Retreat to Dahab & The Orange Tube of Terminal Boredom

Returning to Dahab we checked ourselves into Mishmishi for the remaining five nights of our vacation.  Much the same as before, we spent our time at Dahab snorkelling, catching the 30C+ sun, eating, drinking, sleeping  and generally chilling out. 

Over the first two days, and thanks once again to Waleed (and Zoe's patience), I completed my PADI Advanced Open Water certificate - a deep water dive to 30 metres at the Blue Hole, followed by a navigation dive at Eel Gardens and a night dive off the Lighthouse.  Two weeks earlier I could not have thought of anything worse than doing a night dive.  It was a breeze.  It's as if the nitrogen bubbles create a euphoric feeling of invincibility.

Once I was done with the diving course, we spent our days on the sun lounges at the front of The Bedouin's Son; reading, drinking fresh juice and beers, eating pizza and going snorkelling on a reef just metres away.  The snorkelling was as good as The Blue Hole.  Drifting along the edge of the magnificent coral reef we saw Lion Fish, Stingrays, Clown Fish, Puffers, Trigger Fish, Morays, Groupers and hundreds of other species.  It's a shame that the tourists and locals treat the reef with such disdain - breaking off coral, walking on the reef, littering and even poaching (from a national park) would occur in full view.

As far as activities went, there were a few highlights and one lowlight:  We went on the world's worst sunset camel safari - crossing rubbish dumps, passing a dilapidated prison and conveniently missing the sunset.  It was so bad it was hilarious.  Although, at the time I had to contain myself because I thought Zoe might have exploded.  Despite his bumbling, we liked our fourteen year old guide.  He proudly announced that I was riding the oldest camel in Dahab.  And didn't I know it.

The horse-riding was much, much better and awesome fun (and less impactful on the nether regions).  I'd never ridden a horse at full speed before.  Zoe came close to disaster on one gallop as she slipped from her saddle and only saved from a fall by her foot being caught in the stirrup.

At night we ate out at a lamb barbecue place on the main street.  It served the best lamb sharma, kofte and shish I've ever tasted.  The chicken was top notch too.  Dinner, with a few beers, would come to USD12.


Slowly but surely the days, then the hours, slipped by.  I can't speak for Zoe don't think I've ever loathed the idea of returning to London so much.

More ugly, arrogant Russians at Sharm El Sheik airport confirmed to us that we'd made the correct decision in staying in Dahab.  The pushing and shoving in at security and checkin was so ridiculous it was laughable.  And it was a consolation that they were returning to shitholes like Kharkov and Smolensk.  My revenge was their very existence.

Romantic Sunset Camel Ride in Dahab.  Without the Romance or Sunset.

Lubbly jubbly.  Feasting in Dahab.

Completing the Advanced Open Water with Waleed at Dahab.

Horse riding on the beach, Dahab

Last day

Last photo...booo...

We'd boarded our EzyJet flight to London when I discovered that I'd forgotten to get a book for the journey.  So for the next five hours, forty-five minutes and six seconds I stared at the seat in front of me.

One last thing: We enjoyed the Sinai hugely.  It was a nice, relaxing end to our adventures.  The drawcard is the beauty and accessibility of the reef, and the inexpensive food and accommodation.  Biggest drawback was the ludicrous chauvinism on the part of the a large portion of the locals.  Our mates at The Bedouin's Son and The Sphinx tour company, our horse and camel guides and the taxi drivers from Mt Sinai and to Sharm airport were all nice and respectful guys.  Many of the rest were disrespectful to Zoe.  Their behaviour ranging from simple rudeness to criminal.  Mostly it was just pathetic.  It's of no surprise that 98% of female foreign tourists in Egypt suffer some sort of sexual harassment.

Holy Russian Hordes

The following afternoon, the cast and crew of Twiga loaded up, drove out of Dahab and headed West into the heart of the Sinai Peninsula.  The Israeli built highways carried us across the desolate Martian landscape toward our destination at Mt Sinai.  As we hurtled along, I lay face up on The Beach, drinking a beer and admiring the colours of the sunset while Zoe knelt chatting with Anthony and Lena; all meerkat-ting above the roof of the truck.  Wonderful stuff.

