Citrini Research Field Survey of the Strait of Hormuz
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Citrini Research Field Survey of the Strait of Hormuz
We are highly confident that the Strait of Hormuz will gradually resume normal shipping operations—a conclusion overwhelmingly supported by all on-the-ground experiences and interviews conducted during this research. For all countries except the United States, the safest option is to reach an agreement with Iran to ensure the uninterrupted flow of maritime traffic.
Navigating Web3 tides with focused insightsBy: Citrini Research
Translated by: 2030FY
The current situation in the Strait of Hormuz is nothing short of bewildering. To better understand it, Citrini dispatched its top-tier field analyst—whom we refer to as “Analyst #3” to avoid emotional entanglement—to conduct on-the-ground research in the Strait. Fluent in four languages, including Arabic, Analyst #3 carried a Pelican case full of equipment, a box of Cuban cigars, $15,000 in cash, and a roll of Zyn nicotine pouches, setting off on an itinerary formulated one week earlier in our Manhattan office.
We had anticipated this mission would yield only vague conclusions—such as whether the Strait was “open” or “closed”—and fully expected it might prove futile. In reality, however, we gained far deeper, more nuanced insights—not just into the current situation, but also into the world’s ongoing transition toward multipolarity.
Were David Foster Wallace still alive, he’d surely be holed up in a seaside bar in some Omani coastal town, filing dispatches onto napkins: the eerie silence of a hundred-room hotel with only three guests; oil tankers drifting slowly toward the Strait of Hormuz, yet never quite entering it. This is our creative inspiration—if Wallace were also interested in uncovering investment alpha.
This is a story about the most critical place on Earth today—the 54-mile waterway between Iran and Oman, upon which the global economy’s operation—or paralysis—hinges. The Strait harbors numerous opportunities for investment alpha, including real-time navigation rules newly instituted by the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC): they decide which vessels may pass—and which may not.
Ignoring warnings from Omani border agents, vague premonitions, and stern admonitions from two coast guard officers brandishing assault rifles, Analyst #3 pressed forward into the heart of Earth’s most vital maritime corridor. War raged nearby. He boarded a GPS-less speedboat piloted by a stranger he’d met just three hours earlier at the port entrance—after handing over a wad of cash. All of it—for investment research.
What follows is the full account of that mission.
Into the Strait of Hormuz
Before entering Oman, local officials required Analyst #3 to sign a document—a pre-printed pledge, passed across a tea table at a desert checkpoint, committing him not to engage in photography, journalism, or information gathering anywhere within the Sultanate of Oman. He signed his name.
Then, the official opened Analyst #3’s Pelican case for inspection—but missed the gimbal, microphone kit, and recording-enabled sunglasses. The research mission had officially begun.
Upon arrival in Oman, Analyst #3 used sheer persuasion to board the decrepit, GPS-less speedboat—ignoring Omani officials’ pleas to turn back—and sailed into international waters, stopping just 18 nautical miles from the Iranian coast. At that moment, witness drones circled overhead, while IRGC patrol boats cruised fixed routes in the distance. He leapt into the Strait of Hormuz—Cuban cigar clenched between his teeth—and swam.
Soon after, he was intercepted and detained by the coast guard; his phone was confiscated. Eventually, he escaped and returned, sharing every observation in an eight-hour debriefing session.
What follows are Analyst #3’s firsthand observations from his fieldwork in the Strait of Hormuz, narrated in the first person. To protect the safety of anonymous sources, certain key names, locations, and event details have been altered. Quotations are reconstructed from memory and translated from Arabic. This represents the maximum fidelity we can achieve—because Analyst #3’s phone—and all notes and photos stored on it—are now thousands of miles away, almost certainly undergoing line-by-line review by Omani authorities.
I. Research Conceptualization
“What if I just went straight to the Strait of Hormuz?”
At first, this was merely a joke—like midnight musings in bed, too absurd for serious consideration, destined to vanish like other resolutions sworn before sleep and abandoned upon waking. But it wasn’t midnight, and we weren’t in bed.
We sat in Citrini Research’s Midtown Manhattan office, watching on our phones the worst geopolitical crisis in a decade unfold. The world’s most liquid markets gyrated wildly—like memecoins—between Trump’s tweets and AP headlines, utterly without logic.
Clearly, no one—literally no one: analysts, journalists, retired generals pontificating on cable news, let alone us—truly knew what was happening. Everyone relied on the same stale satellite imagery, anonymous Pentagon sources, and identical AIS shipping data. Later, I learned that this data misses nearly half the actual vessel traffic passing through the Strait each day.
After all, isn’t clarifying chaotic investment environments precisely our job? I wanted to do it—and had the connections (at least some) to make it happen. And it would make for a hell of a story. So, the decision to go to the Strait of Hormuz was sealed.
In Citrini’s New York apartment office, we packed a Xiaomi smartphone (with a Leica 150x zoom camera—a souvenir from our visit to a Chinese robotics factory), a GMDSS distress beacon, $15,000 in cash, a gimbal, and a microphone kit into a Pelican case. We then reverse-engineered our itinerary around the questions we most needed answered.
Strait of Hormuz Intelligence Research Itinerary
Day 0: Dubai – Dubai International Financial Centre
Meet shipbrokers, commodity traders, and tanker analysts;
Build foundational knowledge, triangulate public market data;
Exchange intelligence with insiders on military developments and shipping market expectations.
