Rise early, for the hour after dawn is borrowed from paradise. So says an Arab proverb – and, within 24 hours of my touchdown in Oman, I am a believer.

I’m on the shores of the Indian Ocean, an hour north of Mirbat, first staging post on my expedition into the Empty Quarter. Our “desert camp” lounges across a silken beach, and I fell in love with it the moment we arrived yesterday evening. Each of our party has a luxurious private tent complete with ensuite bathroom.

In the middle is a communal space where we can loll about and smoke a nargileh, before sitting down to a candlelit meal sluiced with copious quantities of fine wine.

The morning is the clincher, though. I rise unspeakably early for a dip in the clear blue ocean, just yards from my tent. Diving into the surf, I immediately find myself buzzed by four dolphins, keen for playtime.

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BACKGROUND

• My road to Damascus

• The 7 best Middle East breaks

• Speeding through Syria

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At the mouth of the bay, I can see huge sea turtles being tossed around in the breakers, while along the beach hundreds of crabs busy themselves building a boulevard of miniature sand pyramids. It’s quite a swim.

I’m not sure what Wilfred Thesiger would have made of such pleasures, however. I have come to the Empty Quarter to follow Thesiger’s shadow, after reading all about the place as a boy in his travel classic, Arabian Sands. The book tells of the great adventurer’s epic journey on foot across the largest sand desert in the world, a region that spills out across the hazy borders of Oman, Yemen and Saudi, occupying a quarter of the Arabian peninsula.

Entirely uninhabitable, 55C heat, dunes higher than the Eiffel Tower. But we haven’t reached there yet, so first I’ll have another glass of claret.

Our guide for the trip is Lieutenant Colonel “M”, a gloriously moustachioed Englishman who has lived in Oman for more than 30 years, having been seconded to the Omani Reconnaissance Force from the British army when the sultanate faced attack from left-wing rebels. The colonel is quite a character, well armed with war stories, and I liked him immediately. I’m pretty sure Thesiger would have too.

Like the proverbial Arab, M is fond of early starts, and he commands a crack expeditionary force comprising six Pathans, two Omani Baluchs and a Buddhist Bangladeshi from Chittagong. They begin to take down the tents as we have breakfast – they will be driving ahead of us to pitch camp each night, with Colonel M directing operations. This is the kind of “roughing it” I can handle.

To reach the Empty Quarter, we first have to cross the Jebel al Qara, the mountain range that rises behind the barren coastal plain, making a curious “green belt” about 19 miles wide. It paints a bright streak of green from the Yemeni border to the top of the Dhofar region – and it is absolutely extraordinary.

As our Nissan Armada drives higher, the scenery suddenly switches into absolute lushness. Rivers fizz, waterfalls plummet: it’s as close to the Garden of Eden as I’ve ever experienced, and made even more mind-boggling by the harsh aridity pressing in on every side. We drive through Wadi Darbat, a vibrant valley full of hundreds of surprised camels, and on towards the western Jebel on a spectacular road originally blasted through the highlands by a company with connections to Mark Thatcher. Thank the lord for GPS.

Beyond the Jebel, the landscape changes dramatically again, into a kind of predesert hinterland known as the “Mountains of the Moon”. Yes, it’s lunar all right – harsh and dusty and peppered with black volcanic rock. We drive straight through an army firing range and descend into a wadi for lunch. The table is already set for us – we munch on duck pâté and toast in the shade of the wadi wall. Once again, I can hear the gnashing of Old Man Thesiger’s teeth.

The heat is intense now, but of a dry, prickly variety that is totally invigorating. I realise I am blissfully happy – it all reminds me of expeditions into the Syrian desert from my childhood home in Lebanon. The colonel has become my father figure – except that we get on. It’s weird.

After lunch, I wander up to the top of the wadi and find beautiful geodes, fossils and pieces of gypsum, even a wolf track. All of desert life, past and present, is here beside a small pool of water seeping out of the rock. As I watch, a hoopoe circles and dives towards the pool – more memories of Syria.