We arrived at the foot of Mt Sinai in the early evening.  Immediately we set about our evening chores.  Scotty
and I cooked up a peppered vege pasta which was a bit overdone on the pepper front...to say the least.  It was popular and moreish but the amount of coughing and spluttering was cause for minor concern.

Following dinner, we loaded up our day packs, put on some warm gear and, led by a Bedouin guide, began our trek to the summit of Mt Sinai. It was a three hour walk and very steep; the peak is at 2285m.  We reached a Bedouin camp just short of the summit at about 1am.  By this time we were bursting for the loo.  The loo was located at the edge of  a sheer drop.  Luckily it was pitch black otherwise I think I just would have wet myself.  As we returned to the camp a Bedouin emerged from under a pile of rotting blankets to demand money for using his thunderbox.  These people never miss an opportunity.

It was a very, very, very cold night.

At about 4am we were awoken by some activity down the mountain.  At first it was just the odd distant voice of an excited Russian and the shuffle of footsteps on the loose gravel tracks .  Over the next half-hour it crescendo-ed to a cacophony.  As the freezing wind rose, thousands of Russian pilgrims emerged from the pre-dawn twilight.  They crowded on top of and clambered around all the vantage points to watch the magnificent sunrise.  With a fair bit of urgency we rolled up our sleeping bags and fought for a position.  Being a wuss who's afraid of heights, I spent more time worrying about my companions falling off a cliff than watching the sunrise.  I spent a bit of time trying to work out how to get inside the small chapel which is apparently built around the rock from which God carved the tablets containing the Ten Commandments.  Unfortunately we couldn't get inside as the followers of the RoP would vandalise the joint and so it remains almost permanently locked.

Immediately following the show we set off back down the mountain to St Katharine's Monastery.  Allegedly it takes 2 hours to descend.  However, we had to contend with a single file descent which was being delayed by ridiculous Russian women walking down a stone and gravel mountainside in 4-inch heels.

Bloody Russians.

By the time we returned to the truck, ate our breakfast, packed our kit and said our goodbyes it was too late for a proper tour of St Katherine's before our scheduled taxi journey back to Dahab.

Bloody Russians.

What we did see of St Katharine's was quite impressive.  The monastery had been located on that spot since the sixth century.  It is surrounded by huge stone and earth ramparts to defend from Muslim Arab raiders.  The monks are self-sufficient: the courtyards contain olive groves, grape vines, vegetable patches and livestock.  Unfortunately, we did not have enough time to view enter the chapels or the library (which contains the most important set of Christian religious texts outside of the Vatican).

Bloody Russians.

Departing Dahab for Mt Sinai

Road to Mt Sinai

Troy, Scotty amd Andy prepping history's most pepper laden meal

My privacy being respected by Zoe as dinner starts causing issues

Effin' freezing

The Russian Horde arrives

Sunrise, Mt Sinai

Jason giving me a heart attack, Mt Sinai

Zoe & Andy, Mt Sinai

Let there be light!

The queue down the mountain

Acute ass...and a donkey

Bye Twiga

Bye Twiga

Anyhow, it was a bit sad saying goodbye to Twiga and the team.  There was a bit of regret that we didn't continue on the long journey across the Suez to Egypt proper.  We'd made some good friends on the truck.  However, we reminded ourselves that Egypt would be part of our big trek through Africa and its cultural sites would be there as they had been for thousands of years.

Chilling Out Above and Below The Waves

About two hours south of Nuweiba the road finally breaks out of the desert mountains onto a thin strip of coastal plain.  In the distance, nestled between piles of trash, abandoned construction sites, a major service road and the sea sits Dhahab.  Colin drove Twiga through the world's most useless military checkpoint, past a paramilitary compound constructed by a mad Dutchman and up the main street of Dhahab.  We pulled up outside our hostel and unloaded.

