CHAPTER 35 - EGYPT, PART 2

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Exchange rate 3.425 Egyptian pounds to US$1

Th 2/3/2000 - Luxor, Upper Nile

After three nights in Aswan, we were on the move again. The most popular city for viewing ancient wonders is Luxor, a four hour bus ride north (EP8).

We arrived at noon and had braced ourselves from the most infamous touts in Egypt. Ray and I were on edge as we left the bus and were immediately harassed. Neither of us could keep calm and yelled forcefully at touts that didn't initially respond to, "No, thank you". From somewhere a man witnessing the exchange laughed and called out with the assumption that we were Americans. We tried to orient ourselves from the bus station by first deciding where the Nile laid, then walked to a hotel named El Salam, an incredible pit, our first refusal of accommodation while in Egypt. The manager convinced us into looking at the Saint Mina Hotel near the train station, a hotel I read of and heard of from a Assie couple on the bus. The neighborhood was ratty, but we did take a double without bath in the clean hotel for EP25 per night.

Near the train station, only a couple of blocks from Saint Mina, is a traffic circle and many shops and restaurants nearby. We sat at Salt and Bread for lunch, munching Shaksooka (greasy meat, vegetables, tomato sauce, and egg) and roasted chicken.

Luxor has a countless number of ancient Egyptian tourist sites. Most are tombs on the West Bank at the Valley of the Kings, Valley of the Queens, and many other sights, but with the city there are three significant attractions. The Luxor Museum, Luxor Temple, and the Temples of Karnak.

We chose Karnak, also known as the Great Temple of Anum, a large area of monuments that was added to and modified for over a thousand years by many rulers of the land. The sight comprises of pylons, courts, chapels, halls, colonnades, temples, columns, and obelisks. Many of these have deteriorated although an amazing amount still stands. The structures are huge and plentiful. One enters the main entrance between long rows of ram headed sphinx. Inside the first pylon (gate) the site comes to life and remarkably every surface of stone has been carved in relief. What's even more spectacular is the realization that the reliefs were originally painted - remnants on pieces of ceilings and other slightly protected areas hint at the beauty. The most impressive section is the Great Hypostyl Hall, a grid of over 130 huge columns spaced very close together. Imagining this enormous, one and a half-kilometer sight, a plethora of high and varied structures lit by bright painted reliefs is mindnumbing. Ancient people in long flowing robes, gardens, fountains, food servants, and religious services - how can I be transported back?

Ray and I walked along the Nile and back to the city. We left the temple about 4pm and the walk took about forty-five minutes, so we viewed the mighty river close to sunset. The river was cluttered by an enormous number of huge river boats, boats four tiered high and over a hundred feet long. Directly outside a patio restaurant were two that had burned and were laying tilted in the mud. Egyptians, similar to many poor countries, haven't developed much sense of cleanliness for our list of things strewn on roads and rivers increases - cars, boats, horses, camels, donkeys, dogs, cats, rabbits, trucks, and of course buildings and garbage. Not to say the cities and countryside aren't attractive - in parts they are - I just have to chuckle at how some things are disposed of. I'm surprised that the city government doesn't convince the boat owners to clean their hulks. As we walked along the Nile I estimated seventy of these huge river boats in Luxor and in it's enormity also detracts from the city and since all but a few are parked I then have to wonder how can they make profit -are there really that many more tourists in Luxor in parts of the year?

I attempted an ATM machine at Bank Misr and failed, it appeared that the transaction was timing out. We continued toward our hotel and walked through the suoqs (markets), trying to peek at trinkets but avoiding eye contact and worse harassment from the touts.

The day was already long. It started with a four-hour bus ride, finding a hotel, and four hours on our feet at Karnak and walking through the city Kushari is a common dish of macaroni, rice, and sauce. It's cheap and tasty. After another walk and search and destroy mission we pigged at Sayyida Zeinab Kushari Restaurant where a large bowl costs EP3.50.

Unique to Egypt is the King's Head Pub on Corniche and for a little entertainment we ventured south of the proper. This section of Luxor is home to the luxury hotels. We popped into the Sonesta Hotel to fail again with an ATM machine and were blown away from the luxury we've been excepted from. There was a huge foyer of marble with designer shops lining - everything of a good American hotel. The people were dressed at a class similar to the hotel standard and I became self conscious and embarrassed of my state.

This embarrassment is reminiscent of a job I held as gas station attendant in Chico, California after graduating from the University of New Hampshire. Rather than pursuing employment that reflected by bachelor degree in secondary mathematics education, I worked the summer at my college job to save for a cross country trip with my girlfriend at the time, Cheryl, who had obtained an exchange student slot at the University of Chico. I wrongly assumed I could find work as a substitute teacher or somehow with a mathematics background. Chico is in the agricultural belt of the Sacramento Valley so most jobs were farming almonds or kiwis or more popular produce. After two weeks of sleeping in the back of my Mercury Bobcat wagon outside Cheryl's dormitory, I snatched the only job available to me at the unemployment office - gas station attendant - and picked up a room with two male students.

I actually enjoyed some balmy nights at the station in central Chico, hanging with my fellow workers who were recent high school graduates, into partying and hot rods, and not pursing further education. The station at night was quiet. On weekend nights we'd share a bottle of cheap port wine and listen to live music blasting from the club across the street while tending to the rare customers. A couple of nights the fairly famous Greg Kiln Band played.

Contrarily, I didn't appreciate a cute girl coming for petrol. I was embarrassed and felt like low life, and even on some occasions felt the need to explain that I wasn't from Chico, that I had a BS in Math, and was only temporarily visiting Chico

After the Sonesta Hotel we found the King's Head Pub across the road. It was an actual British type pub with dark wooden interior, cloth bar mats emblazoned with names of brews and brasswork hanging around the taps.The pub was serving an Indian buffet for EP24, but the liveliness was sad, only a few customers were present and we stayed for only one Stella.

Fr 2/4/2000 - Luxor, Upper Nile

For five hundred years Luxor (Thebes) held centralized power of a united Egypt and nearly all pharaohs from two dynasty's resided here. Luxor far outweighs all other Egyptian locations in monumental architecture. Fantastic temples and great tombs adorn the area, acts of self-dedication and proclamation to the gods. There are many awesome sites - Luxor Temple, Karnak, and the Temple of Mut near the city. On the west back is the Valley of the Queens, Tombs of Nobles, Temple of Ramses III, Temple of Queen Hatshepsut, Ramesseum, and the Workmen's Village. But the most well known of all sites is the Valley of the Kings. (The most famous, but not the most interesting in the Valley of the Kings is the tomb of boy-king Tutanthamun, in the Valley of the Queen's is the magnificent and expensive Tomb of Nefertiti.)

The Valley of the King's is the necropolis of the pharaohs of ancient Thebes cut into the Qurna Hills. More than sixty tombs have thus far been discovered, mostly of pharaohs, but including queens and sons. The tombs were designed in secrecy, cut into the limestone hillsides, and although well hidden, few escaped the interests of grave robbers and the massive wealth they held. The longer a ruler lived, the more time his tomb was worked on, and the more opulent and complex they were.

Had I collected the similarly designed admission tickets from Cairo, Aswan, and Luxor, I would have a mound of stubs. For everything a tourist may wish to do - including urinating - there's a ticket or baksheesh to pay. After a EP1/1 ferry ride to the west bank, followed by a EP1/1 service taxi ride to the ticket office we paid out EP20/1 for the Valley of the Kings (EP10 for a camera which we didn't pay) and EP12 for the Tombs of Nobles. Another EP5/2 taxi ride brought Ray and I into the dry mountainous valley. One ticket in the valley allows admission to three tombs. After navigating through thirty coach buses and taking a Disney ride on a small gas power train, we tried to sort through recommendations for tombs to see. The tomb entrances are large granite structures along a walkway through the narrow valley. We were encouraged away from the Son's of Ramses II by large tour groups and sought out Seti I's, high recommended in our books but closed (it had been for five years).

