With the glow of Petra pushing us on, we hit the road the next morning bound for Dana Nature Reserve and castle town Karak. I was becoming a bit less terrified of the stop and start steep hills but that doesn’t mean that I was necessarily getting any better. And then… da da dummmm… the car starts to make the loudest growling, rattling noise ever. We’re on a highway in the middle of nowhere. Oh shit, shit, shit. What have I done?!
Every once in a while, there’s a random police vehicle parked on the side of the road, looks like it should be a speed trap but they sit out in the wide open and mostly just lounge about and chat on their cell phones. Luckily our car temper tantrum started very near one of these highway hangouts. They eagerly came over, all of us looked at what I think was the exhaust pipe that had come loose from the underside of the car and was rattling all over the place. Race car minus the muffler, that’s what we sounded like. They directed us to a town about 20kms up the road where we would find a mechanic. Bring it on. Three white girls looking for Arabic mechanics. Nice one.
With MUCH patience, expert charades, and several phone calls to Avis, it was decided that I would pay the small amount of cash to have the mechanic tie up the loose bits and would be reimbursed when I returned the car instead of them driving the hour and a half to bring me a new one. Whatever. Just get us on the road. The girls searched out a place to sit and have ice-cream for breakfast while I smiled and nodded at grease monkeys who found this oh so entertaining. Adventure, adventure, adventure.
We were happy with the quick and cheap car fix and decided to skip Dana as we were now running short on time, so after some directional issues (yes, I AM a map retard!), we were on our way. When we arrived a short while later in the town of Karak, I quickly gave up the driver seat as the streets we had to navigate were the narrowest and steepest I had seen with of course NO room for roll back from the tooting, honking cars on our bumper behind us. Yikes! Liz to the rescue once again. Thank goodness!
Pretty much only one option for a place to spend the night and we were kinda undecided as to whether we should stay or keep moving on towards our next destination. Again, the BLISS of having our own car! Liz and Laura went off to see the castle, I was thoroughly castles and temples and ruins finished by this point so I wandered the town instead. Oh so lovely Karak town! Not meant to be a major destination on the tourist map except for a stopover on the way to somewhere else and a quick visit to the castle, this of course made the town that much more friendly and lovely and… oh I don’t know, just so NICE! It reminded me of my home in Thailand. I was grinning and getting all wrapped up in that home town feel of wandering around streets and shops where English was almost impossible to come by but everyone wanted to say hello. I met up with the girls after they finished checking out the castle and hope, hope, hoped they would want to stay the night. THEY DID! Woo! Hoo!
Booked into our old but cozy place to stay and we started getting organized for our adventure destination the next day… The Grand Canyon of Jordan, Wadi Mujib. I called and booked us in on a half day hike, had to make reservations with a guide, and we tried to imagine what we were in for. A hike through a river that flowed through a canyon similar to what we walked through in Petra, pools, and rappelling down a 20 metre waterfall. Tomorrow is gonna be such good fun.
We had about an hour drive to get there for 8am, showed up with another couple and were told we had to wait until 9am because there might be more people showing up. No big deal, it wasn’t so hot yet, and it was a beautiful place to hang out. My very first glimpse of the DEAD SEA! Sadly, the Dead Sea around here is frustratingly inaccessible. Drop off rocky cliffs that are a challenge to get up and down. So we walked around it from above and hoped that we’d be able to dip our toes in that Salty Sea one of these days soon.
Oh, ummm…, I’m kinda getting pretty good at lying. I’ve created quite a lovely husband and life I have with him, I’ve had a variety of names and occupations, and my travel plans are quite interesting depending on the day. Also, I had a fake teacher card made in Luxor. I think I told you guys about that, right? No? Oops. International teacher card, gives you discounts on entry fees, etc., $20 and it has already paid itself off. So yeah, I told the guy at Wadi Mujib, while the girls waited in the car, that I was a teacher and they were my students. Didn’t even ask to see my card, $15 off each ticket. Again, the entrance fees were MORE than Petra, another week’s worth of accommodation, but we REALLY wanted to do this thing and do it we did!
Six of us, we Three Muskateers, a lovely couple from Belgium, and our smiley guide Ali, hopped in the back of a pickup to be (THANKFULLY) driven up a hellish dirt road that should have flipped us over and started our little jaunt alongside a lovely little river. The dry sides of the river shrunk and into the water we waded. It’s a bit strange, against everything your mama taught you, to head straight into the water, shoes and clothes on, just go. But we knew this was the plan so once you got over the initial ummm… should I take my shoes off? it’s SO fun. And shoes on is kinda needed.
The river was anywhere from ankle to mid-thigh deep (for my short arse), a bit of a rushing river over slippery rocks and sand through that same marble smooth and coloured rocky gorge that we saw in Petra. It would open up into small fields or wider paths through the canyon, it was absolutely stunning! Easy hike, nothing strenuous, but out of breath simply from where we were and what we were seeing. This was unreal! We made it up to an opening, climbed up some rocks and found a place where the river formed a series of pools. Again, my pictures don’t do it justice AND my camera crapped out at the first pool… DAMNIT! But I got a few photos and the rest will be locked tightly in my happy happy memory.
Ali seemed to genuinely like his job as he led us up, up, up over small but fast moving waterfalls giving us boosts or using ropes, stepping just here, not there, hold hands here, sit down and slide there. It was just RIDICULOUS fun! Seriously. We couldn’t stop laughing. Unfortunately I think the Belgian couple was frustrated because they had to keep stopping and waiting for us but we weren’t in any hurry, we were having SO much fun, and really, the more time we had out there, the better! So yeah, jumping, swimming, sliding, wading, climbing, falling, and roaming in, on, around, under, and through a river and waterfalls in the middle of the most beautiful canyon. Truly, once in a lifetime kind of thing. It was, oh I’ve run out of adjectives and superlatives, it was just so much fun!
The grand finale really was that perfect mix of “Are you serious?!” and “Let’s do this thing!” While Ali hooked up ropes and we shimmied into climbing harnesses, that 20 metre waterfall all of a sudden looked to be about 200 metres. Gulp! Now, I’ve done some rock climbing, I actually LOVE rock climbing, but down the side of a waterfall where you can’t see past the first ledge… ummm… well… no choice but to give it a go. The only heart stopping moment was the very first bit where you straddle / lie on your stomach over a boulder, looking Ali dead in his smiling eyes, placing your life in his very capable hands, and trusting him as he says, now just let go. So I let go.
The fear INSTANTLY dissolved and I squealed my way down the 10 second rappel running my hands through the waterfall beside me then getting thoroughly smashed to my knees by it as you land directly underneath it. Oh I want to go again! Again! Again! Again! I watched my two girls follow suit and the smiles were priceless. Oh how I wish my camera was working but yeah, we’ll never forget it. NEVER. I want to come back. Think they’ll give me a job as a guide? Can’t hurt to ask.
A few smaller waterfalls to conquer on our way out but we were able to slide or climb down them with Ali at the bottom to pull us out as we were pushed to the bottom of the swirling mini-whirlpools. Just SO much fun! And yeah, I promptly fell in love. Seriously. Hiking, rock climbing, save my life guide… seriously, marry me. Don’t worry, don’t worry. I was very well behaved. But if anyone needs a guide for Wadi Mujib, I’ve got one for you. *sigh* Wow, what a day.
After a long rest and dry off, we packed up and made our way to Amman, exhausted but still buzzing from our adventurous day. Super nice hotel found in the middle of a very big city and we settled in for a good few days. We’re in Amman.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Exploring Petra
Petra, Petra, Indiana Jones, Petra. So hopefully Petra was famous and on some must-see lists before Harrison Ford’s adventures boosted it into Hollywood legend but yeah, the theme song was being hummed out loud as we made our way through some very famous sites.
Upon arriving in Wadi Musa, emergency brake necessity parked on a vertical hill, we decided to walk around checking out places to stay for the night. Again, the bliss of no packs on our backs, staying wherever we wanted to regardless of distance from sites was just divine! Settled on a lovely little place named “Peaceway” and unloaded the car. Poor Liz was getting a pretty nasty cold so she wisely decided to hunker down, power nap, and take it easy so that she wouldn’t be out flat missing too many days of her travels. Late afternoon so Laura and I headed down to Petra to see what we could see before it closed for the night. Some dreadfully embarrassing car moments on deadly steep hills getting to the site entrance but I managed without splitting poor Laura’s head open on the dashboard.
Entrance to Petra is again, ridiculous. I have spent more on entrance fees than accommodation, food, and travel combined. Shameful but keep justifying that I will never be back and it’s a must see. The entrance fees were one set price plus 10% of that price for an extra day. We were going to get every single penny worth of it. Late afternoon, sun was hot hot, but we were in Petra and there was lots to see.
It’s a two kilometer walk down from the entrance, initially a wide open dirt road with some ruins and temples carved into the rock walls along the way but then it narrows into an enormous gorge. Dirt path the width of a single lane road winding through smooth, colourful mountains that you can’t see the top of. Apparently the gorge was separated by tectonic forces but water has flowed through and smoothed it out like fine marble. Colour swirls of brown, purple, red, yellow, grey, and white make it look like it has been painted. So very beautiful. As you near the end of these two kilometers and strain your eyes ahead through the opening of the gorge, you see it, the sliver of the Treasury, a sight that makes everyone’s mouth drop as they exit the canyon and file out into the open air. My pictures do it no justice, please look it up online. A Treasury, an entire building, carved INTO a mountain. Impossible to imagine the work that went into this. Impossible.
The open area in front of the Treasury had places to sit and lounge about, souvenirs and snacks to buy, and an assortment of locals with their resting camels wandering around trying to get you on for a ride. As it was late in the day, we were able to bide our time and wait patiently enough to snap a few photos with no one else around. Yeehaw! Again, so lucky!
Laura suggested we find somewhere high up to watch the sunset so we wandered past the Treasury, into the old city and came upon the theatre. Like old Roman ampitheatre, not modern day movie theatre. There, a local showed us a way to climb up and behind the closed off theatre and into the mountains behind. Treacherous and maybe a little dumb, but so much fun. Did it in flip-flops so really, it couldn’t have been that bad. We made it up to a top spot after much route searching and decided to just sit and look around before attempting the way down. It really didn’t look good for options down. As we were silently gazing at the brilliant sun setting ever so slowly over the enormous ancient city laid out far below us, we heard a ruffling and shuffling behind us. Out of nowhere, a small herd of goats had appeared up on top of our mountain top! Completely unexpected and wonderfully hopeful as that meant there was maybe a reasonable way down. I checked out where they had come from… yep… easy breezy way out. Thanks goat friends. Thanks.
After the sun had set behind the gigantic cliffs, we figured we should get a move on. It was coming up on pretty dark as we found our way back to the open area of the Treasury and thankfully Laura was smart enough to bring her head torch. We were so surprised to find that the souvenir stalls set up all along the way were obviously closed up, but all of their wares were still laid out, on tables, unlocked and uncovered, free to any unscrupulous souls who may have wanted a free gift or two. These Canadian chickies had no intentions of indulging in filling our pockets but wow, I wonder if all people who are still in the park after dark are so trustworthy. Very, very strange.
Seems as if no one really cares if you leave at night. They say there’s no sleeping or over-nighting but there’s no way they can check. They didn’t even seem to bat an eye when we stumbled out, 2 hours after their official closing time, in the pitch black, chattering away. Yep, we’re getting our money’s worth.
The next day, Liz was ready to go but still feeling pretty stuffy. Laura has problems with her back and Liz was sick but these two girls are troopers. Carry on – let’s go see stuff!
So back we go, and the exploring continues. We planned for a full day heading all the way to the very back of the city grounds and up to the Monastery, which is up another cliff far off in the distance. Our first feat was getting up eight hundred and some steps to “The High Place of Sacrifice”, used for exactly what’s its title suggests, and then venturing down the back of this mountain over towards the back end of Petra. The Crown Plaza hotel chain has set up a restaurant in the middle of this nowhere land so we chilled out on their picnic tables restoring some of our energy for our next big journey up to the Monastery. Yeah, yeah, not a very authentic ancient experience but it that heat, the modern luxury of a shaded place to sit was a life-saver.
Horses, camels, and donkeys are used in abundance to get some of the less energetic tourists from one spot to the next. The horses and camels look relatively well cared for and treated with some dignity, the donkeys, not so much. SEVERAL conversations were had with nasty boys hitting or whipping their animals and although I know I had zero influence other than to stop that immediate incident, there was little else I could do. Some laughed at me, some were shamed and apologized, some made temporary changes to the way their animal was tied up, and some got angry and nasty with me. It’s hard to keep quiet when it’s right in front of you, I know animals are just animals here, but it’s just too hard to ignore. I’m not very good at handling these situations. Obviously.
The second long journey up to the Monastery was a tough one and I went on a little ahead of the girls who were suffering with their colds and sore bones. Again, gasp and take your breath away. This place is all the magic of The Treasury but on TOP of a mountain. Wow! And THEN, you can wander up all these other cliffs and rocks and mountain tops to see the entire WORLD at your feet! So that’s what I did. As I was slowly making my way back down to the front of the Monastery where the girls were, I saw a dog off in the distance barking into a cave. As I got closer, I saw that the dog was chained up with links and a padlock so heavy he couldn’t hold his head all the way up and barely any room to move around. There was some old food there for him, no water, and a heavy, heavy chain bound with some wire. *sigh*. I’m gonna get myself killed…
I unwound the wire and set him free. Somebody OBVIOUSLY owned him but he was OBVIOUSLY never let off this chain and yeah, I’m a retard. He bounded away like a bunny, bouncing, running, stopping, starting, jumping, tail wagging, freedom. Came back to check on me and say thank you a couple of times too. Sweet, sweet dog. Then I heard was he was barking at. A small sound, like a baby. Puppies? I peered down into this cave that was purposely blocked off with debris… a very small baby goat, foaming at the mouth, blind, stumbling and stuck on the dead end steps out of the cave. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I frantically scraped and scrambled my way down and got him out. Filthy and leaking from his mouth and his poor behind, nothing but fur and bones, this little one was dying. He curled up in my arms as I made my way back to people trying hard not to fall to pieces.
Well, needless to say, my reception wasn’t warm. The few workers who were left looked at me with disgust and told me to just leave the goat, others said they knew the owner but the owner was out with his other goats and too far away to do anything, others told me to take the goat with me and stop being so crazy, others just got angry, shook their head, and stomped away. I was persistent. Mostly desperate. There was one man, one very gentle man, who saw the fragile state of both me and this dying goat in my arms. He talked to a few other people, phone calls were made, and eventually someone showed up on a horse who claimed to be cousin of the man who owned the goat. He was very kind, said all the right things, took control of me and the situation, took the baby goat in HIS arms, looked him/her over, tried to clean the goat up as best as he could, wrapped him/her in an old warm jacket and then laid the goat down in an area covered by a tent to sleep. He promised me that the owner was on the way and that they would take care of the goat. He kept saying “I promise, we have medicine, I promise.” His English was very good, he was very gentle and smiled as I tried to control my tears from turning to sobs. Damnit, I’m crying now as I type. Poor baby goat.
I had to leave, the sun had set, it was getting dark, Liz and Laura had so sympathetically been waiting HOURS and we needed to get down a mountain still. There was nothing else I could do except trust this man. There’s a good chance that the goat was left for dead or even more likely, eaten by the damn dog I set free and last saw climbing straight UP a cliff like he was a goat himself but I had no options. There are no vets here, I don’t speak Arabic, what can I do with a dying goat? Oh poor baby goat. I’m terrible at this animal thing. Terrible.
We three girls wandered out of a pitch black gorge under shining stars, a full day of exploring behind us, exhausted but giddy with all that we had a chance to see. Petra was wondrous, a physical challenge, an emotional train wreck, and an adventure all of its own. I had FABULOUS exploring partners. Indiana Jones has nothing on us, baby! Nothing!
Upon arriving in Wadi Musa, emergency brake necessity parked on a vertical hill, we decided to walk around checking out places to stay for the night. Again, the bliss of no packs on our backs, staying wherever we wanted to regardless of distance from sites was just divine! Settled on a lovely little place named “Peaceway” and unloaded the car. Poor Liz was getting a pretty nasty cold so she wisely decided to hunker down, power nap, and take it easy so that she wouldn’t be out flat missing too many days of her travels. Late afternoon so Laura and I headed down to Petra to see what we could see before it closed for the night. Some dreadfully embarrassing car moments on deadly steep hills getting to the site entrance but I managed without splitting poor Laura’s head open on the dashboard.
Entrance to Petra is again, ridiculous. I have spent more on entrance fees than accommodation, food, and travel combined. Shameful but keep justifying that I will never be back and it’s a must see. The entrance fees were one set price plus 10% of that price for an extra day. We were going to get every single penny worth of it. Late afternoon, sun was hot hot, but we were in Petra and there was lots to see.
It’s a two kilometer walk down from the entrance, initially a wide open dirt road with some ruins and temples carved into the rock walls along the way but then it narrows into an enormous gorge. Dirt path the width of a single lane road winding through smooth, colourful mountains that you can’t see the top of. Apparently the gorge was separated by tectonic forces but water has flowed through and smoothed it out like fine marble. Colour swirls of brown, purple, red, yellow, grey, and white make it look like it has been painted. So very beautiful. As you near the end of these two kilometers and strain your eyes ahead through the opening of the gorge, you see it, the sliver of the Treasury, a sight that makes everyone’s mouth drop as they exit the canyon and file out into the open air. My pictures do it no justice, please look it up online. A Treasury, an entire building, carved INTO a mountain. Impossible to imagine the work that went into this. Impossible.
The open area in front of the Treasury had places to sit and lounge about, souvenirs and snacks to buy, and an assortment of locals with their resting camels wandering around trying to get you on for a ride. As it was late in the day, we were able to bide our time and wait patiently enough to snap a few photos with no one else around. Yeehaw! Again, so lucky!
Laura suggested we find somewhere high up to watch the sunset so we wandered past the Treasury, into the old city and came upon the theatre. Like old Roman ampitheatre, not modern day movie theatre. There, a local showed us a way to climb up and behind the closed off theatre and into the mountains behind. Treacherous and maybe a little dumb, but so much fun. Did it in flip-flops so really, it couldn’t have been that bad. We made it up to a top spot after much route searching and decided to just sit and look around before attempting the way down. It really didn’t look good for options down. As we were silently gazing at the brilliant sun setting ever so slowly over the enormous ancient city laid out far below us, we heard a ruffling and shuffling behind us. Out of nowhere, a small herd of goats had appeared up on top of our mountain top! Completely unexpected and wonderfully hopeful as that meant there was maybe a reasonable way down. I checked out where they had come from… yep… easy breezy way out. Thanks goat friends. Thanks.
After the sun had set behind the gigantic cliffs, we figured we should get a move on. It was coming up on pretty dark as we found our way back to the open area of the Treasury and thankfully Laura was smart enough to bring her head torch. We were so surprised to find that the souvenir stalls set up all along the way were obviously closed up, but all of their wares were still laid out, on tables, unlocked and uncovered, free to any unscrupulous souls who may have wanted a free gift or two. These Canadian chickies had no intentions of indulging in filling our pockets but wow, I wonder if all people who are still in the park after dark are so trustworthy. Very, very strange.
Seems as if no one really cares if you leave at night. They say there’s no sleeping or over-nighting but there’s no way they can check. They didn’t even seem to bat an eye when we stumbled out, 2 hours after their official closing time, in the pitch black, chattering away. Yep, we’re getting our money’s worth.
The next day, Liz was ready to go but still feeling pretty stuffy. Laura has problems with her back and Liz was sick but these two girls are troopers. Carry on – let’s go see stuff!
So back we go, and the exploring continues. We planned for a full day heading all the way to the very back of the city grounds and up to the Monastery, which is up another cliff far off in the distance. Our first feat was getting up eight hundred and some steps to “The High Place of Sacrifice”, used for exactly what’s its title suggests, and then venturing down the back of this mountain over towards the back end of Petra. The Crown Plaza hotel chain has set up a restaurant in the middle of this nowhere land so we chilled out on their picnic tables restoring some of our energy for our next big journey up to the Monastery. Yeah, yeah, not a very authentic ancient experience but it that heat, the modern luxury of a shaded place to sit was a life-saver.
