It's just before midday, I'm stood in Cairo International Airport before the VISA checkpoint puzzled. I can buy VISA stamps for $15 or 90EP (Egyptian Pounds) but I have no money, my final Euros went on an overpriced coffee and cardboard sandwich at Athens before boarding my flight. I can see the ATMs helpfully positioned just beyond the checkpoint where many people are queuing, but I need a VISA to get through. After explaining this predicament to an unimpressed security guard I hand over my passport and I'm allowed through. Stamps purchased I pass through the controls and draw breath… ok now what?... erm, which way is central Cairo and does anyone know a good cheap place to stay… anyone?
There's a friendly looking couple who are also looking for a ride into Cairo, Tam & Laura from America. I ask if I can share a taxi with them. Immediately outside we are greeted by a dozen offers of a lift. After turning one down because it was too small to carry all our luggage we then find another that is not only larger but charges 20EP less.
The journey is eye-opening. The only experience that comes close was being driven into Sydney by a manic Cabbie. There are road-markings and there are traffic signals, but they may just as well be decorations for no-one observes them. The lines denote 3 possible lanes, I count 5 lines of traffic, all moving at varying speeds depending on whichever has spaces for eager drivers to weave into. Despite the sense of chaos there is a bizarre logic to the traffic, it has a life of it's own as if there is a pact between all the battered 1970s Peugeot Estates to drive on the edge of their wits but never topple off. The rule seems to be if there is a space ahead either side go into it with a swift pip on the horn – manoeuvre, signal (horn), mirror (if you want check your hair). In fact, the order is maintained through a system of communication relying on the horn, a quick pip meaning I've seen you are changing lanes, three rapid blasts to say I'm going at 60km you're only doing 50km so you' d better pull over and let me past. I'm betting there's at least one anthropology student at the American University in Cairo carrying out field research into this phenomenon.Ismalia Hostel is just off Midan Tahir, the central roundabout at the heart of downtown Cairo. We're only a few hundred yards from the National Egyptian Museum and later in the afternoon I join Tam and Laura to go explore. A cheerful young security guard nods as we pass through the sensors setting them off, "no guns in your bag" he grins, I shake my head earnestly, "why not?" he asks and then laughs waving me away without checking the contents of my rucksack.
The Museum is like a time-warp, a fascinating building with displays that look like they haven't altered in many years. Besides the various statues and tablets are small crib-cards with typewritten notes describing the objects alongside other handwritten cards in Arabic. It reminds me of the old index-reference system in John Rylands, something that feels very academic. Marveling at some of the pieces I get a feeling of adventure and excitement that will recur more than once, as if I'm in the middle of an Indiana Jones film. I resist the urge to hum the tune out load.
In one sense there is too much in the Museum. Anywhere else a small number of these treasures would be enough to provoke wonder, but here with countless pieces you find yourself skipping past things, 'yep, there's another 3 foot alabaster carving of Nefertiti'. However, a few things stand out including the Akhatemen and Nefertiti room showing the Armanean Pharaoh's brief foray into naturalism with pot-bellied statues and carvings, and of course the Tutankhamen room with spectacular sarcophagi and death-mask.
After dining out at GAD with Tam and Laura, a take-away / restaurant recommended in the Lonely Planet guide (and one that will be frequented on more occasions), we visit the Hotel Odeon, which has a roof-top bar overlooking Cairo and serves ice-cold Egyptian brewed Stella for 8EP or about 65pence.
Eating out in Cairo - a sample day
Breakfast is included at the hostel, two rolls, fig jam, butter, a wedge of Dairylea, coffee, and a boiled egg. A short walk down one of the roads branching off Midan Tahir is Crystal bakery, beneath the Canadian Hostel, where you can stock up on crunchy Cinnamon biscuits, pastries, and cookies for the day. Lunch is a trip to Felfela on Talaat Harb Street, tamia and foul pittas followed by Kushari - boiled noodles, rice and black lentils, covered in spicy tomato sauce, topped with dry-fried onions and meat of choice (optional) and for afters Mahalabia, a sweet rice-pudding type dish in a potato pie sized round foil tray served cold. It's then a challenge to stay awake in the afternoon having overloaded on carbohydrates. Dinner around 9pm at GAD, where menu includes pizzas, kofta and chicken dishes, and for the truly adventurous you can try a 'viagra sandwich' for 14 EP, honest, take that MacDonalds!