For the next three nights we ate, drank, slept, swam , snorkeled and sunned ourselves beside the Red Sea.  On the first day we jeeped it to world famous the Blue  Hole - a circular reef section about 5 miles north of the town.  The sea life was captivating and beautiful.  A tinge of envy overcame me as I snorkeled above the teams of divers 20 metres below.  Sensing this, experienced divers Tanzin, Mike and Brad, along with keen beginner, Maarten, convinced me to do a beginners dive course.  I'd always been irrationally petrified of diving - the very thought made me feel claustrophobic.  Zoe signed up as well but then decided against it.  So, it was with great trepidation and much fumbling that I began the course the next day.  To my amazement, and self-amusement, it was easy.  Our instructor Waleed was calm, controlled and friendly.  For the next two days I spent morning to dusk learning the ropes of diving and studying the theory while Zoe frequented the reefside cafes, chilling out, taking in sun and lots of fresh juice.   Both Maarten and I passed our open water certificate without much trouble at all.  If anything, I regret not doing diving earlier in life.  It's very relaxing and very satisfying.

All in all we were pretty satisfied with the place.  It was cheap, there was plenty to do and, aside from constant unwanted attention visited upon the girls, it was safe.  At night we ate at a few of the many restaurants along the esplanade.  The food was standard fare - burgers, kebabs, pizza, seafood, pasta - but it was good value and the local beer was cheap at about USD1.50 for a pint bottle.  Accommodation was simple but clean, comfortable ,convenient and quiet and cost a paltry USD per person per night, including breakfast.

We were due to leave Dhahab to go to Mt Sinai when Zoe and I decided to can our planned trip to Naama Bay.  We figured, after talking to Ian and Colin, that even with the cancellation fee it was cheaper and more satisfying for us to return to Dhahab instead of continuing to Sharm after Mt Sinai.

A Bit Like Moses...Well...Not Really...

After a lazy, if not slightly wasteful, poolside afternoon at Aquba we rode Twiga to the ferry port for our excruciatingly boring crossing to Egypt.  It was at this point that I recalled the Australian Army maxim of "Hurry up and wait!" - our journey of 48 hours from Wadi Rum to Dhahab would be long periods of insipid nothingness punctuated by moments of excitement and urgent activity.

Our arrival at the ferry port invoked a wave of curiosity from our fellow ferry passengers with lots of pointing and waving.  First task was to secure our visas from officious Egyptian border control officials located inside the compound.  Second, was to wait at the truck for a few hours, playing hacky-sack; at first amongst ourselves, then with some of the large number of Arabs who had congregated around the truck to check out Twiga, our game and, last but not least, our female companions.  At about 1am we re-boarded the truck and were loaded into the hold of the ferry.  The group congregated in the 1st Class Passenger lounge.  As a group we were separated from the other passengers as Arab males apparently cannot be trusted to not sexually assault Western female passengers.  While most of the group set up camp in the lounge, those of us who had pre-booked the privilege were assigned dank, dirty and smelly state rooms deep in the belly of the ship.  Zoe, quite understandably, was seriously unhappy with the quality of our accommodation.  Our four hour "sleep" was constantly interrupted by Arab passengers, who banged on our door calling out "It's time to go" in the hope that we would vacate our room (in the false belief that we had reached Nuweiba) so they could lock the door behind us and squat.  The deceitful puerility of many locals was starting to get fairly annoying.

At about 7am we reached Nuweiba in Egypt and unloaded on foot.  For the next three hours we waited in the immigration compound while the famously lazy and corrupt Egyptian officialdom swing into action; first to deliberately delay and frustrate tired passengers, then to demand extra payment to release vehicles.  In the meantime we put together some breakfast and did some admin.  Finally at about 10am, we were on the road across the searing desert moonscape of the Sinai to Dhahab.

Flogging a Dead Camel: Wadi Rum

The next morning and with me resembling a biblical plague victim, we departed Wadi Musa for Wadi Rum.  The drive was across a desert highway, the roadside strewn with rubbish.  Lying fat out on The Beach, looking up to the stars I could not help but notice the number of plastic bags floating hundreds of metres up in air.

Upon arrival at Wadi Rum we transferred to three awaiting Toyota 4x4s and driven into the searing desert by local guides.  To put it bluntly, our guide was an arrogant twat who was more intent on perving on the female members of our group than delivering a tour.  He wasn't alone.  We found that, particularly in Jordan but also in Egypt, tour guides and others involved in the tourism trade (always men) were almost without exception desperate boorish letches whose main priority was to sleaze onto female tourists.  Anyhow.  We drove to several locations to do some sand boarding, and then to observe ancient rock etchings which served as critical information points for the camel caravans which, for thousands of years, moved people and goods between the Levant and the Hejaz.  The maps contained directions to various oasis, as well as warnings about dangerous animals such as snakes.  We also went to an oasis which was critical to T E Lawrence and his overrated ego-and-libido-driven guerilla campaign against the Turks; as well as Lawrence's HQ which had been reconstructed for the movie starring Peter O'Toole.  Lastly, we went to a natural rock arch from where we could view the stunning scenery.