Horses, camels, and donkeys are used in abundance to get some of the less energetic tourists from one spot to the next. The horses and camels look relatively well cared for and treated with some dignity, the donkeys, not so much. SEVERAL conversations were had with nasty boys hitting or whipping their animals and although I know I had zero influence other than to stop that immediate incident, there was little else I could do. Some laughed at me, some were shamed and apologized, some made temporary changes to the way their animal was tied up, and some got angry and nasty with me. It’s hard to keep quiet when it’s right in front of you, I know animals are just animals here, but it’s just too hard to ignore. I’m not very good at handling these situations. Obviously.
The second long journey up to the Monastery was a tough one and I went on a little ahead of the girls who were suffering with their colds and sore bones. Again, gasp and take your breath away. This place is all the magic of The Treasury but on TOP of a mountain. Wow! And THEN, you can wander up all these other cliffs and rocks and mountain tops to see the entire WORLD at your feet! So that’s what I did. As I was slowly making my way back down to the front of the Monastery where the girls were, I saw a dog off in the distance barking into a cave. As I got closer, I saw that the dog was chained up with links and a padlock so heavy he couldn’t hold his head all the way up and barely any room to move around. There was some old food there for him, no water, and a heavy, heavy chain bound with some wire. *sigh*. I’m gonna get myself killed…
I unwound the wire and set him free. Somebody OBVIOUSLY owned him but he was OBVIOUSLY never let off this chain and yeah, I’m a retard. He bounded away like a bunny, bouncing, running, stopping, starting, jumping, tail wagging, freedom. Came back to check on me and say thank you a couple of times too. Sweet, sweet dog. Then I heard was he was barking at. A small sound, like a baby. Puppies? I peered down into this cave that was purposely blocked off with debris… a very small baby goat, foaming at the mouth, blind, stumbling and stuck on the dead end steps out of the cave. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I frantically scraped and scrambled my way down and got him out. Filthy and leaking from his mouth and his poor behind, nothing but fur and bones, this little one was dying. He curled up in my arms as I made my way back to people trying hard not to fall to pieces.
Well, needless to say, my reception wasn’t warm. The few workers who were left looked at me with disgust and told me to just leave the goat, others said they knew the owner but the owner was out with his other goats and too far away to do anything, others told me to take the goat with me and stop being so crazy, others just got angry, shook their head, and stomped away. I was persistent. Mostly desperate. There was one man, one very gentle man, who saw the fragile state of both me and this dying goat in my arms. He talked to a few other people, phone calls were made, and eventually someone showed up on a horse who claimed to be cousin of the man who owned the goat. He was very kind, said all the right things, took control of me and the situation, took the baby goat in HIS arms, looked him/her over, tried to clean the goat up as best as he could, wrapped him/her in an old warm jacket and then laid the goat down in an area covered by a tent to sleep. He promised me that the owner was on the way and that they would take care of the goat. He kept saying “I promise, we have medicine, I promise.” His English was very good, he was very gentle and smiled as I tried to control my tears from turning to sobs. Damnit, I’m crying now as I type. Poor baby goat.
I had to leave, the sun had set, it was getting dark, Liz and Laura had so sympathetically been waiting HOURS and we needed to get down a mountain still. There was nothing else I could do except trust this man. There’s a good chance that the goat was left for dead or even more likely, eaten by the damn dog I set free and last saw climbing straight UP a cliff like he was a goat himself but I had no options. There are no vets here, I don’t speak Arabic, what can I do with a dying goat? Oh poor baby goat. I’m terrible at this animal thing. Terrible.
We three girls wandered out of a pitch black gorge under shining stars, a full day of exploring behind us, exhausted but giddy with all that we had a chance to see. Petra was wondrous, a physical challenge, an emotional train wreck, and an adventure all of its own. I had FABULOUS exploring partners. Indiana Jones has nothing on us, baby! Nothing!
We're driving to Wadi Rum.
A night spent in Aqaba, the border crossing, ferry port, lovely town, starting point of our Jordan journey. No one had really heard much about things to do around the town, if you’ve visited Dahab, you’ve seen enough, so we were keen to just get a move on. Had arranged for the rental car pickup the night before so around 8am, paperwork was being filled out and a good deal had been struck. My two young, new best friends, Liz and Laura, recent graduates from BC universities, were as excited as I was so necessities were taken care of (new SIM card for phone and munchies for the ROAD TRIP!) and it was agreed that Liz would drive the first little bit until we got our directional bearing, then she would be my driving instructor. It was SIGNIFICANTLY cheaper to rent a standard as opposed to an automatic so as the primary driver of the car, I simply lied and said, yep, sure can drive a standard. Well, I would be driving one by the end of the trip so I wasn’t a complete lie. Was it? Thank goodness Liz could drive standard!
The world changed once we entered Jordan. Developed, organized, civilized Jordan. Busy, chaotic city streets but you could more or less see some sense to the chaos. Traffic lights and road signs (in English even!) and paved, smooth roads… we were home! I felt sick for the girls as we bumped and jumped our way along during my initial introduction to stick shift driving but once we were on the highway, it was smoother sailing from there, even found an English radio station! The roads were mostly deserted as we journeyed towards Wadi Rum, desert destination with impressive landscapes to see. Wadi Rum. Don't you love that name? Waddling through Rum is all I kept thinking. I could use some rum at this point. Will there be rum? What... it's a desert valley with mighty mountains??? Oh. Well, I'll find some rum eventually.
Visitor Centre set up controls all who enter but it was worth it. We paid for a jeep tour through some of the desert (our little Chi Chi Citroen had to stay behind) and an overnight in a Bedouin camp. Pretty standard going for this place. Got to see some inconceivably high rocks / cliffs and beautiful desert scenery but our guide was a bit eager to be done with us as he had a wedding to get to. Arrived at our camp, met a few others who were staying the night, and settled in to simply soak up and explore the quiet and isolation of where we were.
At one point after dinner, our hosts disappeared to drive the couple who was to be staying with us back to the visitor center and to gather a few things. Sun had just set, they would be back soon, lots of light left. So Liz, Laura, and I had the place to ourselves! COOL! Then it got darker, and darker. No hosts, no electricity (we’re in the desert!) so no lights, no vehicle, hmmmm…. out came our head torches and we started the search for lanterns, candles, matches, something. I managed to dig two small, used candles out from the ashes of our fire pit and we crashed the kitchen. Pitch black night by this point. Propane stove, perfect. Lit the small candles, started the tea, and carried on. Hosts came back and found this all to be quite amusing. Ummm… Thanks for stranding us, goobers.
Guide came back later on to play us guitar and sing while we drank tea, smoked shisha, and checked out the stars. *sigh* So relaxed. Set up for sleep outside (there were options to sleep inside the tented areas but no thanks) as it was such a nice night and woke up later to a big moon coming around the side of the mountains beside our camp. Lit up the desert clear as day. Amazing. The days can be rough in the desert but the nights make it worth every sweaty second. Wow.
Up and out the next morning. The dear owner of the Bedouin camp spoke excellent English but asked for some help in responding to an email from an agent trying to arrange an upcoming trip for a couple of people. I played secretary and typed up a response so late morning and we were on our way to try to find Petra. Famous, famous Petra.
The driving was fairly easy highway driving but the closer we got to Petra, the steeper the hills got. And when I say steep, I mean, oh my gosh can cars actually handle this? steep. The scenery got better and better as we made our way to Wadi Musa, the valley where the ancient city of Petra is found. Top of the world views over dry mountain and desert landscapes, small villages and local faces. So happy that we had our own car to do this beautiful drive at our own pace on our own schedule. It was fabulous and we were so looking forward to finding Petra. Google it. It’s incredible.
The world changed once we entered Jordan. Developed, organized, civilized Jordan. Busy, chaotic city streets but you could more or less see some sense to the chaos. Traffic lights and road signs (in English even!) and paved, smooth roads… we were home! I felt sick for the girls as we bumped and jumped our way along during my initial introduction to stick shift driving but once we were on the highway, it was smoother sailing from there, even found an English radio station! The roads were mostly deserted as we journeyed towards Wadi Rum, desert destination with impressive landscapes to see. Wadi Rum. Don't you love that name? Waddling through Rum is all I kept thinking. I could use some rum at this point. Will there be rum? What... it's a desert valley with mighty mountains??? Oh. Well, I'll find some rum eventually.
Visitor Centre set up controls all who enter but it was worth it. We paid for a jeep tour through some of the desert (our little Chi Chi Citroen had to stay behind) and an overnight in a Bedouin camp. Pretty standard going for this place. Got to see some inconceivably high rocks / cliffs and beautiful desert scenery but our guide was a bit eager to be done with us as he had a wedding to get to. Arrived at our camp, met a few others who were staying the night, and settled in to simply soak up and explore the quiet and isolation of where we were.
At one point after dinner, our hosts disappeared to drive the couple who was to be staying with us back to the visitor center and to gather a few things. Sun had just set, they would be back soon, lots of light left. So Liz, Laura, and I had the place to ourselves! COOL! Then it got darker, and darker. No hosts, no electricity (we’re in the desert!) so no lights, no vehicle, hmmmm…. out came our head torches and we started the search for lanterns, candles, matches, something. I managed to dig two small, used candles out from the ashes of our fire pit and we crashed the kitchen. Pitch black night by this point. Propane stove, perfect. Lit the small candles, started the tea, and carried on. Hosts came back and found this all to be quite amusing. Ummm… Thanks for stranding us, goobers.
Guide came back later on to play us guitar and sing while we drank tea, smoked shisha, and checked out the stars. *sigh* So relaxed. Set up for sleep outside (there were options to sleep inside the tented areas but no thanks) as it was such a nice night and woke up later to a big moon coming around the side of the mountains beside our camp. Lit up the desert clear as day. Amazing. The days can be rough in the desert but the nights make it worth every sweaty second. Wow.
Up and out the next morning. The dear owner of the Bedouin camp spoke excellent English but asked for some help in responding to an email from an agent trying to arrange an upcoming trip for a couple of people. I played secretary and typed up a response so late morning and we were on our way to try to find Petra. Famous, famous Petra.
The driving was fairly easy highway driving but the closer we got to Petra, the steeper the hills got. And when I say steep, I mean, oh my gosh can cars actually handle this? steep. The scenery got better and better as we made our way to Wadi Musa, the valley where the ancient city of Petra is found. Top of the world views over dry mountain and desert landscapes, small villages and local faces. So happy that we had our own car to do this beautiful drive at our own pace on our own schedule. It was fabulous and we were so looking forward to finding Petra. Google it. It’s incredible.
Get me to Jordan!
Getting to Jordan from Egypt is fairly straight forward. Apparently. If you’re me however, there MUST be a little bit of chaos. Really. But that’s part of the adventure right? Of course, of course.
It was arranged via my hostel that I would leave my big bags with them while I was at Mt. Sinai and they would send them with the minibus that was leaving from the hostel for the border crossing the next morning, when I was descending the great mount, to meet my minibus at some cross roads. I would simply hop off one bus, on to the other one, and carry on to the border. Sounds easy, right? Yep. Easy. I was a little nervous to leave my life’s belongings behind, but trust, trust, trust. So I trusted.
In the minibus back from the mountain, I asked the driver if he knew he was supposed to drop me somewhere. Yes, yes, bus coming, I know. I watched him attempt to make phone calls, get frustrated, make a few more, tsk and shake his head, all the while we keep driving and driving towards Dahab and then PAST the crossroads point that is clearly marked Dahab this way, border other way. Maybe just drop me off here? No, no bus coming. I figure it makes more sense to carry on then wait on the side of some random highway with no bags in sight. So we carry on. Eventually, 90 minutes later, “Welcome to Dahab” sign. I sigh and shake my head but am too completely and utterly exhausted to raise the slightest fuss. All of a sudden the bus pulls off to the side of the road, Out! Out! Car take you now! and I see that we’ve parked behind a random personal vehicle. Turns out that buses missed each other, shocking, so one of the hostel employees was going to speed drive me to meet the border bound minibus. Okay, okay, let’s just go. Stumbled out, no chance to say goodbye to my loveliest hiking partners, and I was off.
Another squealing 140km/hr drive to an empty minibus waiting 15 minutes up the road. Out quickly quickly. He will take you to border minibus. What? Where are my bags? Where are the people? On OTHER minibus, I promise, I put them on myself. Trust me. Again, what choice do I have? So ANOTHER minibus, drives me to a town where phone calls are exchanged and he finally pulls up outside of a restaurant / shop area where 3 other border crossers are sipping tea and waiting patiently for this last lonely duck. I check, all of my bags and belongings are on this final minibus, I offer weak apologies for my appearance and smell, and the three travelers kindly sympathize with my current state. Not two minutes into what I’m guessing is the last leg of my Egypt trip, THANKFULLY, one of the travelling trio asks me where I’m heading. Remember, I am delirious and have no idea where I am at this point. Jordan. You taking the ferry? Yes. Ummm… you might want to get off the bus as we’re going to the Israeli border crossing and THIS is the town for the Jordan border crossing. WHAT?!?!? STOOOOOOOOPPPPPP!!!!
Off the bus I get, bags all in tow, and thankfully my other driver was still close by. Ask him about ferry, he asks if I have a ticket, no, no ticket, points me to entrance to ferry departure area. Ticket? Yes, yes, ticket there. I swear my bags weigh about 7000lbs by now, it’s just after noon, I’m hot, tired, and near collapse. I’m pointed in the right direction for scanning bags and ferry departure and they ask for me for my ticket. I need to buy a ticket. You must go different area. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. (I am close to tears.) Look at my big bag (pointing to the pack on my hunched over back) just climbed Mt. Sinai, no sleep, please, no, no, no, no, no. My desperation and the impending ferry departure registered in their very kind hearts and they let me leave my bags with them while I hoofed it the two blocks to the ticket office. On the way, I see a girl who I had met at my Dahab hostel… she assured me she’d hold the ferry for me. We laughed but I secretly crossed my fingers.
Ticket was a completely outrageous price but I had no choice. Paid a week’s worth of accommodation to get the ticket and then all motivation to move quickly drained from my body. No sleep, no food, angry, exhausted body, I just don’t care. I knew the ferry was at least a three hour trip so I stopped to get take away food, then made my way back to the ferry. Whatever happens will happen. I went through the appropriate check points for Egypt departure, kindness prevailed among the stares; a smelly girl wilting under the weight of an unnecessarily large back pack. While in the waiting area for a bus that takes you to the ferry, an official asked where I was going, I mentioned my friend who was already on the ferry, so they called a bus to rush JUST ME to that ferry as I guess they had closed it already and the full waiting room was for the NEXT ferry. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.
On the ferry, I am guided up, up, up. You, floor five. I’ve left my pack and my passport, as required, with them at the entrance and am picking my way through crowds of locals in hallways, on floors, on stairs, sitting, eating, sleeping, lounging, and I go up. Finally, I poke my head into a very posh and cushy lounge area, floor five, and see the girl from my hostel and a few other white faces. Relief. As it turns out, ALL foreigners are designated to this one very cozy area while the common folk are in the regular ferry down below. Don’t get me wrong, this is a HUGE proper ferry so even for those who bought tickets that restricted them to sitting outside, this was a safe place to be, but yeah, we were segregated to our own lovely lounge floor. There were maybe 10 of us and we all felt a little guilty until we realized how much we paid for the damn ticket. We all sat back and enjoyed the cushiness. I attempted conversation for roughly 15 minutes before crashing out on one of the cushiony couches. Three and a half hours later, we’re in Jordan.
I felt horribly anti-social and still looked like death but a few of the girls had hiked the mountain previously so were feeling my out-of-sorts pain and were thankfully sympathetic. There were four of us randoms. Me and girly from hostel were travelling on our own and another two girls were travelling together. Bonus… ALL CANADIAN! Yipee! The single girl was meeting a friend in the town we just arrived in, the other two girls and I found a place to settle in for the night. Yay! Travel friends. Food, chat, plans made… they were up for renting a car with me (suggested to me by travelers I had met in Dahab) and we would see how it goes. Road trip through Jordan! Yessssssssss!
It was arranged via my hostel that I would leave my big bags with them while I was at Mt. Sinai and they would send them with the minibus that was leaving from the hostel for the border crossing the next morning, when I was descending the great mount, to meet my minibus at some cross roads. I would simply hop off one bus, on to the other one, and carry on to the border. Sounds easy, right? Yep. Easy. I was a little nervous to leave my life’s belongings behind, but trust, trust, trust. So I trusted.
In the minibus back from the mountain, I asked the driver if he knew he was supposed to drop me somewhere. Yes, yes, bus coming, I know. I watched him attempt to make phone calls, get frustrated, make a few more, tsk and shake his head, all the while we keep driving and driving towards Dahab and then PAST the crossroads point that is clearly marked Dahab this way, border other way. Maybe just drop me off here? No, no bus coming. I figure it makes more sense to carry on then wait on the side of some random highway with no bags in sight. So we carry on. Eventually, 90 minutes later, “Welcome to Dahab” sign. I sigh and shake my head but am too completely and utterly exhausted to raise the slightest fuss. All of a sudden the bus pulls off to the side of the road, Out! Out! Car take you now! and I see that we’ve parked behind a random personal vehicle. Turns out that buses missed each other, shocking, so one of the hostel employees was going to speed drive me to meet the border bound minibus. Okay, okay, let’s just go. Stumbled out, no chance to say goodbye to my loveliest hiking partners, and I was off.
Another squealing 140km/hr drive to an empty minibus waiting 15 minutes up the road. Out quickly quickly. He will take you to border minibus. What? Where are my bags? Where are the people? On OTHER minibus, I promise, I put them on myself. Trust me. Again, what choice do I have? So ANOTHER minibus, drives me to a town where phone calls are exchanged and he finally pulls up outside of a restaurant / shop area where 3 other border crossers are sipping tea and waiting patiently for this last lonely duck. I check, all of my bags and belongings are on this final minibus, I offer weak apologies for my appearance and smell, and the three travelers kindly sympathize with my current state. Not two minutes into what I’m guessing is the last leg of my Egypt trip, THANKFULLY, one of the travelling trio asks me where I’m heading. Remember, I am delirious and have no idea where I am at this point. Jordan. You taking the ferry? Yes. Ummm… you might want to get off the bus as we’re going to the Israeli border crossing and THIS is the town for the Jordan border crossing. WHAT?!?!? STOOOOOOOOPPPPPP!!!!
Off the bus I get, bags all in tow, and thankfully my other driver was still close by. Ask him about ferry, he asks if I have a ticket, no, no ticket, points me to entrance to ferry departure area. Ticket? Yes, yes, ticket there. I swear my bags weigh about 7000lbs by now, it’s just after noon, I’m hot, tired, and near collapse. I’m pointed in the right direction for scanning bags and ferry departure and they ask for me for my ticket. I need to buy a ticket. You must go different area. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. (I am close to tears.) Look at my big bag (pointing to the pack on my hunched over back) just climbed Mt. Sinai, no sleep, please, no, no, no, no, no. My desperation and the impending ferry departure registered in their very kind hearts and they let me leave my bags with them while I hoofed it the two blocks to the ticket office. On the way, I see a girl who I had met at my Dahab hostel… she assured me she’d hold the ferry for me. We laughed but I secretly crossed my fingers.
Ticket was a completely outrageous price but I had no choice. Paid a week’s worth of accommodation to get the ticket and then all motivation to move quickly drained from my body. No sleep, no food, angry, exhausted body, I just don’t care. I knew the ferry was at least a three hour trip so I stopped to get take away food, then made my way back to the ferry. Whatever happens will happen. I went through the appropriate check points for Egypt departure, kindness prevailed among the stares; a smelly girl wilting under the weight of an unnecessarily large back pack. While in the waiting area for a bus that takes you to the ferry, an official asked where I was going, I mentioned my friend who was already on the ferry, so they called a bus to rush JUST ME to that ferry as I guess they had closed it already and the full waiting room was for the NEXT ferry. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.
On the ferry, I am guided up, up, up. You, floor five. I’ve left my pack and my passport, as required, with them at the entrance and am picking my way through crowds of locals in hallways, on floors, on stairs, sitting, eating, sleeping, lounging, and I go up. Finally, I poke my head into a very posh and cushy lounge area, floor five, and see the girl from my hostel and a few other white faces. Relief. As it turns out, ALL foreigners are designated to this one very cozy area while the common folk are in the regular ferry down below. Don’t get me wrong, this is a HUGE proper ferry so even for those who bought tickets that restricted them to sitting outside, this was a safe place to be, but yeah, we were segregated to our own lovely lounge floor. There were maybe 10 of us and we all felt a little guilty until we realized how much we paid for the damn ticket. We all sat back and enjoyed the cushiness. I attempted conversation for roughly 15 minutes before crashing out on one of the cushiony couches. Three and a half hours later, we’re in Jordan.
