Given the tense ambiance in the strait, I felt more than a little unnerved to be embarking on a cruise through these tetchy waters. But I was reassured by Dagmar Weber, of Khasab Tours and Travel. We haven‘t lost a passenger yet, she said. And anyhow added one of the cruise passengers, all you need do is duck your head every time a bullet flies overhead! As it turned out, the voyage was totally bullet­free. And it has to be said that this is indeed one of the world‘s great cruising experiences. Dolphins play alongside the boat, while the awesome peaks of the Musandam fjords tower over picturesque villages nestled into tranquil coves all along the tortuously winding route. Add to this some fine company and excellent catering, and the recipe becomes sheer magic.

Iranian smugglers find the Strait of Hormuz a magicingredient of their business, too. Every day, dinghies from Bandar Abbas in Iran make the perilous 68 kilometre trip across the Strait of Hormuz to Oman laden with sheep and goats for the Omani market. This trade is perfectly legal, but the same cannot be said for the return trip from Oman to Iran.

In the Omani town of Khasab, the capital of the Musandam Peninsula, the busy Iranian market buzzes from early in the morning. Just after dawn, smugglers congregate to buy goods such as imported cigarettes, DVDs and expensive fabrics that are either heavily taxed or completely unavailable in Iran. Using the cover of nightfall, they will return to the islands offshore from Bandar Abbas, deliver their contraband and pray that they will avoid detection by Iranian Customs patrols.

Anif, a long­term resident of Khasab, hails from Kerala in India. He is more than just a little envious of the smugglers. they get rich at the expense of us workers!he says. I have to labour for 12 hours a day just to support my wife and five kids back at home in India. He does, however, concede that he and other guest workersin Oman have it pretty good, with three months paid leave each year over the unbearable Omani summer, when temperatures can climb to more than 50 degrees Celsius.

Under the command of Captain Mohammed and navigator Mohammed (I kept getting their names confused), we set out from Khasab Harbour. Our dhow offers plush comfort, with Persian carpets and thick, lolling cushions replacing such pedestrian items as chairs or seats. Were it not for the majestic scenery, all the passengers would be fast asleep well before the boat leaves the harbour.

Our destination for the day is Khor Ash Sham, or Ash Sham Fjord. The word fjord conjures up images of snow­capped peaks towering over mirror­still seas, but in the Middle East the reality is slightly different. A heat­haze hangs over the cliffs, covering them with a blue aura like eucalyptus smoke. In the placid water, humpback dolphins play alongside the boat.

Fishing dhows bring in a rich trawl of groper, known locally as hammour, which will grace many a Middle Eastern banquet table. The first village we pass is Nadifi, which has about 30 fishing families. There is no land access, so most of the villagers have their own speedboats, which they use to transport their children to school in Khasab. The children stay at the school in airconditioned comfort from Saturday to Wednesday, returning home for the Thursday and Friday Omani weekend.

I was a little peeved that we couldn‘t visit the village, but I could see the logic behind Mohammed‘s reasoning. can you imagine what it would be like for the villagers to have groups of visitors traipsing through their compounds every day¬he asked. soon, they‘ve all be wanting to join their kids in Khasab! Further along the route, some unexpected delights await. Past the small villages of Qanaha and Maghlab, we disembark for a little snorkelling just off Telegraph Island. It is said that British coastguard personnel stationed on this island used to go mad in the heat, hence the origin of the term around the bend Mercifully, it‘s now winter, when the temperature reaches a maximum of onlyaround 30 degrees, so we get to swim with the kaleidoscopic fish in relatively cool water.

In summer, by contrast, they say it‘s a bit like swimming in bouillabaisse. After a long day‘s cruise that takes us as far as Seebi village at the very end of the fjord, we return to Khasab, where the harbour provides evidence that dhow­cruising is set to take off in a big way. A new dual­deck wooden dhow has just been commissioned, while the slightly less glamorous steel­hulled cruiser Zindabad is fitted out with cabins for extended cruises of several days.

The dhow­building industry of Musandam is dominated by wealthy families of Kumazirah or Kumzaris, an ethnic group with its own language and lifestyle. For centuries the Kumzaris moved each summer from their isolated town at the northern tip of the Musandam Peninsula to their Arish summerhouses of stone and thatch in the mountains near Khasab to escape the fierce heat.

Nowadays, with airconditioning nearly universal, they move to the plush Kumzari quarter of Khasab, and their stately houses would not be out of place in Herne Bay or Mount Pleasant.

Salim Siif is a Kumzari dhow builder who employs several Indian workers in his shipbuilding yard near the centre of Khasab. The main type of dhow they build is the landj or zaruqah, a modestly sized fishing vessel. These and other Musandsam dhows, including the batil and the larger mashuwwah, can also be seen at the finely restored old Khasab Fort, built originally by the Portuguese. It has a commanding view over Khasab Harbour. The Greek geographer Ptolemy gave the Musandam Peninsula the name Asaborum around 100 AD after the Asabi people who lived on the eastern side of the peninsula near the settlement of Lima. It is now accessible by regular boat and air services from Khasab. The Asabi are thought to have been the same people later called the Shihuh, of whom the Kumzaris are a sub­group.

To get a glimpse of some of the old stone dwellings of the Shihuh peoples, I joined a four­wheel­drive trip to the Jebel Harim, the Mountain of Women at 2050 metres the highest point on the Musandam Peninsula. The landscape around Jebel Harim is some of the most convoluted on the planet, with great swirls of striated rock looking like the folds of a half­mixed chocolate cake.

Millions of years ago this whole area was underwater, and fossil beds can be seen in the cliff faces some 1800 metres above the current sea level. Hidden under rock overhangs are the ruins of many old stone houses, some formerly occupied in summer by Kumzaris, and others once used as permanent residences by Bedouin families.

The road up into Jebel Harim is most definitely not for wimps. The track through the mountains twists and turns upon itself like an itchy snake, with little room for manoeuvres on blind corners. It is best undertaken by those who have a thorough knowledge of both the mountains and the vehicle.

Sadly, it was soon time to leave Khasab, after just a few tantalising glimpses of the Musandam Peninsula. I had to abandon my idea of bribing a smuggler to take me to Bandar Abbas in Iran, or renting a yacht to cruise the islands. As for the future of the dhow­building industry, with the growing popularity of steel­hulled boats it would seem that dhows are indeed in dire straits. But as long as people are attracted to one of the world‘s last real adventure cruising possibilities, these noble vessels will surely continue to be in top demand.