CHAPTER 34 - EGYPT, PART 1

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Exchange rate 3.425 Egyptian pounds to US$1

We 1/19/2000 - Cairo, Egypt

The idea of traveling through Egypt came via circumstance only. While booking most tickets around the world before leaving the States, I was placed on Air Egypt with a stop in Cairo between Cape Town and Zurich. Now with a three-month extension of leave, I am able to visit Egypt properly. Only one week ago Ray, a friend from work, agreed to meet me in Egypt for one month. I look forward to cruising the Muslim Middle Eastern country, the landscapes vary from desert to rich Nile River Delta to the mountainous Sinai to beautiful beaches with diving in the Red Sea.

The strategy coming into airports is to enlist the knowledge of like travelers, to share the expense into the city, and possibly make acquaintances. It's my tried and true strategy, one that worked in Tahiti, Katmandu, Jakarta, Seychelles, and many times in Bangkok.

On the plane and in the airport I searched for a like traveler to hopefully learn helpful local information and to at least split transport into the city. Mistakenly, I entered the transit lounge at Cairo airport, had my passport taken along with forty others and waited in the main airport lobby. There I met a Toronto girl named Natalie. We spoke together and drank tea for the two and a half-hours while waiting for our documents to be returned. Natalie was visiting Cairo only because her Air India flight was overbooked and for consolation the company placed her on Air Egypt with hotel paid for in the city.

Natalie has le a fascinating life. She speaks English, French, Japanese, Spanish, has passports from Canada, France, Botswana, and South African, and has lived in South Africa, France, and Japan. She was born and raised in Botswana, and now resides in Toronto. Natalie has taught primary school, now teaches pilates (an exercise technique) and works as a athletic trainer, and is working toward a course in polarization (influencing a body's magnetic fields). Polarization is alternative and outside my understanding but interesting. She's also an Aikido (martial art) veteran.

Many of Natalie's direction in alternative therapies formed after she was hit by a drunk driver while walking in Toronto. The accident resulted in a week long coma and then restricted her to a wheelchair for a year, during which time she made daily visits to a chiropractor who was able to mend her so far. With the aid of Chinese medicine including oriental medicine (acupuncture, diet, more) she has fully recovered.

After Natalie checked into her five star hotel at the airport, we taxied into the city where I secured a room for Ray and myself at the one half star Sun Hotel at Midan (square / circle) Tahar, EP40 for two including breakfast.

The Sun Hotel is at 2 Sharia (street) Talaat Harb, in the center of Cairo on a major traffic circle, Midan Tahar. Across the circle is the famous Egyptain Museum, and nearby is a lot of retail and tourist services including travel agents, restaurants, shopping, and a telephone office. The hotel itself is a dump by most standards, but it would fulfill it's job, and possible we could meet other travelers there. Our room was interesting because it was on one floor above reception, the tenth, and sat within a block extension of the building so that the small nine foot square room had opposing windows.

Natalie and I simply walked around the city center, eating at the most famous Cairo tourist restaurant, Felfela, a couple of blocks south of the Sun Hotel. We then walked along the Nile River, which divided the city. The Nile in Cairo doesn't come close to the vibrant river in Bangkok, although here before us was the mighty river of schoolhood text books, the longest river in the world (6650km, 4160m), and I couldn't but marvel at the lifeblood of Egypt.

Since John left the trip in Singapore, on July 2nd, I've been carrying a very thick Wilbur Smith book entitled "Rage" and finally started reading it. The book takes place in the late 1950's and early 1960's. It's fiction based on fact, about apartheid as seen from the white Afrikaans people, white people of British descant, African descendants, and the Western public. "Rage" may be my tenth Wilbur Smith book yet and perhaps must least appreciated story line by the South African author.

Th 1/20/2000 - Cairo, Egypt

I was fast asleep in our small square when at 3am a knock came on the door and out of the night appeared Ray, muscled, long-haired, and unshaven - just about as I left him fourteen and a half months ago.

Since we had agreed on Ray joining the trip just one week ago, he had rushed through preparations and when unsure fell back on the thought, "If we need it, Bob will probably have it." Ray did need to buy a suitable backpack and sleeping bag, and quite humorously stopped for vaccinations on the way to the airport. Ray's only other vacation outside the States was to New Zealand in 1994, so I look forward to seeing his reaction to his first third world country.