I felt horribly anti-social and still looked like death but a few of the girls had hiked the mountain previously so were feeling my out-of-sorts pain and were thankfully sympathetic. There were four of us randoms. Me and girly from hostel were travelling on our own and another two girls were travelling together. Bonus… ALL CANADIAN! Yipee! The single girl was meeting a friend in the town we just arrived in, the other two girls and I found a place to settle in for the night. Yay! Travel friends. Food, chat, plans made… they were up for renting a car with me (suggested to me by travelers I had met in Dahab) and we would see how it goes. Road trip through Jordan! Yessssssssss!
Diving & Dahab
The desert is beautiful. Much more dramatic and interesting than I ever thought it would be (and we all know how much I love drama!) My time there was far too short but now that I know what my options are, I can always plan my adventure back. If anyone is looking to do a Gilf Kibeer trip, 30 days in the Egyptian desert crossing Sudanese and Libyan borders, carrying any and everything you need with you, caravanning via tripped out Land Cruisers, count me in. Looks likes a seriously tough adventure that I must add to the to-do wish list. Any takers? Let me know!
But no trip to Egypt is complete without a dip in those clear and alive with coral waters; I was keen to get my diving boots back on. That first night back in Cairo, I stayed with a new friend who I met somewhere in Al Quseir. She and her companions were lost and I showed them the way. I know, hey? Couldn’t believe it either! I knew where I was going! Shocking. Anyway, she’s a teacher at the American College in Cairo, been in the area for a couple of years now, come stay anytime you’re in Cairo invite. I was in Cairo. BEAUTIFUL, HUGE, apartment in the loveliest district in Cairo paid for by the school, two cuddly, curious kitties to check me out, and everything was clean, clean, I’m at home, clean. Not the least bit awkward considering we had previously only spent a grand total of 5 minutes together. Really interesting woman and her hospitality was SO appreciated. I slept like an Egyptian Queen.
Had planned to get a move on down to Dahab the next day but was feeling disorganized so moved back into the hostel from my first stay in Cairo (so that I wasn’t imposing) and spent the day sorting out my venture to the Sinai peninsula. I REALLY like Cairo but was super excited for some beach, do nothing time. The next day, big ole 10 hour bus trip to Dahab.
Several police checks and at one point, crossing into Sinai proper, we all had to get off the bus, take our bags out from under the bus, and stand guiltily in line, passports out, while a fluffy and bored German Shepard sniffed our belongings. No contraband, no terrorists, no drama. Shame. So piled back in and on we go. Found my way to the hostel that was recommended to me in Cairo and yep, I’m here for a while. Dumped the bag and off I went for a walk. Again, as in most of Egypt, deserted resorts, empty restaurants, quiets shops. It’s kinda sad to see such beautiful property abandoned and going to waste. Even though there is obviously very little business around, I wasn’t hassled in the least. One nice, long, westernized strip along the water front of all of the hotels, hostels, and restaurants, then a parallel street with all of the markets, shops, and more local food restaurants, then a road that led off towards the real people world. The most relaxed, chilled out vibe ever. I can see how people get stuck here.
Planned to spend maybe three days there, ended up staying for seven. Walked, wandered, dived, hung out in the sun, did nothing, met people, napped, watched the water, and loved every minute of it. A holiday from my travelling and I’ve only been on the road a short time. Highly recommended to ALL!
Diving was the main reason for going and it didn’t disappoint. Didn’t really know what to expect but I was a happy girl to be in the water. Had to readjust for how floaty we are in the salty sea but clear, clear, see forever clear. Different than the other parts of Africa, not many fish, but the coral is incredible. Oh, and apparently I truly am a princess diver now. While most can dive Egypt in one long 5mm wetsuit, I was diving with one long 5mm, a short 5mm over top of that, and a hood but was teeth chattering blue coming out of each dive. Lots of head shaking and laughing at me under the water as I cruised along giggling, talking, and SHIVERRING the whole way. Big, big baby I am.
Not many divers at the shop I was with so after a very long but somewhat uneventful dive, I inquired about potentially more “dramatic” sites. Their famous Canyon and Blue Hole were stunning so to do coral cruises after that was a bit ho-hum. As we got to choose our dive sites because there were so few of us, they surprised me with a wicked-ass cave dive (open ended, no claustrophobic closed in for this girl) where we launched ourselves into the surf off of the ledge of this underground overhang and explored some fantastically dramatic territory. It was AWESOME! The perfect combo of fear, adrenaline, and utterly awesome scenery. Again, not a lot of fish but the topography was just amazing. Thanks for taking such good care of me, Penguin Divers. Let’s do it again soon!
I was getting stuck in Dahab. Having trouble making that final decision to pack up the bag and go, it was just so comfortable there. But I did it, I arranged my trip to hike Mt. Sinai and I was off. There were some words of caution as I had been diving deep that morning and would be climbing to 2500 meters only 14 hours later but it was a chance I was willing to take. I want to see the sun rise on Mt. Sinai.
So the trip to climb Mt. Sinai and visit St. Catherine’s Monastery (that’s at the base of the mountain) is now a thoroughly regulated tourist trap unless you’re on some kind of religious pilgrimage. I tried every which way and upside down to find a local bus, a different schedule, something that wouldn’t have me shoved into a bus full of us dorky travelers but there were no options to be had, unless I will willing to pay a fortune. I didn’t have a fortune. So the deal is you hand over a SMALL fortune, are herded into a tourist minibus with like-minded foreigners at 11pm, drive 2+ hours to the mountain, pay some more money, are given a guide (that you don’t need), are told to stick together (SUPREMELY annoying) and are herded up the mountain like goats. Not the nicest experience BUT it is what you make of it, right?
Had loads of laughs hiking up with 2 English folk and an Aussie, tried to engage a young Chinese girl but her English was limited and she was focused on powering up the mountain, met four Colombians who had just spent 3 months volunteering on a kibbutz in Israel, and the most amazing French girl who has done a year of volunteer work in India with plans to do more. Our group scattered, split up, regrouped, and carried on several times over the hike as we were passed by or overtook dozens and dozens of orthodox pilgrims coming to see the mountain for much more admirable reasons than my desire to simply see what the fuss was all about.
Crowded, fairly steep mountain path illuminated by a FULL moon (yay! Perfect timing!) with little shops selling drinks, snacks, and souvenirs set up every few hundred meters and offers to ride a “cam-eel? cam-eel? cam-eel?” up the hill every few seconds. So many people, a kind of organized chaos, but an encounter of a lifetime all the same. To scramble atop this spectacular mountain and watch the sunrise hearing the singing and praying of the religious zealots in the background as they appreciate the scenery for reasons far too saintly for me made it all worth it. Crowded and touristy? Yes? Would I do it again? For sure. It was just so beautiful.
Taking a different route down, just me and the inspiring French girl, we plopped and picked our way down an endless series of steps and boulders. Different scenery, just as breath-taking, knees and thighs screaming for mercy the whole way, and over-tired delirium settling in quickly. You are picked up from your hotel at 11pm, start your hike around 1:30am, end up back down at the bottom by the Monastery around 7:30am but the Monastery doesn’t open until 9am and the bus to bring you back to Dahab isn’t coming until 10am. You’ve been awake pushing 24hrs at this point, hiked up 2500metres or so, are stiff, sore, alternating between freezing cold and stinking, sweaty hot, and verging ever so slightly on grouchy but the oldest still functioning Monastery in the world, so yeah, I guess I’ll stick around. I think I fell asleep sitting upright on the concrete ground with my eyes open several times, but I’m gonna see this place if it kills me!
It was a Monastery. Very pretty, very old, very tiny, the fabled burning bush is inside and some other significant Biblical reference kinds of things that I sadly should have learned about, but a quick 15 minute jaunt through and I was done. I am one tired, aching cookie. I want to go now, please.
Dahab and Sinai a must see. Diving, hiking… life is good. While I’m super excited about Jordan, I will miss Egypt. Egypt has been VERY good to me.
But no trip to Egypt is complete without a dip in those clear and alive with coral waters; I was keen to get my diving boots back on. That first night back in Cairo, I stayed with a new friend who I met somewhere in Al Quseir. She and her companions were lost and I showed them the way. I know, hey? Couldn’t believe it either! I knew where I was going! Shocking. Anyway, she’s a teacher at the American College in Cairo, been in the area for a couple of years now, come stay anytime you’re in Cairo invite. I was in Cairo. BEAUTIFUL, HUGE, apartment in the loveliest district in Cairo paid for by the school, two cuddly, curious kitties to check me out, and everything was clean, clean, I’m at home, clean. Not the least bit awkward considering we had previously only spent a grand total of 5 minutes together. Really interesting woman and her hospitality was SO appreciated. I slept like an Egyptian Queen.
Had planned to get a move on down to Dahab the next day but was feeling disorganized so moved back into the hostel from my first stay in Cairo (so that I wasn’t imposing) and spent the day sorting out my venture to the Sinai peninsula. I REALLY like Cairo but was super excited for some beach, do nothing time. The next day, big ole 10 hour bus trip to Dahab.
Several police checks and at one point, crossing into Sinai proper, we all had to get off the bus, take our bags out from under the bus, and stand guiltily in line, passports out, while a fluffy and bored German Shepard sniffed our belongings. No contraband, no terrorists, no drama. Shame. So piled back in and on we go. Found my way to the hostel that was recommended to me in Cairo and yep, I’m here for a while. Dumped the bag and off I went for a walk. Again, as in most of Egypt, deserted resorts, empty restaurants, quiets shops. It’s kinda sad to see such beautiful property abandoned and going to waste. Even though there is obviously very little business around, I wasn’t hassled in the least. One nice, long, westernized strip along the water front of all of the hotels, hostels, and restaurants, then a parallel street with all of the markets, shops, and more local food restaurants, then a road that led off towards the real people world. The most relaxed, chilled out vibe ever. I can see how people get stuck here.
Planned to spend maybe three days there, ended up staying for seven. Walked, wandered, dived, hung out in the sun, did nothing, met people, napped, watched the water, and loved every minute of it. A holiday from my travelling and I’ve only been on the road a short time. Highly recommended to ALL!
Diving was the main reason for going and it didn’t disappoint. Didn’t really know what to expect but I was a happy girl to be in the water. Had to readjust for how floaty we are in the salty sea but clear, clear, see forever clear. Different than the other parts of Africa, not many fish, but the coral is incredible. Oh, and apparently I truly am a princess diver now. While most can dive Egypt in one long 5mm wetsuit, I was diving with one long 5mm, a short 5mm over top of that, and a hood but was teeth chattering blue coming out of each dive. Lots of head shaking and laughing at me under the water as I cruised along giggling, talking, and SHIVERRING the whole way. Big, big baby I am.
Not many divers at the shop I was with so after a very long but somewhat uneventful dive, I inquired about potentially more “dramatic” sites. Their famous Canyon and Blue Hole were stunning so to do coral cruises after that was a bit ho-hum. As we got to choose our dive sites because there were so few of us, they surprised me with a wicked-ass cave dive (open ended, no claustrophobic closed in for this girl) where we launched ourselves into the surf off of the ledge of this underground overhang and explored some fantastically dramatic territory. It was AWESOME! The perfect combo of fear, adrenaline, and utterly awesome scenery. Again, not a lot of fish but the topography was just amazing. Thanks for taking such good care of me, Penguin Divers. Let’s do it again soon!
I was getting stuck in Dahab. Having trouble making that final decision to pack up the bag and go, it was just so comfortable there. But I did it, I arranged my trip to hike Mt. Sinai and I was off. There were some words of caution as I had been diving deep that morning and would be climbing to 2500 meters only 14 hours later but it was a chance I was willing to take. I want to see the sun rise on Mt. Sinai.
So the trip to climb Mt. Sinai and visit St. Catherine’s Monastery (that’s at the base of the mountain) is now a thoroughly regulated tourist trap unless you’re on some kind of religious pilgrimage. I tried every which way and upside down to find a local bus, a different schedule, something that wouldn’t have me shoved into a bus full of us dorky travelers but there were no options to be had, unless I will willing to pay a fortune. I didn’t have a fortune. So the deal is you hand over a SMALL fortune, are herded into a tourist minibus with like-minded foreigners at 11pm, drive 2+ hours to the mountain, pay some more money, are given a guide (that you don’t need), are told to stick together (SUPREMELY annoying) and are herded up the mountain like goats. Not the nicest experience BUT it is what you make of it, right?
Had loads of laughs hiking up with 2 English folk and an Aussie, tried to engage a young Chinese girl but her English was limited and she was focused on powering up the mountain, met four Colombians who had just spent 3 months volunteering on a kibbutz in Israel, and the most amazing French girl who has done a year of volunteer work in India with plans to do more. Our group scattered, split up, regrouped, and carried on several times over the hike as we were passed by or overtook dozens and dozens of orthodox pilgrims coming to see the mountain for much more admirable reasons than my desire to simply see what the fuss was all about.
Crowded, fairly steep mountain path illuminated by a FULL moon (yay! Perfect timing!) with little shops selling drinks, snacks, and souvenirs set up every few hundred meters and offers to ride a “cam-eel? cam-eel? cam-eel?” up the hill every few seconds. So many people, a kind of organized chaos, but an encounter of a lifetime all the same. To scramble atop this spectacular mountain and watch the sunrise hearing the singing and praying of the religious zealots in the background as they appreciate the scenery for reasons far too saintly for me made it all worth it. Crowded and touristy? Yes? Would I do it again? For sure. It was just so beautiful.
Taking a different route down, just me and the inspiring French girl, we plopped and picked our way down an endless series of steps and boulders. Different scenery, just as breath-taking, knees and thighs screaming for mercy the whole way, and over-tired delirium settling in quickly. You are picked up from your hotel at 11pm, start your hike around 1:30am, end up back down at the bottom by the Monastery around 7:30am but the Monastery doesn’t open until 9am and the bus to bring you back to Dahab isn’t coming until 10am. You’ve been awake pushing 24hrs at this point, hiked up 2500metres or so, are stiff, sore, alternating between freezing cold and stinking, sweaty hot, and verging ever so slightly on grouchy but the oldest still functioning Monastery in the world, so yeah, I guess I’ll stick around. I think I fell asleep sitting upright on the concrete ground with my eyes open several times, but I’m gonna see this place if it kills me!
It was a Monastery. Very pretty, very old, very tiny, the fabled burning bush is inside and some other significant Biblical reference kinds of things that I sadly should have learned about, but a quick 15 minute jaunt through and I was done. I am one tired, aching cookie. I want to go now, please.
Dahab and Sinai a must see. Diving, hiking… life is good. While I’m super excited about Jordan, I will miss Egypt. Egypt has been VERY good to me.
Monday, May 16, 2011
A day in the desert
The desert. We’ve already talked about my not-so-smart, naïve visions of what desert life looks like so I obviously needed to see as much as I could for myself. I wandered around the tiny, strange, EMPTY town of Mut (it was Friday so EVERYTHING was closed) and definitely decided it was simply a stopping point; nothing to do, see, or really visit here. Lovely people, so friendly as they obviously don’t see many visitors, but yeah, really not much else to say. My new best friend, the hotel manager, was going to set me up for a desert destination holiday, but first I had to bus it through the White Desert and Black Desert to get to the guide’s starting point. But wait, I want visit these deserts. Yes, yes, you will be coming back down to them. Well that just doesn’t make sense, why would I drive all the way up there just to drive all the way back down? You want desert trip? *sigh* yes, yes, I want desert trip.
A nice day had wandering around and even though I had another 6 hour bus trip ahead of me, I was ready to go. Poor Mr. Manager has been forced to marry a girl that is 10 years younger than him, that he doesn’t love, that he has had two children with, and he is thoroughly miserable. Can I please tell you that this isn’t the first time that I’ve had an “I’m unhappy in my marriage” conversation with a man over here. I must have “sucker ” or something written on my forehead. While I listen to their sob stories and nod or tsk tsk appropriately here and there, believe me, I’ve had to try hard just to show a little sympathy. In a country where women continue to be second class citizens, required to be covered when leaving the house, and are obviously limited in their rights, I have very little sympathy for any man whining to me about their sad state of affairs at home. You want 8 babies but she only wants 2? Oh, POOR YOU! You have to work long hours because she wants a place separate from your parents to live in? SUCH A SHAME! She gets upset when you sleep at work or choose not to come home for long periods of time? NO S**T – THERE’S A GOOD CHANCE YOU’RE CREEPING ON TOURISTS! No sympathy here folks. Sorry about your luck. Nice man, very nice man who took very good care of me, but yeah, epic fail on that bonding point of conversation.
Up and out at 6am to head to Bahariya, another oasis town. Oh! Forgot to tell you that the whole way to Mut and carried on into Bahariya, we pass through military check point after military check point. Long, empty desert highways… checkpoint. Rinse and repeat. No one will give me a straight answer as to why, very similar to my trip down to Abu Simbel, but the best I can figure is that in the areas near bordering countries, Sudan, Libya, Chad, it continues to be a bit of the old wild, wild west. Smugglers, highway robberies, kidnappings, wide-open lawlessness desert so legitimate threat or not, they keep a good eye on the foreigners travelling through here – for OUR safety. At each check point, I would hear blah, blah, blah, Canadian. More or less, all locals, one Canadian on board. Nobody bothered to look for me, check my id, write anything down, or any recognition of the sort, but I guess it helps everyone feel that things are a little more under control. And when your presence is being announced upon arrival, yeah, you can’t help but feel a little special.
Was picked up in this even smaller more basic oasis town by the son of the owner of my new home. Zero details of what I have in store for my desert destination but later, later. Get settled in and he offers to take me Land Cruising through some local dunes, for FREE! Ummm… yes please! My current wish list now includes a Land Cruiser. I’ve seen them in action, been cruising in a few, but this was my first ripping around dunes, vertical inclines, up and across the desert, drive-the-snot-out-of-it, let’s-see-if-we-can-flip-it experience I’ve had. SO much fun! Parked on the top of a sand dune so I could get out and play in the sand for a bit, blah, blah, blah, insert typical creepy Egyptian man story here, and karmic payback for his ick factor towards me was that we got stuck in the deep, soft sand after his advances were refused and it was time to leave. I was chuckling to myself sitting pretty in the passenger seat while he was furiously digging like a dog for a lost bone in the hot, tire-trapping sand. Awww, poor you. Thanks for the ride, good chance I won’t be seeing you later.
An overlander trip had stopped to camp at the place I was staying so had some lovely company for the night but still no plans about the desert. Tomorrow, people will arrive to join you tomorrow and we go in the afternoon. So essentially a cash grab to get me up there for the night. Whatever. Tomorrow comes and I wander and hang out and finally a manager shows up, fairly disinterested in me, and quotes me an astronomical price for a trip that will last less than 24hrs. I sat there blinking, blinking, blinking. Pardon? He continues on with several other conversations and I thank him for his time but tell him I won’t be able to afford the trip, that it is much shorter than I had been told, and that I was very disappointed. He simply couldn’t care less.
I head back to my room and plop myself down on the bed. In my head I’m seeing the 20+ hrs I had just travelled to get there, reminding myself that I’ll most likely never be back here and that it shouldn’t be about the money, it’s about the experience, cursing the fact that this is one of those things that I just can’t go at alone, and with a frustrated sigh, I go find the jerkface who is about to rip me off. I get him to reduce the price ever so little and then pack up my stuff to await my new desert traveling partners. Two were to be arriving from Cairo any minute now.
Two didn’t arrive, three did. A mom, dad, and 5 year old screaming banshee from India. The little princess was dressed head to toe in ribbons and lace, a frilly dress, and sparkly shoes. Mom and dad looked a little less done up but not necessarily ready for camping in the desert. I tried all of my “let’s chat!” charm and got pretty much nowhere. A nice enough family all of whom suffered slightly in the socializing with strangers department. THANKFULLY our guide was a happy, chatty, excited young man who loved what he did, loved the desert, was SUPREMELY sarcastic. I had a friend for the journey. Let’s get going!
Drive, stop and look, drive, stop and look. The sandy brown earth and mountains covered with a layer of spewed black volcanic rock. Welcome to the Black Desert. Very neat to see some of the changing landscape but after a few kilometers of this… *yawn*. So we drive, up and over a bit of a mountain range, and the scenery starts to change a little more. We’ve left the perimeters of the Black Desert and are now entering the National Park of the White Desert. THIS I liked.