Day 1: Fujairah
Depart early to observe hundreds of idle tankers and billions of dollars in stranded cargo;
Visit Fujairah’s petroleum industrial zone storage facilities to assess damage, full capacity, and inventory shortages;
Walk the ship agency street and the Radisson Hotel bar to gather frontline intelligence.
Day 2: Khor Fakkan → Dibba → Khasab
Drive north along the UAE’s eastern coast to inspect Khor Fakkan’s container port, handling transshipped cargo;
Enter Musandam Governorate in Dibba—where UAE, Oman, and Iran meet at the Gulf;
Arrive in Khasab by evening to monitor dhow movements toward the Iranian coast.
Day 3: Musandam Waters
Full-day speedboat survey: transit Khawr Sham Bay and Telegraph Island en route to Kumzar—just ~15 km from the Iranian coast;
Negotiate with local fishermen to visit the Traffic Separation Scheme (TSS) zone;
Manually count vessels and cross-check against real-time AIS data on mobile devices.
Day 4: Khor Najid → Buhah → Ras Al Khaimah → Dubai
Drive a 4x4 to Khor Najid—the only roadside vantage point overlooking Persian Gulf shipping lanes—to observe Strait passage and vessel activity, gather local intelligence, and cross-verify with Vortex shipping data in real time;
Interview Buhah fishermen with cross-strait contacts;
Pass through Ras Al Khaimah to inspect dhow shipyards, Gulfstream Trade Zone, and physical infrastructure supporting Iran’s informal trade;
Return to Dubai.
My plan was simple: fly to Dubai, meet trusted insiders and Citrini contacts; drive to Fujairah to collect photographic evidence and intelligence at the oil terminal; cross the border into Oman’s northern Musandam Governorate, reach Khasab, and find a way to get out to sea.
I began calling tourism companies, trying to book a boat to Kumzar—a remote Omani village accessible only by sea, and the closest human settlement to the Iranian coast. In hindsight, this was a security blunder—effectively broadcasting my plans. But at the time, I couldn’t think of another way to secure transport. Fortunately, from a security standpoint, all identity details I provided to tour operators were fabricated.
Each call featured a different cover story: adventure tourist, oil trader counting passing vessels, real estate investor (“Brother, am I the first real estate investor you’ve ever met here? Now’s the perfect time to buy! Land prices are absurdly low—when others fear, we act!”). Yet every response remained the same: “No.”
Only one dolphin-watching company agreed. Turns out, the IRGC can intercept tankers—but not dolphins. I’d finally found my transport to the Strait of Hormuz.
We mapped our entire contact list, tailoring questions for each type: ship agents, freight brokers, bunker suppliers, government officials, military officers, local merchant intermediaries. Our aim: extract first-hand intelligence from those who live and work with the Strait daily—then head to the Omani border to see the reality ourselves.
Upon landing in Dubai, I drove straight to Fujairah. Though anyone could take this route, it yielded useful findings: damage to storage tanks from recent attacks was far less severe than expected—I was told by a local worker that Ruwais had suffered far worse.
I spoke with several employees—three weeks earlier, they’d narrowly escaped death in a drone strike, yet remained on duty. I also held impromptu conversations with staff from GPS Chemicals and ChemPetrol, who confirmed port operations had recovered to only ~30% of pre-conflict levels—but basic functionality had resumed. I didn’t attempt to infiltrate the terminal itself, so I drove back—just in time for my regular Dubai poker game.
I hadn’t slept since leaving New York. Winning at poker under those conditions was impossible.
II. The Poker Game
I play poker in Dubai every time I visit. These players are the people I’d turn to if trouble struck in the Gulf.
Everyone at the table agreed: this war would last far longer than outsiders imagined. One predicted the next major escalation would be an attack on Iran’s Qeshm Island. Four days later, it happened. They warned me to leave the region by the 6th—“something big is coming.” U.S. force buildup in the area was proceeding far faster than reported in the media; Iranian drone strikes were occurring far more frequently than estimated domestically. When I asked their targets, the answer was blunt: “Americans, brother. Americans—and American infrastructure.” Looking back, that question was idiotic.
Mid-game, I dropped a bombshell: “I’m going to Musandam—to the front lines of the Strait of Hormuz.”
Everyone laughed—until they realized, for the first time at this table, I wasn’t joking. “Brother, what are you saying?” One offered to join—but said his father would never allow it.
I asked if they’d help if things went south. They weren’t sure it would work. Then one chuckled, telling a story he thought eerily resonant:
“A few years ago, a UAE fisherman accidentally entered Iranian waters—and was captured by the IRGC. Later, they returned him to the UAE.” He paused. “In a barrel. Cut into seventy-two pieces.”
Silence fell. Moments later, someone offered practical advice: “I just bought a pair of Meta Ray-Ban smart glasses. Want them?”
I accepted—and slipped them into my Pelican case.
The game ended around 6 a.m. I drove straight to the Omani border, brain fogged, sustained only by the electric thrill of nearing the Strait of Hormuz.
III. The Border Checkpoint
In many ways, Dubai remains familiar—Cipriani is still bustling, though less so than before the crisis; Bellinis and meringue desserts remain ubiquitous. But as you drive toward the Omani border, the city’s glitter peels away: U.S. soldiers appear in previously barren stretches; once-busy roads empty out; finally, you arrive at a ramshackle desert border post—built for livestock, retrofitted for humans.
I made a mistake: I took a photo at the border—exhausted beyond reason, I held my phone aloft like a tourist at a landmark, forgetting this was a militarized exclusion zone. A guard stared, assessing whether I was a threat—or merely an idiot. “You just took a photo?”