The 5th International Cairo Conference and 3rd Cairo Social Forum
Thursday 29 March to Sunday 1 April a conference and social forum is organised by a coalition of movements for democratic reform in Egypt and hosts over 350 international delegates from 17 different countries. The conference is to share experiences of worldwide anti-war movements and building links between organisations for campaigning against conflict in Iraq and potentially elsewhere and support for freedom struggles in Palestine and across the Middle East. It's held at the Journalists Syndicate building and the organisers arranged for translation to be provided at all the main meetings using infra-red headsets and translators in a side-booth impressively coping with fast-talking speakers of Arabic and English.
It is an inspiration event, a chance to talk about how ordinary people are trying to improve their lives and make a change in the world: the young Egyptian students telling about how they are fighting for changes in their Universities to allow proper, free representation in student unions; the Mahalla factory workers who went on strike for better pay and conditions and the right to form independent trade unions free from the corruption of state controlled syndicates; and the peasant occupations of people at Dekerness, granted land under the Nasser reforms, which at the time were considered to be wastelands but through generations of toil they are now productive and they find themselves in conflict with former landlords demanding they leave so they can reap the benefits.
Amongst the speakers at the event is Rose Gentle. Her son Gordon was a British soldier who was killed in Iraq. She formed Military Families Against War, a organisation which has grown massively and is committed to campaigning for bringing troops home from Iraq and Afghanistan so not another son or daughter is killed. She has written to Blair and asked to meet him so he can explain why her son died in an illegal war, unsurprisingly the responses have been negative, cold and curt. Rose is amongst the foremost peace campaigners in the UK, in particular challenging army recruitment in disadvantaged neighbourhoods by talking with young people and persuading them not to enlist.
Many of the most stirring and significant contributions were from women speaking about struggles for freedom. Meysalun from Venezuela shared experiences of the social movements there under a Hugo Chavez government which are experimenting in alternative forms of economic democracy. A female professor from Iran blasted the false 'feminist' concerns of Western leaders for women's rights in her country saying "we are fighting for our rights, in Lebanon, in Iran, in Iraq, without your help, we don't need you. I say to Condeleeza Rice, Laura Bush, Cherie Blair, don't hijack women's rights, get off our backs!"
A Clash of Civilisations??
The small room has seating room for maybe 60, there's easily double that. Suzanne Weiss, a small Jewish woman almost 70 years old, a Holocaust survivor whose parents fought in the French Resistance, is speaking about the situation in Palestine and the issue of Zionism, arguing passionately that this is the key to Middle East peace and the only way to end conflict must be a single state that recognizes freedom of all and the rights of Palestinian refugees. Afterwards many people are discussing the issues, some young Muslim women are asking Suzanne for a paper-copies of the presentation, a young-ish man is trying to shepherd people out to prepare for the next meeting. Watching people share ideas, swap email and telephone contacts, inviting each other to continue discussions over a cup of tea, it feels a world away from our UK media talking of separate, isolated and, by connotation, incompatible cultures. It would be great if more people could be here so they can go back to the UK and share this with friends and colleagues.
Beating Physics E=MC² ?... Egypt = Matt x Cairo (and around) in 2 jam-packed days
After the conference, perhaps naively, I'm expecting less intensive days, more time for relaxed sight-seeing and spending time with friends... but on Monday 2 April 2007, 3.38pm, begins two and a half days of impossibly crammed experiences...
Coptic Cairo ... 2.4.07... 1600hours....