Sandy bottom with massive white boulders randomly blooming like mushrooms on a forest floor. In sections, the brown sand is suddenly a river of clean, white snow. It’s beautiful. My pictures on facebook do it NO justice. As far as the eye can see, crops of brilliant white boulders carved out by an ancient, long gone ocean. Yeah, let’s sleep here.
As we set up camp, the guide and I were doing our best to hold each other’s patience together as the screaming banshee was evoking images of tied and gagged left on a rock in the middle of nowhere. At the top of her lungs… mum-EEEEE! Mum-EEEEE!! Mum-EEEEE!! Pa-PAAAA!! Pa-PAAAA!! Pa-PAAAA!! Family Guy reference where Stewie harasses Lois for a solid 5 to mins of “mama! Mama! Lois! Mommy!, etc”, multiply that by like a thousand, amplify it by a million, and take out the humor, that was our soundtrack. Her parents would ignore her or continue on with their conversations. We attempted to shush her, no success. I really, really, REALLY wanted to shake her and her parents. Desert: quiet, isolated, still. Nope. Spoiled, indulged screaming banshee was going to rule the trip. Frick.
An incredibly yummy camp stove dinner was made and conversations were attempted in between the full blown stomp her feet and scream at the top of her lungs temper tantrums and demands for this and that. Again, parents did nothing or sat by and laughed. It was ridiculously frustrating. Managed to enjoy the scenery amidst the howling Indian Princess as the sun set and the smells of fragrant food filled the air. Enter desert fox.
Oh! Oh! Oh! I want a desert fox! These cat-sized, light coloured, big-eared, bushy-tailed, curious and hungry critters soon surrounded our camp, obviously used to the thousands of people who stake out the sands for a bit of respite from the hustle and bustle of the big Egyptian cities. Bold, brave, and oh so cute, they’d lie in wait for scraps and scamper off with whatever treasure they could find before sniffing their way back for more. Up close, as any habituated animal will be, but often scurrying away at the screams and chucking of random things originated from the howling child. Seriously, not happy with you.
Stomachs full, dark skies, shining stars, and I’m encouraging a long overdue bedtime for the tantrum-ing tot while guide extraordinaire is setting up a campfire. *sigh* THIS is what I came for. The grownups (again, YES! I’m included in this group!) sit around the fire keeping our fingers crossed that the she-devil will sleep. Eventually mom goes to lay with her and there is brief, beautiful silence. Secret smiles exchanged between guide and me… welcome to the desert.
And yep, it’s COLD! Luckily I was a little better prepared than I would have been thanks to my night out on the felucca but wow, that fire was a saving grace for me. I am a BABY when it comes to the cold now. Africa has ruined me for all others! Lots of chat, tea, and shisha, then all are ready for sleep. A shelter of mats and blankets had been set up alongside the Land Cruiser, I however, made my bed beside the fire. One, the further away from the howling hyena, the better, and two, wide open night under the stars beside a fire… could you ask for more? Wow.
Cozy and snuggled under wool blankets and campfire smoke, I was a happy girl. Not too much sleep to be had as OF COURSE the shrieking she-devil couldn’t possibly sleep through the night and I was considering ways to piece her off to the desert foxes but whatever. Warm body, ice cold nose in the clean, fresh air… *sigh* fabulous.
Thankfully I woke before the yelling yeti did so when she started carrying on while her parents continued to sleep, I was able to dig myself out of my mountain of blankets and wander off into the maze of stone statues. I sing-songed voiced my disapproval of her attempts to follow me and got lost on my own for a while. Chilly early morning, rising sun, middle of nowhere desert. Very, very cool. Got back to camp and could see the frustration on dear guide’s face as I could hear her screaming no matter how far I wandered. Quick pack up and we were off. A knowing glance as I was invited back by the guide to stay with his family and visit the desert “properly” the next time. Sad to say goodbye to such a lovely place. Would do it again in a heartbeat. Minus the child, of course.
All of us on the afternoon bus back to Cairo, child slept a good chunk of the way thank every god in heaven. Bid them a quick goodbye and made my getaway. Was considering heading straight back down to the beautiful white sands, but on to the sea, on to the sea, diving to do, things to see!
A nice day had wandering around and even though I had another 6 hour bus trip ahead of me, I was ready to go. Poor Mr. Manager has been forced to marry a girl that is 10 years younger than him, that he doesn’t love, that he has had two children with, and he is thoroughly miserable. Can I please tell you that this isn’t the first time that I’ve had an “I’m unhappy in my marriage” conversation with a man over here. I must have “sucker ” or something written on my forehead. While I listen to their sob stories and nod or tsk tsk appropriately here and there, believe me, I’ve had to try hard just to show a little sympathy. In a country where women continue to be second class citizens, required to be covered when leaving the house, and are obviously limited in their rights, I have very little sympathy for any man whining to me about their sad state of affairs at home. You want 8 babies but she only wants 2? Oh, POOR YOU! You have to work long hours because she wants a place separate from your parents to live in? SUCH A SHAME! She gets upset when you sleep at work or choose not to come home for long periods of time? NO S**T – THERE’S A GOOD CHANCE YOU’RE CREEPING ON TOURISTS! No sympathy here folks. Sorry about your luck. Nice man, very nice man who took very good care of me, but yeah, epic fail on that bonding point of conversation.
Up and out at 6am to head to Bahariya, another oasis town. Oh! Forgot to tell you that the whole way to Mut and carried on into Bahariya, we pass through military check point after military check point. Long, empty desert highways… checkpoint. Rinse and repeat. No one will give me a straight answer as to why, very similar to my trip down to Abu Simbel, but the best I can figure is that in the areas near bordering countries, Sudan, Libya, Chad, it continues to be a bit of the old wild, wild west. Smugglers, highway robberies, kidnappings, wide-open lawlessness desert so legitimate threat or not, they keep a good eye on the foreigners travelling through here – for OUR safety. At each check point, I would hear blah, blah, blah, Canadian. More or less, all locals, one Canadian on board. Nobody bothered to look for me, check my id, write anything down, or any recognition of the sort, but I guess it helps everyone feel that things are a little more under control. And when your presence is being announced upon arrival, yeah, you can’t help but feel a little special.
Was picked up in this even smaller more basic oasis town by the son of the owner of my new home. Zero details of what I have in store for my desert destination but later, later. Get settled in and he offers to take me Land Cruising through some local dunes, for FREE! Ummm… yes please! My current wish list now includes a Land Cruiser. I’ve seen them in action, been cruising in a few, but this was my first ripping around dunes, vertical inclines, up and across the desert, drive-the-snot-out-of-it, let’s-see-if-we-can-flip-it experience I’ve had. SO much fun! Parked on the top of a sand dune so I could get out and play in the sand for a bit, blah, blah, blah, insert typical creepy Egyptian man story here, and karmic payback for his ick factor towards me was that we got stuck in the deep, soft sand after his advances were refused and it was time to leave. I was chuckling to myself sitting pretty in the passenger seat while he was furiously digging like a dog for a lost bone in the hot, tire-trapping sand. Awww, poor you. Thanks for the ride, good chance I won’t be seeing you later.
An overlander trip had stopped to camp at the place I was staying so had some lovely company for the night but still no plans about the desert. Tomorrow, people will arrive to join you tomorrow and we go in the afternoon. So essentially a cash grab to get me up there for the night. Whatever. Tomorrow comes and I wander and hang out and finally a manager shows up, fairly disinterested in me, and quotes me an astronomical price for a trip that will last less than 24hrs. I sat there blinking, blinking, blinking. Pardon? He continues on with several other conversations and I thank him for his time but tell him I won’t be able to afford the trip, that it is much shorter than I had been told, and that I was very disappointed. He simply couldn’t care less.
I head back to my room and plop myself down on the bed. In my head I’m seeing the 20+ hrs I had just travelled to get there, reminding myself that I’ll most likely never be back here and that it shouldn’t be about the money, it’s about the experience, cursing the fact that this is one of those things that I just can’t go at alone, and with a frustrated sigh, I go find the jerkface who is about to rip me off. I get him to reduce the price ever so little and then pack up my stuff to await my new desert traveling partners. Two were to be arriving from Cairo any minute now.
Two didn’t arrive, three did. A mom, dad, and 5 year old screaming banshee from India. The little princess was dressed head to toe in ribbons and lace, a frilly dress, and sparkly shoes. Mom and dad looked a little less done up but not necessarily ready for camping in the desert. I tried all of my “let’s chat!” charm and got pretty much nowhere. A nice enough family all of whom suffered slightly in the socializing with strangers department. THANKFULLY our guide was a happy, chatty, excited young man who loved what he did, loved the desert, was SUPREMELY sarcastic. I had a friend for the journey. Let’s get going!
Drive, stop and look, drive, stop and look. The sandy brown earth and mountains covered with a layer of spewed black volcanic rock. Welcome to the Black Desert. Very neat to see some of the changing landscape but after a few kilometers of this… *yawn*. So we drive, up and over a bit of a mountain range, and the scenery starts to change a little more. We’ve left the perimeters of the Black Desert and are now entering the National Park of the White Desert. THIS I liked.
Sandy bottom with massive white boulders randomly blooming like mushrooms on a forest floor. In sections, the brown sand is suddenly a river of clean, white snow. It’s beautiful. My pictures on facebook do it NO justice. As far as the eye can see, crops of brilliant white boulders carved out by an ancient, long gone ocean. Yeah, let’s sleep here.
As we set up camp, the guide and I were doing our best to hold each other’s patience together as the screaming banshee was evoking images of tied and gagged left on a rock in the middle of nowhere. At the top of her lungs… mum-EEEEE! Mum-EEEEE!! Mum-EEEEE!! Pa-PAAAA!! Pa-PAAAA!! Pa-PAAAA!! Family Guy reference where Stewie harasses Lois for a solid 5 to mins of “mama! Mama! Lois! Mommy!, etc”, multiply that by like a thousand, amplify it by a million, and take out the humor, that was our soundtrack. Her parents would ignore her or continue on with their conversations. We attempted to shush her, no success. I really, really, REALLY wanted to shake her and her parents. Desert: quiet, isolated, still. Nope. Spoiled, indulged screaming banshee was going to rule the trip. Frick.
An incredibly yummy camp stove dinner was made and conversations were attempted in between the full blown stomp her feet and scream at the top of her lungs temper tantrums and demands for this and that. Again, parents did nothing or sat by and laughed. It was ridiculously frustrating. Managed to enjoy the scenery amidst the howling Indian Princess as the sun set and the smells of fragrant food filled the air. Enter desert fox.
Oh! Oh! Oh! I want a desert fox! These cat-sized, light coloured, big-eared, bushy-tailed, curious and hungry critters soon surrounded our camp, obviously used to the thousands of people who stake out the sands for a bit of respite from the hustle and bustle of the big Egyptian cities. Bold, brave, and oh so cute, they’d lie in wait for scraps and scamper off with whatever treasure they could find before sniffing their way back for more. Up close, as any habituated animal will be, but often scurrying away at the screams and chucking of random things originated from the howling child. Seriously, not happy with you.
Stomachs full, dark skies, shining stars, and I’m encouraging a long overdue bedtime for the tantrum-ing tot while guide extraordinaire is setting up a campfire. *sigh* THIS is what I came for. The grownups (again, YES! I’m included in this group!) sit around the fire keeping our fingers crossed that the she-devil will sleep. Eventually mom goes to lay with her and there is brief, beautiful silence. Secret smiles exchanged between guide and me… welcome to the desert.
And yep, it’s COLD! Luckily I was a little better prepared than I would have been thanks to my night out on the felucca but wow, that fire was a saving grace for me. I am a BABY when it comes to the cold now. Africa has ruined me for all others! Lots of chat, tea, and shisha, then all are ready for sleep. A shelter of mats and blankets had been set up alongside the Land Cruiser, I however, made my bed beside the fire. One, the further away from the howling hyena, the better, and two, wide open night under the stars beside a fire… could you ask for more? Wow.
Cozy and snuggled under wool blankets and campfire smoke, I was a happy girl. Not too much sleep to be had as OF COURSE the shrieking she-devil couldn’t possibly sleep through the night and I was considering ways to piece her off to the desert foxes but whatever. Warm body, ice cold nose in the clean, fresh air… *sigh* fabulous.
Thankfully I woke before the yelling yeti did so when she started carrying on while her parents continued to sleep, I was able to dig myself out of my mountain of blankets and wander off into the maze of stone statues. I sing-songed voiced my disapproval of her attempts to follow me and got lost on my own for a while. Chilly early morning, rising sun, middle of nowhere desert. Very, very cool. Got back to camp and could see the frustration on dear guide’s face as I could hear her screaming no matter how far I wandered. Quick pack up and we were off. A knowing glance as I was invited back by the guide to stay with his family and visit the desert “properly” the next time. Sad to say goodbye to such a lovely place. Would do it again in a heartbeat. Minus the child, of course.
All of us on the afternoon bus back to Cairo, child slept a good chunk of the way thank every god in heaven. Bid them a quick goodbye and made my getaway. Was considering heading straight back down to the beautiful white sands, but on to the sea, on to the sea, diving to do, things to see!
Thursday, May 12, 2011
You know you're in Egypt when...
1. Horns. Constant. Everywhere. Bicycles, motorbikes, local hop-on rides, small cars, big cars, trucks, buses. High pitched blares to reverberating and echoing beep beeps to laying on one long single haaaawwwwwnk to modified horns that sound like police sirens or the beginnings of songs. All simultaneous, all trying to outdo one another, all several decibels louder than what the average human ear can tolerate. I’m right beside/behind/in front of you honks, I want your attention honks, I don’t like what you’re doing honks, olease go ahead honks, thank you/you're welcome honks, I’m bigger than you honks, I’m not slowing down so you better move honks, I like the way my horn sounds honks, I forget how to drive so I’m just gonna lay on the horn honks, I like the song on the radio honks, I don’t feel like stopping for the red light so I’m just going to go honks, and I’m awake so everyone else should be too honks.
2. Heavy, HEAVY smokers. Driving in a car, 3 men and me, all windows rolled up tight, all 3 chain smoking. On trains and buses and boats, in shops and offices and hotels, absolutely everywhere, constant lighting up. And the GOOD kind of smokes, Marlboro Reds, Camels, you know, the ones that make you cough up a lung. Nothing that a good smoke can’t take care of.
3. City wildlife. It’s not uncommon to see small herds of goats wandering around city streets and rummaging through trash bins alongside the stray cats and dogs or donkeys pulling wagons weaving in and out of traffic. They’ve all got their place here.
4. Pita for everything. All meals, all the time. By the bags and boxes and arms full. Pita. Pita. Pita.
5. January 25. All of the new shops are named “January 25” or some variation of that. The Revolution has been good for business apparently.
6. It’s mandatory, taught in all Egyptian schools: “What’s your name?” “What’s your country?” You must ask every foreigner this, no matter what. Then shout, “Come here!”
7. Tea is served in small water glasses and water is served in coffee/tea mugs.
8. It’s better to throw trash on the ground beside the bin instead of in the bin.
9. Side view mirrors on cars are meant to be hit by passing motorists. That’s why they’re there.
10. Mosque calls are timed so that there is a slight delay between the beginnings allowing one to continue as another one finishes thus drawing a 3 minute call out to 30 minutes by the time the rounds have been made. Doing them simultaneously would just be silly.
11. A normal, friendly conversation between men consists of yelling, shouting, shoving, laughing loudly, hand slapping, spitting, more yelling, exaggerated hand gesturing, and even more yelling. Good friends, good friends.
12. The condition the vehicle is in is directly related to how fast it should be driven. The worse the condition, the faster you must drive.
13. Men in dresses.
14. Women draped head to toe in black. Really? In a hot climate? Wow.
15. Baksheesh. Felucca. Carry (carriage). Just look, no hassle, just look, NO HASSLE! I don’t know what you’re looking for but I have it! Special for you!
16. Watering the sidewalk, streets, and roads with a bucket and a very unique wrist flick.
17. Fig jam. (yum!)
18. Olive coloured complexions with those blue/grey eyes. Gorgeous.
19. Seed spitting. Crunch. Chew. Spit. Crunch. Chew. Spit. Sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, and some other stuff I don’t quite know.
20. Single pack Twinkies and Ho-Hos lining every small shop shelf.
Celebrity me!
I’m learning to carry on with my make-it-up-as-i-go travel plans, even when someone or other tells me it’s not possible. Somewhere along the Red Sea coast, I was told it wasn’t possible to travel a route through the desert that I saw on a map. It’s Egypt, there’s a good chance that even if there aren’t tourist buses, SOMEONE is going there. So dismissing several no-nos, I departed my hotel in Luxor early early and made my way to the train station to see what I could figure out. The plan was to train it up to Qena and head west from there. Train tracks go that way, roads to that way, I want to go that way.
At the train station in Luxor, again, attempts to dissuade me from local trains but I wanted to get a move on so hopped on a crowded board and sat with two lovely girls who made sure I was okay and got off at the right spot. The trains were FULL of local boys in military uniform so sticking to that small group of girls diminished the leers and come-ons entirely. Magic. Got off in Qena and inquired about my next stop. Oh dear. This caused some problems. I asked one man, who asked another man (who made sure the train I just got off of didn’t leave) and pretty soon I had a group of 10 station staff all around trying to figure out how to get me to where I wanted to go, a group of military boys who had wandered off the train trying to find out what was going on, and several onlookers hanging out the doors and windows of the train. No one was angry or upset, just thoroughly entertained, I think.
Through much discussion, it was decided that there is NO train that goes directly west (it had stopped some years back so they say), I must head north, then take a bus back down south west. And since the train I had just gotten off of had filled full at this station, it was decided that I would wait an hour to get the next, nicer one. My backpack was carried off to a side office for me, someone went to get me a proper train ticket, someone else brought me a glass of tea, and several others asked if I needed anything. Oh my dear I was a pampered celebrity! I’m all sorted out and the train finally leaves. So if any of you were waiting on a train from Luxor to Cairo that was a little late, yeah, that was me. Sorry.
By the way, yeah, a lowest class train ticket, that I’ve been taking, costs about $1.50 for a 4 hour trip, a 4 hour A/C ticket with fewer stops costs $5.50. Worth the difference in absolute gold. Gold, gold, gold!
So arrive in Asyut, walk over to the bus station, that is thankfully next to the train station, and wait the 1 & ½ hrs til my bus is scheduled to leave. Nice little town. Not one single white face for this whole journey so far but the kindness and smiles and assistance continues. Taking a look at the bus that’s to take me further west, into the oases towns of the desert, I knew it was gonna be a rough go. But I’ve come this far so no turning back now. It’s 2pm, there’s no A/C, the bus is full of people in the front and about 6 bus-sized spare tires piled up in the back, and yeah, it’s really freaking hot. Open windows do nothing but blow hot air and dust around an already suffocating, speeding Egypt travel death trap. How many hours to Khurga? 4 hours. My journey, that I originally thought was going to take 7hrs, is now looking like it’s gonna take a little longer. Hmmm.
Lovely people on the bus, a few of whom spoke very good English and it was decided that I shouldn’t stop in Kharga as there’s nothing to really see or do there, but I should carry on to the town of Mut in the Dakhla oasis, another two hours past Kharga. People on the bus assured me that this was a much better decision and people were assigned to make sure I got to where I was going. Hilarious. They even made a guy who was sitting in the front seat of the bus switch with me so I could see the panoramic desert vista as we descended into no man’s land. For a whole lot of desert nothingness, it was incredibly beautiful.
Now again, my living in la-la land imagination is astounding. I hear “oasis” and I literally picture a sudden sprouting of palm trees in the middle of the desert surrounding a crystal clear lake with maybe a tiki bar or two (okay, okay, not the tiki bar) and a few camels and stray bedouins lounging about while lost and delirious travelers are crawling towards salvation on hands and knees croaking, “water! I need water!” Okay, not so much. Of course, where there’s water, there can be life, so it really is hundreds of kilometers of desolation, sand, dirt, sun, and rock, then the palm trees, farm lands, now harnessed natural springs, and a basic little TOWN. It’s AMAZING! Proper towns in the middle of the desert! Where nomads used to travel from spring to spring to settle down until the water ran dry, technology has now allowed people to dig deep for the water, channel the water, and make permanent settlements on what looks like the surface of the moon. So these were my oasis towns.
