Visitors to this year’s Qasr Al Hosn Festival, which opens on Wednesday, will find that it is more ambitious than ever.
More of the fort is accessible and last year’s intake of 160 Emirati cultural ambassadors has grown to more than 250 volunteers.
Ambassadors will greet visitors as they pass through the entry to the Oasis area, which is complete with palm trees and an indigenous garden.
From here they will travel through time, past a mock desert and a representation of Abu Dhabi island as it was, through to the enormous Marine area.
The area remains undeniably Emirati, shielded from the capital’s skyline by tall walls of woven palm leaves, a hallmark of traditional Arish architecture.
Makeshift huts hold rope, nets and rusty boatbuilding tools. Beyond, half-built dhows bask in the sun.
A sturdy walkway leads to an abra, where a white-bearded professional oyster opener, Ahmed Mohammed Al Hamadi, gives young Emiratis a taste of raw seafood.
The boat rocks back and forth, courtesy of a wave machine, and the ambience is boosted further by loudspeakers with the sounds of seagulls cawing and waves lapping.
Ahoud Al Hammadi, one of this year’s volunteers, has the job of supervising the Marine area.
Despite her enthusiasm, it is hard to hear her beside the semi-circle of elderly fishermen, who chant folk songs with relentless enthusiasm.
Further away, Ahoud, 17, discusses the hardships endured by the traditional Emirati fisherman.
“It was an interesting lifestyle but hard as well,” she says.
“They had to leave their families for many days. But at the end, when they came back, they felt that they had achieved something very significant.”
Being a cultural ambassador has allowed Ms Al Hammadi to learn directly from the fishermen. These men have travelled from far and wide to impart their wisdom, skills and experiences to the younger generation.
“I learnt that they would stay away for many days – not just a couple of days, but even for months.”
Ms Al Hammadi is thoroughly impressed with the endurance of the songs and tools crafted by these fishermen.
“People actually died when fishing. They didn’t come back,” she says. “That’s why it was very dangerous, because they used very basic tools.
“There was no oxygen like there is nowadays; just something to close their noses so they could stay underwater for five minutes.”
But as fascinated as Ms Al Hammadi is with the fishermen’s stories, she does not intend to follow in their footsteps. Although still undecided, the first year student may go to business college.
Ahmed Alshamri has been given the responsibility of teaching guests about traditional Emirati fish trap-making.
Ahmed, 19, points to a gargour, an igloo-shaped fish trap made of intertwining wires, and explains how the entrance tunnel becomes increasingly smaller, so although fish can enter with ease, it is hard to escape.
“Now, they have new doors,” he says. “They make it so that if you lose the trap under the sea, the door will fall, so the fish can leave. Otherwise they will die.
“It’s a waste, keeping fish inside without any use.”
Although he has yet to build a gargour of his own, Mr Alshamri says an older fish trap-maker, a tanned gentleman with a jet-black moustache, has shown him how.
This skill had various historical uses: while some would sell their traps, other fishermen preferred to make their own.
“It’s not difficult to make one. It takes one person a day or two to make a small or medium one. If it is a big one, it can take three or four days.”
Some Emirati fishermen continue to use the traps to this day, but because of overfishing and damage to the sea bed, the Government has long regulated the use of gargour. It has banned fishermen using devices that raise the cages to the surface.
Mr Alshamri, in his second year of university, says basic gargours would be raised out of the water with rope attached to the side, although he also says such traps were traditionally used in shallow water.
“Nowadays it stays underwater for maybe one or two days, because there are less fish than before,” he says.
Also new to the fish trap-making game is Ali Ahmed, an enthusiastic 20-year-old who speaks perfect Australian English.
He reveals that the moustachioed fish trap-maker was actually a captain of his own ship.
Ali has very much enjoyed hearing the captain’s stories and wonders at how much communications have changed in his lifetime.
“Back then, it would take the captain about a month-and-a-half to travel to Bahrain.
“Nowadays, if we wanted to go to Bahrain we could drive there,” he says.
The international affairs student believes he has a duty as an Emirati to “know more about my culture and mix with the elderly people to find out more about how life was”.
Ali is particularly impressed with the contributions of Emirati women, especially with the art of Sadu, the Bedouin weaving technique recognised on Unesco’s list of intangible cultural heritage, in need of urgent protection.
“I had no clue how hard it would be. But it definitely was.”
Another important, painstaking task was building dhows, something Maryam Rashed now knows all about.
“It was too hard,” says Maryam, 21. “They used more than one type of wood to make them because they were too big.
“They used hammers, and glue made from animals, and it took too long.”
Maryam says large dhows would take up to a year for five men to build, while smaller ones could be completed within four months.
The wood would often be brought over from India, says the media and communications science student.
“Before they went to sea to dive or anything, they would put oil inside to make sure water wouldn’t escape.”
Maryam says the traditional art of building dhows is not as common in the electrical age.
Latifa Alsuwaidi, 19, is learning about smaller boats, some of which were only designed to accommodate one passenger, but she is perhaps the most outwardly enthusiastic of all.
The international affairs student points to a traditional shasha – a rowing boat made from palm fronds.
“The interesting part of this shasha boat is that it can only be used for a maximum of six hours,” says Latifa.
“You have to use it for one day and rest it for one day. You cannot use it constantly so it’s not very practical.”
The sea is close to Latifa’s heart, as she comes from a long line of divers.
“When you come here it sticks in your mind,” she says. “It’s different from reading books and articles.”
One of the most profound insights she has gleaned is the crucial historical role of the palm tree, “the mother of the trees”.
“It was used for everything in life – making houses, making boats,” says Latifa.
“They used every part of the palm tree. Nothing was wasted.
“Even for food. Dates were the second-most important food, after fish. These were the two things that they lived on.”
Speaking of food, Latifa says the most surprising thing she has learnt so far is that oysters can be eaten raw.
“I tried it and that was the most interesting thing that I did today. It tastes salty. It does not taste weird, though. It’s good.
“When they didn’t find a pearl inside, they would boil the oyster or eat it raw.”
While some people would go pearling for months, Latifa discovered that others might spend less than a month away.
But pearling, she contends, depended almost as much on luck as it did on endurance.
“Sometimes you might have 1,000 shells but there would be only, for example, 20 pearls.
“It was very hard but very crucial, and people really suffered.
“Now, thanks to God and Sheikh Zayed, after the discovery of oil, people have become more relaxed. But they should remember their past, so they can appreciate what they have now.”
The Qasr Al Hosn Festival will run until February 21. Visit www.qasralhosnfestival.ae for more details.
halbustani@thenational.ae