Ray and I met Natalie during the day and ventured through the city, strolling through the Egyptian and tourist market of Khan al-Khalilli, an attractive and bustling shopping area with endless shops and some cafes close to central Cairo.

After a good lunch of kebabs, hoummos, and pita at a restaurant buried in the market and recommended by a shop vendor, we taxied to the Citadel that sits perched on a mountain with awesome views all around including the city. We were dumbfounded to get our first glimpse of the Great Pyramids at Giza - none of us knew they were so close to the city. The Citadel is a large area of mosques and temples and museums the centerpiece being the Mosque of Mohammed Ali. The fortress was initially built as protection during the Crusades over 800 year ago.

Following the good book we walked north along city streets for dinnner at Ali Hassan al-Hatti near the intersection of Sharia 26th July and Sharia Imid ad-Din, a bustling and packed proper shopping strip. It's evident that our diet in Egypt will comprise mostly of pita bread, lamb, and chicken.

Baksheesh is a way of life in Egypt. For little favors you pass a little money to people. Favors range from helping with bags to waiter-ing to showing (hardly) hidden secrets in tombs to allowing use of shoes in mosques. Many men earn wages from baksheesh although most appear to be begging. Children out right beg, "Hello, baksheesh?", related twist to, "Jambo, money!" in Kenya and Tanzania. To a traveler it's another pai the ass right after aggravating touts.

Fr 1/21/2000 - Cairo, Egypt

One block along the circle Miden Tahar is another inexpensive backpacker called Ismailia. Unlike the Sun, Ismailia is directly on the large square - for better or worse - and for a good view Ray and I moved there this morning.

At the Ismailia Hotel we had asked for a room with a view over the square and were placed into #805 (EP40/2), a corner room with a long balcony wrapping around the building's with the best views in the hotel. I recommend the room for the view although it is noiser than interior rooms.

I believe a tourist's first stop in Cairo might be the Egyptian Museum. It sat beckoning from across Midan Tahir since we arrived, finally Ray and I made the short jaunt. It houses countless dusty collections of tomb items briefly labeled but still the glow of history radiates. With carved and painted portaits of the people 5000 yeas ago I yearned to be transported back for a walkabout of ancient Egypt. The large two floored museum was packed with wooden coffins and sarcophaguses and mummies, statuary and jewelry and papyrus, large statues and relief wall paintings and pottery - covering the many periods of Egypt's long, long history.

The most famous recovery of an Egyptian tomb is of Tutanthamun - the boy-king. Even though his site was recovered intact, his treasure was small compared to other pharaohs. The museum's best display was of Tutanthamun, including many sarcophaguses, gold coffins (sarcophaguses and coffins were enclosed one another), and his headdress.

Although the collection is fascinating, the enormous amount of items without descriptive labeling melds together and becomes repetitive. There are plans rumored for a new Egyptian Museum in Giza. I imagine the enormity of items waiting display is nearly beyond the scope of traditional buildings.

Ray and I ate a late falafel lunch near Midan Talaat Harb on Mohammed Sabri Abu Alam, then met Natalie later on at Felfela at 730a. We exchanged stories of the day - Natalie went on a prepaid tour of the Giza pyramids. After dinner we wandered about and near 11pm put Natalie on a taxi for the airport and her trip to India.

Throughout Cairo is a type of men's bar. Instead of alcoholic drinks men sit at small tables on chairs facing the street drinking tea and smoking shisha through a large ornate waterpipe. The pipe is over knee height with a glass bulb at bottom filled with water. On top is a cup filled with a burning mixture of tobacco and sweet fruit such as apple or honey. A long hose with a woven decorative cover is attached to the base and at the other end is a silver mouthpiece. It's a curious sight, men and only men calmly puffing and watching the city life pass by. Today in a trip through the Nile Hilton we questioned in a motioning manner to a young shisha attendant and he let Natalie and I have a try. I inhaled, the smoke wasn't harsh and coarse like normal tobacco but sweet and light. Throughout Egypt, in every city and village, we would see men smoking shisha.

Sa 1/22/2000 - Cairo, Egypt

No need for an alarm in Cairo - the street traffic starts earlier - or never ends depending on how sensitive you are. Ray and I had booked a tour to the pyramids starting at 730am - the Great Pyramids of Egypt!