As we were approaching the first town of Kharga, where I had been discouraged from stopping, I’m still in the front seat watching the changing desert landscape and our driver who is exerting a lot of physical effort trying to control this ancient piece of stressed metal on wheels. All of course, at 140kms/hr even though the speedometer and all other gauges didn’t work. KA-POW! A gunshot like sound and the cabin of our bus fills with acrid black smoke and the bus starts to shake. Oh love a duck we blew a tire. As our driver struggles to gain control of and eventually pull the bus off to the side of the road, the smoke clears from the air and I figure we’re still another good 60kms from town. Hmmm… So out we get out (me too, of course!) and they all decide that since it was an inside tire, we can carry on, at a painfully slow speed. Who would have ever thought that I’d be MISSING the break neck speeds?! Once we’re on the road again, a shaky driver gets a cigarette from his partner driver, slowly settles his nerves, and on we go. I was wondering what all those tires were for in the back of the truck, taking up all of those seats. I guess now we know.
Eventually another bus passes by, turns around, we all transfer on to it, and make it the rest of the way into town in a really NICE A/C bus. Where was this bus when I needed it like 4 hours ago?!
It’s dark, around 7:30pm when we pull into Kharga but miles and miles until I sleep. I get off the bus and whoever was assigned to take care of me at this stop summons one police officer who rounds up his whole crew of about 8. Again, much discussion, much worry, and many radio conversations to who knows who. I’m put into a taxi and I kid you not, get a police escort to the minibus station. A police car in front with lights AND sirens going, me, MORTIFIED, in the taxi, and a police truck with 6 cops behind me. Are you kidding me?!? I wish you could have seen this. A very serious conversation had between the police officers and the minibus driver, some shuffling seats around because this white princess was not up to sitting in the very back back for another 2 hour trip (yes, I will take full advantage of playing the helpless tourist sometimes!), and into the dark of night we go speeding off.
Driving at 140kms/hr in the light of day is one thing, in the darkness of night, it’s terrifying. And they do some weird thing where they turn off their headlights as they come up behind a vehicle that they’re about to pass and leave them off for what seems to be an extremely unsafe length of time after they’ve passed, and then there’s some whole secret code of flashing high and low beams between vehicles that are approaching each other… I was convinced that my death was imminent but a van full of sleeping bodies seemed quite okay with the whole choreography. Woah. Not fun.
Arrive stiff, smelly, and awfully damn tired a couple of hours later in Mut. Minibus driver drops me in front of a guest house, owner speaks beautiful English, shows me a lovely and clean room, and I’m down for the count. 14 hours travelling today. Welcome to the desert. All done.
At the train station in Luxor, again, attempts to dissuade me from local trains but I wanted to get a move on so hopped on a crowded board and sat with two lovely girls who made sure I was okay and got off at the right spot. The trains were FULL of local boys in military uniform so sticking to that small group of girls diminished the leers and come-ons entirely. Magic. Got off in Qena and inquired about my next stop. Oh dear. This caused some problems. I asked one man, who asked another man (who made sure the train I just got off of didn’t leave) and pretty soon I had a group of 10 station staff all around trying to figure out how to get me to where I wanted to go, a group of military boys who had wandered off the train trying to find out what was going on, and several onlookers hanging out the doors and windows of the train. No one was angry or upset, just thoroughly entertained, I think.
Through much discussion, it was decided that there is NO train that goes directly west (it had stopped some years back so they say), I must head north, then take a bus back down south west. And since the train I had just gotten off of had filled full at this station, it was decided that I would wait an hour to get the next, nicer one. My backpack was carried off to a side office for me, someone went to get me a proper train ticket, someone else brought me a glass of tea, and several others asked if I needed anything. Oh my dear I was a pampered celebrity! I’m all sorted out and the train finally leaves. So if any of you were waiting on a train from Luxor to Cairo that was a little late, yeah, that was me. Sorry.
By the way, yeah, a lowest class train ticket, that I’ve been taking, costs about $1.50 for a 4 hour trip, a 4 hour A/C ticket with fewer stops costs $5.50. Worth the difference in absolute gold. Gold, gold, gold!
So arrive in Asyut, walk over to the bus station, that is thankfully next to the train station, and wait the 1 & ½ hrs til my bus is scheduled to leave. Nice little town. Not one single white face for this whole journey so far but the kindness and smiles and assistance continues. Taking a look at the bus that’s to take me further west, into the oases towns of the desert, I knew it was gonna be a rough go. But I’ve come this far so no turning back now. It’s 2pm, there’s no A/C, the bus is full of people in the front and about 6 bus-sized spare tires piled up in the back, and yeah, it’s really freaking hot. Open windows do nothing but blow hot air and dust around an already suffocating, speeding Egypt travel death trap. How many hours to Khurga? 4 hours. My journey, that I originally thought was going to take 7hrs, is now looking like it’s gonna take a little longer. Hmmm.
Lovely people on the bus, a few of whom spoke very good English and it was decided that I shouldn’t stop in Kharga as there’s nothing to really see or do there, but I should carry on to the town of Mut in the Dakhla oasis, another two hours past Kharga. People on the bus assured me that this was a much better decision and people were assigned to make sure I got to where I was going. Hilarious. They even made a guy who was sitting in the front seat of the bus switch with me so I could see the panoramic desert vista as we descended into no man’s land. For a whole lot of desert nothingness, it was incredibly beautiful.
Now again, my living in la-la land imagination is astounding. I hear “oasis” and I literally picture a sudden sprouting of palm trees in the middle of the desert surrounding a crystal clear lake with maybe a tiki bar or two (okay, okay, not the tiki bar) and a few camels and stray bedouins lounging about while lost and delirious travelers are crawling towards salvation on hands and knees croaking, “water! I need water!” Okay, not so much. Of course, where there’s water, there can be life, so it really is hundreds of kilometers of desolation, sand, dirt, sun, and rock, then the palm trees, farm lands, now harnessed natural springs, and a basic little TOWN. It’s AMAZING! Proper towns in the middle of the desert! Where nomads used to travel from spring to spring to settle down until the water ran dry, technology has now allowed people to dig deep for the water, channel the water, and make permanent settlements on what looks like the surface of the moon. So these were my oasis towns.
As we were approaching the first town of Kharga, where I had been discouraged from stopping, I’m still in the front seat watching the changing desert landscape and our driver who is exerting a lot of physical effort trying to control this ancient piece of stressed metal on wheels. All of course, at 140kms/hr even though the speedometer and all other gauges didn’t work. KA-POW! A gunshot like sound and the cabin of our bus fills with acrid black smoke and the bus starts to shake. Oh love a duck we blew a tire. As our driver struggles to gain control of and eventually pull the bus off to the side of the road, the smoke clears from the air and I figure we’re still another good 60kms from town. Hmmm… So out we get out (me too, of course!) and they all decide that since it was an inside tire, we can carry on, at a painfully slow speed. Who would have ever thought that I’d be MISSING the break neck speeds?! Once we’re on the road again, a shaky driver gets a cigarette from his partner driver, slowly settles his nerves, and on we go. I was wondering what all those tires were for in the back of the truck, taking up all of those seats. I guess now we know.
Eventually another bus passes by, turns around, we all transfer on to it, and make it the rest of the way into town in a really NICE A/C bus. Where was this bus when I needed it like 4 hours ago?!
It’s dark, around 7:30pm when we pull into Kharga but miles and miles until I sleep. I get off the bus and whoever was assigned to take care of me at this stop summons one police officer who rounds up his whole crew of about 8. Again, much discussion, much worry, and many radio conversations to who knows who. I’m put into a taxi and I kid you not, get a police escort to the minibus station. A police car in front with lights AND sirens going, me, MORTIFIED, in the taxi, and a police truck with 6 cops behind me. Are you kidding me?!? I wish you could have seen this. A very serious conversation had between the police officers and the minibus driver, some shuffling seats around because this white princess was not up to sitting in the very back back for another 2 hour trip (yes, I will take full advantage of playing the helpless tourist sometimes!), and into the dark of night we go speeding off.
Driving at 140kms/hr in the light of day is one thing, in the darkness of night, it’s terrifying. And they do some weird thing where they turn off their headlights as they come up behind a vehicle that they’re about to pass and leave them off for what seems to be an extremely unsafe length of time after they’ve passed, and then there’s some whole secret code of flashing high and low beams between vehicles that are approaching each other… I was convinced that my death was imminent but a van full of sleeping bodies seemed quite okay with the whole choreography. Woah. Not fun.
Arrive stiff, smelly, and awfully damn tired a couple of hours later in Mut. Minibus driver drops me in front of a guest house, owner speaks beautiful English, shows me a lovely and clean room, and I’m down for the count. 14 hours travelling today. Welcome to the desert. All done.
La-la-la-Luxor
Luxor. Everything you want to experience in Egypt is here from the banks of the Nile to the endless checklist of must-see temples and tombs, fancy hotels and hyped tourist markets, balloon rides and desert treks and made to order adventures. Whatever you want, they are prepared to make it happen here for you. All at a very “special price”.
Ancient history exists in modern day Luxor. The Luxor temple is in the midst of the busy main street, cars and buses and life chugging around it, think downtown Rome, and it’s slowly undergoing varying stages of reconstruction. Sadly, construction sites leave open pits and open pits around many of these countries quickly become dumping grounds for trash but you learn to look past that. When I can find a second to just stand and imagine, replacing the paved streets with dirt passageways and the speeding cars with horse-drawn chariots, you can see the magnitude of magnificence, the reign of resplendent royalty, the reasons why even after thousands of years, we still keep coming.
And as it’s definitely one of the more frequented tourist spots due to the crazy amount of significant finds around Luxor, the touts here are of a different caliber than I’ve experienced so far.
Mido had warned me, telling me that the people in Aswan were very nice but in Luxor, not so nice and that I must “take care in Luxor”. I had forgotten about this warning until my first wander about. Again, understanding that the tourism has been very slow and everyone is desperate for money, I attempted to handle the incessant approaches to buy this and come see that with the small smile and shake of my head. Remember that ignoring technique that I had mastered along the way? Yeah, that doesn’t work here. When you ignore them here, they get even more aggressive and unfortunately, downright angry. Please understand, I don’t ignore EVERYBODY, not by a long shot, and I have a sense of humor about it with them most of the time, mocking their calls and laughing it up with their attempts or simply shaking my head and saying no thank you, but eventually, you just want it to stop. Traveling as a single girl (even with a brand new wedding band!) isn’t necessarily the nicest experience in this town. Funny thing is, the people in other parts of Egypt know what the people in Luxor are like and worry for the tourists heading there. For all the time that I’ve been here though, really, this one disappointment is easily overlooked and LUXOR is wonderful!
I’m starting to have to pick and choose what I can do and see around towns as I obviously didn’t anticipate the fees for everything I want to see and do. My hotel owner was desperately trying to get me to join his tour group going up to see the Valley of the Kings, Queens, and Hatchepsut, all of which I really wanted to see but hmmm… tour group, not so much. But we have A/C bus and it’s too hot for you. I know, I know, but I’m really not so keen on the group thing. So I decided to rent a bike and cycle up to see the ancient mighty tombs. It’s only like 10kms, how hard can it be?! *sigh* (have you noticed I sigh A LOT at some of the decisions I make?!) Plus, if I’m on my own, I can go early early, it won’t be so hot, and maybe there will be less crowds. So 5:45am and I’m off to the Valley of the Kings, hucking my bike on the little ferry to cross to the West Bank and on solid ground, I start pedaling.
At first it’s so nice! Farming fields and green pastures with mountains off in the background. Nice, flat road and it’s hot, but not too hot. Then as I gaze towards these impressive mountains far off in the distance, the black, gaping holes of excavation sites, like the spaces of missing teeth, dotting the hillsides, I suddenly realize, oh, oh no, I still have to make it to and then UP those mountains! No big deal, I can do this. Really. Well, this short, chubby ass huffed and puffed her way up the 8km gradual, steady incline, pushed on by the knowledge that any 6 year old could easily do this route so suck it up and get going. 7am and the sun is hot, hot, hot. I arrive at the entrance and am thankfully rewarded to see only a very few tourist mini buses. This might be worth it after all.
There are presently something like 62 tombs that have been discovered or are in the process of being excavated in the Valley of the Kings but only a small handful of them are actually open to the public at any time. Your ticket buys you entrance into 3 tombs of your choice but you must pay extra to get into King Tut and Ramsses V & VI (the Ramsses boys share a tomb). I saw most of the King Tut treasures at the Egyptian museum so decided to just pay the extra for Ramsses. The Valley is spectacular, made even more mysteriously spectacular by the fact that no cameras are allowed inside the Valley. It’s this massive hoodoo valley carved out in the midst of arid, ancient mountains but you’re not allowed to photograph any of it. SUCH a shame! *Ahem* As you can tell from my facebook photos, I lied about not having a camera when they asked me at the entrance. Whoops.
So not sure what I should do for tombs to see first, and just chanced stopping in at the special Ramsses one as it was before 7:30am and not too many people around. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! These tombs aren’t for the claustrophobic and worth every single step up and down. You trudge through a long tunnel deep down into a cave, hieroglyphics and carvings adorning the walls and ceilings, full bright original colour of black, red, blue, and yellow softly illuminated by the florescent tubes they have running throughout. The stairs and walkways they’ve created make the journey of course feel a little less authentic but so much more accessible. I thump my way down, down, down to the small open chamber of Ramsses V & VI… there’s no one there but the guard. No one!
The guards always start chit chatting away, instructed to tell you this or show you that and practice their usual “what’s your name, where you come from?” but here, I smiled, shook my head, held my finger up to my lips and sshhh’ed him very politely. Look, I said, there’s no one here, no tourists, just me. This is very, very special. VERY special! Ssshhhh. Smile, smile, smile. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that or of me. So he stood around in my awestruck silence for a few minutes, got bored, and then decided his buddy at the top of the entrance way would make better company. Yep. Me and the boys, personal, private, and up close for a good 20 minutes. Heart racing I snapped off a few pictures (with no flash!) and simply giggled and breathed in my unbelievable good fortune. How can I possibly explain what these places look like, FEEL like, and then to experience them without another single soul around is spooky, energizing, inspiring, overwhelming, and quite simply… wow.
I hung around until I could hear the footsteps of an approaching tour group thumping their way towards me, hot and sweaty and really not looking all that impressed as I grinned my way past them. Sadly so many people that I’ve seen being shuffled around by their “Egyptologist” tour guides just don’t seem to really want to be where they are. Sad but not gonna bring me down, baby! This is AMAZING!
My three remaining tombs, equally impressive and some “alone time” with each sarcophagi but nothing like my early morning rendez-vous with the Ramsses boys. I got myself into a bit of trouble as I saw a stairway leading up and away into a deeper part of the mountains and there was a sign posted saying that apparently there was a tomb up that way. I started walking and a man started shouting. He said I couldn’t go up, was trying desperately to convince me that he was the “Chief”, and that it was closed. I told him I just wanted to walk around, would not go near the tomb, just wanted to look. Shaking his keys at me, no! no! closed! Okay, okay, I get it, but can’t I just walk up that way a little bit? The mountains are so beautiful. I just want to walk. Plleeeeeeezzze? He sighs quite loudly, shakes his head, and stomps off so I hustle my way up there. I managed to snap two pictures before I saw some people walking by. I wasn’t sure how far I should push my luck but I’d come this far… so I started to climb the stairs. Got half way up before Chief Man had returned and was frantically shouting for me to come back. He was in the process of stringing a line of knotted rags across the pathway to keep other pushy peepers like me out and prove that he really was in charge. I wonder what they were hiding up there…
Oh! In one of the tombs entrances there was a little section carved out of the long hallway where a modern day restoration was taking place. This man was standing there, sorting a bunch of fist sized rocks/rubble into various buckets. I’m nosey so I started asking him who he was and what he was up to. Mr. Ted Brock, 25 year veteran Egyptologist, was in the process of sorting and identifying new finds in the tomb we were presently standing in. I just love this! Egypt is famous for its already uncovered pyramids and treasures of Kings and Queens but there’s still ongoing exciting archaeology happening all around here. I want to be a digger! Very nice, very interesting man. Said I should come back next year to see what his puzzle pieces actually turn out to look like.
Two and a half hours wandering through the intense and unforgiving heat of the Land of the Dead and at 9:30am, the sun is almost directly overhead. Giddy but tired, I drag myself back to that ratty tatty beat-up bicycle, watching the over-heated, red-faced tour groups pouring out from an endless line of tour buses. I was thankful for my good sense to come very, very early and that the ride was going to be mostly downhill from here.
I really wanted to see the Valley of the Queens as well but as I approached the turn off, at the bottom of yet another climb uphill, choking on the diesel of passing tour buses that had finished their race through the Kings and were on their way to the Queens, I decided against it. I opted to head back to the East Bank and see Karnak Temple instead. Navigated cars and traffic that hadn’t yet started up on my early morning venture out and was near fainting when I arrived at my next big sightseeing hotspot. Karnak is endless. You could take days to wander all of it. I wanted to cram in as much as I could. The sky was clear, the sun was merciless, and there is very little respite in the small sections of shade to be found. Push on, push on. Since the temple complex is so huge, I again gleefully bounded around in solitary bliss, and was happy with my choice to not follow the crowds. Headache and dizziness settling in, time to head back.
A full day out in the hot Egyptian sun, drenched in ancient history, and I know how extraordinarily special my experiences have been. My universe continues to be so good to me.
Ancient history exists in modern day Luxor. The Luxor temple is in the midst of the busy main street, cars and buses and life chugging around it, think downtown Rome, and it’s slowly undergoing varying stages of reconstruction. Sadly, construction sites leave open pits and open pits around many of these countries quickly become dumping grounds for trash but you learn to look past that. When I can find a second to just stand and imagine, replacing the paved streets with dirt passageways and the speeding cars with horse-drawn chariots, you can see the magnitude of magnificence, the reign of resplendent royalty, the reasons why even after thousands of years, we still keep coming.
And as it’s definitely one of the more frequented tourist spots due to the crazy amount of significant finds around Luxor, the touts here are of a different caliber than I’ve experienced so far.
Mido had warned me, telling me that the people in Aswan were very nice but in Luxor, not so nice and that I must “take care in Luxor”. I had forgotten about this warning until my first wander about. Again, understanding that the tourism has been very slow and everyone is desperate for money, I attempted to handle the incessant approaches to buy this and come see that with the small smile and shake of my head. Remember that ignoring technique that I had mastered along the way? Yeah, that doesn’t work here. When you ignore them here, they get even more aggressive and unfortunately, downright angry. Please understand, I don’t ignore EVERYBODY, not by a long shot, and I have a sense of humor about it with them most of the time, mocking their calls and laughing it up with their attempts or simply shaking my head and saying no thank you, but eventually, you just want it to stop. Traveling as a single girl (even with a brand new wedding band!) isn’t necessarily the nicest experience in this town. Funny thing is, the people in other parts of Egypt know what the people in Luxor are like and worry for the tourists heading there. For all the time that I’ve been here though, really, this one disappointment is easily overlooked and LUXOR is wonderful!
I’m starting to have to pick and choose what I can do and see around towns as I obviously didn’t anticipate the fees for everything I want to see and do. My hotel owner was desperately trying to get me to join his tour group going up to see the Valley of the Kings, Queens, and Hatchepsut, all of which I really wanted to see but hmmm… tour group, not so much. But we have A/C bus and it’s too hot for you. I know, I know, but I’m really not so keen on the group thing. So I decided to rent a bike and cycle up to see the ancient mighty tombs. It’s only like 10kms, how hard can it be?! *sigh* (have you noticed I sigh A LOT at some of the decisions I make?!) Plus, if I’m on my own, I can go early early, it won’t be so hot, and maybe there will be less crowds. So 5:45am and I’m off to the Valley of the Kings, hucking my bike on the little ferry to cross to the West Bank and on solid ground, I start pedaling.
At first it’s so nice! Farming fields and green pastures with mountains off in the background. Nice, flat road and it’s hot, but not too hot. Then as I gaze towards these impressive mountains far off in the distance, the black, gaping holes of excavation sites, like the spaces of missing teeth, dotting the hillsides, I suddenly realize, oh, oh no, I still have to make it to and then UP those mountains! No big deal, I can do this. Really. Well, this short, chubby ass huffed and puffed her way up the 8km gradual, steady incline, pushed on by the knowledge that any 6 year old could easily do this route so suck it up and get going. 7am and the sun is hot, hot, hot. I arrive at the entrance and am thankfully rewarded to see only a very few tourist mini buses. This might be worth it after all.
