I wake before the alarm, shivering, barely remembering that I am awake to visit Al Jazirat Al Hamra – The Red Fort. The blankets have been kicked off in the night and the air conditioning is too cold. I shiver again and pull the sheets up over me, just for a moment. Then I reach my feet down to touch the cold tiles. At least the day will be warm.
I dress quickly and quietly and creep down the stairs so as not to wake my sleeping household. Only Oskar, my faithful cat, meows his good mornings and hunger concurrently. I refresh his bowl before heading out the door. The sky is already tinged with light, the air is warm on my skin. Not a day for too many ghosts, I hope.
We congregate at the designated ENOC station. My group, Mehr, Rushika and Chryslyn have arrived. After coffee fixes are satisfied we hit the road, most of the rest of the participants are on their way too, some are to meet directly at the site, the car park next to the old town in Ras Al Khaimah, a little over an hour away.
During the drive along the highway, the traffic is light, it is Friday morning, the weekend and most of the city is still asleep. We get to know each other. Today’s outing has been organized by work and it is a large firm so we have not necessarily all encountered each other previously. The conversation is friendly, enthusiastic and the journey passes quickly. The small fleet of cars all arrives within a few minutes of each other and before too long we are congregated, eager to start exploring.
Although we start off together, the group quickly fragments. We scatter through the fragments of buildings. There are a lot of ruined buildings.
I scramble over a mound of rubble and enter the cool shade of one of the small structures. Probably a small dwelling, perhaps a majilis, it is one small room with one much smaller (washroom sized) compartment off to the side. The air is noticeably cooler inside and despite the bright sunshine of the day, it is undoubtedly eerie as I contemplate the shadows of past generations.
This whole area was once an island, a tidal island known as Al Jazirat Al Hamra, the Red Island.
Originally the surrounding water provided protection and so, the forts were small. However, alleged piracy by the Al Qasimi fleet, led to the British to organizing an expedition to the area. In 1819 in retaliation to the previous pirate attacks, many fortifications and vessels belonging to the settlements along the coast including Umm Al Qawain, Ajman, Sharjah and Dubai were destroyed. In 1820 a treaty was signed to govern future peaceful relations and life in the area settled back into its reliance on the sea.
The village relied on pearling and fishing for trade, dependent on the ebb and flow of the tides. Although history records a population of around 200 in the 1830’s, it is likely to have been inhabited long before this.
The connection to the sea is evidenced everywhere. The bricks that are now shattered and lying scattered on the ground are coral, held together which mud (and later cement), forming the very structures that created the village. Even in some of the intact buildings, the importance of the coral is evident, embedded in the walls, static in time.
By the turn of the 20th century, the 500 houses were predominantly settled by members of the Zaab tribe. The village supported around 500 sheep, 150 cattle and operated a fleet of 25 pearling vessels until the pearl market crashed in the late 1920’s.
Ongoing disputes between the tribe and local rulers led to the inhabitants relocating to Abu Dhabi in 1968, leaving almost the entire village, which had housed up to 2,500 people, abandoned.
The mass abandonment left behind an entire island, deserted. Many locals believe it to be haunted and it is now often referred to as the Ghost Town of Ras Al Khaimah. Today, the area is flagged for restoration.
Towards the back from where we enter there is a construction site. Tiles are piled up next to redone walls. Spools of electrical cable, partially unfurled, sit beside them and a wheel barrow sits off to one side. The worksite, is likewise abandoned this morning as it is Friday, but clearly there is work in progress. A large trench has been dug between buildings, presumably intended for underground services.
The work is haphazard and it is unclear whether there is a wholistic plan. We continue through the site exploring both ruins and buildings still intact. There is a mosque near the middle of town. The hall is bare, the windows open to the birds that flit in and out to a nest in the rafters. The minaret is cracked and crumbling, it looks like it could tumble to the ground at any minute. I cringe as one of our group steps inside and tests the spiral staircase. And breathe a sigh of relief when he thinks better of it and comes back out again.
The day is getting warmer. Although we have only been exploring for around an hour of the 2 hours allocated, the small group I am with declare they are done and we wander back to the car park.
I’d like to keep going but an not particularly keen on rambling around the ruins by myself. Some of the ruins are unstable, the ground is uncertain and the setting out alone doesn’t feel particularly safe. Not to mention the eeriness.
Instead I check out the reconstructed Al Jazirah Ahlanra Fort, near where we are parked. It is one of a cluster of buildings that has been restored. The walls are flat and conformist, painted. New wooden doors and decorations gleam, the color of the timber reflecting the rich tones of the early morning sunlight. The doors are locked, only a gecko can squeeze through the gap to peer inside. It is hard to imagine what might be in there. It is not even clear from the outside whether it is open aired or not. It could be a visitor centre, sometimes open air art exhibitions are held here. Today there is no signage one way or another.
Behind the fort are more buildings where the renovations look complete. I follow a pathway between them, peering through gaps, glimpsing tell tale signs of everyday life. Washing hung to dry, a coffee cup, forsaken, still half full. A dog yaps in the distance. Someone eyes me warily from afar but pays me no more heed as I hit a dead end in the path and turn to retrace my steps in the sand.
Back at the car park we have regrouped and it is time to head off. We have breakfast booked at the nearby Aysya Restaurant within the Marjan Island Resort & Spa.
We are welcomed like old friends at the restaurant and the host leads us to the reserved area for our group. I’m certainly hungry and ready for a coffee and settle in with my plate filled to eat and chat with some colleagues.
Raakesh and I talk for a while about work, travel, life and family. He recounts some of his childhood memories of Ras Al Khaimah, having grown up here.
After enjoying the breakfast spread as well as the company, I gather my passengers once again for the drive back to Dubai.
By lunchtime I am home, only memories linger like ghosts of the past. What an adventure the morning has been.
Would I Return?
Yes. Another exploration is in order. I think my boys would like to be let loose here for a while and I’d like to see some of the art exhibitions that pop up here occasionally, in this fascinating setting.