4x4 action in Wadi Rum

Zoe going sandboarding, Wadi Rum

View from TE Lawrence's HQ

Atop a natural arch, Wadi Rum

The crew clambering on the Natural Arch, Wadi Rum

Someone with a sense of humour

Returning to Twiga we headed back along the highway for a couple of miles, then turned off the highway onto a dirt road.  Another mile or so along the dirt road, Colin turned onto a salt pan and purposely got the Twiga bogged.  Hilarious stuff.  So, for the next hour or so, the guys got to display their manly skills - digging out the sand from around the wheels and axles and placing sand ladders to assist traction.  After a couple of attempts and to the cheers of all, we moved the truck onto solid ground.  All fun stuff.  We reboarded and drove on to another, more solid, salt pan where we were to set up bush camp for the night.  This was our favourite bush camp.  After performing our assigned duties, Ian produced a cricket bat and ball.  So we cracked open a couple of beers and played backyard cricket for a couple hours in the later afternoon sun.

Mike getting pumped about digging Twiga out

Hannah and Tanzin helping out

The team pushing with Mike lending encouragement

Setting up camp, Wadi Rum

Couple of sundowners and a game of cricket, Wadi Rum

The next morning we were woken early by Mike and Brad cooee-ing from atop a nearby rocky outcrop and rolling huge boulders from the summit.  When they returned to camp they revealed a tooth that they'd extracted from what they described as a "dead camel".  Curious, Zoe and I decided to check out this "dead camel".  And what an odd looking camel it was.

Dawn at Wadi RUm

The "Camel"

From Wadi Rum the truck took us to the coastal Red Sea town of Aquba.  We spent the afternoon in Aquba stocking up on supplies then lounging around at a local hotel's pool.  We were in the long wait for the ferry to Egypt.

Just a side note: We found Jordan to be a very different place to Syria and to Lebanon.  Jordanian people and culture seemed to lack the personality of that of Syria.  Comparatively, Jordan was expensive and fully exploitive of tourists and its cultural landmarks.  The food was blander, the architecture more "functional"; the people less kind and more eager to make a quick buck.  It's not that I didn't enjoy Jordan, it's just that if they didn't inherit the Red Sea, Wadi Rum and Mount Nebo from nature and Petra from the Hellenistic Nabataeans, it wouldn't be a place that offers much else.

Petra and the Plague

At Wadi Musa we stayed in a somewhat hastenly assembled pile of randomly painted, tiled and plumbed concrete blocks which could be loosely described as a hotel.  To be fair on Oasis, there wasn't much else in town that was any better.  The highlight of the accommodation was the pool, which despite the searing heat, was absolutely freezing; so much so that we cooled our beers in it.  We had an early night.  Petra beckoned.

It seems no work of Man's creative hand,
by labour wrought as wavering fancy planned;
    But from the rock as if by magic grown,
eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!
    Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine,
where erst Athena held her rites divine;
    Not saintly-grey, like many a minster fane,
that crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;
    But rose-red as if the blush of dawn,
that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;
    The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,
which Man deemed old two thousand years ago,
    match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,
a rose-red city half as old as time.

          -- John William Burgon - 1845

Early the next morning, we set off for Petra in order to arrive prior to the hordes of tourists.  We didn't really know what to expect of Petra.  My knowledge of it was fairly limited to the imagery of the final scenes of Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade, as well as some anecdotal stories about the activities and demise of the Nabatean Arabs who built it.  At EUR30, all I could think was it had better be worth it.  And it was.