Tuthmosis III is the furthest away from the entrance and known for it's efforts to thwart grave robbers with the use of fake passages and dead ends. This tomb, liked others, was unfinished due to untimely deaths. The descending entrance was nicely arched but of rough rock. We crossed a square pit five meters deep by a wooden bridge and walked through a
a passage one hidden, now it looks like a hole bashed through the wall. Through the hole was the antechamber, a large squared room covered in limestone and decorated with relief - pictures of the pharaoh and gods, and hieroglyphics detailing his deeds. The wall colors were backed in white and each figure and symbol was painted in black, red, blue, green, or yellow - 3500 yeas ago! The ceiling was dark blue and plastered with white stars - simple five lined symbols. The effect was amazing! Beyond the antechamber were more steps descending the to a similarly sized and painted burial chamber. In the room's center was the large granite sarcophagus of Tuthmosis III.

We waited behind a large group of French tourists and their guide to enter the tomb of Saptah. Behind us was a group of three from New York and their guide. We meekly stood near them for tomb explanations but were eventually caught out. Saptah's tomb was similar to Tuthmosis III except the entrance was finished and covered with relief figures and text. The passage was long and we walked slowly along filling our minds with the ancientness of the tomb. Ray had commented that the brightest of Tuthmosis III's tomb was lacking, but here the colors were bright and spectacular, as was the rest of the tomb.

Of our three choices in tombs, Ramses IV was by far the most impressive. The size and state and brightness of the limestone-paneled walls was amazing. The tomb was brightly lit and photographs would have been decent - had the guard not asked for a camera ticket after he was in a photo of the entrance. A little baksheesh could have also helped. In the burial chamber sits Ramses IV giant sarcophagus, the largest in the valley.

From the Valley of the Kings we intended to walk over the hills to the awesome Temple of Queen Hatshepsut (try pronouncing it, that's why it's also known as 'hot chicken soup'). The views of Hatshepsut were promised to be marvelous. After passing our first hill vendor offering donkey, water, and fruit we turned right toward Al Qurn (the horn) instead of left and found a pass shouldered by the interesting stone remains of a very small village. To our right was a view so we started up the steep broken hillside and stopped to speak to a couple from Massachusetts and Vermont who had temporarily escaped their chaperon duties with their secondary school class. They helped with out with local geography and up we went toward the top of the prominent peak, Al Qurn. It was a slog. We passed a large white canvas tent with black army boots resting outside. One we spoke and they heard our voices they filtered out with smiles but without English although they did asked for pens, "Bin?" More slogged and ten minutes we sat about the most prominent peak above the Valley of the Kings Behind was the Valley of the queens, east was the Nile but because of fires we couldn't male out the mightily river only five kilometers away. We noted mountaintop We rested at our perch, free from the touts and horns and noises of the city. Only the softness of the rubbing wind and the faint far cry of a call to prayer. The views were well worth the effort and peace - and all without baksheesh!

We descended the precipitous mountain and followed a contour on the right side of a hill separating the valley and Temple of Queen Hatshepsut. (The direct route between the two is to the left of this hill.) We watched two tourists pushing their bicycles up through the hills in frustration, then dropping them to the ground for a rest. In the distance I eyed a man in purple robe and white turbine with a hillside abruptly behind him. It would have made a fantastic picture but the man walked toward us to sell a donkey ride, water, and other things we ignored. From the cliffedge we had a great view of the backside of impressive Temple of Queen Hatshepsut, then walked around on the hills to come down to the temple on it's farside. The views here were also great. The temple is unusual, it's front is an impressing wide and columned and the rear is carved into the mountainside. Directly behind is a high vertical cliffface.

Ray and I didn't enter the temple but we walked passed the admission entrance at the base of a huge open courtyard, by curio shops, and through many tourists that had descended from large coaches. Many tourists were from France and other countries were also represented. Notable were they dress - for the first time we saw young women in skimpy shorts ambivalent to local custom. It was horrible but I had to look. One petite French maiden wore skin tight lime green shorts so high her cheeks fell through - disgusting! Ha!

In November 1997, 62 people, mostly tourists, were shot by an Islamic
extremist group in the temple's middle courtyard at Hatshepsut - the Luxor massacre. It appeared to be a botched attempt by a militant fundamentalist organization to demand release of Sheik Omar Rahman who is serving life for masterminding the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. This incident had a profound effect of tourism in Egypt.

From the Temple of Queen Hatshepsut we crossed the cusp of the mountains and the river valley toward the Tombs of the Noble. We walked through the Assarif Tombs and into the old village of Qurna built over the Tombs of the Nobles. The village is mud brick but some buildings are painted in pastel and the old world attractive. The tombs tickets are grouped into sets - we didn't specify which ticket we wanted and received a one for Ramose, Userhet, and Khaemhet. Comparatively the tombs were small and lacked excitement, but these weren't pharaohs, but ministers and court scribes.

Now we were tired after six hours on the go. We found a Coke in the village and sat under shade near English art students sketching away. Our adventure continued through the village. We stopped on the hillside and sat on rocks to admire a view of Ramesseum across the village and roadway. The haze had cleared some and with the sun behind us views of large farm fields and the Nile were also impressive. Below our rock was a home with parents and three little girls. The little ones waved and giggled at the tourists and rolled around on blankets. They came closer to peer up and wave more then the eldest, about four years old brought a baby black goat still with umbilical cord hanging to us. The baby goat was cute, the little girl more so with a sweet smile of white teeth and pretty face.

From the village we crossed a pure dirt soccer field and hiked up for a view of the Workmen's Village - a maze of low foundation walls from a long forgotten time - until recently.

Our cross country trip ended by passing through a small section of village. We entered to the fierce snarling and barking of a dog and the funny mimicking of her pup. Rounding one bending was a very humorous scene - a donkey looked at ray, cocked it's head sideways and let out a tremendously loud and long bay - the donkey had never seen a long haired engineer from Smithfield before. I kidded Ray that the donkey was smitten.

With these travels, unfortunately one doesn't know the way until the trip has completed. Here's Bob's suggestion: Early as possible ferry across the to the West Bank, service taxi to the ticket office just beyond the Colossi of Memnon, buying tickets for the Temple of Queen Hatshepsut and one ticket for the Valley of the Kings. Walked from the office northwest toward the Valley of the Queens and cut right to the Workmen's Village, past Deir Al-Medina Temple next door, through the Tombs of Nobles in the village of Qurna, and passed the Assarif Tombs. Visit the Temple of Queen Hatshepsut. The views of the village and sites will be great in early morning light. Facing the temple, climb right and come around the backside of the temple, a big wooden building will be on the right. Walk to the cliffedge to view Hatshepsut and continue on a contour keeping a high hill to your right. Around the other side was the highest point, Al Qurn (the horn), with a cone like peak top and climb. After admiring the view and noting the short route between the valley and Hatshepsut, climb down to into the Valley of the Kings. Instead of letting tomb guards rip a corner of ticket, use baksheesh to increase the number of entrances per ticket. Return a similar way, instead of climbing Al Qurn round the hill between the valley and Hatshepsut.

With Ray's long hair and physique, we've caught many comments directed at him. It started with a young boy a week ago calling Ray, "Hulk Hogan". Along with the Hulk, Ray is also often called "Rambo".

