Dec. 11th-20th
Magdi, needing a break from the urban bedlam known as Cairo, decided that he too, would like to escape to the the Red-Sea coastal town of Dahab, our final destination in Egypt, and sadly, Africa as a continent.
Our overnight coach arrived shortly after sunrise. The brisk sea air and surrounding mountains were a welcomed contrast to the concrete buildings and polluted air we encountered in Cairo. From the bus station, we jumped into a pickup truck taxi and made our way to the beach-front promenade. Once there, Chris volunteered to stay with our bags and Magdi and I went in search of accommodations. The first few places left a little to be desired, and considering this was our final destination, we didn't need to stay in squalour.
After a surprisingly long time, we finally found a place that was reasonably clean and respectably priced. The one caveat was that although we were in Egypt, Magdi, an EGYPTIAN, was not allowed to stay in the same room as Chris and I. Unfortunately, this was the case in many, if not all of the hotels and hostels we checked. Once again, Chris and I, as western Caucasians, had more liberties and rights in a foreign country than a man born and raised there!
Dahab is a laid-back, small town on the eastern coast of the Sinai peninsula. It was a former fishing village, but soon became renown as a scuba diving paradise. Dahab does not have the big-name hotels and resorts found in nearby Sharm el-Sheikh, and because of this, it thankfully appeals to backpackers rather than rich European tourists. Its beachfront promenade is lined with many restaurants, dive shops, lounges, and flashy souvenir kiosks.
During our first few days in Dahab; Chris, Magdi and I didn't really do all that much. We primarily loafed around our hotel, taking full advantage of the hotel's pillow lounge. I spent many hours there; reading, writing and smoking way too much shisha.
Besides polluting my lungs with delicious fruit-flavoured smoke, I also utilized my alveoli for more constructive purposes: Scuba diving. During our first three days in Dahab, I got to dive four times. The startling proximity of the beautiful reefs to the shore made for time-efficient diving and no boat fuel surcharges!
Despite my euphoria at getting back into the water for the first time since Kenya, a moment that I dreaded was upon me before I could even comprehend it: the departure of Chris. It was December 14th, only 3 days since our arrival in Dahab, and Chris was scheduled to depart for Europe on a new adventure. He would be embarking on a botanical and introspective exploration in the south of France, learning how to cultivate the land and be self-sufficient on a farm.
This moment was six-and-a-half months in the making and almost unfathomable considering all that we had been through over this incredible journey. Many travel companions had come and gone: like Dan, Dora and Chris O.; or Stephan and Meret; or Paul, or the wonderful Birdman, a.k.a. Erik with a 'K', or any of the other countless travelers who shared this incredible odyssey with us. But not Chris. His unwavering presence helped get me through many situations which would have been exceedingly difficult on my own. Our friendship was continually tested and only grew stronger as we experienced this stunning continent.
What was surprising was how casual the goodbye ended up being. I suppose that when you spend nearly 24 hours a day with a person, for a period of over 6 months, a little alone time is not the worst thing that could happen! (Just Kidding). Magdi also ended up leaving a day later, returning to chaotic Cairo.
I was now left to my own devices.
Somehow still having proactive tendencies and a desire to explore, I decided to look into doing some excursions around the area. I had opted to hike Mount Sinai and watch the sunset from its peak, and to visit the extraordinary ancient city of Petra, in Jordan. As for the former, an unfortunate storm ended up ruining my one chance to ascend to its peak, so I would have to leave that for another adventure.
As for Petra, seeing as though I was short on time and long on ambition, I had signed onto an organized tour. I was picked up from my hotel at an ungodly hour in the morning by a man in a pickup truck. He then drove me to a gas station just outside of Dahab, where a coach bus was waiting for me. The bus then drove us to the port of Nuweiba, Egypt. We then went through the port authority, had our passports stamped, and proceeded to get on the fast ferry to Aqaba, Jordan.
The ferry ride was a rather pleasant one. It was also quite interesting to be surrounded by four countries on such a short ferry ride: Egypt, Israel, Jordan and Saudi Arabia could all be seen simultaneously as we crossed the Gulf of Aqaba. From there, we were separated by language spoken, and got on yet another bus in Aqaba. This bus took us to Wadi Musa, the closest city to the famed site.
Along the way, we stopped at a road-side souvenir shop/restaurant. It was pretty astounding to see how expensive Jordan was compared to Egypt. Despite the prices, the break still gave us a brief glimpse at Wadi Rum, or the Valley of the Moon. This beautiful valley was made famous in the 1962 film, Lawrence of Arabia; filmed on location.
We had finally arrived to Petra in the early afternoon. Our guided tour would last an hour-and-a- half and then we would have another hour-and-a-half to explore on our own. Having thought that Petra was merely the beautiful rock facade seen in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, I thought that would be more than enough time. However, it turns out that not only is the iconic Al Khazneh (the treasury) located a good kilometer from the visitor's entrance, but that Petra is in fact an entire rock-hewn city, with nearly a hundred different monuments and structures to marvel at and explore!
Petra was first established around the 6th century BC by the Nabataeans. Its location served both as a means of fortification and allowed them to control the main commercial routes that passed through the area.
The city can be reached from the east by the Siq, a natural corridor-like gorge formed by the splitting of sandstone.