Josh suggests visiting Old (Coptic) Cairo and we set off from Hotel Luna on Talaat Harb Street at 4pm. Getting to Coptic Cairo means us taking the metro to Mir Girgan station about 5 stops from Midan Tahir. The platform is very, very busy and as the train pulls in we're greeted by a carriage with a mass of people crammed in at all angles. Confident in my secondary school physics, "there's no-one getting on this" I predict to Josh, wrong! The doors spring open and there is a simultaneous surge from within the train and the platform which temporarily defies Newtonian laws of irresistible forces and immovable objects. A human chain is formed of people forcing their way out, linked arms, and at one point a middle aged woman disappears amidst a crowd of men only to resurface being dragged / winched out by her left arm. Whilst they disembark, the platform heaves forward as the men form a rugby scrum and pile into the carriage. All this occurs in the space of 14 seconds before an alarm sounds and the doors shut with one man stuck half-in the carriage as the train pulls off and other commuters have to grab and pull him free. We decide it's our turn next and position ourselves closer to the edge and ready for boarding the next train. Disappointingly it is far less busy.
We enter the area via steps and walk along narrow passageway lined with cellophane –wrapped books and old photographs. After this makeshift souvenir street we round a corner to find a church. As people enter the building they make discrete cross signs on their chests with thumbs. Behind the church, there are a few crumbling buildings and a trench of rubbish. Walking further we realize we've entered the cemetery and everywhere are avenues of mausoleums and crypts. There are strangely remote statues and sculptures perched on-top of walls and building and the whole place has a very unnerving quality about it with the wilting flowers and vaults that creak gently as the loosely padlocked doors part slightly. A partially-toothed old woman shuffles over and leads us to her family resting place pointing out with pride the St George mosaic. Giving some small change as we depart earns us a kiss on both cheeks and a blessing. After a few hours we're heading back on an almost empty train to Sadat station (Midan Tahir).
Nile Cruise - Taxi ... 2.4.07 boat estimated time departure 2200 hours ...
Josh, Jamie, Graham and I have been invited to join some Canadian friends from the Conference on a Nile Cruise. It's essentially a fancy floating buffet (not the food the place) with in-ship entertainment. First we have to get from hotel to boat, requiring a taxi ride, my second in Cairo, brace myself.... Ok, I may have learnt something about sleeping on trains, buses and in cars across Europe, but this is Egypt, time to find out how to fit 5 passengers plus driver into a creaky old Lada with room for 4 people and still be able to drive. After wedging ourselves in we set off at 9.16pm, beginning with a U-Turn across 7 lanes of traffic and then hurtling down the main road. A cough... a splutter... a mutter from the driver... and we're slowing down and pull to a stop at the side of the road, car whizzing past. The car-battery is dead. It's an old vehicle and we must be the metaphorical final straw, although that's a bit generous as our combined mass probably counts for a few bails. It's 9.38pm and looking unlikely we'll make the boat. Our driver flags down another taxi to try jump-starting the engine. I'm not a mechanic, but watching the guy use trial and error to work out which crocodile clip goes where and swearing as he was partially electrocuted in a shower of sparks at least twice, was enough to convince me we may need alternative transport. 9.46pm we pile into the other taxi and speed off towards the boat. There's a worrying smell of gasoline in the back seat.We make it 9.57pm only to discover the other driver who we left struggling with his engine has the tickets. After some phonecalls and negotiation by our Canadian friends we board and settle down for the night's entertainment.
... 2.4.07 2200 to 2345 hours ...
The boat is impressive, carpeted and furnished with large wooden tables and pristine white table cloths, wine-red upholstered chairs, complete with dance-floor and stage. The buffet is really good but the entertainment borders on the surreal. First is a young woman singing a few show tunes and thanking the audience in a woeful American accent. Next up, a buxom young woman done up to look like Salome performs what can only loosely be described as a belly-dance but is probably far closer to an Egyptian version of a burlesque strip show. With an iron-on smile that poorly her complete disinterest she coaxes unwilling audience members to get up and dance. On on table are a group of men, some of them chain-smoking, most of them leering, looking like a stag party. A few tables down sit a group of stoney-faced women glaring at the performance, which the young woman wisely avoids as she circulates around the room. The next act is superb. I don't know if he was a Darwish but he definitely whirled for at least half an hour. He fashions patterns and pictures as he spins, first with seven concentric tambourines, then using two 'skirts' he creates the effect of a Mexican spinning top, followed by a rainbow egg-timer. Then in a moment of pure surreal comedy he hooks the back of one garment over his head whilst wrapping the other into the shape of a baby in swaddling clothes, a bizarre vision of the Virgin Mary complete with OTT dramatic wide-eyed expressions of adoration. His finale is to raise the garment spinning above his head on one hand and carry it round the room still spinning above the audience heads. (I'm gutted I forgot my camera!!!) Plenty to talk about when we finally get back to the hotel around 1am.