During the morning we ran across Way from Toronto and during an afternoon foray I ran into Rico from France and Nadia from Morocco. The group plus one Englishmen from NE London dined at Mish Mish. It was great to catch up with everyone and hear travel stories from the past five days.

Sa 2/5/2000 - Hurghada, Red Sea Coast

Ray and I deliberated over our traveling plans. I had heard too many people praise Petra in Jordan to resist and looked forward to the diversion. Both Ray and I currently had flights from Cairo on January 18th, 13 days away, and while I could be flexible, Ray would not only have to pay an airline excess charge, he would also upset many people at work who looked forward to his return. A alternative would have been to bypass the east coast and the Sinai mountains, head straight to Dahab, then spend a few days in Petra. It was a toss-up and we let the decision lay on whether I could change my Air Egypt ticket or not.

We threw our packs together, left them in the lobby, and checked out. At the reception we spent EP5 each for paperbacks, much to the delight of two staff who gaily pocketed the money (I assumed the books were left behind by travelers). The city was slowly awakening but there were still the merchants, taximen, and carriage drivers who harassed us. At the Egypt Air office I successfully change my departure by one week. Seeing that the time was just after 10am, we bounded into a taxi to collect our bags and were dropped at the bus terminal in time or the 10:30am bus to Hurghada on the Red Sea coast.

After purchasing tickets and rushing off to buy bananas, oranges, and bread we were comfortably seated and waiting. The ride took five and a half hours through the Arabian Desert and Red Sea Mountains. I whiled it away on the handheld and caught only glimpses out the window. The bus met the coast in Port Safaga and headed north toward Hurghada. The town is very long. To the south are the international hotels and airport in a area called New Hurghada, we passed through Sigala, and into Dahar, the old town.

At the bus stop seven hotel representatives through cards into our face and yelled out the respective hotel names. It wasn't a pleasing situation. I caught the stare of four and in turn with determination said, "La. La. La. La." "La", means "no" and is not pronounced as in a song but with an abrupt ending, with a gagging sound. It worked, they all turned away and didn't follow. I thought, "Hey, we aren't in Luxor or Aswan or Cairo, maybe the people are better here.'

The walk was long and I found that indeed my book was old and outdated, especially in this quickly growing and changing resort town. We crossed the mass of unfinished concrete buildings amidst squalor that Hurghada is known for and checked out the California Hotel, noted the Luxor Hotel was closed, and couldn't find the Sea Oasis Hotel. We had walked the sea road a long way before realizing the Sea Oasis simply didn't exist. Here I really wished I had the newer edition of the Lonely Planet. We booked into the Four Seasons - two beds in a small room, leaking toilet, shower, balcony, and breakfast for EP30. Excluding paying premium for a five star hotel in New Hurghada, we were in a good location fitted out with everything a tourist could wish. One other important note - Hurghada hasn't the beauty of the Caribbean or presence of Mexico or Bali or most other beach resort towns. Again, maybe the five star hotels have decent beach, but I wouldn't fly out of my ay to vacation here unless the water sports are exceptional. Hurghada is similar to most of Egypt - either decrepit or unfinished, although it isn't beautiful, it's just more of Egypt.

Our reconnaissance mission gained us knowledge in the local windsurfing outfits (for Ray), diving outfits (for me), internet, shops, and restaurants. Many of the restaurants were pricey, EP12 for an entree. We searched and walked along Sharia Solimon Mazhar and stopped at a small local's falafel with red Arabic marquee and green window trim. Ray swallowed more Pepto-Bismol and we each scoffed two of the pita sandwiches packed with vegetables and falafel.

Across from the Four Seasons at the foot of a new, big complex is Peanuts Bar where a weak Stella costs a ridiculous EP9. I wondered about the clientele, these weren't typical tourists of Egypt. Some were Russian and others Middle Eastern but not Egyptian. The people were so different to those we were accustomed to, I was baffled and curious.

Su 2/6/2000 - Hurghada, Red Sea Coast

Breakfast has been dull standard for many, many days. But today - ta-da - we would be privileged to a greasy egg along with the standard bread rolls, butter, jam, and soft cheese triangle.

Directly at the bottom of our road at the sea is Three Corners Resort, a hotel well known for the private windsurfing enterprise housed within it ($50/1 day, $110/3 days). Ray has been windsurfing for two years now, the sport now competes with powerlifting. I was glad to tag along, to see the colorful windsurfing scene. The shop is run by Russians, most of the clientele appeared to also be Russian - good looking young guys with chiseled faces but big bellies and pretty, tall, thin bikini clad women. I hadn't seen a bikini since arriving Egypt eighteen days ago. That's a hardship after having Clifton at my whim.

I hung around the windsurf shop like a groupie not an active participant, watching the whitecaps and rough seas and boards tearing the surf up. I was rooting for Ray, wanted to sea him hanging on for dear life, but the wind was cranking really well, and he had difficulties with his equipment. I hung for an hour, watching Ray go off then turning my attention to Russians executing beautifully carved jibes and attempting flips off the waves and the babes lounging about like cats.

I had thought leaving Luxor would be ending a chapter in the frustrating dealing of touts and Egyptians in general, but here I had the most strongly worded exchange yet. On yesterday afternoons recon mission Ray and I stopped at Diamond Divers next door to the Four Seasons. The man their wouldn't answer my simple question, "How much for one day, two dives. I have no equipment." He beat around the cost by asking silly non-pertinent questions. After expending too much energy, the answer was US$35. That was much better than the $75 quote I received at Three Corners Resort. I was happy. This morning on passing Diamond a street tout offered two dives for $35 and inside the same kid stood in the foyer. When I spoke to the dive master the price was $45. I told him two of his staff quoted $35 and he replied, "Who were these people, I don't know I wasn't here." I told him that I was here last night for an hour talking with a man. "He's wrong, that's just the cleaning boy". And the man in the street? "He's just a street person, he doesn't work here." Our voices and tempers flared. I held two fingers in his face and repeated that two of his staff quoted $35, and that, "this is bullshit". His reply, "Fuck off, I don't care, leave!" So, I guess I won't be diving with Diamond Divers.

Dinner was a true Egyptian experience. Ray and I walked on our road away from the sea, scoping relatively expensive tourist restaurants, and walking into the unknowns of Hurghada. One young man in a men's bar smoking shisha screamed, "Hello!". He was with a few others, a couple of which wore black leather and were obviously weight lifters - that was unusual. We were potential entertainment, they smiled and asked us to join, instead we returned smile and asked were to eat. They had recommended a small falafel shop, the marquee was without English, and inside the dubious eatery we were the only two honkies. Our meal - two falafels each stuffed with veggies costs EP2 each.

Afterward we strolled the souq, trying to ignore touts, and glancing at the brightly light and sparking shop fronts selling everything imaginable (Muslim tempered), even belly dancing outfits. Belly dancing is obtainable, most of the women are foreigners, from Russia or Italy. These outfits were overly gaudy in purple, green, and yellow. They were made of small metallic disks, the tops were often silver. What a great Halloween costume - not for me, mind you! I laughing ask the shopkeeper who would wear such things, with indignation he replied that everyone has them and that I should see the women at Scandals nearby at night. Well, that started a different angle for our exploration. We talked to cabbies about Scandals and scoped it out - it hops every night after midnight, better after 1am. Ray and I promised ourselves to wake in the wee hours, we never did.