Emirates-side clearance was smooth—stamp, drive away. Oman-side was different. I was ushered into what can only be described as “the worst desert DMV on Earth”: four barefoot Pakistanis sipped tea, shuffling between windows, moving with the lethargy of decades-long civil servants awaiting retirement. Wearing a flat-brimmed cap and American-brand sweatpants, I stuck out like a sore thumb.
Everyone ahead of me cleared inspection and left. I handed over my Western passport; two guards glanced at it, then exchanged a silent look—the kind that spells trouble for the scrutinized. One said: “Wait.”
Ten minutes later, a man descended the stairs—utterly unlike the rest: traditional Omani cap, immaculate robe, expensive cologne, fluent English, clearly senior to the stamping clerks. “Pleasure to meet you.” He led me into a side room with tea and began questioning me—slowly, calmly—as if he already knew most answers, wanting only to watch me fabricate the rest.
He asked my parents’ names and origins, my employer—then, still gently: “You’re aware photography, journalism, and intelligence gathering are prohibited here.” He asked my political stance, views on the war, and attitude toward Israel. I lied: “I’m a tourist. Friendly to everyone.” He probed further: my religion.
“Are you Shia or Sunni? What kind of Muslim?”
“A terrible Muslim—I drank three glasses of wine two hours ago.”
He had me sign the pledge—a formal ban on reporting, photography, and information gathering, with full legal consequences for violation. He watched me read it word-for-word—an action that deepened his suspicion, because at desert checkpoints, people typically sign blindly; reading signaled I weighed every clause.
Then he announced he’d inspect my luggage—and asked if I carried any recording devices. I could bluff the gimbal; claim the Ray-Bans were ordinary sunglasses. But that professional wind-shielded mic kit—if discovered, the mission died instantly.
He opened the Pelican case. Cigars sat on top. I offered one; he accepted with a nod—I took it as sincere thanks. Then he flipped through a layer of sweatpants and closed the case.
IV. The Ghost Town
Forty minutes past the border, Oman’s coastline unfolded: crystalline waters, jagged mountains plunging into the sea.
My first meeting in Oman cemented a counterintuitive but recurring insight: hot war and commercial diplomacy coexist. Before this trip, I viewed the Strait through binary lenses: open or closed; escalation or de-escalation. Reality defied both.
I secured a meeting with an Omani official—calm as Yoda from *Star Wars*, having spent his life at the Strait’s mouth. He recounted the Iran-Iraq War, Gulf War, and regional crises of the 1970s.
“You’ll see this,” he told me. “Ground fighting continues inside Iran—even as Strait shipping volume surges.”
“That sounds contradictory.” He agreed.
“Yes—we simply adapt. It may seem counterintuitive to you, but it’s how survival works here.” His explanation was stark: ground conflict may persist—or cease—but everyone else keeps living. He likened it to two friends fighting while others go to bars. That is the Strait’s reality.
After the meeting, I arrived at my booked hotel. Once a tourist hotspot, it now resembled the Overlook Hotel from *The Shining*: dead quiet. A hundred rooms, one or two guests. It operated at a loss—just to maintain the illusion that “tourism continues.”
When I called the dolphin-tour company again, they canceled. Fair enough—given security risks, it was rational. For me, it was a crisis. I wandered the town for hours—talking to hotel staff, fishermen’s families, anyone who might know a boat owner—repeatedly rebuffed. With $12,000 cash in my pocket, I couldn’t find a single vessel to the Strait.
I was the sole Western face in all of Musandam—American clothes, cash, wired headphones, constantly on calls with Citrini. Cars slowed to stare; kids pointed. The town felt like it was reacting to a baffling alien visit—and I’d done zero to blend in.
Finally, I reached a guarded main port’s canal—lined with speedboats. There, I met Iranian smugglers who told me their business was daily smuggling of electronics, cigarettes, and alcohol into Iran. I asked if they got arrested. Occasionally—“a friend died last week.”
These smugglers backed the IRGC—and were candid about their goals: keep the Strait open, under Iranian control. They wanted business. Profit. When I asked if conflict slowed their runs, they laughed.
They crossed the Strait daily—smuggling never decreased. Think about it: that’s a market signal. Like tankers sailing from Kharg Island—if aligned with the IRGC, departure was worry-free. This signals Iran’s ability to surgically target enforcement.
Among them, only one was Omani. I approached him in Arabic—he was named Hamid. After I flashed cash, he said he’d ready a speedboat by dawn.
V. “Fuck the Police”
At ~9 p.m., I crashed—only to be jolted awake by the worst ringtone I’ve ever heard: a low, monotonous beep—like a flatlining EKG. Front desk said two Criminal Investigation Department (CID) officers waited downstairs. In the Gulf, the CID rivals the CIA—and operates with colder efficiency.
I locked my iPhone in the room safe, grabbed my backup. They’d clearly seen Citrini’s tweet about Analyst #3—thanks, James.
I descended in pajamas and hotel slippers. As an English speaker fluent in Arabic, I knew one opsec rule: when things get dicey, speak only English—Arabic opens doors best left shut: spy, sympathizer, or labels you can’t shake. So I declared, in English only: “Hello, I speak only English.” The hotel front-desk clerk—who’d chatted with me in Arabic all day—turned to the CID agents and said: “This guy speaks Arabic fluently.”