There are presently something like 62 tombs that have been discovered or are in the process of being excavated in the Valley of the Kings but only a small handful of them are actually open to the public at any time. Your ticket buys you entrance into 3 tombs of your choice but you must pay extra to get into King Tut and Ramsses V & VI (the Ramsses boys share a tomb). I saw most of the King Tut treasures at the Egyptian museum so decided to just pay the extra for Ramsses. The Valley is spectacular, made even more mysteriously spectacular by the fact that no cameras are allowed inside the Valley. It’s this massive hoodoo valley carved out in the midst of arid, ancient mountains but you’re not allowed to photograph any of it. SUCH a shame! *Ahem* As you can tell from my facebook photos, I lied about not having a camera when they asked me at the entrance. Whoops.
So not sure what I should do for tombs to see first, and just chanced stopping in at the special Ramsses one as it was before 7:30am and not too many people around. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! These tombs aren’t for the claustrophobic and worth every single step up and down. You trudge through a long tunnel deep down into a cave, hieroglyphics and carvings adorning the walls and ceilings, full bright original colour of black, red, blue, and yellow softly illuminated by the florescent tubes they have running throughout. The stairs and walkways they’ve created make the journey of course feel a little less authentic but so much more accessible. I thump my way down, down, down to the small open chamber of Ramsses V & VI… there’s no one there but the guard. No one!
The guards always start chit chatting away, instructed to tell you this or show you that and practice their usual “what’s your name, where you come from?” but here, I smiled, shook my head, held my finger up to my lips and sshhh’ed him very politely. Look, I said, there’s no one here, no tourists, just me. This is very, very special. VERY special! Ssshhhh. Smile, smile, smile. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that or of me. So he stood around in my awestruck silence for a few minutes, got bored, and then decided his buddy at the top of the entrance way would make better company. Yep. Me and the boys, personal, private, and up close for a good 20 minutes. Heart racing I snapped off a few pictures (with no flash!) and simply giggled and breathed in my unbelievable good fortune. How can I possibly explain what these places look like, FEEL like, and then to experience them without another single soul around is spooky, energizing, inspiring, overwhelming, and quite simply… wow.
I hung around until I could hear the footsteps of an approaching tour group thumping their way towards me, hot and sweaty and really not looking all that impressed as I grinned my way past them. Sadly so many people that I’ve seen being shuffled around by their “Egyptologist” tour guides just don’t seem to really want to be where they are. Sad but not gonna bring me down, baby! This is AMAZING!
My three remaining tombs, equally impressive and some “alone time” with each sarcophagi but nothing like my early morning rendez-vous with the Ramsses boys. I got myself into a bit of trouble as I saw a stairway leading up and away into a deeper part of the mountains and there was a sign posted saying that apparently there was a tomb up that way. I started walking and a man started shouting. He said I couldn’t go up, was trying desperately to convince me that he was the “Chief”, and that it was closed. I told him I just wanted to walk around, would not go near the tomb, just wanted to look. Shaking his keys at me, no! no! closed! Okay, okay, I get it, but can’t I just walk up that way a little bit? The mountains are so beautiful. I just want to walk. Plleeeeeeezzze? He sighs quite loudly, shakes his head, and stomps off so I hustle my way up there. I managed to snap two pictures before I saw some people walking by. I wasn’t sure how far I should push my luck but I’d come this far… so I started to climb the stairs. Got half way up before Chief Man had returned and was frantically shouting for me to come back. He was in the process of stringing a line of knotted rags across the pathway to keep other pushy peepers like me out and prove that he really was in charge. I wonder what they were hiding up there…
Oh! In one of the tombs entrances there was a little section carved out of the long hallway where a modern day restoration was taking place. This man was standing there, sorting a bunch of fist sized rocks/rubble into various buckets. I’m nosey so I started asking him who he was and what he was up to. Mr. Ted Brock, 25 year veteran Egyptologist, was in the process of sorting and identifying new finds in the tomb we were presently standing in. I just love this! Egypt is famous for its already uncovered pyramids and treasures of Kings and Queens but there’s still ongoing exciting archaeology happening all around here. I want to be a digger! Very nice, very interesting man. Said I should come back next year to see what his puzzle pieces actually turn out to look like.
Two and a half hours wandering through the intense and unforgiving heat of the Land of the Dead and at 9:30am, the sun is almost directly overhead. Giddy but tired, I drag myself back to that ratty tatty beat-up bicycle, watching the over-heated, red-faced tour groups pouring out from an endless line of tour buses. I was thankful for my good sense to come very, very early and that the ride was going to be mostly downhill from here.
I really wanted to see the Valley of the Queens as well but as I approached the turn off, at the bottom of yet another climb uphill, choking on the diesel of passing tour buses that had finished their race through the Kings and were on their way to the Queens, I decided against it. I opted to head back to the East Bank and see Karnak Temple instead. Navigated cars and traffic that hadn’t yet started up on my early morning venture out and was near fainting when I arrived at my next big sightseeing hotspot. Karnak is endless. You could take days to wander all of it. I wanted to cram in as much as I could. The sky was clear, the sun was merciless, and there is very little respite in the small sections of shade to be found. Push on, push on. Since the temple complex is so huge, I again gleefully bounded around in solitary bliss, and was happy with my choice to not follow the crowds. Headache and dizziness settling in, time to head back.
A full day out in the hot Egyptian sun, drenched in ancient history, and I know how extraordinarily special my experiences have been. My universe continues to be so good to me.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Yay! Felucca!
One of the dreamy things I wanted to do when I decided to come here was to cruise down the Nile. Laying on cushions being fanned by over-sized palm leaves drifting past crocodiles and small villages. Yeah, that doesn’t really happen. But there are a few other options. You can hop a 5 star hotel on water cruise boat and tourist your way between Luxor and Aswan or you can hour trip around the small islands that surround either of those two cities. I wasn’t too keen on either of them. After chatting with lovely Mr. Mohamed who had saved me from Mr. McFeely Hands my first day in Aswan, he had an option for me; he was a tour operator of course. We had arranged for me to do a two day, two night trip from Aswan to Kom Ombo, 40kms north towards Luxor. I would then train it from there. I was kinda disappointed as 40kms isn’t that far, but considering feluccas are sailboats so no wind, no moving, it made sense. That was the best we could do and I absolutely thrilled with it.
I’d returned from Abu Simbel early that morning and at noon, Mr. Mohamed met me and passed me on to another tour operator who passed me on to a driver who was going to take me to the boat. We drove and we drove and we drove and I was thinking I was driving a lot of what I should have been floating but whatever. I get dropped in a marshy area and pointed towards a felucca tied up along shore so I eagerly bound towards a young man approaching me from the boat. Stomping along beside this lovely Egyptian young man, I see one of my boat mates aggressively gesturing towards his watch and the sky. Oh dear. Not off to a good start. I plop myself on board with a family of 5 from France. As is often in case in Africa, what you pay for and what you get are two very different things. It turns out that the family had started their journey the day before from Aswan, where I had just driven from, and cruised nicely but then spent the night the entire day on this bank and the one just opposite, apparently waiting on me and another person yet to arrive. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Mom, dad, and three kids, 13, 10, and 6 (I think). Luckily the kids didn’t seem to mind as they were swimming and jumping around the boat but dad was really frustrated. 20 hours in the same spot more or less with nowhere much to walk around and nothing to really do. He had my sympathy.
Between mom’s very good English and my broken French, I was able to make friends and we were able to distract the dad while we waited for our last passenger. The three crew members were amazing and played with the kids like kids themselves. The kids were endlessly entertaining and remarkably well-behaved. SO easy to please! Finally, American Dan arrives and we’re off. Poor Dan was the first native English speaker I had seen in a while so I was quickly chatting his ear off in between my shameful attempts in French. As terrible as I am with the language, at least I’m not so embarrassed to try anymore. And I think we did okay between the lot of us as the conversation never stopped until it was time to sleep.
Luckily we had good wind so we just switchbacked from one bank to the next, slowly making our way north. The kids were having fun steering the boat and teasing the staff and the grown-ups (yes, I’m in that group!) talked and shared travel stories. We left about 2pm and just had the nicest time hanging out and chatting. You can see photos of what the felucca looked like on my facebook. Essentially a covered deck lined with cushions with enough space to sit up right but not enough to stand. Perfect for lounging and chatting. When we pull up alongside for the night that is quickly approaching, we all wander up from the water where there’s some farmland and a gathering of donkeys, cows, and stray dogs that all made for good distraction while staff made us dinner. 10 of us sat around to a simple home made dinner as we settled in for the night.
It got pretty chilly out there so thick woolen blankets were passed around and we all sprawled out and snuggled up on the cushioned boat deck. Everyone had had long days so sleep came quickly and is ALWAYS so much better when you’re sleeping outdoors. I, however, continue to be the world’s lightest sleeper and spent most of the night listening to our puppy friends in constant conversation with their buddies across the river, donkeys and cows braying and lowing their share of the chat, and the put-put of hotel boat engines chugging past in the dead of night. Even so, wrapped tight in my fleece jacket and wool blanket with the tip of my nose ice cold, wide awake but desperate for sleep, I was a happy, happy girl. This wasn’t what I had imagined but it was so fantastic nonetheless!
Oh, forgot to tell you MY part of the “it never goes as planned in Africa” bit. I had planned and paid for two days, two nights. Getting on the boat at lunch time and getting off the boat two breakfasts later. Well, my boat mates were all finishing their journeys after my one night, the very next day. The staff seemed surprised to hear that I had booked for two nights. Many phone calls were made, many back and forth conversations were had, and it was agreed that I would get off the boat with everyone else tomorrow. We had already made it to my departure point of Kom Ombo because of good wind so the only option would be to spend the second day heading BACK to Aswan. Ummm… no thanks. Half of my money was ACTUALLY returned to me and everyone was okay with the plan. It was the middle man, the one Mr. Mohamed passed me off to, who had given everyone the run around and he, of course, wasn’t answering his phone. No harm done, it would have been nice to have another day and night on the boat, but no big deal. I had such a lovely time cruising for the day that I did. We were away from the city, I got to lounge and see camels and donkeys grazing (no crocs), families bathing along the shore, and met some incredibly nice people. I had so much fun!
Our poor crew had to paddle us across and just up from our sleeping point the next morning, as there was no wind, to where everyone was getting off the boat. I hitched a ride part way into town with the family who had a driver waiting for them and then did the last bit to the train station via tuk tuk! I was thrilled as I hadn’t seen a tuk tuk since Asia! I love those annoying, cramped tricycle rides!
Boarded the local train to Luxor. The locals REALLY try to discourage me from using the local train and it’s understandable. They are hot, smelly, rough, and DIRTY as hell. But they are cheap cheap and run much more frequently than the A/C trains. So I get onto this very crowded train to Luxor and am immediately regretting not waiting it out. The trains have that four-seat configuration where two seats face forward and two seats backwards so you can look at each other instead of the back of a seat. I shared my little section with a very kind, tired mom and her very tired, dirty young boy. Our window doesn’t open, every smoker is a chain smoker, the heat is intense this morning, and the three hour journey is a tough one. With my backpack propped in between my legs, dripping sweat and hurting from the amount of smoke I’m inhaling, it was a LONG three hours. Take me back to my wide open felucca, please!
I’d returned from Abu Simbel early that morning and at noon, Mr. Mohamed met me and passed me on to another tour operator who passed me on to a driver who was going to take me to the boat. We drove and we drove and we drove and I was thinking I was driving a lot of what I should have been floating but whatever. I get dropped in a marshy area and pointed towards a felucca tied up along shore so I eagerly bound towards a young man approaching me from the boat. Stomping along beside this lovely Egyptian young man, I see one of my boat mates aggressively gesturing towards his watch and the sky. Oh dear. Not off to a good start. I plop myself on board with a family of 5 from France. As is often in case in Africa, what you pay for and what you get are two very different things. It turns out that the family had started their journey the day before from Aswan, where I had just driven from, and cruised nicely but then spent the night the entire day on this bank and the one just opposite, apparently waiting on me and another person yet to arrive. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Mom, dad, and three kids, 13, 10, and 6 (I think). Luckily the kids didn’t seem to mind as they were swimming and jumping around the boat but dad was really frustrated. 20 hours in the same spot more or less with nowhere much to walk around and nothing to really do. He had my sympathy.
Between mom’s very good English and my broken French, I was able to make friends and we were able to distract the dad while we waited for our last passenger. The three crew members were amazing and played with the kids like kids themselves. The kids were endlessly entertaining and remarkably well-behaved. SO easy to please! Finally, American Dan arrives and we’re off. Poor Dan was the first native English speaker I had seen in a while so I was quickly chatting his ear off in between my shameful attempts in French. As terrible as I am with the language, at least I’m not so embarrassed to try anymore. And I think we did okay between the lot of us as the conversation never stopped until it was time to sleep.
Luckily we had good wind so we just switchbacked from one bank to the next, slowly making our way north. The kids were having fun steering the boat and teasing the staff and the grown-ups (yes, I’m in that group!) talked and shared travel stories. We left about 2pm and just had the nicest time hanging out and chatting. You can see photos of what the felucca looked like on my facebook. Essentially a covered deck lined with cushions with enough space to sit up right but not enough to stand. Perfect for lounging and chatting. When we pull up alongside for the night that is quickly approaching, we all wander up from the water where there’s some farmland and a gathering of donkeys, cows, and stray dogs that all made for good distraction while staff made us dinner. 10 of us sat around to a simple home made dinner as we settled in for the night.
It got pretty chilly out there so thick woolen blankets were passed around and we all sprawled out and snuggled up on the cushioned boat deck. Everyone had had long days so sleep came quickly and is ALWAYS so much better when you’re sleeping outdoors. I, however, continue to be the world’s lightest sleeper and spent most of the night listening to our puppy friends in constant conversation with their buddies across the river, donkeys and cows braying and lowing their share of the chat, and the put-put of hotel boat engines chugging past in the dead of night. Even so, wrapped tight in my fleece jacket and wool blanket with the tip of my nose ice cold, wide awake but desperate for sleep, I was a happy, happy girl. This wasn’t what I had imagined but it was so fantastic nonetheless!
Oh, forgot to tell you MY part of the “it never goes as planned in Africa” bit. I had planned and paid for two days, two nights. Getting on the boat at lunch time and getting off the boat two breakfasts later. Well, my boat mates were all finishing their journeys after my one night, the very next day. The staff seemed surprised to hear that I had booked for two nights. Many phone calls were made, many back and forth conversations were had, and it was agreed that I would get off the boat with everyone else tomorrow. We had already made it to my departure point of Kom Ombo because of good wind so the only option would be to spend the second day heading BACK to Aswan. Ummm… no thanks. Half of my money was ACTUALLY returned to me and everyone was okay with the plan. It was the middle man, the one Mr. Mohamed passed me off to, who had given everyone the run around and he, of course, wasn’t answering his phone. No harm done, it would have been nice to have another day and night on the boat, but no big deal. I had such a lovely time cruising for the day that I did. We were away from the city, I got to lounge and see camels and donkeys grazing (no crocs), families bathing along the shore, and met some incredibly nice people. I had so much fun!
Our poor crew had to paddle us across and just up from our sleeping point the next morning, as there was no wind, to where everyone was getting off the boat. I hitched a ride part way into town with the family who had a driver waiting for them and then did the last bit to the train station via tuk tuk! I was thrilled as I hadn’t seen a tuk tuk since Asia! I love those annoying, cramped tricycle rides!
Boarded the local train to Luxor. The locals REALLY try to discourage me from using the local train and it’s understandable. They are hot, smelly, rough, and DIRTY as hell. But they are cheap cheap and run much more frequently than the A/C trains. So I get onto this very crowded train to Luxor and am immediately regretting not waiting it out. The trains have that four-seat configuration where two seats face forward and two seats backwards so you can look at each other instead of the back of a seat. I shared my little section with a very kind, tired mom and her very tired, dirty young boy. Our window doesn’t open, every smoker is a chain smoker, the heat is intense this morning, and the three hour journey is a tough one. With my backpack propped in between my legs, dripping sweat and hurting from the amount of smoke I’m inhaling, it was a LONG three hours. Take me back to my wide open felucca, please!
Southbound. Aswan to Abu Simbel
Egypt has continued to be beautiful and challenging and full of something for everyone. I’ve seen retirees, gap year kids, lost souls like me, and families with children from all over the globe roaming the streets and sites and temples in my few weeks here. Even though the media coverage from early in the year painted this country as one in turmoil filled with angry, uncivilized, and violent people, I have to remember that kindness and generosity very rarely make the news. Of course we know that politics should never be used to prejudice our opinions of the people within the country but sometimes it’s hard to get past those TV images that are used to invoke fear and increase the distance between “them” and “us”. Egypt’s people have accomplished an enormous and amazing feat but sadly instead of joining in with their celebrations of that exciting future, we issue travel advisories. A country that is ready to get on its feet is suffering because tourists and travelers are too cautious to come. Tourism is their major export here, of course. If Egypt has ever been on your bucket list, now is the time to come, my friends. Now. Writing was INVENTED here for crying out loud! Archeologists still work around the clock, unearthing new ancient treasures everyday… how exciting is that?! Luxury is definitely an option (the Pharaohs were always very well looked after) if roughing it isn’t your style so there’s no reason not to come. This place has left me giggling and amazed and I thought I had seen some pretty impressive stuff already. Come to Egypt. You won’t be disappointed.
Okay, PR plug complete. On to the stories…
Aswan… While the touts were out in full force doing their jobs with a mighty gusto, Aswan remained a lovely town to stroll around. The day was full of shouts to get you into a taxi, horse carriage, or felucca, and after dark, the chants changed to having a look in their shop and buying their wares. Somewhat annoying if you wanted to stop and actually look at anything as you would be instantly swarmed, but harmless and comical for the most part. The night market in Aswan is beautiful. Typical tacky tourist trappings mixed in with the warm savoury scents of colourful spices arranged in open bowls and brilliant iridescent racks of silk and cotton scarves, shirts, skirts, and dresses. Fruit piled high pyramid style and jewelry shops bursting with Egyptian shaped charms. I bought a legit silver “wedding band” for less than $10 because the cheapo one turned my finger green. Oops! You could find anything here and of course, it’s all “special price for you!”
And as is the case with most of my travels, I’m eating my way through the country. Falafel and eggplant stuffed pita, tahini sauces and strange omelets and kashory (a carb lovers combo of rice, pasta, lentils, and some kind of tomato sauce) and some other random street food that would catch my attention without me fully understanding what exactly it was but I’d try it anyway. If the locals are chowing down on it, I want to try too. There was a lovely little park alongside one section of the river where I could sit on a bench and watch kids playing soccer or families strolling around without being the target of attention at all. It was amazing. I met the same young boy there both nights I wandered down as that was his turf for selling whatever he was selling and although we couldn’t understand a single word of what the other was saying, he was the nicest company. For a city that started with a pervo beginning, Aswan turned out to be so lovely!
I was considering heading south to Abu Simbel, 40kms north of the Sudanese border, but some locals suggested it really wasn’t worth it. My sister said it was, and she was right – THANKS JOOL! Of course, I want local buses as tourist crammed transport leaves you no time to do anything independently. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with tour groups, often they’re the best way to make sure you see all the highlights, but I’m a dawdler. Always have been. Whether hiking or sightseeing or diving or whatever, I generally get distracted by something or other, wander off from the group, and am always running to catch up, feeling like I’ve missed something along the way, then getting a telling off to boot. Not the way I like to see my once in a lifetime attractions.
So with directions from the guy at my hotel, I arrive at the local minibus station and am pointed to the Abu Simbel minibus where the driver quickly makes an X with his forearms and says, Tourist, no, NO! But this bus goes to Abu Simbel? Yes, Abu Simbel, but no for you, no tourists. Harummmph! HOW RUDE! I want to go to Abu Simbel, please. No for you! No tourist! Police! No for you! (small whine in my voice)… but I want to go to Abu Simbel, this bus is to Abu Simbel, why can’t I go to Abu Simbel? I’ve looked in the minibus and see there are other women in there, so it’s not a segregated bus thing, and there are still empty seat available. I’m thoroughly confused and at 7am, not sure what my options are. The bus driver then points me to a big, proper sized tour bus and tells me to go there. *sigh* Hanging my head a little bit, I shuffle over to this big bus and see four white faces around a table. I ask what’s the deal and find out that tourists are not allowed to ride in the small, private taxis or minibuses to areas south of Aswan, some kidnapping and robbery issues, so we must ride in these big government registered buses. Just like the typical Greyhound buses from home. Locals take them too, more comfortable than the minibuses, same same more or less. I’d heard the stories of police convoys and limited travel but it was from like 10 years ago. I guess not much has changed. Then they promptly turned their backs on me and continued chatting away in Spanish. Oh, okay. Thank you.