Earlier in the night while roaming for grub, a restaurateur explained of the different nationalities popular to Hurghada. He said Russians dominate followed by Polish. Others include German, Spanish, Dutch, Danish, Finish, and Italians. What a strange place, the playground of Russians and Poles, something never anticipated. He remarked also on dining habits, that Russians eat in quantity regardless of quality versus some other peoples that are more apt to complain, like Italians.

Mo 2/7/2000 - Hurghada, Red Sea Coast

I had fought hard for a decent price to dive, the standard package included two boat dives, all equipment, and lunch. Three Corners quoted US$75 for one day, Diamond reneged their offer and insisted on $40 without a check dive, I found another at $35 and another still at $50. I questioned the wisdom of placing my hands with a low bidder, hell look what happens at work with low bidders. When Mohammed at the Four Season's desk bragged about his outfits professionalism I was still skeptical, but he added that the dive masters and instructors were from the USA and Germany, then I was listened. But he wouldn't budge below $45. He nagged each time I walked through the small dingy lobby and this morning when he asked I what I was doing, I replied, "Nothing, not one thing, just relaxing and being lazy." He then offered $40 and I agreed, happy for reduced winds and hoping the thin clouds would abate.

The office and meeting place for Sea Ray Diver's was one minute walk away. The building was big, attractive, spotless. Only later when I met a overly chatty middle aged Polish women named Eva on the boat did this make sense - it wasn't rundown nor halfway constructed - the business was co-owned by Eva's husband and Egyptians.

An effervescent blonde girl named Julie from Arizona and California helped fit my gear. Julie was a certified instructor as was her boyfriend, a handsome bowl cut blonde also from California. Except for Scott's compelling need to control conversation, he was a cool guy, we shared passions of diving, volleyball, gym work, and traveling. His quick wit, warm personality, and American background was likeable xxxbettrword, however he was a talker, not a listener. I found that amusing, he had an unorthodox method of engaging a conversation then looking around to see whom as listening.

The Red Sea is considered by most to be one of two or three finest diving spots in the world. I had met dive masers in other parts of the world that voted the Red Sea their favorite haunt, so regardless of cost, I needed to get wet.

A taxi van brought our group (Scott, Julie, Frank - an aloof dive master from Germany, goofy Wayne from England, Jane and Michelle from Melbourne, Australia, Eva, and a Polish girl and her mother) to a marina filled with fat forty foot dive boats, many crying out for paint. For our number, our boats was roomy and comfortable. On board were the captain and two crew.

I was excited and held high expectations for my first dive even though I peeved at the cloudy sky. Scott explained that "Abu Ramada North" was a special dive site rarely frequented by other boats, especially with the strong northeast wind - the boat anchored stern close to shore, a frightful scenario for captains. Scott buddied with Jane and I, leading us quickly along reef and a few coralheads. I expected something unusual, but comparatively the sight was of muted coral and few fish. I was curious of the coral condition and unlike many places are the tropic belt (the northern Red Sea is north of the Tropic of Cancer - outside the belt) where the coral is bleached, I saw live, albeit dull colored, coral. We did see two (what I thought) large moray eels and three lionfish and a few more colorful bommies (moarys and lionfish are common here).

I rushed aboard the boat afterward, I was chilled to the bone, my teeth hurt from clenching them, I ripped off my wetsuit and wrapped myself in my Fiji sulu and donned my Cairo fleece. The water temperature was 22C (72F), better than Newport's summertime maximum, but frigid compared to the Caribbean, especially in a three millimeter wetsuit. The others were equally cold, shivering, teeth chattering, hugging cups of hot tea. The captain moved the boat to the lee of Little Gifton for lunch. Moored beside us and nearby in the bright turquoise were eight other boats of divers, snorklers, and aging joy riders. To the horizon I could count thirty boats, my comment was met with, "Oh, this is the quiet period, many more in summertime."

For lunch the crew had cooked decent rice, a salad like taboli, and spiced deep-fried chicken wings and thighs. We pounded tea, Cokes, and Sprites and waited for while nitrogen dispersed from our bloodstream

The second dive, "Abu Ramada Gota", was similar - light clouded sky, dull colored coral, and few fish. Most notable were linfish, moray eel, and a couple of nice tall bommies, more colorful with many small fish including the plentiful small gold fish basslets.

While I was off for the day diving, Ray was back to Three Corners Resort to windsurf, finding lighter and more manageable wind, a better day than yesterday's high winds and difficult surface.

For dinner, eight of us - Ray, Scott, Julie, Jane, Michelle, Wayne, Frank, and myself taxi-ed south along the beach road to New Hurghada for a great seafood meal at El Mini's of squid, fish, veggies, fries, bread, and Egyptian condiments.

Tu 2/8/2000 - Hurghada, Red Sea Coast

People asked if I would dive, my reply, "If it's cloudy - no, sunny - maybe." I half hoped for clouds to save myself the decision and to save $40. It was sunny and I gave into temptation.

Scott was trapped in a pool with one open water student leaving Julie to man the operation. Fine with me, Julie was more fun to talk to. Wayne and Eva were back, as was the introverted Frank. New to the boat were a Danish couple, and two Irish ith a second couple out for an introductory dive. The Danish couple (David and Ula) were smiles and eager to talk and since young Ula with enchanting dark brown eyes, Ivory girl complexion, and fine features was one of the cutest things I in weeks, I had no problem offering conversation.

Julie, Wayne, and I budded together for "Small Gifton Drift", a drift dive along one the most popular dive sites from Hurghada. Julie's angle on it was, "Since most people snorkel or are too green for the drift dive, this section is good."

This was Wayne's first dive since completing his course just yesterday. Because he had natural diving abilities and since Julie wanted to enjoy her dive also, she choose this sight. An open water PADI qualification allows a member to dive to 20 meters (xxxright?), an advanced certificate extends a divers range to the recreational limit of 30 meters, here we dove to 41 meters. I wasn't fussed about the breach of conduct, in addition an Egyptian (dive master?) dove from the boat solo and Eva took care of the introductory divers although she wasn't qualified. I'm carefree and careless so I didn't see any potential problem, I just though three such incidents in one day was funny.

The drift dive was fun with a few knot current propelling us along a bottomless vertical wall. Again, the coral wasn't brilliant but the sun was out, which may have helped, had the wall been outside shade. At one point as we floated at 37 meters along side this endless Red Sea wall Julie and Wayne who were ahead of me moved toward the wall and were engulfed by it until they disappeared. Now, that was curious - were did they go? I guess I wasn't thinking too sharply, when I reached the point of incident I realized they swam through a large opening. I smiled to myself and a again at Julie who didn't tell us about this cool passage.

I hustled through the removal of my wetsuit, changed, and grabbed a hot tea. The boat didn't move for lunch (which was the exact same) and so we were again surrounded by others. After our meal, one of the crew gathered the chicken bones and tossed them overboard to a waiting napoleon russ, a huge and spoiled inhabitant of the island. Nearly everyone on board leaned over the rail to watch the napoleon and other smaller fish feed.

My last dive in Hurghada, "Tolfa Shaid", was my favorite. Now, my expectations were realistically tempered. The dive featured a few huge bommies teaming with live coral and some small fish. The sea floor here, lie other locations, was fairly lifeless, there were even piles of bleached dead coral, but the bommies were very nice.

I learned after the fact that Hurghada has lost it's best local sites to uncontrolled tourism growth and unregulated diving. Although my first day's dives and portions of the second contained unblemished and alive coral, the colors were muted and the fish quantities low. Perhaps over sites have the glory of color I witnessed in the southern Grat Barrier Reef, certainly fish life would be more plentiful. Other popular choices for diving that promise the grandeur the Red Sea promise include Sharm el-Sheikh on the south end tip of Sinaid and liveaboards that visit sites further south from Hurhgada on the eastern coast. One particularly interesting site is the British warship Thistlegorm, sunk during WWII loaded with tanks, jeeps, and artillery. Both aren't within reach due to cost and time.

