Have you ever been lost in a hot foreign town on a quiet Sunday afternoon, urgently needing an antique clock repaired? Or maybe you’ve desperately tried to find a shop that sells superglue but don’t speak the language? Perhaps you’ve even caught yourself miming the word “SANDWICH” to a confused security guard at a bank? Whether you broke that stupid clock at the B&B or you’re simply looking for lunch, there’s a lot to be said for good shop signs—especially those that make sense to foreigners.
The foreigner’s perspective
In 2021, I spent some time traveling around Oman. I speak just enough Arabic to make a waiter smile when I accidentally order an optician’s appointment instead of a glass of water—which is to say, I don’t speak a word. Thankfully, Oman is a gracious country with patient people and solid bilingual signage. A combination that encourages aimless wandering, no matter how tired you are or how low your blood sugar might be.
Visiting a new culture often feels like a mix between a usability study and an escape room. We navigate this unfamiliar linguistic landscape, constantly switching between deductive and inductive reasoning, trying to make sense of new symbols. But instead of enjoying clumsy teamwork with tipsy friends, I find myself squinting at an impenetrable bus timetable while my exhausted wife glares at me in the sweltering heat—only to realise it’s not a bus stop, but a bakery, and that’s not a timetable, but the breakfast menu.
Not so in Oman. The shop signs here are a masterclass in clarity, leaving nothing to the imagination (which, if you’re buying mutton, a mobile phone, or getting a water pump repaired, is probably a good thing).
I like these signs for a few reasons:
- They lead with a transitive verb, e.g., “Sale of ,” “Servicing of .” It’s utilitarian and confident.
- I don’t have to recognise the things in the shop window – I certainly wouldn’t know the difference between mutton and camel meat, or a water pump and an oil pump.
- They’re short.
Regulation: how clarity is achieved in Oman
Clear translations are crucial in Oman because roughly 45% of the population consists of migrant workers, many of whom don’t speak Arabic. Less ambiguity likely leads to more business—accessibility as a business case, if you will.
Like many countries, Oman has regulations governing shop signs. In addition to standard requirements regarding presentation and obstruction, shop signs must:
- Be written in both Arabic and English
- Feature the name of the business
- Clearly state the type of activity
The requirement to “feature the kind of activity” is beautifully simple. It forces signs to focus on communicating what actually happens inside the premises—not the wild aspirations of the owner, but the simple purpose behind its existence.
While local authorities approve the name of the business and the Arabic wording;
the shop owner, however, is responsible for having this information translated into English. This is usually performed by local private translation offices, typically staffed by Omanis or South Asians.
I’d like to think the quality of English translations is thanks to the diversity of staff in these offices.
Regulation: how ambiguity is achieved in the UK
The UK takes a different approach. Regulations here focus on ensuring that shop signs don’t lie about something, blow away in the wind, or make too much of a fuss (which could also be guiding principles for British citizenship). They must feature the name of the business, but there are no requirements for clarity or to “feature the kind of activity.” As a result, British high streets can feel conceited and ambiguous—even to native English speakers.
At the end of the day, a good shop sign can make life easier, especially when you’re lost, hungry, or just trying to buy something unfamiliar in a foreign land. But maybe a little ambiguity isn’t such a bad thing either. Clarity is useful, but people are messy and life is complicated yet we seem to muddle our way through. Is a flash of embarrassment really that bad when we realise it’s not a bus stop but a bakery, and not an antique shop but someone’s living room? After all, those stories are more fun to tell.