Alexandria ... 3.4.07... 0700 hours depart hotel
Having slept for 4½ hours we're up early to catch the train to Alexandria. We're meeting Hassan, a friend from the Conference who is a teacher. We want to catch the 8am train but it's fully booked so we're waiting until 9am, a chance to get some foul and tahini for breakfast at one of the street-vendor stands.
Our first stop is a Roman Amphitheatre, where standing on the circle addressing an imaginary crowd your voice reverberates and amplifies dramatically. We're so impressed we encourage two elderly Japanese woman to try and get a few verses of 'love me tender' sung in an operatic style. Next is the Pompeii Pillar and other ruins with ongoing archaeological excavations taking place whilst we're wandering around. After lunch of Fatir and the strongest salted cheese I have ever tasted we walk up past the pillar site to see the Carrac Catacombs, sampling a glass of pulped sugar-cane juice along the way. The catacombs are fascinating, with elaborate carvings of serpents and wooden plank walkways where the sections reach below the water table. It's like being in Tomb-Raider, sadly I don't bump into Angelina Jolie.
Hassan takes us to the building and museum of one of his favourite authors, Cavafi, who at one time he and E.M.Forester lived together and were lovers. Unfortunately the room isn't open for visitors so instead we go to Alexandria library. It is a magnificent building, shaped like a crescent half-moon (or cheese-wedge), with windows designed in such a way that would maximise natural light inside the building yet avoid the intensity of overheating from the midday sun. Inside it stretches upwards with tiered floors like Spanish Steps and regular columns. They have a collection of manuscripts and presses showing the development of the printed word and some impressive art exhibitions in the lobby.
After a stomach-stretching meal at a local fish restaurant and a visit to the main mosque we sit out on the seafront drinking tea and coffee until it's time to catch the 10pm train back to Cairo. It takes almost 3 hours to get back and it's not until 2am we all stumble into our room, shattered but with more to follow tomorrow....
Giza Plateau Pyramids ... 4.4.07 0845 hours depart
The journey to the Pyramids involves a simple metro ride, some negotiation, wrong turns, and excuses in a taxi-ride, but when we arrive around 10am it is amazing. The sun is blazing as we walk up the causeway towards the second pyramid of Khafre (Chephren), passing the Sphinx on our right. I think we're all pretty happy to be here, especially Jamie (far left, ha!) hence the huge grin.
It costs 15 EP to enter a pyramid. After collecting a ticket and depositing our cameras, we hunch double to descent the wooden walkway. Inside I expect it to be cooler but the humidity causes clothes to cling to you almost immediately. After crouching on the way down perhaps 50-60ft there's a central passageway, maybe 6ft high and 3ft wide, which leads to another crouching walk upwards to reach the central burial chamber. Standing beside the sarcophagus inside this colossal structure, thousands of years old, is incredible and I feel a curious sense of pride, miles from home on an adventure. We head back down to get some photographs of the Sphinx and around 2pm, before the heat becomes too oppressive, we catch the bus back to Cairo arriving back at the hotel around 4pm, thoroughly exhausted after 48 hours of frantic cab rides, fabulous monuments, delicious food, and enough memories to last for ages!
Due South...
Josh, Graham and Jamie, all have gone home and after two weeks in the company of friends from the UK, I'm alone as a traveller again, so time to do some more travelling. The train to Aswan takes 13 hours overnight. I'm sharing a cabin with a businessman and a fellow traveller from Canada, Megean. The seats are comfortable but the air-conditioning overcompensates and we can't figure out how to lower it so spend the night wrapped up in jumpers and jackets.
True to the guidebook, we're asked if we want a felucca ride within 5 minutes of walking down the road from the station. The Youth Hostel is frightening, no windows and metal-frame beds make it look more like a youth detention centre, we make excuses and leave. The Hathor Hotel is only 10 minutes away, it's clean and friendly so we dump our stuff and go for a wander along the Nile front. The Ferial Gardens are a short distance away, small but very pleasant and overlooking both the Nile and the refined 'Old Cataract Hotel', where Agatha Christie stayed and part-penned her Novel 'Death on the Nile'. Across the river is Elephantine Island, with two small Nubian settlements, a museum and ruins of old Roman settlements. Inside the museum they have collections of Nubian art and sculpture including delicate miniature statues.