They ordered me to come with them. I asked if I could change out of pajamas. “Get in the car.”
It was pitch-black outside—and inside the Honda Accord. Two agents sat up front; a large man occupied the rear seat beside me. We drove twenty minutes through Khasab—nestled in mountains, unlit, so dark I couldn’t see the road. Not a word passed among the three men. Only radio chatter: “Got him?” “How far?”
I broke the silence: “Is something wrong?” The front-seat agent turned to the one who brought me: “Answer him.” He said: “Nothing wrong.” Silence returned. At the police station, they radioed: “Detained.”
They searched me thoroughly, repeatedly entering and exiting the room—leaving me alone, anxious. “We simply cannot believe you’re here for tourism.” They implied I worked for another government, waved an Iraqi passport I didn’t own, recorded my written statement, and grilled me on Dubai meetings.
When I gave a contact’s surname, the room’s atmosphere shifted—clearly, that name meant something. I asked them to call him to confirm I posed no threat. Then I was locked alone in a waterless room for hours—time enough to reflect on the chain of decisions that landed me here.
Leaving the station, they clearly deemed me a fool—not a spy—but delivered a lethal warning: “We know your sea plan. Cancel it—you won’t go.” They drove me back to the hotel, saying: “We hope to welcome you again as a tourist—during a less sensitive time.” Sincere-sounding—and deeply chilling.
I messaged Citrini via encrypted signaling software: “Mission scrubbed.” Back came a reply—supportive, from a safe distance: “Dude, it’s fine. This proves it shouldn’t have happened. Staying ashore is safer. AIS data and interviews are enough.”
I stared at that message for a long time. The intelligence agency had banned my sea trip; Hamid’s number was exposed. The rational choice—the one I’d advise anyone to make—was sleep, then drive to Dubai at dawn: a failed attempt, accepted with grace.
But I texted Hamid anyway—telling him everything: CID visited, logged his number, searched my things. Then I wrote: “What if we go anyway?”
Hamid replied in Arabic: “Fuck the police.”
VI. On the Strait
At dawn, Hamid’s “speedboat” arrived: a 40-year-old hulk with a sub-500cc engine—and no GPS. Navigation relied entirely on his lifelong familiarity with these waters and a battered, half-secured radio.
As we departed, two Iranian smugglers loading cargo at the port zipped past us toward Iran. Minutes later, two coast guard vessels appeared and intercepted them. While all local law enforcement scrambled to handle those two boats’ contraband, we slipped along the coast—undetected. Hamid looked at me: “We’re safe.”
Kumzar is a remote fishing village where the local dialect blends Portuguese, Persian, and Arabic. Half the families have relatives in Iran’s Bandar Abbas—crossing the border is as routine as domestic travel. Sitting on the ground, eating bread with local fishermen, I heard truths no tracking system or satellite could capture.
Daily, four or five tankers disable AIS and slip through the Strait. Fishermen said actual traffic far exceeded AIS data—and vessel counts through the Qeshm Strait had risen steadily over the past few days.
They also told me civilian ships and fishing boats had been hit by drones—non-military targets destroyed, never mentioned in media reports. One fisherman—twenty trips across these waters since the conflict began—described it: “You see a ship. Hear a boom. Then it’s gone. Just another day here.”
An old fisherman on the beach shared two seemingly contradictory facts: far more ships passed through the Strait than outsiders imagined—and far more attacks occurred than outsiders knew. I asked how both could be true. They had no theoretical framework—just shrugged.
This binary thinking—open or closed, escalate or de-escalate—bears no relation to Kumzar’s reality: more ships *and* more attacks. That paradox is becoming the new normal: the U.S. threatens total war while allies negotiate with Iran; drone strikes rise—and Strait shipping rises too. Nothing feels certain.
Kumzar’s fishermen, the Omani official I met the next day, and Iranians I encountered on the Strait all conveyed the same message: Iran’s requirement for vessel approval is largely performative—a propaganda tool. Its purpose: paint the U.S. as an unreliable ally, position Iran as the rational actor maintaining order amid chaos.
Iran’s signal is clear: “We can operate the Strait peacefully. We can guarantee shipping safety under our control. Our sovereignty is proven by trade continuing—regardless of U.S. actions. Follow our process. Pass our review. Your ship sails safely.”
This reminded me of Ras Al Khaimah—where, in a hotel bar, I met a Greek-Australian captain, balding and grizzled, uncannily resembling Mike Ehrmantraut from *Breaking Bad*.
We stepped outside to the port, smoked, and he explained the “Iranian tollbooth.” His ship was queueing for IRGC approval—submitting documents as we spoke. He described dozens of vessels waiting in endless loops with Iranian intermediaries—no approval, no passage.
That’s the difference between “blockade” and “toll road”: markets price based on “Strait blocked,” while reality increasingly resembles “toll road.”
He corrected many of my misconceptions—now revealed as “nonsense conjured staring at surveillance screens.” He scoffed at the idea that mines littered the Strait: “Nobody actually believes that.” On insurance being the sole barrier to transit, his reaction bordered on disbelief: “The core reason ships avoid the Strait is to avoid dying at sea. Insurance? Do you think we want to die?”
“Listen—some will take the risk: Greece’s Dynacom, South Korea’s Samho. But think like an owner: send your ship through—and get hit. What happens? With charter rates at historic highs, you lose a ship. Even if insurers pay, you can’t replace it tomorrow—every vessel is booked solid. Meanwhile, owners parking ships in the Gulf as floating storage earn fortunes doing nothing. So avoiding the Strait isn’t just about life and death—it’s about not being stupid.”
