Arriving in Muscat, you’re struck by the absence of construction cranes and the sense of calm that hangs in the air. In a region where perpetual transformation has become the default, Oman’s relative stillness feels almost subversive. The country faces many of the same pressures as its Gulf neighbours: its population is projected to grow by almost 50 per cent to 7.7 million by 2040 and oil production is expected to fall from a million barrels per day to 700,000 over the same period. But instead of turning to the familiar megaproject playbook, Oman is attempting something more difficult: measured densification.
 
Sultan Haitham City, designed to house 100,000 residents, is the clearest expression of this approach. Oman has long intentionally avoided building skyscrapers, prioritising low-rise development. Its focus now is on drawing a population – 89 per cent of whom are homeowners accustomed to villa living and privacy – into walkable neighbourhoods without resorting to towers. It’s an experiment in Middle Eastern urbanism that prioritises liveability over spectacle, though whether Omanis will embrace this shift towards urban consolidation remains to be seen.

The country’s emphasis on restraint extends to its cultural infrastructure. The Royal Opera House, opened in 2011, was built on the orders of the late Sultan Qaboos, a music lover with a meticulous ear for acoustic detail. The venue hosts world-class performers in a building designed for music fans rather than photographers. 

Tourism follows the same measured logic. Oman is expanding its luxury-hotel inventory – Jumeirah, St Regis, Four Seasons, Mandarin Oriental – without remaking whole districts. Where its neighbours build smart cities and urban forests, Oman is banking on a quieter proposition. A limited nightlife, yes – but unlike the metropolises nextdoor or in the West, there’s always space to think.
 
Vision 2040, the country’s economic and social road map, articulates this explicitly, with human-centric development, cultural preservation and sustainable growth at the top of its agenda. Similar language appears in many countries’ planning documents but Oman means it. With oil accounting for about 70 per cent of state revenue, diversification isn’t aspirational – it’s a structural necessity. Meanwhile, Oman Air’s recent entry into the Oneworld alliance signals that travel infrastructure is maturing without the fanfare that typically accompanies aviation expansion in the Gulf.

The model has obvious trade-offs. Whether you’re a linen-suited old Gulf hand or a newly arrived expat from London or Mumbai, you’ll find that Muscat moves more slowly than Dubai. Some find this boring. But the hypothesis is that second-tier cities can compete with their more established counterparts through developments that prioritise preserving regional culture. 
 
Some early cracks are visible. Waterfront-development renderings show a few high-rise towers that would significantly alter Muscat’s traditionally low skyline. For developers and investors, the more upwards-thinking approach of cities such as Dubai and New York remains seductive. Still, the idea that moving at a deliberately slower pace might produce more durable networks and communities in the Omani capital is alluring. After all, who wins by playing to the strengths of competitors?
 
Muscat’s radical proposition of restraint in a region defined by bold timelines is worth keeping an eye on. Perhaps the most subversive part of it all is Oman’s apparent comfort with letting the answer emerge gradually, rather than forcing it through capital deployment. Whether that patience pays off remains to be seen but, a short flight from the bustle of Dubai, at least the question is being asked.
 
Colin Nagy is a Los Angeles-based journalist and frequent Monocle contributor.

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