I’m driving the only example of the recently facelifted Rolls-Royce Phantom that exists in the Middle East through the strange No Man’s Land between the UAE and Oman. I’m two hours into a journey that according to the sign we’ve just passed that read ‘Salalah 1281km’ is going to take a rather long time indeed. But I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a journey to remember, all we need to do is get into Oman.

The journey hasn’t had the best of starts, my intial plan to leave Dubai at the crack of dawn was thwarted by problems with the Phantom’s paperwork, traffic and general poor organisation on my part. I feel a little flustered piloting the Phantom along the road-work laden streets near the CAR ME HQ en route to pick up snapper Thanos. It’s not the smallest of cars and I don’t really wanted to ding the expensive bodywork before I’ve even left. Eventually, we head out on the E44 towards Hatta – a journey that I’ve done countless times before and is absolutely chock full of speed cameras. It’s also rather unremarkable except for the new roundabout that’s undergoing construction a few hundred metres from Big Red – and is it just me, or is that getting smaller?

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But once we get our passports stamped into Oman – after relinquishing a few dollars for the priviledge – we leave the madness of the UAE behind and settle into a comfortable fast cruise towards Muscat, the kilometres passing under the Phantom’s wheels at a significant rate.

The run to Muscat isn’t what I’d expected. Coming from the UAE where any journey between towns entails a boring arrow-straight blast through the desert, the coastal road to Muscat is heavily populated. You can’t go for more than 10kms before hitting yet another small village – complete with petrol stations, bakeries and takeaway restaurants. We make a mental to stop here on the run back.

We head towards Muscat and our first overnight stop at The Chedi. I was expecting an oasis in the middle of nowhere, so was surprised to find it’s a stone’s throw away from some heavily populated residential areas of Muscat. Still, it provides a cool haven of calm whilst we wait for the sun to drop and the rush hour traffic of Muscat to die down.

After a leisurely snooze by the pool we head into town. I’m struck at how stretched out Muscat is, the capital city is squeezed into a narrow area flanked on one side by the Gulf of Oman and the Hajjar mountains on the other. It’s a much busier, more frantic place that I’d expected. The old city is crammed full of cars and any parking spaces that do make themselves known are way too small for the near six-metre length of the Phantom.

Although it’s only a few hours away from Dubai, Muscat feels extremely different. It’s not trying to show off too much, and the locals seem a little more down to earth – we spot loads walking along the seafront enjoying the evening – something you’ll rarely see in the UAE.

I’ve always admired the Phantom, but prefer the styling of the smaller Drophead and Coupe versions – the imposing Buckingham Palace grille just didn’t look right to me. But the new softer grille borrowed from the coupe does wonders to the big saloon’s looks.

After a hearty breakfast the next morning – we’ve got a seriously long drive ahead – we check out at around 8:30. Plenty of time for the 1000km run down to Salalah. Not so, says the hotel receptionist – many people leave at 3:30am to avoid the traffic. We needn’t have worried. What little traffic exists is soon dispatched with and within five minutes we’re enjoying the wide four-lane highway that bucks and kinks its way through the mountains. Speed cameras line the route and from bitter experience I know fire at 140kph, so I haveto keep one eye on the speedo to keep my wallet someway in credit. Great scenery down here – big mountain vistas stretch as far as the eye can see. Population outcrops are a little more spread out as we head ever southwards.

Somewhat bizarrely in today’s ever-connected world, the Phantom doesn’t come with an iPod connection as standard. Stupidly, I’d left my iTrip behind. Thanos searches every nook, cranny and cubby hole of the Phantom’s vast interior but the best he can come up with is three phono jacks that hook up to the dual TV screens in the back. Not ideal, but at least we’d have some tunes. All we need is a cable – we dip into the last vestige of humanity at Nizwa, but come away empty handed.

The radio – which had proved an amusing distraction earlier as we listened to a self-help guru imparting advice on how to stop procrastinating and tells us that the secret to becoming a millionaire is to write lists, we assume with ‘rob a bank’ as point No. 1 – falls silent as the road turns into a two lane track that cuts through the desert.

We try to console ourselves by looking out the window to admire the view – however, there isn’t one. This is not a desert of Lawrence of Arabia style proportions. It’s not even a desert of Hatta road qualities – here it’s stark, desolate and flat. The road’s not much cop either – just one lane in each direction with no central reservation. Anything with four-wheels treats the 120kph speed limit with contempt. This is not much of a problem as the big Phantom is just as comfortable cruising at 160kph as it is at 100kph. The issue is when approaching a slow moving truck that’s travelling at 80kph – though plenty of times, their speed is half that.

This speed differential can be tricky to judge. With the ambient temperature sitting well above 40 degrees and the road a good few higher, there’s an omnipresent heat haze across the horizon. Trucks appear as smudges of colour in the centre of the windscreen, but before you know it, they become very big issues to contend with. Thankfully, the brakes on the Phantom are more than man enough for the job of shedding 100kph in a matter of seconds. I wouldn’t make a good chauffeur.

Considering this is the main trunk road that runs the length of Oman, you’d think it would be better maintained. For the first 300 or so kilometres it’s not in bad shape, long straights are interspersed by the occasional corner and rumble strips to keep truckers awake. However, the road soon deteriorates – fast. Out of the blue a sign tells us the road is under maintenance and it starts to fall apart.

The surface looks like the world’s largest crème brûlée that’s been attacked by a thousand tea spoons. It’s cracked and lumpy, with crevices from the incessant pounding of overladen trucks in each direction. Overtaking takes on a new level of fun as we have to crest a large hump of tarmac in the middle of the road.The Phantom shrugs off the poor surface though, it’s not going to let anything get in the way of rapid process.