While I was off for the day diving, Ray was back to Three Corners Resort to windsurf. He returned to the hotel at noon, too cold to fight the torrents of nature.

A troupe of nine (Ray, Wayne, Jane, Michelle, Ula and David, Pete and Sue Bowerman from England, and myself) wandered for local cuisine and took over a small restaurant near the bus station munching on felafel, fuul beans), pita, and more.

We 2/9/2000 - Suez, Egypt

I felt the bed slats under the thin mattress, took my head from under covers, and peered blurry eyed at my Casio wristwatch - 7:20am! I jumped up to shower and when I closed the door I then remember that while preparing for bed at midnight the door handled fell off. I looked at the door and saw I returned the handle backwards to how it had been, now that handle was on the outside, I was inside and locked in.

So, this is how the day started. We were in a moderate hurry for a 9:30am ferry across the Red Sea to the high priced resort of Sharm el-Sheikh, then planned to bus to our destination Dahab, a reputed to be an inexpensive laid-back, dope smoking hippie haven with good windsurfing and diving. Hurghada is a disgusting pit, anything on the Red Sea is bound to be at least as attractive, four nights here was too long. Yesterday I had asked Mohammed at the desk about a direct bus to Dahab, he was to check. David and Ula said that while on a direct bus from Dahab to Luxor they stopped at the Hurghada bus station. Now Mohammed replied there wasn't such a bus, that the one didn't stop within Hurghada. But that was okay though, Ray and I anticipated this and planned on taking the slow ferry to Sharm el-Sheikh anyway (EP90, 6 hours min.), a sign sat on the reception desk detailing times and costs for the trip across by ferry. I told Mohammed this was our plan. "Oh, but there is no ferry today", he said, "the slow ferry isn't running this month, I confirmed this yesterday for a couple." Damn! But this is how traveling goes in third world countries - information has to be confirmed and re-confirmed. No one seems to know the true scoop on any transportation issues. I half assumed the desk at our backpacker hotel to be useful, had I not dived the past two days, I would have verified our options. Our options now were to wait for the high speed ferry leaving tomorrow morning at 5am (EP121, 1.5 hours), or bus north along the Red Sea and the Suez canal to the town of Suez (E21) and there catch another bus south to Dahab. I couldn't face another day in Hurghada and so we walked quickie for the 9:30am (according to Mohammed) bus. Another way of looking at our travel change - either by boat or bus we would pass through Sharm el-Sheikh, rather than ferry-ing 35 kilometers across the Strait of Suez to Sharm, we were now going overland for 700 kilometers to get there! Urghh!

At the station we waited with Wayne (heading to Luxor), and Pete and Sue
(heading to Suez then Dahab). The ticket office manager said the bus would depart at 10am, not 9:30am, it left the station at 10:30am then spent an hour having tires repaired at a depot. At 11:30 we finally left Hurghada.

We traveled north along the Red Sea. I buried my face into Stephen King's, "Pet Cemetery", then tapped away on the little handheld computer. I wedged my knees into the seat ahead and throughout the trip the turbaned man in the seat ahead tried to lean his chair back.

With over four hours of reading and typing, my neck hurt as well as my lower back. I grew restless and glancing outside was happy to see large ships and cranes in the distance and assumed this was the city of Suez that sits atop the Gulf of Suez, also the southern most point of the 194 kilometer Suez Canal opened in 1869.

With the next bus heading for Dahab was 2am, we joined Pete and Sue
in a taxi for the city center in search of rooms for the night. The White House was too expensive (EP60/2), the Sina Hotel was full, and we booked into the Star (EP20/2, common bath, no breakfast), the most disgusting hotel of our Egypt stay thus far. Our room window opened not to the outside, but to a dingy open-air shaft that probably had ever been cleaned. The paint on the mustard colored walls boiled and peeled, the carpets and bed clothes held a black greasy shine. But worse, was the heavy, stall, poignant odor that clung to the room. The ingredients in the long recipe comprising the stinking musk were unidentifiable.

The four of us flung our bags into our rooms and boogied into the street for a taxi and a quick look at the Suez Canal before the sun set. We pointed in a guidebook and tried to convey to the driver where we wanted to go, he replied yes, and brought us to a park only a small waterway near the harbor and canal - we believed not a part of the main canal. He then refused to drive us along the road our book indicated led to the canal he mumbled something in half English about the road closed and the need to return the car. This was are one chance of seeing the civil engineering masterpiece, the center of three wars between Israel and Egypt, and an important economic resource.

The restaurant one block toward the main drag read "Fish Restaurant" and we ate kingly - calamari, rice, fries, and vegetables (onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers sprinkled with cumin) for EP10. From a back intersection one block north of our hotel near two Christian churches we spotted a blaze of colored lights Peter termed "Las Vegas" and we investigated. The high crass gateway of lights led to a two block stretched similarly lit but we couldn't find the reason for the circus. We did however find a desert packed bakery run by a hard laughing, large Egyptian. His belly jostled hard in self-congratulations when I replied affirmatively to his question, "Australian?" He was so chuffed with himself. The bakery goods were awesome, everything was EP12 per kilogram. He laughing force fed us samples ad we left with one half kilogram each of sugar sick things.

Peter and Sue retired about 7:30am, Ray and I walked across the divided thoroughfare into the souq (market). It didn't measure to Aswan's souq - no other would - but we strolled through glancing at clothing shops, toy stores, men's bars, barber shops, and hordes of passerby's - strangely ignoring us in vast contrast to the obnoxious touts of Cairo, Luxor, Aswan, and Hurghada. We were content with that. We came across a couple of butchers. Even after fifteen and a half months of travel in mostly third world countries I was shocked to see the skinless rear half of a cow hanging by it's legs with it long black, gray, and white tail still attached. At a fruit stand we remarked on the outstanding quality and after buying the only substandard offer of Egyptian bananas and juice oranges, the shopkeeper explained that his red delicious apples were from Ecuador, golden delicious from Beirut, macintosh from Iran, and kiwis from Italy.

Th 2/10/2000 - Dahab, Sinai

We were looking at a lost day in traveling between Hurghada and Dahab, but we kind of had a look at the Suez Canal. Ray and I woke at 6:30am, showered, and left our room at 7am to find breakfast and walk to the bus station. The office manager behind the narrow wooden reception desk beckoned for us to sit and a slightly nervous and smiling young man repeated his request. The man was a tourist policeman, for some reason we were singled out as needing assistance and thus we were trapped. We tried hard to look agitated, to convey we needed breakfast, and to catch our bus to Dahab, they offered to compromise, but instead repeated, "Sit, no problem". The policeman drew off his longcoat and revealed a very neatly pressed black uniform, his arm was adorned with a fancy arm band from the Egyptian tourist Police. A long half hour passed then a police pickup arrived, a non-uniformed young man full of self importance came to the foyer, and unsmiling shook hands with the others. We were instructed to place our packs in the bed, and to climb into the cab's second seat. The driver sped away blaring his horn at pedestrians and other autos, and I worried if the niceties of the first policemen were a ploy for something more threatening. When we pulled a U-turn on the divided road to come across the front of the policestation I was nearly convince Ray and I were in the shit, but behind the offices and jails was the bus station. Our pulses slowed, we should have made the 8am bus to Dahab - but there wasn't one, the man in our arriving station passed as bad information. The first bus was at 11am.