We fought through the city of black and white taxis on Pyramids Avenue. As I sat in the car, again I remarked to myself at seeing Chevrolet automobiles although Italian, French, and Japanese are more common. I have never seen American made automobiles in quantity on this vacation.

At the Citadel we had a glimpse of the pyramids, but from the distance didn't realize how close they were to the city. We stumbled upon them while peeking between apartment blocks. They sit in desert but so close to the Giza suburbs that the idea twirls the mind. I took my first photo from a parking lot of stores with the Pyramid of Ceops looming behind. Opposite the entrance to the 5,000-year-old site is even a combination Pizza Hut and KFC!

Giza is the most well known pyramid site but there are many other sites (from here we could see the Sakara pyramids to the south) and more than eighty royal pyramids in total. In Giza are the three main pyramids (father, son, and grandson) and two sets of three small pyramids for wives (queens).

I was braced for hordes of tourists and an onslaught of touts pushing camel and horse rides, postcards, and guided tours. To the contrary there were few people about, possibly because yesterday, Friday, is the Egyptian day off.

But here were THE PYRAMIDS and THE SPHINX! I kept kicking myself. Every American's childhood is feed with Egyptian history, every little boy is fascinated by pictures of the golden dressed pharaohs and stories of tombs booby trapped with poison scarabs and curses. The mystical questions of how and why - and by who - the pyramids were built is fascinating. How did primitive people so exactly build such colossal structures and what is the relationship with the stars? The pyramids are the last surviving ancient wonder.

Of the three main pyramids - the pyramids of Cheops, Chephren, and Mycerinus, the first two are nearly equal in size at a height of 137 meters and the largest in Egypt, and Mycerinus' pyramid is half that size. The queen's pyramids are 20 meters high, and the Sphinx, the pyramid guardian, is 22 meters high. So, here are ten structures - ten pyramids and the Sphinx. Nearby are also other sites and archeological digs. Some monuments are unvarying states of restoration.

We made a plan to meet our driver at noon, giving us two and a half hours to walk around. We strolled slowly between the large pyramids, taking photos, and chatting politely with camel touts. One man had Ray wearing his desert headdress while he donned Ray's black booney hat and the camel on his knees before Ray convinced him he really didn't want a camel ride. It would take Ray a little practice to deal with touts. On the suburb side of the site is an interesting cemetery that we navigated before arrived near our pickup point thirty minutes early.

I had liked the idea of eating pizza at Pizza Hut while viewing the pyramids through glass at the tableside but they didn't sell slices. We insted found pita bread and our ride onto the next stop.

Sakara (Saqqara) is a huge archeological site seven kilometers in length and we covered it within our allotted thirty minutes - typical of tourist trips. Preceding the Great Pyramids of Giza is the Step Pyramid of Sakara built by King Zoser. It set a precedence for the future building of Giza's pyramid, the idea of above ground tombs and the construction methods were novel. The Step Pyramid dominates Sakara, there are also nine other pyramids, tombs, temples, and villages.

At the city's outskirts I had learned that just the city center was kept clean. Between Sakara and Dashur the road parallels an interesting canal of mud and filth, interesting for the varied large dead animals half floating and bloated - dead horses, dead donkeys, and dead camels - yek! I found the floating animals a comical way of disposing the beasts. Ignoring this sight, the ride was very pretty - green farm fields amidst palm tree plantations. Across the canal was a track for foot and other light traffic. A picture perfect scene passed by of a man peddling amidst the green plantations and palms on the far bank. His old bicycle was laden with soft bright green fodder laying over and covering the rear of the bicycle.

Cairo is another land of maniac automobile drivers, but worse is the constant honking of horns throughout the metropolis. At night they drive without lights to (negligibly) save on petrol, in this case the horn is your best chance to save your life when a two-ton metal object comes through a dark street. Our taxi drive was a gruff old man, had he known English he wouldn't chance practice for the cigarettes inhaled into his face, and he laid hard on the horn. I timed ten minutes and noted 67 blasts on his horn.

Our next stop was Memphis, the Old Kingdom capital, now merely a courtyard with a few statues and not worth the entry fee of EP14 plus EP10 for a camera - a complete waste of resource! Of the lean treasures, most interesting was the statue of the greatest monument builder, Ramses II. The giant granite statue laid on his back within an enclosed building with raised walkway.