But then the road becomes really bad, the authorities have decided to dig it up but to keep everything running have created temporary stretches of road running alongside through the desert. However, they’ve been built quickly so there are dips and crests to contend with, but the Rolls just soaks them up without any bother. Though one hump’s a little steeper than the rest and the Phantom parts company with the tarmac for a brief moment at 160kph.

It’s remarkable just how easy and comfortable the Phantom is to drive. When we pull over at a desert-side kids playground of all things, I feel as fresh as a daisy. The big steering wheel needs the most delicate of touches and with the cruise control set, I’m able to kick off my shoes and bury my toes into the deep shagpile carpet. I struggle to think of another car that could do a journey like this quite so fast and in such comfort. A supercar might be faster on the good sections of road, but would be seriously painful on the broken stretches. A Range Rover might be as quick, but it wouldn’t cosset its occupants anywhere near as well.

After yet another fill of the 100-litre tank, the road is empty in both directions as far as I can see. I decide to find out quite what the Phantom’s capable of. I plant the throttle into the carpet and watch the needle on the power reserve meter (there’s no rev counter here) swing round from 100 percent to 0 which tells me that the big lazy V12 is using every one of its 453bhp for forward motion. There’s a distant chirrup from the rear tyres as they take purchase on the dusty road surface and the Phantom launches itself towards the hazy horizon.

There’s something ever-so-slighty unbecoming about gunning a Phantom – if Sir was in the back he’d surely spill his Moët (kept chilled in the inbuilt fridge, naturally). But as the speedometer’s needle swoops past the 100kph mark in just six seconds, I can’t help but admire the engineering that’s gone into propelling a 2.5-tonne bluff-nosed car to such heady speeds. There’s no hesitation as the speed continues to climb – the ZF automatic ’box might have six gears but it’s impossible to tell when they’re shifted. As we breach 200kph, I find myself gripping the wheel a little tigher as winds buffet the slab sides of the Phantom. At an indicated 220kph the bonnet open warning chime sounds and I lose my bottle and settle back down to a 160kph cruise. The last thing I need is the bonnet whipping open and taking the windscreen out – and likely us with it.

After 750km the desert shows signs of abating and some mean looking clouds loom ahead – this is what we’ve come for. Every year from July to September is the Khareef season in Salalah. Moisture-rich clouds travel over the Indian ocean and meet the warm dry air of the Dhofar desert over the Jibal mountains which fence the town in. A thick fog settles over the area and brings with it much-needed water which turns the surrounding countryside green. That’s what I’d heard anyway, but nothing could have prepared me for the truly inspiring scene that unfolds in front of us.

We’d left nine hours earlier – numerous breaks and photography stops hampered our progress – and had spent most of that time looking out on a barren vista. But as I glide the Phantom through a drawn-out hairpin that sweeps through the rockface, the sheer technicolour of Salalah hits. Rolling hills of green spread out before us, with a heavy fog hanging in the sky. Imposing dark green Frankinsense trees stand proudly at the side of the road. We had arrived. It was a long and very dull journey, but we’d made it. And it was well worth the trip.

We pick our way down through the hills towards the town – traffic which had been amazingly light on the run down now bunches up on the route in. We find our way to the beach and dip our toes. It’s quite something to think that 10 hours earlier we’d been looking out across the Gulf of Oman towards Iran. Due south from Salalah is the small Yemeni island of Socotra and then nothing but ocean until you hit Antartica.

Away from the spectacular scenery, there was another reason I wanted to come down to Salalah – the hairpins on the road to Yemen. I’d sampled them first hand last year – after flying down via Muscat– and knew I had to return. The road was built in the 1970s after Oman and its neighbour Yemen had settled its disputes over the Dhofar region. It’s an absolutely mega stretch of road – much like the famed Stevlio pass in Italy, this thin ribbon of tarmac works its way through the steep mountains. It’s an amazing feat of engineering as the road switches back on itself countless times.

After numerous runs up and down the hairpins the next morning, time was running out fast. We picked up a map from the local tourist office and chose a ‘scenic view’ to be our final destination before starting the long journey home. As it was marked on a map of the ‘main road network around Salalah’ we thought it would be easy to find. After providing excellent company all the way down from Dubai, the Phantom’s sat-nav had given up trying to locate us ever since we’d left our hotel.

We speed back along the coast through Salalah, skipping numerous sights and points of interest until we reach the busy village of Taqah. The fog begins to close in around us and visibility was reduced to just a few metres. We moved gingerly along the road, avoiding errant pedestrians, cows and creaking trucks en route. We passed through a small village, the road beginning to crumble away to little more than a gravel track. It was feeling less and less like the Middle East and more and more like India the deeper inland we went.

However, after a few minutes of slow progress along the ever-increasingly rutted track, a land slide puts a halt to our search. Feeling somewhat dejected we turn the Phantom around and head back towards the main road. But then a small track at the side of the road presents itself, so I gently swing the Phantom along the track.

It wasn’t meant to be. After a few minutes and rather too many close calls with jagged rocks – we’d raised the air-suspension just to be sure – the road stopped at a small farm. We got out to admire the view – nice, but not spectacular – when a bright green camelion appeared at the side of the road. It was a truly amazing sight to behold and a fitting end to a journey of discovery in the Phantom.

The run back to Dubai passed in a blur – we reached the Hatta border after nine hours and eventually made it back to base at midnight.

All in, I’d driven 3428kms in three days. But there’s no better car to do such an journey in than a Phantom. I’d happily do it again next year.