Ray, four policemen, and myself stood around for thirty seconds with stupid faces, then I asked if we could be returned. We through our bags again into the dinghy room eight and again set off for the canal.

To avoid communication problems with taximen we walked. Schoolboys yelled, "Hello!" and the nods of adults on bicycles were returned. We walked and peeled the juice oranges and threw the rinds into mesh garage baskets bolted to streetlights even though the hinged basket bottoms were opened and the peels fell to the ground. After ten minutes on the mainstrip we banged a left, walked along a roadway gradually decreasing in traffic, and passed the gate to a shipping company. The streets were strewn with rubble - typical Egypt, and then we brightened when the top of a tanker passed above trees ahead of us. We sat at the canal side, a few meters above the cloudy water at the to of an incline of stone. The tanker was now a kilometer to our left and fading fast behind a bend. Across the water was more desert, hard sand rippling into small hills into the distance. To our right was a guard tower. I was glad it was empty for nearby was a sign reading, "No photographs". Ray and I ate banana and pita bread sandwiches as we sat and talked lightly. From our right, behind the barbed brick walls of the shipping company came a long black hulled cargo ship followed by a barge. The "Hanjin Capetown" was registered in Panama. She wasn't a supertanker, but nearly the same we were happy to catch a ship in the canal.

Peter and Sue were smiling at the bus station at us - they had slipped by the young tourist policeman in our lobby and simply walked to the station. We, however, played the waiting game for the police pickup again. When 11am neared, our smiling and ever so helpful perfectly dressed tourist policeman agreed we us to walk, a few blocks on we crossed the car, and rode the remainder. Why we were subject to such special treatment will be a mystery, maybe first come first serve - maybe because we were the first to attempt to leave in the morning.

The bus left just after 11am, motoring though the Suez Tunnel and south along the barren Sinai coast. The bus rarely stopped except for six police checkposts, at El-Tur, the expensive resort of Sharm el-Sheikh, and a just a couple of other small towns. Besides staring at small, rugged brown mountains and the very bright blue Red Sea, our bus trip was uneventful save for arguing with smokers including two motorcycle policemen behind me (I was aware of their profession until they stood to leave at a check post).

We arrived Dahab about 7pm, were easily convinced by a hotel person for a ride (Ep1) from the bus stop in Dahab City to the budget area of Assalah (Bedouin Village). Of course we had to agree to view his rooms first at Hilton Bedouin where the place was trashed and rooms unagreeable, but we booked in anyway for convenience and planned on finding more suitable accommodations tomorrow (shower, toilet, two beds, no breakfast EP20).

Ray, Peter, Sue, and I didn't walk far for dinner. Across the street is Al Capones, similar but a little nicer than the many attractive waterfront eateries. This area of Dahab, Assalah, had loads of character, similar to Ko Phi Phi in Thailand at night, but with a desidingly Egyptian or Bedouin flare. A wide pathway (or narrow roadway) borders the crescent shaped Dahab Bay, one side full of funky dining and lounge areas the other with shops and more restaurants. Each establishment is adorned with arrays of colored lights. Under the lights, vibey cafes have irregular grids for butt sitting groups, patterned stuffed pillows resting against cloth covered palm tree trucks, Egyptian carpets, and very short rounds tables to hold drinks and meals. We half laid across the rugs and pillows under the Disney lights, cozy enough for sleep, and ordered from a varying menu of local and western cuisine.

Assalah meanders for nearly a kilometer and a half. The funky cafes give way to perfume stores, papyrus shops, grocers, Bedouin knitted goods, internet, and more cafes. Behind the road front are numerous hotels and "camps". We checked out a few options for lodging tomorrow night and found a happy hour at the Sphinx Hotel on from 6-9pm. Behind the Sphinx was another interesting sub-scene of Dahab - the bigger sea front hotels have very nice restaurant, lounge, and sitting areas under palms. The buildings, made of stone and wood, are equally attractive as the manicured grounds. The happy hour menu promised Stella for EP5, but they were out of Stella, so we settled for Sakara (EP6) and a few bad but games of pool.

Fr 2/11/2000 - Dahab, Sinai

Dahab in the light, yes, it was different without the colored lights and black night in between the establishments, not so mysterious, but still a magnitude prettier then Hurghada. I quickly realized Hurghada was a waste of time with Dahab awaiting our visit. We saw more detail and I was shocked - there isn't beach here, no where in this proper to lay and sunbathe although clear waves did pad the feet of the restaurants. Well, we'll sort that out. And hey! We saw similar mountains to the east across the Gulf of Aqaba - Saudi Arabia. Seventeen kilometers separated us, we couldn't see cities, or towns, or villages, but with a lot of imagination I pictured Mecca with it's two enormous temples holding over a million souls each during the Haj. (Mecca is actually hundreds of kilometers south, across from Sudan.)

During a continuation of the traditional orientation reconnaissance mission, this time north, we found Dahab petering out from hotels to rough camps and then beach fronting a few residents. Even further was a small, very white village of sorts, with a magnificent backdrop of rugged mountain. Just further along I was told by a German girl working for her dive master certificate was the infamous Blue Hole, a 150 meter wide, 80 meter deep hole though coral. At 54 meters (178 feet) deep is a exit passageway, making for a tempting and risky dive.

We found a killer breakfast for EP6, I had simply ordered the German international breakfast, and out came an egg, toast, honey, salad, and a huge puffed bread with cream cheese. Whoa!

With just a few hours in Dahab, I was quickly learning of the many possible activities - diving (locally, Ras Mohammed National Park, and the Thistlegorm battleship), windsurfing, snorkeling, a side trip to St. Catherine's monastery (leave at 11pm, see sunrise, visit the monastery, return before noon), off road-ing, trekking, horseback and camel riding, and more and more. My original goal had been to do nothing, read, type, and relax, now I could see the time and money would be under pressure. Maybe I should plan on another week in the Middle East?

Rays main goal was to windsurf, so after spending the morning searching too many hotels for a comfortable but reasonably priced room (Mohammed Ali's shower, toilet, no breakfast, sea view on second floor, EP30/2), we walked south for forty minutes to the beach at Dahab City.

Once out of the relatively sedate Dahab Bay we walked over hard dirt ground strewn with plastic caught on sticks, rocks, and barbed wire. It's a shame third world-ers have no sense of environment conservation. One traveler months ago had commented, "It's the result of a banana leaf culture entering the 20th century, they have no concept the plastics don't simply dissolve into the earth."

Little fluorescent and clear striped sails whipping back and worth in the lagoon. On closer inspection, there is a bay beyond the lagoon, both separated from one another with a long spit of land, the bay is open to the sea via a reef break. The beach - there is real beach here - lines the crescent bay which is cut into a lagoon by a sandy spit. The beach is lined with expensive hotels (Hilton, Novetel, etc.) with umbrellas, lounge chairs, and watersport huts, mostly with windsurfing. The windsurfing looked superb, the lagoon was wide and shallow, and as an even wider and deeper alternative there is the rest of the bay. I accompanied Ray popping into each windsurfing shop and getting prices and looking at equipment. Most shops were well stock with diverse and new Equip, F2, and North equipment (price range for three days - US$90-180).

Unfortunately, the beach as we witnessed it couldn't compare to South Beach, Martha's Vineyard, on a Sunday. It was quiet, obviously off-season, and not crowded with no Baywatch style babes.

