thelongandwindingblog

 

We catch up with Huw at the house and a walk through town, a roadside 'meat' burger and a cold beer on the beachfront was all it took - within seconds my spine had melted, London was forgotten and I felt like I had been here a month.  An evening of gossip, of that smugness you get from being somewhere other than England and of tales from Rose and Huw's long and winding road ensued.  Sufficiently fed, watered and reacquainted we head home. 

 

The next morning, my first glimpses of Dahab by daylight.  The name itself, rather quaintly, is Arabic for 'gold' and with a glance from Rose and Huw's balcony that morning it was easy to see why.  Sea the bluey green colour you feel it always should be, Saudi Arabia looking distant but serious on the horizon, goats, camels, Egyptians and Bedouin all going about their daily business, the mountains surrounding us, the desert, the sand, the sun all contributing to a constant golden hue.

 

I hire a bike to keep up with Rose and Huw, and we explore.  I manage to get three punctures in two days.  I start to think I am the unfortunate victim of some kind of TV show, perhaps the Egyptian version of Jeremy Beadle is about to emerge, remove his beard and we will all laugh at my preconceived peril.  Alas no, but thank you to Huw for efficiently fixing me up 3 times over all the same.

 

Rose and Huw proudly show off the town they know so well.  The sun is relentless, and the town deserted between midday and four - you simply do not stray from the safety of the shade.  We stop for a lemon juice on the sea front and I begin to see more and more why this town works so well.  The sea breeze is strong, sometimes warm, but on the whole it saves you - it cools you enough to get around.  The sea front is developed, a little more than I expected, perhaps a little more than I had hoped but nothing that detracts.  It's always disappointing to be offered a full English, anywhere in the world, even England usually for me, but I found myself very easily justifying the balance, much as the town does itself.  The comfort and convenience of a few nice bars and cafes is a lot easier to take in your stride when, if you continue that same stride just a few paces away from the sea you are instantly in the hubbub of Egyptian and Bedouin life, just a few more and you are in the desert.

 

As the town continues to perfectly balance sleepiness and bustle, so do we.  Huw is off to Sharm for a couple of days to write a piece on the fascinating SS Thistlegorm so Rose and I skilfully combine cycling and diving with lounging and nattering.  Our first monumental adventure takes place in the fittingly epic Mount Sinai.  This is a mountain with pedigree.  It's where Moses received the ten commandments.  It's where the burning bush burned.  It's where Rose and Alex redefined the concept of physical exertion, well for us anyway.  We are driven from Dahab to a Bedouin outpost, arriving around midnight.  Our travelling companions a rather austere Korean couple.  We take tea with the family, discuss their Bedouin heritage via broken English, Rose's increasingly impressive Arabic and no Korean before heading out into the night.  We have a moonlit four hour ascent through the night to a 2285 metre peak ahead of us.  The wily Koreans opt to travel by camel, the intrepid/adventurous/naive/just plain silly Brits pluckily opt to travel by foot.

 

Well, it kept us warm.  I will give it that.  As the Koreans froze aboard their lofty, humpy carriers, Rose and I slaved away beneath them, always warm, always breathless.  But it was oh so worth it.  Delirious, oxygen starved and exhausted we arrive at Sinai's peak minutes before the sun begins its miraculous daily climb.  As the glow on the horizon sharpens into the recognisable peak of our star, Jomaar (our faithful Bedouin guide), Oscar (a nomadic Catalan we picked up along the way), Rose and I can't but help clap, cheer and agree that every single, painful step was worth it.  Awe inspiring doesn't do it justice, breathtaking is nowhere close and ethereal just seems too small.  It is just simply stunning and has to be achieved to be believed. 

 

Perhaps it was the exhaustion and the thin air, but looking down to the path we had just walked, and could now see in daylight for the first time, to the sun beginning its daily commute and to the endless crystal clear blue above it, it really was one of those moments where you have those feelings that you are a little shy to tell everyone else about back home about, but you know you will never forget.

 

A gentle 6km stroll down the 'short side' of the mountain we have just scaled, a drive to Dahab, a suitably brief goodbye to our Korean compadres and we are home.  It's one of those days just built for lounging - no sleep, the aftermath of huge physical exertion, the pummelling heat.  So we decide to… move house.  Rose and Huw's nomadic existence may be less transitory than usual at the moment, but blagging beautiful apartments for free comes at a price - and this time that price was cleaning up and moving on for the next paying customer.  Suffice to say it was a long, hard and very sweaty day.

 

A couple of days relaxing and it's nearly time to go home.  My week has felt like months to the extent that the madness of London is now almost impossible to imagine.  Mission accomplished.  But there's time for one last adventure. After sunset we drive into the desert, we are met by our Bedouin guide Mohammed, we drink tea, we chat, we laugh at his claim of 'I know William' when we mention Shakespeare and then we sleep beneath the stars.  That's it.  The silent desert expanding endlessly around us, the stars and their tails seeming to light the night sky more and more as the night grows older and the desert wind, as if on a thermostat, gently blowing hot and cold always at the right time.

 

Sleeping outside is good for the soul.  It seems to centre you and remind you that we are all wild things underneath it all.  Falling asleep in the darkness of the desert, and being woken hours later in the searing heat seems the most natural thing to do.  Nature's alarm clock, nature's rules.  With this in mind, we head back to Dahab.  Some last minute shopping, a last minute Sakara beer and it's back to Sharm for my flight home.  A wondrous town, a perfect few days - I return home refreshed and inspired.