Standing at the port, listening, I suddenly grasped how foolish so many ideas circulating in offices and investment bank chat channels truly were. People here are real—driven by real motives and emotions—and that logic applies to most decision-makers too.
Omanis are the Gulf’s most neutral observers—and Iran’s longest-standing neighbors. They widely accept that “Iran acts rationally and predictably.” Kumzar residents—many with family in Bandar Abbas, and whose local militias answer to the IRGC—hold more extreme views: this war is their chance to humiliate the “empire,” America.
We left Kumzar, heading into open waters.
When Iran’s coastline emerged clearly, I lit a cigar. Twelve miles away, Qeshm Island loomed—Iran’s first island. I didn’t know then it would be bombed the next day—only my poker friends had warned me. Two days after the bombing, a U.S. F-15 and an A-10 were shot down over the island.
Then I looked up—and war materialized with visceral immediacy no satellite image or AIS data could convey.
I saw Witness drones with my naked eye: rotors spinning fast, skimming low, highly visible. I raised my phone to photograph—Hamid, the man who’d shouted “Fuck the police,” yelled for me to stop. U.S. drones flew solo at higher altitudes.
My phone—using an Omani SIM—received signals from AIS-disabled tankers: vessels invisible on all tracking platforms, the “ghost ships” Kumzar’s fishermen described—and I was watching them live.
Then I saw a Dynacom tanker sail straight through the Strait’s center—not hugging the coast like others, not crawling cautiously, but speeding full-throttle, as in peacetime. It was the only one. All others navigated stealthily, minimizing risk—while this ship charged ahead, unafraid.
Clearly, it had struck a deal with Iran—the “customized passage arrangement” Kumzar’s fishermen and the Omani official described. If one image proves “the Strait of Hormuz is reopening under Iranian control,” it’s this: a Greek tanker, full-throttle through the center—while drones circle overhead and every other ship hides near the edges.
We also observed suspected Chinese-flagged vessels transiting the Qeshm-Larak Strait—and confirmed vessels flying Indian, Malaysian, Japanese (LNG carriers), Greek, French (container ships), Omani, and Turkish flags—all navigating the Strait.
Residents of coastal communities told us that, in the two weeks before our arrival, 2–4 vessels per day passed through Qeshm-Larak Strait. On April 2, our on-site count recorded 15 vessels crossing the Strait. Our methodology wasn’t institutional-grade—just a well-positioned bar stool in a hotel, a domestically-made phone cranked to max zoom, and notebook entries from sea—but the data mattered.
Insiders confirmed April 4’s volume held steady: 15–18 vessels—meaning two days’ traffic equaled a prior week’s total.
All this validated the Australian captain’s words: Iran’s drones only strike tankers refusing its navigation rules.
Yet on the water, I stayed vigilant. Hamid and Kumzar’s fishermen warned that some fishing boats exploded inexplicably—no warning, no explanation—and some strikes were likely accidents. These drones, it seemed, didn’t distinguish between “non-compliant tankers” and “40-year-old hulks.”
So I thought: I’m here—might as well go all in. I dove into the water—cigar in mouth, Witness drones overhead—while Hamid filmed with my domestic backup phone.
I climbed back aboard—and eight or more smuggling boats sped past, manned by twentysomething Iranians, grinning, waving, tossing cigarettes our way. I returned peace signs.
Suddenly, one smuggling boat reversed course—barreling toward us from Iranian waters. For five seconds, I was certain my life was over—my only thought: the Emirati fisherman in the barrel, cut into seventy-two pieces.
It wasn’t the IRGC—just another smuggler. He slowed beside us, close enough to see his face. He smoked; I chewed cigar. He offered a cigarette; I handed him the cigar.
In the world’s most contested waters, we locked eyes across the gap between two boats—nodded, smiled—silent, wordless.
I’ll tell my grandchildren about this forever.
Time to head back.
VII. Port Prison
On the return, I rode the highest adrenaline high of my life—my phone signal flickering back online. Then coast guard vessels appeared—armed, blocking our path.
As they shouted at Hamid, I yelled in English: “I’m a tourist!”—frantically transferring files from my phone to another device and deleting all photos. Because if they found even one drone photo, I’d face trouble no poker friend could fix.
They took us to a facility for smugglers—port prison, not police station or border post—a place for those “whose lives the system doesn’t value.” They seized my domestic phone, claiming full forensic review—then locked Hamid and me in separate rooms.
Hamid’s boat had no GPS—just a simple, jury-rigged handheld radio bolted to the hull. When coast guard asked if we carried navigation gear, we said “no.” The officer’s verdict dripped with exhausted candor—clearly, he’d seen too many dumb choices, and ours ranked near the top.
After some time—apparently, a well-connected friend intervened (details unknown)—they released me. They called me an idiot, confiscated my phone, and warned that if they found criminal evidence, prosecution would follow.
I never heard from them again. It was the nadir of the mission—and the closest I’ve ever come to life-altering consequences. But I didn’t care. Even jail would’ve been fine.
I was euphoric: I’d *done* it—I’d reached the Strait of Hormuz, accomplished the impossible, witnessed everything, gathered firsthand intel no one else possessed. That high drowned all fear. I went to the empty hotel bar—and drank eleven beers.
VIII. Exfiltration
For the rest of my time in Oman, I was under constant surveillance: three men shadowed me everywhere—same faces, always there; a car followed me openly, brazenly. Hotel staff grew hostile, pushing me to check out—understandable.