The last stop of the magical pyramid tour was Dashur a few kilometers south of Memphis. Two pyramids remain intact, the Red pyramid and the Bent pyramid. Both were built by Sneferu. The Bent pyramid is unusual for it's chance in angle part way up. We were able to enter the Red pyramid, our only on this day's trip (at Giza it is also possible for an additional fee), and found it fun. The entrance is ten or more meter highs, so we first ascended a tight exterior staircase, then found a long, squat, unadorned passage declining at thirty degrees. Boards were laid across for steps and we had to crouch and bend over in half while managing the 137 steps - that was a chore. Within the pyramid center were other plain passages and pits with walkways. By the dim electric lighting we came to a dead end and stood in the heavy air on a high platform within a chamber - both the floor and ceiling above were a handful of meters away. Two American Indiana Jones type dudes entered behind Ray and I as we said to one another, "Now what?". One man hesitated as if about to reply then shrugged us off as he and his mate talked in archeological detail about the chamber. The walk back up the 137 steps was even more difficult but we bounded up crouched over quickly and came to clear air huffing. (There was an air pump and duct into the pyramid.)

(Giza EP20 plus EP10 for camera Sakara EP20 Memphis EP14 plus EP10 for camera)

We crawled through the city's rush hour traffic, arriving back at Ismailia Hotel at 4pm. For dinner we walked Sharia Talaat Harb to Sharia 26th Of July. On a pedestrian walkway between Sharia Alfi Bey and Sharia 26th Of July is a back lane lined with small eateries. We enjoyed a nice dinner sitting in the cool Egyptian night amongst only Arabs of grilled breaded chicken, potato and beef stew, and a very spicy sliced sausage casserole.

Not far away is the Windsor Hotel, famous for it's colonial lounge, furnished like an old men's bar. Also close-by is the Pussy Cat, a bright chrome urban restaurant and bar with a reputation promising excitement. We passed by a few times to see nothing of interest, maybe we were too early, and settle on the Palmyra Nightclub, gaudy, run down, establishment with 1960's decor. The entrance held photos of big showy female singers and overweight belly dancers. It was a humorous scene from an bad old movie. The band featured a set of old musicians played an array of Western an Egyptian instruments - sitar, violin, accordion, giant tambourine, long drum, and drumset. They played long, loud, whiny Egyptian music, everyone sitting expressionless. After fifteen minutes a rotund singer came on board dressed in a black and white suit. He flaunted and gesticulated like a poofter, raising eyebrows for emphasis, and holding his little finger high on the hand that held his microphone. Ray and I sat quietly and listened and sipped a Stella. It was probably still early for Egyptian nightlife, about 1130pm. The joint was empty and so it was us the singer waved to and in a Pavlov response gained while traveling I returned the wave - a mistake. The singer smiled and strutted toward us then attempted to take my hand and draw me to the stage. I had no part of it.

Su 1/23/2000 - Cairo, Egypt

After the standard tea, bread, butter, and jam breakfast we taxied to Targaman Station (EP7) to book bus tickets for Marsa Matruh on the western Egyptian coast, on the route to Siwa (SEEWA), a Western Desert oasis in the center of nowhere and a highlight of Egypt.

We asked a taximan (EP6) to bring us to Bab al-Nasr, only upon arrival we learned it was a gate to the famous Mosque of Al-Hakim, part of the medieval walled city. We were in search of the City of the Dead and here was our starting point. With our backs to the mosque we walked right along Sharia al-Baghala and watched masons hand shaping blocks for restoration of the wall. At the crest of the hill we cut away from the wall and entered a section of the Northern City of the Dead, Bab al-Nasr Cemetery, filled with alternating markers of granite stone and small wooden buildings (tombs) over undulating ground. The scene was haunting and marvelous. We came across very few people, the grinding noise of the city faded, and sun filled air was cool and blew gently. The stone markers were all similar in size and design. They are one and a half meters long and chest high, consisting of a base, box, and cover. On top at each end were stepped two similar narrow vertical stones. The wooden tombs were simple shacks, locked, some with trim of bright paint. The effect was a large strange city of shacks with large grave markers in dirt yards in between. Ray and I wandered around, up and down, staring in amazement of this weird place. Occasionally we came across a thin sleeping dog who would either ignore us or peel off.

