NEAR LIWA // At first glance, this part of the Empty Quarter desert appears lifeless and barren. Not a sound can be heard.
But those who look more closely may notice the animal tracks, a fleeting record of the many battles this vast arena has hosted. And those who listen more patiently may hear a mysterious, far-off singing.
To the trained eye, two tracks in particular are evidence of a struggle between a hopping jerboa and a monitor lizard, given away by their paw and tail prints.
Video: The Singing Sands of Liwa
The outcome of that battle is unclear, lost to the same wind that has created a nearby field of crystal desert roses - small formations of gypsum, baryte and sand. The garden sparkles with an hypnotic effect against vast plains of gold, yellow and red.
"Most people take sand for granted," says Ahmed Al Mansouri, 77, whose tribe lives and has travelled across Al Gharbia's vast deserts for centuries.
"They think sand is just part of a scenic background and fall under its spell. But then the sandstorms come and you are reminded of where you are and where you came from."
The sandstorms at the weekend served such a reminder to most of the country but for some people they came as no surprise.
"If you listen to and observe the sands in the desert you will know what is coming next," says Khamees Al Rumaithy, 87, an Emirati and one of the last traditional weathermen.
Mr Al Rumaithy predicts there will be unsettled weather until the first week of April, as it is a period known as "Jawlat Al Riyah", meaning touring or wandering winds. There will be a small storm towards the end of March.
"The sand is more than texture and colour, it is part of our life," he says. "It is what we use to make wudu [cleansing] before prayers when there is no water and it keeps our treasures safe, like our feet and goods that we bury in it to keep them cool."
But it is another aspect of the sand that leaves the greatest impression on those lucky enough to stumble upon the tallest and thickest dunes.
"It is this bit that surprises people the most," says Amer Braik, 30, as he opens the windows of his 4x4 white Toyota and begins his descent down a particularly tall dune.
An orchestra of deep booming and groaning sounds comes alive, as the pressure of the vehicle's wheels forces the sand beneath to sing out its hidden song.
"It is like an elegant roar reminding us that the desert is alive," says Mr Braik, the tour guide and manager of recreations and activities at Abu Dhabi's Qasr Al Sarab Desert Resort.
The sound is difficult to define. It is much like a double bass, a trombone and a didgeridoo might produce if they were mixed with the roars of a low-flying aeroplane.
The former lifeguard first experienced this side of the desert when running up a sand dune with a group of colleagues about a year ago.
Since then, the "singing sands" have become an essential part of his desert tours.
"I used to think it was only the sea that has many layers and sides to its story. But the desert is as varied, if not more," Mr Braik says.
The phenomenon is far from new. An ancient myth says the sound is that of the Jinn waking, while the 13th century traveller Marco Polo described it as "the sounds of all kinds of musical instruments".
Less romantically, various physicists have put forward theories about suppressed air and the friction of grains.
What adds to the mystery is that not all sand dunes sing. Research by the California Institute of Technology in 2010 listed 40 locations around the world with "booming" sand dunes, including the "dunes south of Liwa Oasis".
For Arab tribes and Bedouin who have travelled and lived in the desert for centuries, the novelty has long since worn off.
"We knew which dunes made sounds and the loudest of them we tended to avoid," Mr Al Mansouri says.
Called za'eeq al raml in Arabic, or "shouting sand", the noises can reach 115 decibels and be heard up to 10 kilometres away. Their pitch ranges from 65 to 100Hz, depending on the size and quality of the grains.
"There are legends about these dunes, mostly bad ones, and sometimes even the camels themselves would switch their route and move along less noisy dunes," Mr Al Mansouri says.
"We trust nature and animals to guide us. If they avoided something, we trusted their instinct."
But not all Emiratis avoid the singing dunes. Mohammed Al Mazroui, 62, seeks them out when he and his family go dune bashing.
"It means that particular dune is very thick and deep, and so the safest to drive on and picnic on its tips," Mr Al Mazroui says. "Besides, we love the music our sands make."
From their strange hues to their mysterious singing, the hypnotic effect of the sands has long been credited as a natural stress-reliever, instilling a sense of patience and calm in those who were anxious.
For Mr Braik, the sands of the desert change all those who frequent it.
"You become like a camel, calm and reliable. And you miss the sand when you are away from it too long," he says.
rghazal@thenational.ae