We entered via the famous rock ravine and after several miles encountered the spectacular tomb, known as the Treasury and made famous by the aforementioned film.  The thing that struck us was how much we'd underestimated its size.  It was huge.  The same could be said for Petra as a whole.  My imagination guesstimated an archaeological site a couple of acres in area.  How wrong was I?!  The site was massive.  There were at least 30 tombs of similar size or bigger plus hundreds of smaller tombs scattered across the rose rock faces of the surrounding hills.  The distance from the entrance of the ravine to the Treasury was about 2 miles, the distance from the Treasury to the biggest of the tombs, known as The Monastery, about 4 miles up hill.  All in, we walked about 15 miles around the site. Great stuff.

The canyon leading to Petra

Maarten and Andy sight The Treasury

Hallelujah!

Zoe and Andy at The Treasury, Petra

Hiking to The Monastery, Petra

Yep.  It did feel like that.

Hiking up past The Monastary

Typical of Jordanian tourism operators, the dude had a fairly high opinion of himself

So did this dude

Following lunch with Mike and Brad, where the astonished waiter was asked to bring the same order twice, we headed back to the hotel for a swim and a kip by the pool.  And that's where it went wrong.  After an evening of food and beers and more beers and drinking games and more beers for Mike's birthday I went upstairs to bed.  When I took my shirt off I couldn't help but notice that my torso, arms and hands were covered in small red lumps.  Bed bugs.  Dirty, filthy bed bugs had bitten me whilst I was asleep on an (unbeknownst to me) infested lounge by the pool.  Bastards!!  Thankfully I only had one small bite on my head.  And did it itch?  Damn straight it did.

Mike's Birthday

Drinking Games.  You could cut the air with a knife...

Things get out of hand

Mike enjoying a birthday beer

Andy not enjoying a dose of the plague

And Yea Verily Sayeth We!Beholdeth The Dead Sea!

Leaving Damascus, we travelled in the truck across the semi-arid landscape of southern Syria to the Jordanian border, where the cult of personality transformed, reflected in huge murals, from the mandate-less, British-educated, goose stepping, pinheaded, chinless, ophthalmologist fascist, Assad, to the similarly mandate-less, Sandhurst-trained, Hashemite royal, King Hussein.  Compared to Syria it was immediately apparent that Jordan was cleaner, more organised and five times more expensive.  There was also an element of confidence, bordering on arrogance, among the populace that was notably absent in Syria.

A bit about the truck: the truck was a big yellow, customised Scania 4x4 with a retractable top and translucent canvass sides.  It was an ex-refrigeration truck and therefore had the benefit of insulation. The driver sleeps in a bunk behind the seats in the cabin, whilst the guide sleeps on a section raised several feet above the floor of the rear of the truck.  The retractable section of the truck's roof is above the guide's sleeping area, hence it is known as The Beach.  Travellers can lie or kneel on it while the truck is moving, watching the world go by or catching some sun.  And it was named Twiga.

On the way to the Dead Sea, we stopped in Amman for lunch at an enormous glitzy shopping mall and stocked up on water, bread and snacks, then proceeded via Dhiban where some of the locals greeted us by making pistols with their hands and firing at us.  I haven't seen such a peaceful welcoming since Tijuana back in '97.  A couple of hours prior to sunset we arrived atop Mt Nebo overlooking the Jordan River Valley, the Dead Sea and across to the West Bank and Israel.  We prepped a campfire, laid out the Wadi mat, cooked dinner and sank beers as the sun set and the lights of Ramallah, Bethlehem, Nazareth, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv came on.  The stars were incredible; but not as good as when viewed from New Zealand.  Apparently.

Oops! Wrong direction!

Andy M., Andy B. and Brad riding The Beach

Zoe atop of Twiga

Brekkie at the Jordanian Border

Jason setting up the fire at Mt Nebo

Twiga at Mt Nebo

The Dead Sea from Mt Nebo

Desalinating after a dip in The Dead Sea

The next morning, after a cold, windy night and occasional disturbance by roaming Bedouin dogs, we headed off down the long windy road to the Dead Sea; stopping occasionally so that Jordanian soldiers could board the bus and perve at the girls.  The mercury broke 40C as we floated effortlessly, buoyed in the black brine, and caked ourselves in the mineral rich and incredibly salty mud (tip: do not get it in your eyes).  We desalinated ourselves by going canyoning in Wadi Mujib, where the local fish helpfully nibbled away, cleaning dead skin anywhere they could get to.  After lunch we drove another two hours to Wadi Musa from where we would explore Petra.