I paid $1,000 for a black SUV to chauffeur me around the final hours—I regretted not spending big from day one, because at that price, people tell you everything and take you anywhere. I ate fried chicken at a place called “Hormuz Chicken”—absolutely phenomenal.
At the exit border checkpoint, the guard’s first words were: “He’s here.”
They searched my bag thoroughly. One picked up the Ray-Ban smart glasses: “What’s this?” “Sunglasses.” He set them down. I’d hidden the mic kit under pants in the bag’s rear compartment—he rifled through clothing, said nothing about anything else.
“Looks like it’s not him,” one guard said.
Our Observations and Their Significance
Above is the complete story of our Strait of Hormuz research mission. What follows are our analytical conclusions. After Analyst #3’s return, we conducted an eight-hour debrief—cross-referencing his observations with our proprietary channels, public data, and intelligence from regional insiders.
The first-person narrative above reflects Analyst #3’s voice—because it’s the most authentic way to present fieldwork. The analysis below represents Citrini Research’s views.
The mission’s most vital takeaway—and our advice to readers—is to discard bias and binary frameworks. Today’s Strait of Hormuz is far more complex than imagined.
Before departure, we assumed conflict would escalate—and the Strait would remain blocked. This mission changed our view on “blockade”—but not on “escalation.” Pre-mission, we’d have deemed that logically contradictory.
We also gained granular clarity on future trajectories: our baseline forecast is no longer “open” or “closed,” but a more intricate scenario—conflict persists *while* Strait shipping volume rises. We see this as a critical signal of the world’s shift toward multipolarity: even as the U.S. clashes fiercely with Iran, its allies actively negotiate with Tehran.
Core Conclusions
1. Strait Shipping Volume Will Rise: Regardless of developments, we expect volume to increase incrementally. Dynacom’s tanker sailing straight through the center proves that—if mines exist, they aren’t laid to “indiscriminately block all vessels.”
2. Diplomatic “Tollbooth”: Surprisingly, passage order is highly structured. Iran has established checkpoints in the Strait, routing all approved vessels through the Qeshm-Larak channel—and charging “tolls.”
3. Contradictory Escalation: We hold credible intelligence confirming U.S. preparations for expanded ground operations—but believe Strait shipping volume may continue rising even if such operations commence.
4. Realignment, Not Victory: This isn’t a simple “two sides fight.” It’s multi-party maneuvering. Winners won’t be decided solely by military victory—but by outcomes of global multipolar realignment.
And what’s the overall local mood? Amid massive uncertainty and global attention, human resilience shines. Wars have erupted here repeatedly—and may again; the U.S. remains fixated on its oil; neighboring countries fight, with real risk—but life goes on. This too shall pass.
Central Thesis: Parallel War and Diplomacy
The mission’s most counterintuitive finding: hot war and commercial diplomacy coexist. The U.S. escalates militarily—while the rest of the world adapts and negotiates Strait access with Iran—including France, Greece, and Japan, U.S. allies seeking their own solutions.
Once unimaginable: Japan, the EU, and other U.S. allies negotiating Strait access with Iran—the U.S.’s direct adversary—while the U.S. prepares for further military conflict. Today, it’s the norm.
These nations must solve their own problems—because the U.S. won’t. That’s the message Trump conveys publicly: nations dependent on the Strait must “take responsibility for its security.”
This leads us to believe a likely scenario: conflict escalates further in the coming week—and Strait shipping volume rises concurrently. Open or closed isn’t dictated solely by escalation or de-escalation.
The Qeshm Island port bombing is the clearest proof: the strike temporarily slowed Strait traffic—vessels halted during bombing—but passage resumed the same day.
These military strikes don’t disrupt Iran’s long-term planning. Even if Qeshm Island is reduced to rubble, Strait traffic only pauses briefly—the fundamental trajectory remains unchanged.
Two days after Analyst #3’s sea trip, a U.S. F-15 and an A-10 were shot down over Qeshm Island—the A-10 crashing into the Persian Gulf—yet Strait traffic continued uninterrupted that day.
On April 2, at least 15 vessels crossed the Strait; the next day, volume rose further—modestly, but unmistakably. Coastal residents said Qeshm-Larak Strait saw only 2–5 vessels daily in the two weeks before our arrival.
Though far below the pre-conflict >100 vessels/day, we project this as the trend: messy—but volume rises *alongside* persistent conflict.
However, very few VLCCs currently transit the Strait—in fact, vessels larger than Aframaxes rarely pass. If only LNG carriers and handysize tankers proceed, the situation won’t meaningfully improve—global economic risk remains high.
The fastest way to prevent this? U.S. acceptance of temporary Iranian control of the Strait.
We confirmed vessels from India, Malaysia, Japan, Greece, France, Oman, Turkey, and China transited the Strait. Chinese vessels were observed disabling AIS and traversing the Larak-Qeshm channel.
We also witnessed a new phenomenon: vessels bypassing the Qeshm-Larak channel entirely—VLCCs and empty LNG carriers hugging the Omani coast, circumventing Iranian checkpoints, transiting independently.
Dynacom’s tanker was the sole vessel we saw sailing straight through the Strait’s center. We still don’t know how they achieved it. Its CEO, George Procopiou, has a history of covert navigation.