Back at our new room, we readied ourselves for dinner with Peter and Sue who had booked into the Sphinx (EP60/2 with shower and breakfast). We had also ran into Martin and Ludge earlier but Martin's whereabouts eluded us until we bumped into him on our way to dinner after a pool game at the Sphinx. The five of us sat squished at Shark's for a good dinner (kofta, cheddar, penne noodle, EP8).

Sa 2/12/2000 - Dahab, Sinai

Today was a great day. Ray and I found breakfast at the waterfront, a strange early morning meal of beans, salad, and an egg in a typical cushion plastered eatery with views of the bay. But afterward, Ray, Martin, Peter, and Sue walked down to the lagoon to look into windsurfing. The great part of the day was being alone, relaxing and reading and typing at will. I finished Steven Kings, "Pet Cemetery" in the morning and worked the journal in earnest until Ray came back early just after 1pm. The wind was down, windsurfing was a no go. Between chatting I was able to continue on banging the handheld. Ray even went out for to retrieve a mid-afternoon lunch - cookies and ice cream.

Our regular crew now - Ray, Martin, Peter, Sue, and I - ate at Al Capone's on the bay front. Most of the clientele were younger (Peter is 50, Sue 42, not sure about Martin, probably younger than me by five years), laid-back shaven or long hair travelers in bright third world attire, some from Italy, others possibly from Israel or Italy, certainly some were residents from colonial empire countries. Earlier, during a conversation with a local who worked a restaurant, we were told about the vast numbers of Israelites that visit Dahab, in fact the majority of clients are Israeli. My response was to ask then, where are they? The reply, "Twenty days ago, Dahab was very busy, packed with Israelis, now because there holiday is over and they are bombing Syria and Lebanon, they aren't here." I am glad a horse of Israelis are here (I hate to sound prejudice), they are by far the worst travelers to come across - loud, obnoxious, rude, and expectant. The are the demise of service industries.

Su 2/13/2000 - Dahab, Sinai

Yesterday afternoon when Ray had reappeared, I was humorously informed that I volunteered to windsurf to help in a group discount. Not that I didn't want to try yesterday as well as today, my issues are age old - time and money. There are too many activities in Dahab and I also want to play catch with the journal. But, that was enough pressure to send me along with the crew.

Ray and I were back at Al Capone's for a decent EP5 breakfast (egg, cheese bread, Egyptian corn flakes not to be confused with Kellogg's, milk, yogurt, and salad). I then spent thirty minutes on email (one from Hedley in Switzerland, nothing from Robyn), and the crew was off at about 1020am for the beach, lagoon, and windsurfing.

My last bout at windsurfing was about four years ago in Newport save my short jaunt while at the Mylrae's in Hermanus, South Africa. I was mostly nervous of not enjoying myself, equally of embarrassment. Similar to yesterday, the wind wasn't typical, it flutter, changed directions, and gusted. We weren't enjoying the best conditions, but we all had the same fever to ride a board and so put our chips in (EP95/4 hours, Planet Windsurf) and hoped for steady and stronger wind.

I was given a new Mistral Malibu (310cm, 185 liters, centerboard) with a Gastro 6.0 sq. meter sail. After three attempts at a beach start with assistance from Peter I was off, moving slowly but gliding along, until I tried to kick the centerboard down, then I was swimming. I also wore a harness for the first time. I looked down, smiled, "Hey, I should try this", clipped it on - and flew into the water, again. So, that's the way it went. I was wet a lot, but I didn't expect to much different. There was only a little chop in the lagoon and I was grateful for that - nothing like having to tack while tittering madly. (A good windsurfer will speed and carve a nice downwind turn and jibe the sail. Jibing is much faster and requires less footwork.)

The windsurfing scene was pretty. The beach lined with straw umbrellas, the hotels are white in Egyptian style with domed roofs, and the many expensive windsurfing and diving shops also looked good, especially with volleyball, sand basketball, and small soccer nets between. The lagoon, bay, and gulf were pretty, sparkling turquoise backed by beautiful coarse brown mountains. Across the Gulf of Aqaba were similar mountains, but here of coarse was Saudi Arabia, a mysterious land of it's own, a place where my brother Paul spend two sessions playing Army, once for the Gulf War and again after the war.

I had a problem clipping into the harness, it seemed too far away, but Peter reassured that was a common feeling at first, and Ray commented that I would have to be planing to use the harness properly. In either case, I didn't use it and the result was my arms and upper body tired quickly, especially since it's been so long away from the sport. But the ache and tiredness was okay, it actually felt good waking up some muscles. Alone with the others I retired after two hours and saved my others hours for another day.

Mo 2/14/2000 - Dahab, Sinai

The same windsurfing gang took their remaining two more hours at Planet Windsurf. I spent more time in the water rather than on the board today, tried to beach start, and also water start, both of which left me frustrated. So, I didn't try anything fanciful, I just went for a ride with the board planing and squirrelly but exciting. I also tried using the harness and was slammed big time onto the water - new fun sensation (sic). At the post office nearby I met a Massachusetts girl named Robin also heading to Jordan - a possible traveling companion. The six of us then taxied back into Dahab.

Dinner was at Shark's. Along with the windsurfing crew there were three entertaining and innocent youngsters from Vancouver - two brothers and one girlfriend.

Tu 2/15/2000 - Dahab, Sinai

My original strategy for Dahab was to snorkel and then dive if the potential was there. I was never able to employ the strategy for the three days at the lagoon, two of tem windsurfing, but regardless I wanted to still snorkel, to see the sea life of the Bay of Aqaba, in particular that a look at the famous Blue Hole.

Ray wasn't feeling well. In addition to a bad lower stomach, he now had a good headcold, and would later go through sweating and freezing spells. He blamed his sinuses on the seawater although I disagreed. We executed another "Bob and Ray Tour", similar to Aswan where we wouldn't pay the going rate for transportation. The taxi drivers working the tourists are in cahoots, setting the one way fare to the hold at EP5, compared to normal Egyptian service taxi fares, which would be closer to EP0.50, granted on a slightly better road. After walking a few kilometers we jumped into a pickup taxi with a dive instructor from Singapore and his Polish protégé. We jumped out at a dive spot called the "canyon" (Ep5/2) and hoofed another three kilometers to the Blue Hole. The road was hard packed dirt, the same brown color of the weather torn mountains paralleling the coastline. With wind cranking hard we leaned forward in the bright sun and walked what seemed like a long road. The road cut through a hole in the hillside on a right-angled bend and here was the first look at the dive spot of the famous Blue Hole. It wasn't becoming for a distance, but a series of adjacent lounging restaurants made of cheap unfinished wood materials. Beneath makeshift roofs that never see rain were the Dahab standard lounge areas with many pillows and rugs. The look was very local and fairly natural, but the hole was my quest and I guessed it lay very slightly offshore. I looked hard for snorkelers in the chop but saw none.

I walked the small length of cafes and when a Czechoslovakian girl who had recognized me from Philea (Aswan), I choice her cafe to sit. She was leaving, heading to Israel and Syria. I donned my sun bleached blue shortie wetsuit, and stumbled over sharp rocks at the water lapping the front of the cafe. Ray squirmed into a comfortable position pulled his hood and hat over his eyes and that was is orientation for the few hours at the hole.