Horse play or highwaymen?
In the evening after eating out Medena Restaurant, which does good grilled chicken and rice, we find a cafe on the Cornice to have ahwa and chai sat amongst locals puffing away on sheesha waterpipes. Whilst watching people passing by, a disagreement breaks out between two carriage-drivers. Words are exchanged with increasing anger until a fist is thrown followed by plenty of pushing. One driver walks away gesturing and shouting, it looks like it's over but he reaches his carriage, takes off his garment now dressed only in white underclothes, this can't be good. He grabs an empty sprite bottle from the side of the road and smashes it against the wheel of the carriage then charges after the other driver swinging wildly. Fortunately some other drivers intervene and after a while it is calmed down with one driver leaving. Too much excitement for one evening we decide to head back to the hotel.
Behold my mighty cartouche!
Was that sleep? I shut my eyes and four hours passed. At 3.30am we get up to catch a minibus to Abu Simbel to see the temples of Ramses II. To get there the government demands that all foreigners have to follow a convoy for security reasons. So that's, a mass of foreigners, all travelling at the same time, along the same road, with a police escort that consists of one vehicle speeding ahead at the front 100 other coaches and minibuses, through the desert... I can see anyone planning a security breach would have a tough time with the logistics, hmm...
Four seated goliaths guard the main entrance staring out towards Africa to inspire awe and fear in any Southern invaders. Inside intricate hieroglyphics adorn the walls and ceilings. The detail is meticulous and the colours remain impressively after so many years. Multiple side-rooms have further paintings, and scenes both engraved and embossed of his military campaigns, defeating enemies with his chariot and longbow. In the second temple a smug-looking American man with a backwards baseball cap has his hefty looking camera confiscated after three times ignoring the warden that no photos are allowed.
Temple of Isis
The temple is on Philae Island, a short ferry-boat ride from the mainland. It is very peaceful here, surrounded by Lotus flower trees, its many columns casting long shadows in the passages ways with sidewall carvings, and the main temple chamber flanked by large sculptures.
Sailing along on the river...
Two days and two nights spent sailing North up the Nile on a felucca boat heading for the village of Kom Ombo. The felucca can take 8 passengers plus the captain and his assistant. The deck is laid out with rainbow-striped matresses and a multi-coloured canopy, with bags stored beneath. You remove shoes before boarding. Our fellow sailors are Justin (Aus) and Catherine (Yorks) a couple from the UK living in London, Toni and Frank from Valencia and Barcelona. We set off early in the afternoon, our Captain Mohammad skillfully navigating the boat, zigzagging across the river .
Lying down is like being on a fairground as you feel you stomach move as the boat tilts and your head dips towards the water and legs rise above and a few minutes later the reverse and your shoulders rise and you feel body weight shift towards your legs. Meals consist of eggs, rice, vegetables, felefal, oranges, cheese, cucumber and tomatoes, always accompanied with plenty of stone-backed bread kind of like pitta sourdough and followed by sweet chai. At night we moor at an island and sleep on the boat under the stars.
Camel Market
We're taken round the back of mud-brick huts to a enclosure lined by bails of straw. There are about 50 camels kept together and the local boys herding them encourage everyone to have a bare-back ride around the pen. Our camel is fairly scraggy looking and I suspect it isn't in great condition. One by one, clinging onto the hump, we're hoisted a good 6-7 feet off the ground and paraded around for a minute or so. That evening we're treated to camel meat stew on our felucca, its taste and texture is somewhere between beef and lamb, though I've a guilty feeling there's now a humpless camel getting teased by his mates back at the market.
Pharonic fatigue?
