Sometimes it’s more than I can take in. Too many impressions, too many new names, too much information. That’s how I felt when we docked in Muscat, Oman last week.

We’d been enveloped in the deep green of coastal cities in Malaysia, Thailand, Burma, and India. Despite the fact that these areas are suffering under a fearful drought due to failed monsoons, we had been wrapped in humidity (like a steam room), blasted by 100-degree plus temperatures, and dazzled by flowers and towering palms.

Then we sailed for two days across the Arabian Sea and woke to a new palate of colors. Now everything was white, cream, and rust-red. The coast of Muscat glistened with new buildings that projected traditional style within their ultra-modern lines. It seemed like a movie set.

As always, we headed out on buses to hit the high-points, which is both the good and the bad news. Twenty-five minutes to see Beautiful Mosque A. Twenty minutes to race through the Souk, bursting with tables of Frankincense and sequin-laden kaftans. Twenty-five minutes for somewhere else (I’ll remember when I consult the guidebook back home.)

And then, finally, we pulled into Bait Al Zubair Museum, a window on Oman’s historical past: weaponry, archeological treasures of pottery and coins, and detailed descriptions of dynasties and battles—you know the kind. One could spend a full day in such a museum. But with twenty-five minutes (actually we got thirty-five here), what do you do?

Some folks hit the gift shop (it was air conditioned and much welcomed by this point). That would have been a good plan if expensive T-shirts and gold jewelry were on a person’s shopping list. But I ended up with the goats.

They stood in quiet rows, beaming their bright colors against the whitewashed walls. Perhaps you are familiar with the trend: some cities adopt the horse as a symbol. Others have the cow, like Fort Worth, Texas. Berlin rejoices in endless varieties of decorated bears.

But here in Oman, it’s the goat. Life-sized goats with massive horns, curved up and back. The designs were beautiful—the brightest colors you can imagine in both traditional Arabic designs and modern patterns. One of our guests had worn a sundress that matched a certain goat’s kaleidoscopic colors to a T. Uncanny. We had a ball photographing her standing alongside that goat.

But I gravitated to this goat. Such a cutie. I tried to figure out how to get his head and mine into a selfie. It didn’t work. Eventually someone took pity on me, grabbed my Blackberry (yes), and took the full-sized picture.

Now as an academic and lecturer for the Smithsonian, I do know that I’m supposed to be inside these museums, learning something. Yes, each stop is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to gain knowledge.

But sometimes you just have to give it up. Give up the goat, if you will. You promise yourself to read deeply about the countless new upon your return. No reading is more vivid (to me) than that done after a trip to address the unanswered questions.

But meanwhile, the eye leads you astray. Occasionally, just occasionally, you have peel off from the queue and play with the goats. To be honest, it’s probably the experience I’ll remember most about Oman. At least for now. Ssshh, don’t tell them that back at Smithsonian.