As our group exited the Siq, the first monument we encountered was Al Khazneh, or the treasury as it is colloquially known. Year (often estimated between 100BC and 200 AD), and purpose of construction are often debated. Even the name, 'treasury', was only given because of a legend stating that it was once used as a hiding place for treasure. Regardless of time or motivation, one thing is for certain, this structure is truly remarkable. I hope my pictures do it justice.
We continued into the city center and marveled at the other rock-hewn monuments and temples. The natural striations, and vast array of colours of the sandstone, made these already incredible structures even more impressive.
Our guide told us that we were now free to explore on our own, but had to be back at the visitor's entrance in an hour-and-a-half. I tried my best to explore as much as I possibly could, but with the expanse of land covered by the stony city and the distance to walk back to the main entrance, time was definitely not on my side. I tried my best to see all I could, but in the end decided I would rather quality than quantity, and that this, like mount Sinai, would best be left for another adventure. I made my way back to the bus, trying to etch as many details of this magical place into my mind as I could.
The bus then took us to a five star hotel for a buffet dinner. Although this part of the tour cut out some of my Petra time, the food was still quite good. When we were finished eating, I noticed a bright pink light coming in through the bay windows. I went outside with Huey, a Malaysian photographer I had met on the tour, and watched in awe as the sky was illuminated with as many colours as the sandstone of Petra. The pictures I took have not been edited or altered, and amazingly enough, that is what it actually looked like.
This entire region is often mentioned in the Old Testament, and based on this, I would definitely say that this sunset was of biblical proportions! (pun intended).
In between Chris' departure and my trip to Petra, I still found time to go diving several times. I would have liked to explore the Ras Mohammed marine National park near Sharm el-Sheikh, but it was closed due to a shark attack that happened a few days before we arrived.
Fair enough.
In Dahab, I was lucky enough to be paired up with a diving instructor from Argentina named Eduardo. He really helped me hone my skills and I really appreciated the time he took, considering that he was also a paying customer at the dive shop. One of the highlights of the diving was Egypt's Blue Hole, also known as the 'World's most dangerous dive site'.
Its danger lies in divers descending well beyond the maximum recreational diving limits (40m/130 feet), succumbing to nitrogen narcosis (an alteration in consciousness caused by breathing gases at higher pressures), leading to disorientation or confusion and then making critical errors. There are even numerous plaques commemoration many of the divers who have lost their lives at this site. Since our group only descended to a maximum depth of 28m, our dive was no more dangerous than any other around Dahab, and yet eerily beautiful staring down towards the blue abyss, descending over 100m beneath you.
Alas, my final day in Dahab, Egypt, and Africa as a whole was upon me. The ultimate leg of my journey was an overnight bus ride from Dahab to Hurghada: a resort-town overrun by Russians on the mainland's Red Sea coast.
I slept for most of the 12-hour bus ride and arrived in Hurghada at 4 am in the morning. I stepped off the bus and had no idea where I was. A local bar was surprisingly still open and I went in to ask for directions. One patron hailed me a microbus that would take me into the city center. Despite being blatantly over-charged, I was still grateful to be going in the right direction. I was dropped off at yet another unassuming street corner and decided to sit and have a bite to eat. I sat down, ordered a kebab and a coke, and watched the hands of my watch slowly inch their way around the dial.
When it was time to pay for my meal, the owner tried to charge me triple what was written on the menu. We argued for a while and I even showed him that I could read the actual price in Arabic, but to no avail. I was already starting to despise this place.
For the next 2 hours, I walked alone in the dark, up and down the main street in search of somewhere to sit and relax. By 7 am, I finally found a cafe that was open. I had countless cups of tea and sparked by first shisha by 7:30 am, the harsh smoke calming my agitation.
I later found a woman working at a hotel who kindly permitted me to leave my bag behind the front desk. I then was lured into a souvenir shop for tea by a young man who wanted to talk. Before entering, I made sure to repeat that I wasn't interested in buying anything, and he assured me he just wanted to practice his English over a nice cup of chai.
After our tea and conversation, as I got up to leave, he attempted to sell me every conceivable object in his store and when I kindly refused, he then tried to charge me for the tea. I lost it. I started screaming at him and I'm pretty sure I told him to go fuck himself. I had been in Africa for almost 7 months and I had never lost my temper like this. It only took me half a day in Hurghada to realize my furious potential.
The final nail in the coffin was on my way to the airport. Wanting to escape this city before I did or said something I would regret, I hailed a cab and asked to be driven to the airport. I asked him to turn on his meter to avoid a potential dispute upon reaching the terminal, but he refused, telling me that it was a flat-rate fare. Surprise, surprise, when we reached the terminal, that flat rate he quoted me had magically doubled. I screamed at him, flailed my arms like a crazy person and even got the police involved. The police sided with me!
I had spent nearly a month in Egypt: I had met incredible people; had learned how to order food and read prices on menus; had learned common greetings, how to be polite and how to adhere to local customs. I felt like I had started all over again in Hurghada, and was treated as nothing more than a white tourist with money. The only saving grace was that as the plane left the runway, and the city disappeared beneath the clouds, I wasn't nearly as sad to leave Egypt as I thought I would have been.
I hate Hurghada!
Don't worry Egypt, I still love you.