My first views of the desert on the four hour trip down and many police check points along the way. They never come onto the bus or actually stop the traffic, you just have to veer through pylons and gates and over speed bumps where groups of bored and uninterested military boys laze about with machine guns slung slackly over shoulders or backs of chairs, feet up, hats pushed back on their heads, and tea in hand. Miserable patrol assignment, for sure.
Abu Simbel is a small, quiet town on the Nile that obviously doesn’t see much tourism and as of late, even less. My 30 minute walk from town to the temples was almost deserted and the few people I did see offered hellos of genuine kindness instead of let me take your money. A pretty town that was much more of what I was hoping for. Arriving at the temples, I laughed to see that I was the only one there. I’m not kidding. About 50 security guards, shop owners, and various staff, and me. Sweet. I went to buy a ticket and choked. *side note* While the temples I have visited are cheap by Western prices and worth every single penny, they have been costing me about the same price as a night’s accommodation. It was starting to add up and any budgeting has already been totally and completely bashed. So this entry ticket was the most expensive one by far and was twice the price of my accommodation for that night. Gulp. I just couldn’t do it. So I wandered around out front for a bit, was instantly befriended by a fly/tick infested dog, and tried to figure out what I should do. I couldn’t let money be the issue right now, I'd come all this way and I’ll never be back. But it was a lot of money for this budget travelling girl. They had a student price listed, which was half the regular price, and just as I was about to approach the ticket man with puppy dog eyes and a plea for that student price, he waves me over. You have no money? I have money, just not enough money. You have money for student price? Yes! Yes! I can do student price. Okay, you pay student price. Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! And in I go. All by myself is coming in handy in so many ways.
No need to bore you with the details of the temples but needless to say, if you look at my facebook photos, the temples were, as all have been, completely incredible. (I am obviously running out of adjectives descriptive enough to paint the AWESOMENESS of these places!) Oh yeah, and I was there all by myself. The four Spanish people from the bus did come and go, as did a few small tour groups, but I lingered and wandered and waited and had many long moments where it was just me and the big stone statues. For the sake of tourism, I’m sorry that people are staying away, but for selfish me, WOO! HOO! I’ve had National Geographic moments, just me and thousands of years of history. Un-freaking-believable! Lucky, lucky me!
Had a few visits with lovely local families when I stopped in at a shop or for something to eat (shocking!) and was up and gone on the 6am bus the next day. A quick 18 hour visit worth every single minute. Back to my hotel in Aswan where I had a few hours to kill before heading out on a trip I had planned to float down the Nile for a couple of days. I’m going on a felucca!
Okay, PR plug complete. On to the stories…
Aswan… While the touts were out in full force doing their jobs with a mighty gusto, Aswan remained a lovely town to stroll around. The day was full of shouts to get you into a taxi, horse carriage, or felucca, and after dark, the chants changed to having a look in their shop and buying their wares. Somewhat annoying if you wanted to stop and actually look at anything as you would be instantly swarmed, but harmless and comical for the most part. The night market in Aswan is beautiful. Typical tacky tourist trappings mixed in with the warm savoury scents of colourful spices arranged in open bowls and brilliant iridescent racks of silk and cotton scarves, shirts, skirts, and dresses. Fruit piled high pyramid style and jewelry shops bursting with Egyptian shaped charms. I bought a legit silver “wedding band” for less than $10 because the cheapo one turned my finger green. Oops! You could find anything here and of course, it’s all “special price for you!”
And as is the case with most of my travels, I’m eating my way through the country. Falafel and eggplant stuffed pita, tahini sauces and strange omelets and kashory (a carb lovers combo of rice, pasta, lentils, and some kind of tomato sauce) and some other random street food that would catch my attention without me fully understanding what exactly it was but I’d try it anyway. If the locals are chowing down on it, I want to try too. There was a lovely little park alongside one section of the river where I could sit on a bench and watch kids playing soccer or families strolling around without being the target of attention at all. It was amazing. I met the same young boy there both nights I wandered down as that was his turf for selling whatever he was selling and although we couldn’t understand a single word of what the other was saying, he was the nicest company. For a city that started with a pervo beginning, Aswan turned out to be so lovely!
I was considering heading south to Abu Simbel, 40kms north of the Sudanese border, but some locals suggested it really wasn’t worth it. My sister said it was, and she was right – THANKS JOOL! Of course, I want local buses as tourist crammed transport leaves you no time to do anything independently. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with tour groups, often they’re the best way to make sure you see all the highlights, but I’m a dawdler. Always have been. Whether hiking or sightseeing or diving or whatever, I generally get distracted by something or other, wander off from the group, and am always running to catch up, feeling like I’ve missed something along the way, then getting a telling off to boot. Not the way I like to see my once in a lifetime attractions.
So with directions from the guy at my hotel, I arrive at the local minibus station and am pointed to the Abu Simbel minibus where the driver quickly makes an X with his forearms and says, Tourist, no, NO! But this bus goes to Abu Simbel? Yes, Abu Simbel, but no for you, no tourists. Harummmph! HOW RUDE! I want to go to Abu Simbel, please. No for you! No tourist! Police! No for you! (small whine in my voice)… but I want to go to Abu Simbel, this bus is to Abu Simbel, why can’t I go to Abu Simbel? I’ve looked in the minibus and see there are other women in there, so it’s not a segregated bus thing, and there are still empty seat available. I’m thoroughly confused and at 7am, not sure what my options are. The bus driver then points me to a big, proper sized tour bus and tells me to go there. *sigh* Hanging my head a little bit, I shuffle over to this big bus and see four white faces around a table. I ask what’s the deal and find out that tourists are not allowed to ride in the small, private taxis or minibuses to areas south of Aswan, some kidnapping and robbery issues, so we must ride in these big government registered buses. Just like the typical Greyhound buses from home. Locals take them too, more comfortable than the minibuses, same same more or less. I’d heard the stories of police convoys and limited travel but it was from like 10 years ago. I guess not much has changed. Then they promptly turned their backs on me and continued chatting away in Spanish. Oh, okay. Thank you.
My first views of the desert on the four hour trip down and many police check points along the way. They never come onto the bus or actually stop the traffic, you just have to veer through pylons and gates and over speed bumps where groups of bored and uninterested military boys laze about with machine guns slung slackly over shoulders or backs of chairs, feet up, hats pushed back on their heads, and tea in hand. Miserable patrol assignment, for sure.
Abu Simbel is a small, quiet town on the Nile that obviously doesn’t see much tourism and as of late, even less. My 30 minute walk from town to the temples was almost deserted and the few people I did see offered hellos of genuine kindness instead of let me take your money. A pretty town that was much more of what I was hoping for. Arriving at the temples, I laughed to see that I was the only one there. I’m not kidding. About 50 security guards, shop owners, and various staff, and me. Sweet. I went to buy a ticket and choked. *side note* While the temples I have visited are cheap by Western prices and worth every single penny, they have been costing me about the same price as a night’s accommodation. It was starting to add up and any budgeting has already been totally and completely bashed. So this entry ticket was the most expensive one by far and was twice the price of my accommodation for that night. Gulp. I just couldn’t do it. So I wandered around out front for a bit, was instantly befriended by a fly/tick infested dog, and tried to figure out what I should do. I couldn’t let money be the issue right now, I'd come all this way and I’ll never be back. But it was a lot of money for this budget travelling girl. They had a student price listed, which was half the regular price, and just as I was about to approach the ticket man with puppy dog eyes and a plea for that student price, he waves me over. You have no money? I have money, just not enough money. You have money for student price? Yes! Yes! I can do student price. Okay, you pay student price. Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! And in I go. All by myself is coming in handy in so many ways.
No need to bore you with the details of the temples but needless to say, if you look at my facebook photos, the temples were, as all have been, completely incredible. (I am obviously running out of adjectives descriptive enough to paint the AWESOMENESS of these places!) Oh yeah, and I was there all by myself. The four Spanish people from the bus did come and go, as did a few small tour groups, but I lingered and wandered and waited and had many long moments where it was just me and the big stone statues. For the sake of tourism, I’m sorry that people are staying away, but for selfish me, WOO! HOO! I’ve had National Geographic moments, just me and thousands of years of history. Un-freaking-believable! Lucky, lucky me!
Had a few visits with lovely local families when I stopped in at a shop or for something to eat (shocking!) and was up and gone on the 6am bus the next day. A quick 18 hour visit worth every single minute. Back to my hotel in Aswan where I had a few hours to kill before heading out on a trip I had planned to float down the Nile for a couple of days. I’m going on a felucca!
Monday, May 2, 2011
Ahhh... As-uan
I have to say, for every creep story I might have, there are ten more kind ones. I tell the creep ones not to worry or stress people out but because they’re really pretty funny. And honestly, the very, very, VERY few times I’ve felt creeped out, it was only that, creeped out. I’ve never once felt the tiniest bit unsafe since I’ve arrived. If I need anything , even if I don’t think I need anything, someone has always been there to help or give me tea or take me somewhere. Truly amazing people. Everyone must come to Egypt!
So, more examples of super niceness… I now needed to buy a train ticket to get to Aswan remember? but the train ticket guy was really sorry to tell me that there were no trains. What? Of course there are! They go a few times every day. No, no, no, air conditioned car train finished. Tomorrow, you want for tomorrow? This isn’t about money, they all honestly want to make sure I’m touristy comfortable. SO NICE! It’s okay, I tell him, I just want local train. Oh! Local train! You go with Egyptian people! No problem, you buy ticket on train. Yes, yes, welcome to Egypt. So while I listlessly try to pass away the three hot and sunny hours waiting for a train that’s supposed to come somewhere around 2pm, I’m of course lazing around on the wrong side of the tracks at 2:15pm because I figure I’ve got loads of time.
*side note* I’m still on Africa time. That simply means that I expect everything to be kinda sorta somewhere around when they say it’s going to be and when we’re all loaded up and ready to go, that STILL gives me another 10 or 15 mins while drivers and such sort themselves out. I need to snap out of this as things here are unbelievably efficient! I laughed it off when someone came by at around 2:05pm to apologize for the train being late; I assumed he was just used to whiny tourists who are on schedules they can’t let go of. You can set your watch by scheduled transport here, folks. I kid you not!
Train pulls up just after 2:15pm, I’m not really paying too much attention, and two men around me jump up pointing to my backpack that I’ve left on the RIGHT side of the tracks (I was keeping an eye on it, don’t worry!) You! Aswan? Aswan? Yep, me Aswan. GO! GO! Aswan! I race up the steps across the tracks while they shout at the train and someone pops out to grab my bag and help me on board. Stares all around. Oops. I get settled into my seat and within 5 minutes, two pretending to be official looking men come and stand beside me. They're talking to each other and the man sitting behind me who then speaks up and tells me that the men are policemen and they want me to come with them. What?! Why?! He explains that they feel I’ll be more comfortable, SAFER, if I sit up in the front with them instead of in the local car. Bahahaha! Apparently I really am royalty! No, no, I’m fine, everyone is very nice here, I’ll stay, no problem. They look at me in slight disbelief, shake their heads, and carry on. Oh so well taken care of indeed!
A very kind man on the train makes sure I get off at the right stop and I’m in Aswan. Taxi driver insists he knows where he’s taking me, I’ve got the name of a place in mind this time so I’m ready, but we drive in circles around and round. Finally he finds the place with many apologies and a “Welcome to Aswan!” and in I go. The guy at the desk has slime oozing out of him and he’s more than happy to show me a room. He tries to slip an arm around me as he slithers out from behind the desk but I was quick with the sidestep. Unfortunately the elevator was the smallest, narrowest thing I have ever seen. It was just long enough for the two of us to stand shoulder to shoulder and pressed up against the back wall, I could not put my arm all the way straight out in front of me. Smaller than a closet small. He insists I stand next to the buttons so he can do a boob swipe as he “oh, excuse me” presses the floor, then has hands on me, helping me out of the elevator. Seriously dude, OFF! The room was so nice, especially after what I had just come from in Edfu, but out on the balcony, just a smidge bigger than the elevator, he again had me cornered so that he could put his hands around my waist and guide me inside, trying to cuddle up to me. Ick. Ick. Ick. So Mr. McFeely Hands grabbed and pawed until we got to the desk. I said it was too expensive, it SO wasn’t, and as I bent down to pick up my bags, I heard a growl… “mmmmm, yes, good, good, very good.” I snapped my head up to see him leaning over the desk, craning his neck, as he tried to get a good look down my shirt. Vomit. With a great deal of restraint, I raised my voice just loud enough for others to hear that this was a very nice hotel but he was a very bad man, he is no good, and I will not stay because of him. “Bad man” gets the point across really well over here. Yuck, yuck, yuck!
And again, REALLY?! How do men, in any country in ANY place think this is a good idea? I know all of you girls can relate, the guys at the construction site you have to walk past, the goob in the convenience store who happens to always work the shift that you stop in, the slippery skid at the pub who seems to be a permanent fixture. Seriously, guys, think what you want but really, when those thoughts leave your head and enter MY world, it’s not winning you any brownie points. Even on those ugly days when I’d rather not be seen, THAT kind of attention simply warrants a punch in the balls. Enough said. Blech!
On the front steps of the hotel, as I re-adjusted my pack and shook off the slime, a man was just getting out of his car and coming up the steps. Can I help you? No, I’m fine. You don’t look fine, are you okay? No, I’m not okay! I need a place to stay and this is a bad place with a bad man! (Don’t I sound like I’m 5?! Too funny!) Oh madam, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Please, let me help you. I’m of course super wary at this point but he pulls out his business cards and a portfolio, he’s a tour operator and he uses this hotel for his Korean guests sometimes. This man takes me in his personal car, for free, and drives me to my latest and greatest hotel, overlooking the Nile, for the same price, with assurances that I will be very, very safe here. I want you be happy, I no like how your face look out of that hotel, I want to change your face. I want you to like Egypt. Oh I do, I do. I’m sorry. It was a bad 5 minutes and now it’s all good. Thank you so much Mr. Mohamed. I love Egypt!
So my new hotel is on the main street of town with the unbelievable constant laying-on-the-horn-honking drilling shrilling into my brain but my big window opens up directly over the Nile, it’s clean and big and cozy, and I’m settled in for a good few days. In Edfu, I barely took anything out of my pack, within 10 minutes here, my whole bag has been unloaded. Yep, I’m comfortable, the staff is SO lovely, and I’m gonna be just fine!
So, more examples of super niceness… I now needed to buy a train ticket to get to Aswan remember? but the train ticket guy was really sorry to tell me that there were no trains. What? Of course there are! They go a few times every day. No, no, no, air conditioned car train finished. Tomorrow, you want for tomorrow? This isn’t about money, they all honestly want to make sure I’m touristy comfortable. SO NICE! It’s okay, I tell him, I just want local train. Oh! Local train! You go with Egyptian people! No problem, you buy ticket on train. Yes, yes, welcome to Egypt. So while I listlessly try to pass away the three hot and sunny hours waiting for a train that’s supposed to come somewhere around 2pm, I’m of course lazing around on the wrong side of the tracks at 2:15pm because I figure I’ve got loads of time.
*side note* I’m still on Africa time. That simply means that I expect everything to be kinda sorta somewhere around when they say it’s going to be and when we’re all loaded up and ready to go, that STILL gives me another 10 or 15 mins while drivers and such sort themselves out. I need to snap out of this as things here are unbelievably efficient! I laughed it off when someone came by at around 2:05pm to apologize for the train being late; I assumed he was just used to whiny tourists who are on schedules they can’t let go of. You can set your watch by scheduled transport here, folks. I kid you not!
Train pulls up just after 2:15pm, I’m not really paying too much attention, and two men around me jump up pointing to my backpack that I’ve left on the RIGHT side of the tracks (I was keeping an eye on it, don’t worry!) You! Aswan? Aswan? Yep, me Aswan. GO! GO! Aswan! I race up the steps across the tracks while they shout at the train and someone pops out to grab my bag and help me on board. Stares all around. Oops. I get settled into my seat and within 5 minutes, two pretending to be official looking men come and stand beside me. They're talking to each other and the man sitting behind me who then speaks up and tells me that the men are policemen and they want me to come with them. What?! Why?! He explains that they feel I’ll be more comfortable, SAFER, if I sit up in the front with them instead of in the local car. Bahahaha! Apparently I really am royalty! No, no, I’m fine, everyone is very nice here, I’ll stay, no problem. They look at me in slight disbelief, shake their heads, and carry on. Oh so well taken care of indeed!
A very kind man on the train makes sure I get off at the right stop and I’m in Aswan. Taxi driver insists he knows where he’s taking me, I’ve got the name of a place in mind this time so I’m ready, but we drive in circles around and round. Finally he finds the place with many apologies and a “Welcome to Aswan!” and in I go. The guy at the desk has slime oozing out of him and he’s more than happy to show me a room. He tries to slip an arm around me as he slithers out from behind the desk but I was quick with the sidestep. Unfortunately the elevator was the smallest, narrowest thing I have ever seen. It was just long enough for the two of us to stand shoulder to shoulder and pressed up against the back wall, I could not put my arm all the way straight out in front of me. Smaller than a closet small. He insists I stand next to the buttons so he can do a boob swipe as he “oh, excuse me” presses the floor, then has hands on me, helping me out of the elevator. Seriously dude, OFF! The room was so nice, especially after what I had just come from in Edfu, but out on the balcony, just a smidge bigger than the elevator, he again had me cornered so that he could put his hands around my waist and guide me inside, trying to cuddle up to me. Ick. Ick. Ick. So Mr. McFeely Hands grabbed and pawed until we got to the desk. I said it was too expensive, it SO wasn’t, and as I bent down to pick up my bags, I heard a growl… “mmmmm, yes, good, good, very good.” I snapped my head up to see him leaning over the desk, craning his neck, as he tried to get a good look down my shirt. Vomit. With a great deal of restraint, I raised my voice just loud enough for others to hear that this was a very nice hotel but he was a very bad man, he is no good, and I will not stay because of him. “Bad man” gets the point across really well over here. Yuck, yuck, yuck!
And again, REALLY?! How do men, in any country in ANY place think this is a good idea? I know all of you girls can relate, the guys at the construction site you have to walk past, the goob in the convenience store who happens to always work the shift that you stop in, the slippery skid at the pub who seems to be a permanent fixture. Seriously, guys, think what you want but really, when those thoughts leave your head and enter MY world, it’s not winning you any brownie points. Even on those ugly days when I’d rather not be seen, THAT kind of attention simply warrants a punch in the balls. Enough said. Blech!
On the front steps of the hotel, as I re-adjusted my pack and shook off the slime, a man was just getting out of his car and coming up the steps. Can I help you? No, I’m fine. You don’t look fine, are you okay? No, I’m not okay! I need a place to stay and this is a bad place with a bad man! (Don’t I sound like I’m 5?! Too funny!) Oh madam, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Please, let me help you. I’m of course super wary at this point but he pulls out his business cards and a portfolio, he’s a tour operator and he uses this hotel for his Korean guests sometimes. This man takes me in his personal car, for free, and drives me to my latest and greatest hotel, overlooking the Nile, for the same price, with assurances that I will be very, very safe here. I want you be happy, I no like how your face look out of that hotel, I want to change your face. I want you to like Egypt. Oh I do, I do. I’m sorry. It was a bad 5 minutes and now it’s all good. Thank you so much Mr. Mohamed. I love Egypt!
So my new hotel is on the main street of town with the unbelievable constant laying-on-the-horn-honking drilling shrilling into my brain but my big window opens up directly over the Nile, it’s clean and big and cozy, and I’m settled in for a good few days. In Edfu, I barely took anything out of my pack, within 10 minutes here, my whole bag has been unloaded. Yep, I’m comfortable, the staff is SO lovely, and I’m gonna be just fine!
Naughty & Nice in Edfu
As I left the comfort of my squatter’s palace in lovely Al Quseir, I was excited to be heading towards the Nile. Visions of floating wooden barges and feluccas sailing lazily down the water as camels grazed peacefully in the shadows of looming ancient temples. The Nile in Cairo was a big ole river in the middle of a very big city, I wanted to see old school Nile. If you didn’t know it already folks, obviously I’m in my own little world; it’s 2011, not 2011BC! So I left the coast of the Red Sea and spent all of about $5 to get the 5 hours from Al Quseir to Edfu via the usual Peugot station wagon and minibus. I was aiming for Edfu as it didn’t seem to be too much of a tourist town, it’s right on the river, and I was planning to hop a local boat from there south to Aswan. Why I try to plan these things after ALL this time is beyond me; I just don’t learn.