The Blue Hole was only meters from the shore. I crested the rim and the sea floor fell away to endless depths of blue, the effect was magic. I crossed my arms over my chest for warmth and kicked my big fins to move directly across the hole. The snorkel met expectations. On the far side the coral was better, alive, and intact. The top of the reef at the lip was less than two meters deep. I kicked myself clockwise around the hole, grabbing big breaths to dive down when something of interest appeared. The effect of the wetsuit in such saline water was enormous, without resistance I quickly floated to surface. I actually could have used a little weight. One of the first dives down revealed a lionfish, the strange looking yellow, black, and white floating array of spikes? tentacles? protrusions? The fish is very poisonous but extremely pretty. After nearly a full circle I came to the seaward side of the hole and found that the hole's edge had fallen away deeper down. Here was the highlight of the Blue Hole - swarms of different types of small fry fish swam in segregated groups - little orange basslets, cute black and white guys, crews of little purple ones - thousands of fish above fairly bright hard corals - amazing! I continued around the hole to exit after thirty minutes of snorkeling.

I enjoyed a hibiscus tea and my recent novel, "The Other Side of Midnight", by Sidney Sheldon while warming in the sun - which was good, but was also attached by reams of annoying house flies flitting over my body and it's fresh sea aroma - that was bad.

I tried hard to rouse Ray for a snorkel to no avail. My second snorkel was similar, around the hole once but than along the reef wall on the seaside for a hundred meters. Again there were many fish - parrot, trigger, rass, bassettes, and sea urchin. I later scoped a simple fish chart, but the identity of one fish, similar to a parrotfish, eluded me. He was gorgeous with a mouth of dark blue, green head, a yellow band around his center from which large bright orange pectoral fins slowly beating. His tail was also dark blue but unusual - about a dozen pairs of 'streamers' wavered from it.

Dinner, the all most important daily social event and physiological satisfying activity! Jay's, run by a curt British girl named Julie, was becoming many people's favorite for dinner again. We ordered ahead chicken and vegetable pie, vegetable soup, and enjoying another relaxing meal laid out on stacks of cushions.

We 2/16/2000 - Nuweiba, Egypt

*Mom's birthday*

Considered a must see attraction, the famous 6th century St. Catherine's is a monastery sitting at the base of Mt. Sinai where God delivered the ten commandments to Moses, a belief held by Christians, Jews, and Muslims.

The question was how to get there. Once again, locals have decided that hiking to the mountain summit is best experienced at sunrise, meaning a stupid early morning rise and cold ascent, something I would rather circumvent.

Robin and I negotiated with a local operator and instead of joining a round trip van to St. Catherine's, we booked a car and driver that would later bring us on to Nuweiba, the port city for ferries to Jordan.

We were in luxury with independence in Nour's new red Corolla. He was an interesting character too and talked a lot on the hour and a half drive. Nour is 21, has interests in four businesses, was married one year ago and has a five-month-old baby, and now a one week old car. He's very industrious. Nour had Robin and I laughing about "beans". He said Egyptians eat too many beans and that beans were bad for the head because they prevent people from thinking clearly. A cousin joined one of his businesses and he can't think, can't learn English, so Nour took beans away from him. Did it help? Well, we'll see.

St. Catherine's monastery is surrounded by a brawny wall, stuck amidst brown dry rough mountains, far away from the populations of the Nile that once threatened the habitant monks. Long and wide dry riverbeds etched their places between steep slopes of towering rugged mountains, some like large hunks of dried brown Playdough.

Within the monastery walls were a number of buildings - towers, monks quarters, the Church of St. Catherine, St. Stephen's Chapel, and even a mosque. The setting is medieval and could easy feature as a movie set. The church confines was filling with small ancient (7th-10th century) Christian paintings on bowed wood called tetraptychs - bright basic colors and gold leaf paint. Dusty and dangling from the ceiling were countless ornate chandeliers. Also within the compound is the famous burning bush where God spoke to Moses, Moses' well, and a macabre room of containing a pile of monks skulls, which the boy in me, of course, looked forward too.

Before Robin and I started walking up Mt. Sinia we happily ran into the travel mad British couple Pete and Sue. Travel books consider all ages when they estimate climbing times, here the estimate was two to three hours, which we leisurely made in an hour and one half. The path was well laid, a maintenance effort attended to for centuries in aid of many pilgrims. Colorful Bedouin camel jockeys stood quietly for customers along the path. With every snaking turn the brown and red mountain views were different and dramatic. A small chapel atop a small mountain that once loomed over us became a small speck below. Just beyond Elija's Glen, the last and steepest section contained nearly a thousand steps laid by a monk in his penance and love of Christ, a chore that must have taken years.

The summit, our final goal, offered nice exposure of the surrounding mountains but also held shoddy tea shacks clinging to the rocks. At the pinnacle stood a very small church and again I wondered about the dedicated and crazy men who carried the stone up the mountain. The views were good enough to hinder thoughts of descending, so Robin, Pete, Sue, a few others, and I sat and laid around chatting and gazing across the vistas.

At the mountain's base, Nour was patiently waiting. While we were visiting, he changed into traditional Arab garb by doning a robe and headgear and visited his grandfather nearby. He drove Robin and I back toward the coast through fine mountain scenery to Nuweiba north of Dahab, a resort frequented by Israelis, similar but uglier than Dahab.

In quiet Nuweiba we spent too long searching for suitable accommodations and settled on a couple of barren rooftop rooms. We walked the strip along the Bay of Aquaba's waters, past hotels and flimsy wooden restaurants and stores selling clothing and curios.

Th 2/17/2000 - Wadi Rum, Jordan

The morning was leisurely, we had plenty of time (we thought) to make the first ferry to Aqaba, Jordan. Robin and I strolled the strip again and confirmed that Nuweiba was nowhere as enchanting as Dahab. At breakfast I was introduced to a delicious Musim drink called sakhlab, a hot, tall, coconut and yogurt mix with banana slices and chocolate shavings on top - yum! I'll have to find a recipe.

The ferry to Jordan was a complete hassle. Everywhere we turned there was different information and confusion. They have fast and slow ferries, the fast leaving at 12:20 and 13:30, the slow at 15:00 - that's what we thought. Our taxi driver dropped at a closed ticket office and said the first ferry was at 3pm. After too much bewilderment, we found another office where we purchased tickets for the 13:30 but at the port entrance gate we were turned away and told we were too late. So, we fought (by this time a group from Dahab had arrived including Pete and Sue) then marched back to the ticket office for clarity and a refund or exchange of tickets and we told our tickets were good on the next ferry. The scene was so confusing - a hive of backpackers crisscrossing the port area, half indigent and half dumb faced, all simply needing to cross the bay and preferring to sail on the slower, cheaper boat. Eventually we all made the gate and stood at customs. The initial problem was not arriving within three hours of departure, enough Middle Eastern time process international departures. We were forced into taking the fancy high speed catamaran ferry costing $42 a pop. At customs, the office stared at my visa stamp and went "tsk tsk". My heart fell momentarily because I hadn't kept track of dates - he was saying I was beyond my visa limit. But as quick as he panicked me, I knew I was within by a day. Three times he counted the days of the month past aloud and was disappointed three times. He was looking for baksheesh.

The top of the Bay of Aqaba was flanked by the same interesting dry and brown mountains of Mt. Sinai. The bay is big and long and the shoreline was far away on both sides as we crossed northward. Occasionally small, lonely looking white villages watched our passing. What support the barren land provided these villages was a mystery. As Jordan neared, the bay closed in with Egypt to our left and Saudi Arabia right. Actually, Israel also has a port at the top of the bay. Four Middle Eastern countries within view!

(cont'd in next chapter)


Nuweiba
Aqaba
Hurghada
Sharm el-Sheikh
Sinai
Dahab
Hurghada
baksheesh
Temple of Philae
hieroglyphics
felucca
Dakhla
Siwa, Western Desert, Egypt
Berwahd Oasis, Siwa
Bahariyya Oasis
name of rsa current inn smith book Benguela
Marsa Matruh
Sinai