We drive on through vast empty valleys; we left behind the “black top”, as the colonel calls the tarmac, many hours ago. Occasionally, we are stopped by remote army checkpoints, but the soldiers stiffen to attention as soon as they spot our steely-eyed leader. He knows this area very well, having once spent an entire year on a sand dune overlooking the Yemeni border, and many of these young squaddies were trained by him.

We stop to drink under the most curious of trees, standing alone like a crazy parasol in the middle of nowhere. The colonel doesn’t know its proper name: he calls it the “funky tree”. I want one for my garden in the Cotswolds.

After seven hours, we reach Al Mayzouna. Right on the border with Yemen, this is very much a “frontier town”, and we see kids no more than eight years old driving pickup trucks around the gritty streets, some with Coke cans tied to the pedals for vague control. We fill up with petrol under the curious gaze of about 25 locals, all of whom would find themselves on “extraordinary rendition” trips the moment an American clapped eyes on them. They are very friendly, and simply keen to get a better view of one member of our party’s shapely legs. There’s not much to distract the male mind in this godforsaken town, and you takes what you gets.

Time to push on for the Empty Quarter. For a little while we are back on black top – there are even streetlights. “They will only extend until we are out of sight of the Yemeni border,” the colonel tells me. “It’s simply a way of showing off to their neighbours.”

A couple of dusty hours later, we locate the first enormous sand dunes on a distant horizon – our destination. I can’t quite believe it. We turn into a long valley dwarfed by gigantic dunes on every side. You can only drive a short distance in before the sand takes over completely and the way becomes impassable.

After half an hour or so, we spy our camp. It’s 4pm, and we arrive just as the heat is abating. Almost immediately, the sun begins to weave shadow tapestries on the sand. Our advance platoon has set up everything in the searing heat of the day – I’m speechless with admiration. We grab a quick drink before scrambling off to climb a huge dune and watch the sunset. But it is incredibly hard work. I eventually opt to stay down below and ... look after things.

The sun begins to set, and I am transfixed. I’d forgotten just how much I love deserts.

It’s in my blood. The silence, the emptiness, the calm: no wonder so many religions are born here.

Suddenly, I am joined by a small gerbil. I immediately name him Lawrence. If he’d chosen to sit next to Ray Mears, he would probably have been spit-roasted within minutes; sitting next to me, however, his luck is in. We share the glorious beauty of this Arabian sunset in silence.

Back at camp, our happy group eats supper under the stars. Sated, we sip sweet coffee and smoke pure tobacco from birras, small Omani pipes that would look very suspicious to a UK customs official. Then Sean, our second expedition leader, brings out a huge telescope and we scour the crystal-clear night sky. I take the clearest look I’ve ever had at the moon – there are no Stars and Stripes visible. I knew they never got there.

I retire to my bed and read Thesiger, but it seems strangely pointless now that I’ve actually made it here. I feel slightly ashamed about how easy it’s all been, then blow out my oil lamp and soak in the sound of nothingness.

Dom Joly travelled as a guest of Original Travel

Travel details: Original Travel (020 7978 7333, www.originaltravel.co.uk ) offers a four-night trip to Salalah, Mirbat and the Empty Quarter from £2,960pp, including two nights at a private beach camp and two camping in the desert, with all meals, flights from Heathrow to Salalah with Oman Air (via Muscat), and all transfers and activities.

For a more DIY experience, Safari Drive (01488 71140, www.safaridrive.com ) has 14-day self-drive safaris in Oman from £1,990pp, based on two people travelling and sharing. This includes airport transfers, six nights’ camping (all meals included) and eight nights’ B&B in hotels, a guide for two days in the Empty Quarter, a guide for a day in Wahiba Sands, and a Land Cruiser for 12 days. Flights start at £650.