The temple at Kom Ombo is packed with tourists, probably more because it has a dock for Nile Cruise ships adjacent to the entrance. We've seen a lot of temples, masses of hieroglyphs, but I'm wondering if soon they will start merging together into an indistinguishable mass in my head. Fortunately, the Horus temple at Erfu is less busy and has distinctive statues and sculptures and the way the light falls through the ceiling in Kom Ombo like golden pillars reminds me again of Indy, although we're talking Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Luxor - touts, tombs and trains
We arrive by minibus from Erfu in Luxor around 2pm. The Princess Hostel is comfortable and cheap, only 15 EP for a room with ensuite, (although the toilet suffers from the same plumbing defect as Nick and Elaine, and here there's not twigs to hand!) Worn out from travel, we decide to just wander along beside the river. Despite the handmade signs saying 'welcome to Luxor, no hassle, no worry!' every 20 yards someone approaches with a request for you to buy something or take a felucca ride... "no thanks we've just spent 48 hours on a felucca"... "ah, but you haven't sailed on this part of the river"... after 20 minutes rather than talking it's a smile and assertive 'la shookran' (no thanks) as we pass by.
West-side
On Luxor's West Bank is the Valley of Kings, an exanse of royal burial tombs some of which are still being excavated. A ticket allows you entrance into three tombs and we choose two of those recommended in the guidebook, including Tuthmosis III, Merenptah, and also Ramses III. It is incredible that after being buried beneath sand and rock for centuries the detail and colours remain so vivid, such as a mural of the pharaoh receiving a gift from falcon-headed sun-god Ra. The Hatshepsut Temple is great to stand and admire from a distance, however up close there isn't much to see inside and it loses the sense of scale which is so impressive.
Night train to Cairo
Getting a train ticket for Luxor to Cairo... good grief!!! The Egyptian trains on board are very good, but the customer support to buy a ticket or book a seat is Kafka-esque. Our first trip we're told tickets cannot be bought in advance only on day of travel. Fair enough, do we need to be there at any time? Yes, office opens at 8am. Next morning 8am (having arrived and queued from 740am) "no tickets, all booked up" err... how is that possible you said there were tickets yesterday... "no tickets, all full. Come back later"... later?? "Buy tickets at 8 o'clock"... in the evening? "yes". We try the tourist information and a friendly man explains the Neferetiti system. They have sales by allotment per station. Some stations may not use up their allotment but Luxor tends to early because its a big and busy place. Tickets become available later in the day when the train leaves Aswan and they can count empty seats. Our options (1) try buy a ticket from an earlier station now [we do, no luck] (2) wait til train leaves Aswan and get an unused seat [no dice] (3) Just get on the train when it arrives, find a seat and pay the conductor, which after 4 times queuing we eventually do... at 1am I'm gently shaken awake by a polite businessman who very apologetically says he thinks I might be sat in his seat. After spending 40 minutes between carriages, standing with a grop of construction workers, with one guy sleeping in the luggage rack at our feet, a waiter with elfin features beckons me, he has found a spare seat only he asks for 20EP as a 'finders fee'. I think my sense of indignation went out the window hours ago, now all I can muster is a withering look handing over a banknote, too tired to argue and slumping into the seat.
Islamic (Fatimid) Cairo
The guidebook lets me down. The Syrian Embassy in Cairo doesn't issue VISAs unless you are resident in Egypt, drat! The man helpfully informs me that I should be able to get a VISA at the Jordanian border as long as I don't have any evidence of visiting Israel in my passport. I've a return stub for the metro so I decide to carry on past Sadat up towards Orapi station and see Islamic Cairo. It's a fascinating area of narrow alleyways, souqs and shops, coffeehouses and mosques. I find the famous Fishawi ahwa (coffee / coffee-house) setting for some of the work of the Nobel-prize winning Egyptian author, Naguib Mahfouz, and sit down to try mint chai and sheesha whilst reading the opening chapters of Robert Fisk's 'Pity the Nation' newly purchased from the American University in Cairo (AUC) bookstore. It's a good atmosphere, the tea is great, but the chairs are surprising uncomfortable.
From Fishawi's it's possible to take a single road weaving towards the Citadel. I'm heading for Ibn Tulun mosque but in the end lose my bearings and after a bizarre encounter with an Egyptian man who claimed to be a teacher, I walk back to downtown Cairo to get packed for departure to Sinai tomorrow...