This at least confirms the Strait isn’t littered with “mines designed to block all vessels,” as rumored—and aligns with views that “Iran is pushing for normalized Strait operations.” Whether selectively activatable deep-water mines exist, we cannot confirm.
Iranian smugglers near Larak Island—lifelong operators across both shores—said recent vessel traffic surged dramatically. To them, it’s no accident: every vessel passing the Strait communicates with and gains approval from the IRGC.
From military-linked relatives, they learned Strait shipping will soon normalize.
Could U.S. ground operations stall this trend? Possibly. But a fighter jet shot down over the shipping lane didn’t halt traffic; the Qeshm port bombing didn’t pause it.
To fully halt Strait traffic, the U.S. would need massive, Strait-specific military action—a move contrary to all parties’ core interests.
How the “Iranian Tollbooth” Works
Surprisingly, passage order is highly structured. Iran has built functional checkpoints in the Strait, routing all approved vessels through the Qeshm-Larak channel (exceptions: vessels hugging the Omani coast, and our observed Dynacom tanker—center-passage outliers). Since mid-March, no vessels use the traditional shipping lane.
Its mechanics:
Vessel owners or their governments first contact Iranian intermediaries—submitting ownership structure, flag, cargo type, crew composition, destination; then pay the “toll”—via cash, cryptocurrency, or—more commonly and underreported—diplomatic solutions like unfreezing Iranian assets in foreign banks to skirt sanctions.
Iran monitors compliance via drones and satellite imagery. Larak Island stations approve passage—and enforcement is deliberately selective. Vessels undergo rigorous vetting: secret U.S. alliances are probed via ownership structures, shareholder lists, and crew interviews.
This means the idea that “once Country X gains approval, others can just fly its flag” is unrealistic. Iran ensures genuine willingness to deal—minimizing loopholes.
Approved vessels receive some form of confirmation—reportedly a password-like system—working for both AIS-disabled covert passage and AIS-enabled standard transit.
Today, virtually all vessels sail in Iranian territorial waters—not the traditional Omani channel. Approved vessels receive confirmation codes and IRGC escort; unapproved vessels wait.
Crucially, vessels merely exiting the Strait isn’t enough to positively impact the global economy—they must also return laden. Only vessels on Iran’s “friendly or neutral list” can make round-trips, ensuring smooth commodity flows—and averting global energy crisis.
Misconceptions About the “Toll”
Western media widely claims Iran’s “toll” is paid in RMB or crypto—partially true. Analyst #3 learned from multiple local sources that diplomatic channels—not RMB—are the primary method for non-Chinese vessels to gain passage, effectively sidestepping sanctions—yet severely underreported.
Most payments clear through Bank of Kunlun. RMB payments occur—but are rare, mostly symbolic; Chinese vessels likely transit free.
Fearing OFAC violations, others innovate payment methods—not necessarily offshore RMB. India secured passage via diplomatic agreement; France appears to have done likewise—consistent with Macron’s UN Security Council opposition to the U.S.
Insurance Issue—or Survival Issue?
Conventional wisdom says ships avoid the Strait solely due to insurance. False: primary concern is drone strikes killing crews; secondary is OFAC penalties for paying Iran’s “toll.”
Hence, a viable solution exists: Trump demands Iran open the Strait; Iran and Oman jointly establish a “tollbooth”; ships trust IRGC security guarantees—and transit.
If the U.S. simultaneously demanded Iran fully open the Strait, abolish the “toll,” *and* launched military action to stop toll collection, Strait traffic would freeze. If sustained >3–4 weeks, global economic catastrophe would follow.
Currently, global commercial oil inventories lose ~10.6 million barrels daily. The Habshan-Fujairah pipeline has been shut twice. Even accounting for pipeline rerouting, residual Strait traffic, strategic reserve releases, sanctioned oil imports, and increased Middle Eastern inventories—if only 15 vessels cross daily by end-April, the global economy teeters. All parties know this.
We believe the most stable current setup is IRGC approval—more reliable than U.S. escort. No vessel approved by the IRGC has been attacked.
Whether the U.S. will allow Iran to indefinitely collect “tolls” is another matter. But we doubt Washington will directly intervene to prohibit it during the transition.
As long as this “toll-based passage” sustains meaningful traffic, it buys time for all parties to forge a “two-way passage” solution—before economic disaster hits.
Iran’s Intentions and Bets
Every conversation Analyst #3 held in the region pointed to one conclusion: Iran does *not* want the Strait closed.
All non-U.S. nations view Strait shutdown as catastrophic; Iran seeks normalized operations—on its sovereign terms.
For Iran, the best propaganda is keeping the Strait operating—casting itself as the “rational global trade manager,” while painting the U.S. as the “disruptor of global trade.” Iranian officials’ public statements show active efforts to portray the U.S. as a “clumsy, dysfunctional empire”—and themselves as “guardians of the world.”
Iran’s core goal is clearly isolating the “empire” and proving cooperation with others is possible sans the U.S. Fully closing the Strait again would be, for Iran, like detonating a nuclear weapon in a war with a nuclear power—absolutely last-resort.
The Omani official we met compared Iran’s long-term Strait vision to Turkey’s management of the Bosporus and Dardanelles under the Montreux Convention.
Since 1936, the Montreux Convention governs Turkish Straits passage. Turkey holds full sovereignty: commercial vessels transit freely; military vessels face Turkish-imposed limits, notification requirements, and tonnage caps—and in wartime, Turkey can fully ban belligerent navies. Notably, the U.S. is not a signatory. This arrangement has endured ~90 years—widely hailed as the most successful example of “rules-based order managing a strategic chokepoint.”
