful sea while knowing that history is unfolding just beyond the horizon.