Monday 16 April 2007
I'm up early enough but somehow conspire to end up rushing for the bus. I get to the metro stop in good time but then cannot amke out the directions on the guidebook's reduced size map for the station. I end up taking a taxi, which in an effort to save time goes the down what looks to me to be a one-way street the wrong-way missing other cars by fractions. I arrive 11.03am and think I've missed it but it turns out I cannot catch the bus from here, it's better to catch it from another station across town. One hair-raising taxi journey later I'm stood by the East Delta Sinai bus at 11.25am, with 45 minutes before departure.
Its a 6-7 hour journey to St Kathrine, a small town in the southern interior of Sinai, set amongst the mountains, with camps and trekking tours run by the local Bedouin tribes. The road meanders inland, the pink-gray veined mountains turning from brightly coloured distant rocky walls to sepia shadowed outcrops looming and finally depthless cardboard cut-out silhouettes impossible to tell how close by, as the sun disappears.
Sheik Mouse Bedouin Camp and Mountain Tours Office
The camp is a quiet, friendly place, with simple and comfortable rooms, clean warm showers and great food. It is Sheik Mousa's place, established for over 30 years as a Bedouin guide and tours place for exploring the Sinai mountains. It's run day-to-day by Sheik Mousa's son Salah, also called Sheik Mousa, and with a brother-in-law called Mousa, which took a while to get my head round at first.
At night, a fire is lit under the Bedouin tent and guests sit round to talk, drink sweet chai and listen to Salah tell tales about his experiences, my favourite being how he bought a sick camel when only a young boy and nursed it to health to eventually race in a prestiguous Camel Derby.
I'll end up spending 10 days in St Kathrine, getting to know Salah and meeting really great people, spending time round the fire.
Mt Sinai and St Kathrine Monastry
Mt Sinai is supposed to be the site where Moses received the Ten Commandments, however, biblical scholars I think dispute the location. But it doesn't really matter as it's a spectacular climb and if the spiritual heritage makes it accessible for people to see it that's probably a good thing. It's a fair walk from the camp to the monastry along the rose-stone pavement and then dusty tarmac road. The monastry is only open 9am til 12noon and unfortunately I stroll up at 1pm. Instead I circle the building and start my ascent up the 3750 steps penance laid by a monk who obviously felt he'd done something pretty mean. 750 steps from the summit is a plateau with a small hut where I find a group of German trekkers who invite me to share lunch with them. Their guide is an anthropologist with 17 years experience of studying Bedouin life. I join their group on the way up to the peak where we are battered by gusts of wind.
'Berberzi'!!
One of the great things about the camp is meeting people and having a social gathering at night around a fire. Aya and Patrick (aka Hacks?) a couple from London, Eva from Barcelona, Olaf and Missa (Sweden), Meika and her partner an American with such a great name he should be a comic-book hero, James John Justice!!! Gilbert from France/Ireland/US, Jacob from America, and always Salah.
One evening Salah teaches us a Bedouin game. A twig is place partially in the fire until the tip has a glowing ember, it is then passed around the fire person to person, the holder saying 'berberzi', the person receiving asking 'whom is it coming from?', and the holder saying the previous holder's name. The loser is whoever is holding the stick when the ember extinguishes and the forefeit is each other person gets to ask them a question about themselves.
Trekking
It's a day-long trek across the mountains and canyons to the East of the camp, beginning with a climb over a small ridge and descending towards a protected garden area. Along the way our guide Suleyman explains to us the herbs and plants and tells us stories about the mountains - an emperor was seriously ill so his local servants placed meat on top of three peaks, two of them the meat went bad but on the other the meat remained good which the emperor ate and recovered. Following this he decided to build a castle as a monument but it was never completed as he died two years later. The gardens contain olive-trees, fig-trees and on a descent we stop at one to drink from a well. Late in the afternoon Suleyman leads us down a boulder-filled canyon, traversing huge rocks, sliding down between crevases, and jumping feet-deep into sand drifts. It's a fantastic feeling, like an adventure playground for adults. Before returning to the camp, Suleyman lights a fire overlooking El Milga village and St Katherine so we can enjoy a cup of thick, strong coffee.