Iran sees its current Strait system as the start of a similar model: not permanent blockade—but a sovereign Iranian system—Tehran sets rules, collects “tolls,” restricts hostile military vessels, and allows commercial vessels under its own framework.
This is vital for investors—it reveals the likely endgame *if* conflict doesn’t end in Iran’s total defeat. If Iran seeks the model Turkey—a NATO member—has run successfully for a century, investors must consider the implications of that world.
Whether the U.S. accepts this analogy is another question. But short-term, choices are binary: let the Strait remain paralyzed—triggering global economic collapse in 2–3 weeks—or accept Iran’s current “toll-based passage.”
Iran’s confidence—and its audience—is evident: it’s not speaking to Washington—but to the rest of the world.
Though we didn’t speak directly to Iranian decision-makers, deep talks with Omani officials—possessing first-hand Iranian insights—were invaluable. The U.S. view is well-known; understanding Iran’s calculus matters equally.
Iran sees this as a high-probability bet: two of three plausible scenarios improve Iran’s position. In the third, Iran ceases to exist.
But in all scenarios, vessels will keep crossing the Strait—the only variables are whose flag they fly, and who collects the “toll” (if any).
Iran’s Centralized Control and the Houthi Card
Conversations with Omani officials and Kumzar residents with IRGC-linked relatives painted this picture: despite heavy losses, Iran’s leadership retains tight centralized control—no rogue hardliners acting unilaterally; all military actions tightly coordinated from the center—confirmed by all sources.
Omani officials also noted Iran’s conflict behavior—“retaliating, yet restrained”—is impossible for a collapsing regime. Evidence: no vessel approved by the IRGC has been attacked.
The Houthis—the force expected to “strike first”—are tightly reined in by Iran, remaining conspicuously quiet. If Iran lost control of proxy forces, the Houthis would be the first to break loose—but they haven’t.
The Houthis’ *unattacked* targets hold as much intelligence value as their *attacked* ones. Restraint requires strict hierarchical control—and hierarchical control means Iran holds sole authority over the Strait’s “tollbooth.”
Iran and Oman are jointly managing and regulating the Strait—with Oman viewing it as a shared responsibility. During our research, Iranian officials negotiated Strait management details inside Oman—obviously, we didn’t attempt contact.
Strait of Hormuz vs. Bab el-Mandeb
Strait of Hormuz
1. Critical node for global energy transport;
2. Handles ~1/3 of seaborne oil shipments;
3. Core focal point of geopolitical risk.
Bab el-Mandeb
1. Strategic link between Red Sea and Gulf of Aden;
2. Key segment of Suez Canal shipping routes;
3. Regionally volatile—high risk of shipping disruption.
One of the mission’s most valuable intelligence finds: Iran is strictly constraining Houthi actions. This came from Omani government sources—and was independently corroborated by regional military and government sources.
The Houthis have historically been the region’s “shock troops”—evident in clashes with the UAE and Saudi Arabia. As Iran’s most radical proxy, they’ve remained unusually quiet on Red Sea shipping—contrasting sharply with Hezbollah’s frequent actions. Though they’ve resumed missile strikes on Israel, they’ve avoided blockading Bab el-Mandeb.
This is deliberate Iranian strategy. Iran holds the “Bab el-Mandeb card” in reserve—only deploying it when conflict escalates to maximum global economic pressure.
Iran’s actions follow clear hierarchical planning—and the Houthis’ inaction itself signals precise Iranian control over escalation timing. By permitting normal Strait transit—and refraining from directing Houthi Red Sea blockades—Iran creates space for sovereign negotiations with all parties.
This is deliberate Iranian positioning. Iran holds the “Bab el-Mandeb card” in reserve—deploying it only when conflict escalates to inflict maximum global economic pressure.
Iran’s actions follow clear hierarchical planning—and the Houthis’ inaction itself signals precise Iranian control over escalation timing. By permitting normal Strait transit—and refraining from directing Houthi Red Sea blockades—Iran creates space for sovereign negotiations with all parties.
If circumstances shift, the negotiation window closes
Future Outlook
Directly from Oman’s provincial governor’s office: ground conflict inside Iran will persist—and Strait shipping volume will concurrently rebound. Parties trapped here aren’t content with stagnation—they’re all striving to maintain flow. Ground combat may continue—but absent that, all others will carry on normally.
Consensus from all interviewees: during conflict, U.S. and pro-U.S. vessels will struggle to transit the Strait—while vessels from all other nations queue for Iranian approval.
The approved-nation list is expanding rapidly. On March 26, Iran opened access to China, Russia, India, Iraq, and Pakistan. Within a week, Malaysia, Thailand, the Philippines, France, and Japan secured passage rights. We project this list will grow—because nations worldwide will realize diplomatic engagement with Iran, to secure energy supplies, carries acceptable costs.
Unless fundamentals shift, we believe EU vessels won’t face attacks during conflict.
We hold high confidence in the Strait’s gradual reopening—this is the overwhelming conclusion drawn from all field experiences and interviews. Future paths are binary: either the U.S. delivers a crippling blow—depriving Iran of sovereign capacity—and the Strait reopens under U.S. security; or conflict drags on, becoming a costly, unpopular war—and Iran achieves its core goal: Strait resumption under its own management.
Meanwhile, for all nations except the U.S., the safest option is striking deals with Iran—ensuring uninterrupted shipping.
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