The minibus driver, as all of them have been, was WONDERFUL! Every taxi driver or transport driver has gone out of their way to take me the extra distance from the station to wherever I might be able to find accommodation. Even insisting on carrying my bag! I’m strong like bull but thankful for the chivalries when it means climbing X number of flights of stairs with it. Then they all make sure I take their phone numbers, even if they only know 3 words of English, so that “you call, I help you”. SO NICE! Really. Edfu was a loud, busy town, a minor stop on the tourist circuit, so I thought it would be an okay happy medium of comfort and challenge. The hotel where my driver dropped me was WAY expensive so backpack on (it’s now mid-afternoon hot), and off I trudged to find somewhere to lay my head for the night. It seems that accommodation is hard to come by in Edfu as not many people could offer ideas and I was on the main street through town. Finally, two young girls walked me to this crumbling building (literally!) tucked behind alleyways near the market and saved me from the sweltering agony of concrete, blaring horns, and being generally lost and confused.
The surprised looks on the faces of the staff members at El Medina Hotel revealed that they had obviously not seen a foreign traveler in quite some time. They immediately welcomed me in and the owner, who must be pushing 90 if not more, insisted I sit and look at comment books and photos of him with travelers of many years ago while another staff member graciously provided me with the coldest, yummiest glass of guava juice. The broken chatter about all of his guests and the 20 or 30 years that he had owned this hotel went on and on and on (never did find out who owned it for the 150 previous years.) The younger staff members offered me sheepish, sympathetic looks as they attempted to redirect grandpa so that I could actually get a room, but there was no stopping him. It was only once I sifted through all of the photos and skimmed the latest comment book did someone swoop in and save me under the pretense of showing me rooms for the night.
Ummm… okay. Now, I’m remembering some of the places I’ve hunkered down in before. I’m not usually too too picky about where I stay, I usually know what I’m getting myself into more or less, but yeah, this place was rough. The man showing me around was so eager, showing me one room right next to the office if I wanted to be close to them, (no, very kind, but no thank you), another one that was right over the street, looked bright and sunny, and then an “Oh wait! Ah ha! moment” as he brought me to a similar room but on the other side of the scary building where it was “very quiet, no street, very quiet”. Yes, yes, this will do. I was cringing but he was SO nice! Back downstairs to fill out paperwork and talk price. This place was half the price of the first place but still the most expensive place so far and really, should have been condemned, but at this point, my choices were pretty much none and the family and staff were just so nice! “you drink tea?” “you want food?” “you want tea?” Umm… I’m okay, I’m just gonna go to my room, but thank you, thank you very much.
The door to the room was barely on its hinges so needless to say, the lock was most ineffective, the three single beds in the room had mattresses so thin that I could feel the wire frame underneath them, and the bathroom, oh the bathroom, it had me afraid for my life. That being said though, it was a big room, I couldn’t see any creepy crawlies, and yeah, it was only for one night. I dropped my stuff, making sure that nothing that was going to touch my skin touched the floor, the carpet, or the beds, and ventured out. Hot and sweaty but I wanted to see where I was.
Harassment had been blissfully minor up to this point. I was thoroughly unprepared.
Horse drawn carriages seem to be the way tourists get around here so each one that passed by shouted to me for a ride. As did each taxi driver and each shop owner. “Hello!” ”Hey you!” ”Hello!” ”Taxi?” ”Hello!” ”You want taxi?” “Hello!” “Look in my shop!” Hello!” “What’s your country?” “Hello!” “Welcome to Alaska!” (What the HELL? That’s a new one!) There is no possible way to respond to every single person who shouts at you or tries to greet you or attempts to engage you in some form of communication. Honestly, it’s not being rude, it’s just impossible. And then, super annoying. So ignoring them is a survival strategy that is the quickest way to get rid of the unwanted attention. Quickest, but not immediate. I kid you not, the taxi or carriage driver will slowly pace beside you and just say “hello, taxi?” over and over and over again, honking their horn or cracking their horse whip, while I look straight ahead not even acknowledging their presence, and it goes on and on. We’re maybe a metre or two apart and they just keep throwing out their pitch while I continue to ignore them. I’m serious! It must look hilarious! And love a duck, it’s exhausting.
I finally hide out in this tiny little falafel hole in the wall where some nice kids are working. The group of curious onlookers that gathers always has at least one who can speak English. The English speaker gives me the creeps right away as he was one of those yelling for my attention on the street from his car and came rushing in when he saw me sit down, but I’m hungry, the other boys in the shop are nice, and *sigh*, I just don’t have the energy at the moment. I ask about any other places to stay and of course, he offers his family’s house. Now THIS isn’t creepy, it has actually been surprisingly common and so very Egyptian hospitality where I've been invited to stay with families out of sheer generosity, but when I declined, he followed it up with the tidbit of info that he has a cat that just had kittens, don’t I want to see the kittens? Oh ewwwwww!!! Pedophile to the children in the park… come on little girl, I have some puppies in the car, come see my puppies. No way guy!
I firmly refuse but then he insists that he show me a place that he knows of. I ask him to just tell me, no, no, better price if I go with you, which again is true, so I go. It’s broad daylight in the middle of the busy street and my creep detector is on high alert so I’m not worried. He’s shady, but a bit of a joke. I figured I could outrun his chubby ass if I needed to. Not 5 minutes down the road and the conversation turns to him asking me to do something, blah, blah, blah, that I should hold his hand because it would be nice for him and make him feel good. Ciao creep! I turn on my heel and am outta there. My icky hotel is just fine, thank you very much.
As I’m standing in the doorway to the office of the hotel talking to the incredibly nice man who showed me my room earlier, creepo kitty guy suddenly shows up, peering over my shoulder. ACK! Get out! Get out NOW! He tries to talk to my hotel guy so I just kept talking over him saying “bad man, bad man, bad man, tell him to go, tell him to go.” so my hotel guy politely insists that he leaves. I thought that I'd shaken him off when I bolted from the street but the creep followed me! I made sure that my hotel man knew to not let this guy back into the hotel, to NOT show him my room, that he was NOT my friend, and to please let me know if he comes back. It really wasn’t a big deal but wow did it ever give me the heebie jeebies! Yuck!
As I’m gathering my wits in my room, there is a knock at my door not 3 minutes later. Really?! Did he really come back?! It was the nice man (oh I wish I could remember his name!) who was insisting I come downstairs. Why? Just come, come. Oh shit, what have I started? He puts me in this tiny, dingy room, obviously where staff hangs out to watch TV and I’m thinking that if police or creepy kitty guy or ANYONE else shows up, I’m ditching my stuff and making a run for it. Instead, nice man brings in a massive tray of food, his lunch. He then begins shoving food in my hands and up to my mouth, eat! Eat! Oh no, no, I just ate, really I’m ok. No! You eat! His English is broken, his face is serious, he wants me to know that Egyptian men are good men and I don’t know? that maybe food will erase the minor creep experience I had upon arrival??? So we sit, he eats and I try to swallow a bit here and there (I JUST ate, remember?) and he tries to make everything okay. SUCH a nice man! I ask him about getting a felucca south to Aswan and he makes a plan to take me to his friend later that night. He was going to take very good care of me.
Unfortunately, the Nile in the middle of these cities is just a big river with massive cruise ships tied up alongside. No sailing boats, no fishing boats, only hotels on water. This sweet man walks up and down the river later that night with me asking whoever he can find about local boats to Aswan. We talk to tourist police (who know nothing) and local people but can only come up with a plan to show up the next morning to try again. Looks like there are no boats going south. From what it seems, for whatever reason, you can only sail the sections of the river between Luxor and Aswan via hotel-sized cruise boat. No feluccas, no small boats, and no hopping on board somewhere in the middle, which is where I was. Sigh. Okay. Will try tomorrow. Back to the hotel. Took a good couple of hours out of this man’s night and he can only smile and ensure that we try again tomorrow. Wow. So, so, SO nice!
Not much sleep that night, for however many reasons, and at 6:30am someone starts knocking on my door. You know how when you don’t sleep all night, the only sleep you actually get usually comes around 5:30am? Yeah, I had just fallen asleep and someone is knocking on my door. Hello? Hello? Who’s there? Please go away! No response, just… Knock, knock, knock. Grumble, grumble, grumble, I open the door to grandpa insisting that I come for tea. I simply looked at him. No thank you, I’m sleeping (pointing to my wildly messy hair and puffy face). You want tea? No, really, thank you, I want to sleep. Oh, okay, you come later. *sigh* Nicest family EVER but COME ON!!! I shake my head, laughing to myself, and crawl back into my creaky wire bed.
I try to get a bit of sleep, get up, and pack up all of my stuff. I’m leaving today whether there’s a boat or not. 8:30am, another knock on my door. Really?! REALLY?! It’s nice man, asking when I’m going to the temple because “temple open now, going to boat 10 o’clock”. Okay, okay, going now. Oh my GOSH! I hoof it the 20 minute walk to the Temple of Horus ignoring horse carriages and taxis the whole way. Oh. Wow. Most completely intact temple in Egypt. This was amazing. Huge and perfect and amazing. Needless to say I was there a little longer than I had planned. Was almost 11 by the time I got back to the hotel and the nice man and I said a quick goodbye. I’ve GOT to find a way to thank that man. Incredible.
Oh, little side funny. Apparently I’m the only one who walks anywhere hence the only crazy man in Edfu who also walks the road from town to temple thought it would be quite entertaining to stalk and shout at me in what I think was his attempt at asking me my name in English but more or less sounded like “wassabyneem?” I crossed the street, he crossed the street, I slowed down, he slowed down, I passed him, he ran to catch up, you get the point. I just ignored him and kept on straight ahead however a few people watching this scene signaled to police officers (I didn’t see this) who felt it was now their duty to accompany me. Crazy man hopped up in one of the many horse carriages, laughing as he was whisked away, and then the police pick up where crazy left off… So, what’s your name? Where do you come from? *sigh* What can you do?
The backpack walk to the river was the longest yet so I was exhausted upon arrival. Found out what we had suspected, no boats for me to hop on, so train it is. 3 hour wait until the train comes. Ugh. But it’s all good. Heading to Aswan.
The minibus driver, as all of them have been, was WONDERFUL! Every taxi driver or transport driver has gone out of their way to take me the extra distance from the station to wherever I might be able to find accommodation. Even insisting on carrying my bag! I’m strong like bull but thankful for the chivalries when it means climbing X number of flights of stairs with it. Then they all make sure I take their phone numbers, even if they only know 3 words of English, so that “you call, I help you”. SO NICE! Really. Edfu was a loud, busy town, a minor stop on the tourist circuit, so I thought it would be an okay happy medium of comfort and challenge. The hotel where my driver dropped me was WAY expensive so backpack on (it’s now mid-afternoon hot), and off I trudged to find somewhere to lay my head for the night. It seems that accommodation is hard to come by in Edfu as not many people could offer ideas and I was on the main street through town. Finally, two young girls walked me to this crumbling building (literally!) tucked behind alleyways near the market and saved me from the sweltering agony of concrete, blaring horns, and being generally lost and confused.
The surprised looks on the faces of the staff members at El Medina Hotel revealed that they had obviously not seen a foreign traveler in quite some time. They immediately welcomed me in and the owner, who must be pushing 90 if not more, insisted I sit and look at comment books and photos of him with travelers of many years ago while another staff member graciously provided me with the coldest, yummiest glass of guava juice. The broken chatter about all of his guests and the 20 or 30 years that he had owned this hotel went on and on and on (never did find out who owned it for the 150 previous years.) The younger staff members offered me sheepish, sympathetic looks as they attempted to redirect grandpa so that I could actually get a room, but there was no stopping him. It was only once I sifted through all of the photos and skimmed the latest comment book did someone swoop in and save me under the pretense of showing me rooms for the night.
Ummm… okay. Now, I’m remembering some of the places I’ve hunkered down in before. I’m not usually too too picky about where I stay, I usually know what I’m getting myself into more or less, but yeah, this place was rough. The man showing me around was so eager, showing me one room right next to the office if I wanted to be close to them, (no, very kind, but no thank you), another one that was right over the street, looked bright and sunny, and then an “Oh wait! Ah ha! moment” as he brought me to a similar room but on the other side of the scary building where it was “very quiet, no street, very quiet”. Yes, yes, this will do. I was cringing but he was SO nice! Back downstairs to fill out paperwork and talk price. This place was half the price of the first place but still the most expensive place so far and really, should have been condemned, but at this point, my choices were pretty much none and the family and staff were just so nice! “you drink tea?” “you want food?” “you want tea?” Umm… I’m okay, I’m just gonna go to my room, but thank you, thank you very much.
The door to the room was barely on its hinges so needless to say, the lock was most ineffective, the three single beds in the room had mattresses so thin that I could feel the wire frame underneath them, and the bathroom, oh the bathroom, it had me afraid for my life. That being said though, it was a big room, I couldn’t see any creepy crawlies, and yeah, it was only for one night. I dropped my stuff, making sure that nothing that was going to touch my skin touched the floor, the carpet, or the beds, and ventured out. Hot and sweaty but I wanted to see where I was.
Harassment had been blissfully minor up to this point. I was thoroughly unprepared.
Horse drawn carriages seem to be the way tourists get around here so each one that passed by shouted to me for a ride. As did each taxi driver and each shop owner. “Hello!” ”Hey you!” ”Hello!” ”Taxi?” ”Hello!” ”You want taxi?” “Hello!” “Look in my shop!” Hello!” “What’s your country?” “Hello!” “Welcome to Alaska!” (What the HELL? That’s a new one!) There is no possible way to respond to every single person who shouts at you or tries to greet you or attempts to engage you in some form of communication. Honestly, it’s not being rude, it’s just impossible. And then, super annoying. So ignoring them is a survival strategy that is the quickest way to get rid of the unwanted attention. Quickest, but not immediate. I kid you not, the taxi or carriage driver will slowly pace beside you and just say “hello, taxi?” over and over and over again, honking their horn or cracking their horse whip, while I look straight ahead not even acknowledging their presence, and it goes on and on. We’re maybe a metre or two apart and they just keep throwing out their pitch while I continue to ignore them. I’m serious! It must look hilarious! And love a duck, it’s exhausting.
I finally hide out in this tiny little falafel hole in the wall where some nice kids are working. The group of curious onlookers that gathers always has at least one who can speak English. The English speaker gives me the creeps right away as he was one of those yelling for my attention on the street from his car and came rushing in when he saw me sit down, but I’m hungry, the other boys in the shop are nice, and *sigh*, I just don’t have the energy at the moment. I ask about any other places to stay and of course, he offers his family’s house. Now THIS isn’t creepy, it has actually been surprisingly common and so very Egyptian hospitality where I've been invited to stay with families out of sheer generosity, but when I declined, he followed it up with the tidbit of info that he has a cat that just had kittens, don’t I want to see the kittens? Oh ewwwwww!!! Pedophile to the children in the park… come on little girl, I have some puppies in the car, come see my puppies. No way guy!
I firmly refuse but then he insists that he show me a place that he knows of. I ask him to just tell me, no, no, better price if I go with you, which again is true, so I go. It’s broad daylight in the middle of the busy street and my creep detector is on high alert so I’m not worried. He’s shady, but a bit of a joke. I figured I could outrun his chubby ass if I needed to. Not 5 minutes down the road and the conversation turns to him asking me to do something, blah, blah, blah, that I should hold his hand because it would be nice for him and make him feel good. Ciao creep! I turn on my heel and am outta there. My icky hotel is just fine, thank you very much.
As I’m standing in the doorway to the office of the hotel talking to the incredibly nice man who showed me my room earlier, creepo kitty guy suddenly shows up, peering over my shoulder. ACK! Get out! Get out NOW! He tries to talk to my hotel guy so I just kept talking over him saying “bad man, bad man, bad man, tell him to go, tell him to go.” so my hotel guy politely insists that he leaves. I thought that I'd shaken him off when I bolted from the street but the creep followed me! I made sure that my hotel man knew to not let this guy back into the hotel, to NOT show him my room, that he was NOT my friend, and to please let me know if he comes back. It really wasn’t a big deal but wow did it ever give me the heebie jeebies! Yuck!
As I’m gathering my wits in my room, there is a knock at my door not 3 minutes later. Really?! Did he really come back?! It was the nice man (oh I wish I could remember his name!) who was insisting I come downstairs. Why? Just come, come. Oh shit, what have I started? He puts me in this tiny, dingy room, obviously where staff hangs out to watch TV and I’m thinking that if police or creepy kitty guy or ANYONE else shows up, I’m ditching my stuff and making a run for it. Instead, nice man brings in a massive tray of food, his lunch. He then begins shoving food in my hands and up to my mouth, eat! Eat! Oh no, no, I just ate, really I’m ok. No! You eat! His English is broken, his face is serious, he wants me to know that Egyptian men are good men and I don’t know? that maybe food will erase the minor creep experience I had upon arrival??? So we sit, he eats and I try to swallow a bit here and there (I JUST ate, remember?) and he tries to make everything okay. SUCH a nice man! I ask him about getting a felucca south to Aswan and he makes a plan to take me to his friend later that night. He was going to take very good care of me.
Unfortunately, the Nile in the middle of these cities is just a big river with massive cruise ships tied up alongside. No sailing boats, no fishing boats, only hotels on water. This sweet man walks up and down the river later that night with me asking whoever he can find about local boats to Aswan. We talk to tourist police (who know nothing) and local people but can only come up with a plan to show up the next morning to try again. Looks like there are no boats going south. From what it seems, for whatever reason, you can only sail the sections of the river between Luxor and Aswan via hotel-sized cruise boat. No feluccas, no small boats, and no hopping on board somewhere in the middle, which is where I was. Sigh. Okay. Will try tomorrow. Back to the hotel. Took a good couple of hours out of this man’s night and he can only smile and ensure that we try again tomorrow. Wow. So, so, SO nice!
Not much sleep that night, for however many reasons, and at 6:30am someone starts knocking on my door. You know how when you don’t sleep all night, the only sleep you actually get usually comes around 5:30am? Yeah, I had just fallen asleep and someone is knocking on my door. Hello? Hello? Who’s there? Please go away! No response, just… Knock, knock, knock. Grumble, grumble, grumble, I open the door to grandpa insisting that I come for tea. I simply looked at him. No thank you, I’m sleeping (pointing to my wildly messy hair and puffy face). You want tea? No, really, thank you, I want to sleep. Oh, okay, you come later. *sigh* Nicest family EVER but COME ON!!! I shake my head, laughing to myself, and crawl back into my creaky wire bed.
I try to get a bit of sleep, get up, and pack up all of my stuff. I’m leaving today whether there’s a boat or not. 8:30am, another knock on my door. Really?! REALLY?! It’s nice man, asking when I’m going to the temple because “temple open now, going to boat 10 o’clock”. Okay, okay, going now. Oh my GOSH! I hoof it the 20 minute walk to the Temple of Horus ignoring horse carriages and taxis the whole way. Oh. Wow. Most completely intact temple in Egypt. This was amazing. Huge and perfect and amazing. Needless to say I was there a little longer than I had planned. Was almost 11 by the time I got back to the hotel and the nice man and I said a quick goodbye. I’ve GOT to find a way to thank that man. Incredible.
Oh, little side funny. Apparently I’m the only one who walks anywhere hence the only crazy man in Edfu who also walks the road from town to temple thought it would be quite entertaining to stalk and shout at me in what I think was his attempt at asking me my name in English but more or less sounded like “wassabyneem?” I crossed the street, he crossed the street, I slowed down, he slowed down, I passed him, he ran to catch up, you get the point. I just ignored him and kept on straight ahead however a few people watching this scene signaled to police officers (I didn’t see this) who felt it was now their duty to accompany me. Crazy man hopped up in one of the many horse carriages, laughing as he was whisked away, and then the police pick up where crazy left off… So, what’s your name? Where do you come from? *sigh* What can you do?
The backpack walk to the river was the longest yet so I was exhausted upon arrival. Found out what we had suspected, no boats for me to hop on, so train it is. 3 hour wait until the train comes. Ugh. But it’s all good. Heading to Aswan.
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