Dahab days
Thursday 26 April 2007, after 10 days at St Kathrine, I'm on my way to Dahab. It's a very laidback beach town, in the Aqaba Gulf, with fantastic diving and snorkelling and cafe-restaurants on the sands while away afternoons and evenings. The corniche runs a few kilometres but the main stretch is from the Lighthouse down past the shops and restaurants, each with a grill / barbeque kitchen, carpets, cushions, latterns and low tables.
There's not a lot to do in Dahab other than swim, eat food, and relax. Our preferred spot is El Salam, a quiet place that serves amazing fresh strawberry smoothies, vanilla shakes and a decent English breakfast all day. There's chess, backgammon and draughts if you're feeling energetic and often there's a few furry friends looking to share in the lounging around.
Snorkelling is excellent in Dahab, especially the coral reef around the Lighthouse with clear waters where teams of fish all shapes, sizes and colours, dart between the plants. It's great fun swimming through the surfacing bubbles from SCUBA divers below, which tingle and fizz around you, kind of like being in a giant lemonade bottle... but with loads of multi-coloured fish... and it tastes of salt if you swallow it... and it's not bottle shaped... ok it fizzes and it's fun!
It's a funny mix of people here. On the roads old Chevrolet trucks drive past with Bedouins in tunics and headscarves sitting in the back, on the other side a group of Blonde-haired Scandinavian-looking blokes in shorts will be revving quad-bikes and walking along the pavementwhat looks like a New Age family complete with a young lad sporting a tie-dyed shirt.
Dahad is seductive, so relaxing that the days seem to melt by as hours are spent chatting away in the shade of beach restaurants or beach-combing. After week I realise that the only way I can differentiate the days I've spent is by single memorable events, including watching a big screen projection of 'Gladiator' at Tota Bar, getting acute stomach pains from eating bad fish which kept me in bed most of Sunday 29 April, and watching the Champions League semi-final matches on a French satellite channel. It's a pity Manchester Utd get knocked out, my fairytale of Robbie Fowler's injury-time winner against them will have to dreamt about against Milan instead, and without Gary Neville sobbing, which is a real shame!
Nuweiba
There are two daily ferries to Aqaba port in Jordan from Nuweiba. I'll cross over there but after spending a few days here, experiencing the Bedouin beach camps. The place we're staying is called Tariq camp, in huts right on the beach. In the morning you can get up, walk 100 yards and swim in the Red Sea. In contrast to Dahab, there are far fewer people around and it feels very secluded. I finish reading Fisk's book, including the final additional chapter on the massacre at the UN camp in Qana. It's pretty sobering stuff but hasn't put me off travel to Lebanon. Between reading we play frisbee on the sands, joined in by Tariq's two energetic dogs, and go swimming, or sit talking with the Bedouin women wandering up and down the shores wanting to sell trinkets and handmade garments to tourists and travellers. Flies are a bit of a pest, the camp uses incense to deter them, and we discover a sugar bowl strategically placed at the end of the table serves as a good trap to keep them away. The real issue is mosquitos. These evil sods arrive around 7.30-8pm and announce themselves with a piercing high pitched buzz as they stealthily set about biting the crap out you wherever flesh is exposed.
Day 100
Wednesday 9 May 2007 is 100 days on the road. I only realise this when I look at my pocket diary to work out a rough timetable of dates for countries in the Middle East. I don't know if it is fitting but I spend the day trying to catch a ferry to Jordan and I'm refused for arriving too late, even though it is still one hour before departure, so it's an extra night on the beach, damn!
To catch the ferry you have to be in the port three hours before departure. It's a dull wait in a faceless hall with other passengers. I'm on the verge of falling asleep when an adminstrator passes me a clipboard and form to fill in. I take out my ticket and the man gets agitated, "you're taking the slow ferry, have you got your passport stamped?", "no", "you must and hurry it leaves soon!". After a flurry of stamps it's an unwelcome jog to the ferry lugging backpack, daypack and guitar. Turns out my ferry is an hour earlier than stated on my ticket, go figure. Sitting in the air-conditioned deck, feeling clammy from the dash, I think back at 6 weeks unplanned adventure in Egypt, lots of memories and the possiblity of returning, maybe? But now my mind turns to Jordan, no guidebook, no reservations, no real plan, no worries....
