THE RED SAND under my feet feels cool. The sun greets the distant dunes. With a burst, it turns the sky into a violet and gold panorama. A crescent moon slowly continues its transformation into a celestial sphere. Local Bedouins have dug a hole in the ground, cooking goat over charcoal, simply salted. The meat will collapse in our mouths, and I will claim this to be one of my most profound memories of food. We are in Oman; our precise location is Wahiba Sands, an 8,000-square-mile stretch of majestic dunes that cover the central portion of the country. This is the country I called home for a large part of my life, where my parents lived for 33 years until they moved back to their home city of New Delhi, India, about six years ago. And it’s been six years since I’ve returned, but I’ll get back to that.

Oman, with a population of 4.63 million people (3.8 million being Omani), is situated along the edge of the Arabian Peninsula, with Yemen in the south, Saudi Arabia along the west, and the United Arab Emirates further north. It is a vast terrain of deserts, mountains, dramatic cliffs, and pristine beaches outlined by islands with reefs that captivate scuba divers’ dreams. In its southern Dhofar region, it’s like the tropics, lush and laden with palm trees, while in Musandam — Oman’s northernmost point — arid, rocky plains juxtapose vertiginous peaks. In the winter, at the highest point of the Hajar Mountains, Jebel Shams, there's snow.

This extremity of terrain sits in stark contrast to Oman’s reputation as the Switzerland of the Middle East, brokering peace negotiations in the region — most famously the Iran nuclear deal — but its over 1,000 forts and watchtowers are reminders of its tumultuous past. Originally a tribal society, the country was a natural target for invasion, considering its strategic maritime position along the Strait of Hormuz. For centuries, Oman navigated Ottoman, Persian, Portuguese, and British colonization, finally gaining independence in 1951.

That being said, the colony was also a colonizer: Zanzibar, an island off Tanzania, came under Omani rule in 1698. Then, in 1856, Said bin Sultan’s will decreed that the kingdom would be divided into two principalities, each governed by one of his sons: Zanzibar would be ruled by Majid bin Said, considered the first Sultan of Zanzibar, while Thuwaini bin Said became the Sultan of Oman. Zanzibar eventually gained its independence in 1963, but the diversity of Omani culture and ethnicity is a clear, vivid by-product of the country’s migration and location, conquest and confluence.

In contrast, the warmth and generosity of the local Omani is also often marveled at by the tourists who come to this beautiful country, including my Norwegian in-laws, whose first visit to Oman coincided with my return to the country this past winter after a half-dozen years. It was a strange and surreal trip — to come back to a place I once called home, where I didn’t have a house anymore, to feel like a tourist in a place that had been my sanctuary.

We traveled again to Wahiba Sands, this time staying in a luxury camp. While racing up and down the dunes, our Bedouin guide’s SUV tire punctured. We stepped out of the car and waited without urgency. We soaked in the winter heat and observed a distant caravan of camels chewing on the greenery from recent rains. Once the tire was fixed, our guide adjusted his dishdasha (national dress) and retied his muzzar (turban). He insisted on taking us to his village to meet his family. We sat on the ground pillows of his two-room house as his young daughters in matching printed sirwals (dresses worn over trousers) brought us freshly brewed cardamon-laced khawa (coffee) and a rich, chewy mash-up of dates.

That evening, the sun continued its journey and the sand cooled against my toes in the same way I remembered it had about 25 years ago. We drank wine and ordered from the camp restaurant. It was a modern experience compared to the times we slept in sleeping bags and tents under the stars, but it reminded me, Oman will always be home.