We returned to Mosque of Al-Hakim (1010AD) and had a closer look. Al-Hakim is famous for being a fanatical ruler who murdered and hacked through his rein to personally uphold his God given task. At each corner of the mosque are minarets overlooking the City of the Dead so we were drawn by the promise of good views. Inside was a large open white marbled tiled courtyard. The mosque peripheral has a high wall to the exterior, a roof, and inside is open and supported by columns. We removed of shoes per norm and then strolled around. Across the mosque a man was polishing the marble floor with electric machine. We asked to ascend the minaret and an old man asked for baksheesh in exchange for letting us wear our shoes. We refused. The views were ideal, the mosque yard and the cemetery in the City of the Dead was below. The minarets of many mosques were easily seen, as was the Citadel, and the obvious endless expanse of city filth.

Outside the mosque we re-read our guidebooks and discovered that this cemetery was not the main interest point in the City of the Dead. Ray and I followed the directions more carefully and after a few kilometers came to a grid of wide streets containing blocks of simple square mausoleums near the Mausoleum of Barquq. This was far less interesting than the Bab al-Nasr Cemetery. Here was a distinct city of block after block of small house sized mausoleums, wide rubble filled streets, and plenty of children passing and with smiles exclaiming, "Hello!", and "Welcome!'. The mausoleums were unadorned, simple, and similar affairs. We walked through to the Mausoleum of Barquq, paid another fee (EP6), collected even more Egyptian entry tickets, and climbed (baksheesh EP2) a minaret for a another bird's eye view.

This episode was actually seriously scary. The 1000 year old tower was crumbling. We walked up the narrow spiraling passage, carefully stepping over rubble and open electric junction boxes and bare wiring for lights. The top of the tower was held up and together with joists that obstructed easy views for photos. Of course we forced ourselves between the joists and minaret structure to find very precarious positions to get the shots. Not only was each awkward movement frightening but brushing against the millenium old tower left me filthy. The top afforded great views of courtyard below, the City of the Dead, and dusty and broken tenement houses with loads of colorful laundry drying. We walked over the mausoleum roof, and it too was crumbling. In places it had collapsed, and in others it bowed under age and it's own weight, waiting for one more bird dropping before crashing onto the patrons below.

We had a long day, our duty to be cultural was fulfilled. We taxied (EP12) for a very late lunch to Midan Talaat Harb (three blocks from Midan Tahir) to re-visit a felafel restaurant on Sharia Mohammed Sabri Abu Alam.

Traveling in a strange land has it's daily hardships. You believe you've reached your wits end with Arabic street signs, death threatening traffic, and the constant blare of horns. Or possibly when you've had too many conversations in more pantomime than English, stare at a menu in total confusion, and then you order eggplant instead of chicken. Well, then you might get a warm feeling of comfort when you're lost and are shown by hand where the street is you ask for. I believed we were on Sharia Mohammed Sabri Abu Alam, but to confirm I asked a passerby by pointing down and saying, "Sharia Mohammed Sabri Abu Alam". The man replied, "Oh, follow me, I'll show you Sharia Mohammed Sabri Abu Alam". And we followed him for a block right to the door of his papyrus store. We had been on Sharia Mohammed Sabri Abu Alam. Only when our restaurant came up did I catch on and we left him behind. This trick was attempted with us a few times, successfully only once.

With only an hour of sunlight left we trained (our first train!) four stops south to Mari Girgis station (EP0.50) in Old Cairo, the Coptic Christian section of Cairo. Although Egypt is mostly Muslim, the second most popular denomination is Christian, started at the time of the Romans. Coptic Cairo wasn't very big or interesting, it consists of a few churches, a convent, and a monastery.

Later at night I bopped around with errands, doing email and attempting to call Robyn in Cape Town. Amidst the frustration of a using the phone office on Midan Tahir (EP28 for 6 minutes) and being told the telephone line was busy - Cape Town or Egypt or somewhere in between - I scoffed a quarter kilogram of cookies (EP5.50) standing outside on the square in-between attempts. After four tries, I finally succeeded.

I went to bed sad for missing my friend Robyn, happy to be leaving the city of Cairo tomorrow, and venturing into the Libyan (Western) Desert to the magical oasis of Siwa.

Mo 1/24/2000 - Siwa, Western Desert, Egypt

Because I have a curiosity and passion with automobiles, I found the Arabic license plates amusing. Some plates also have the Roman alphabet translation of numbers so I was challenged to translate the digits zero through nine while walking and taxi-ing across Cairo. I wonder of the comparison of origin between the two and also believe the same is used in India and Nepal. The translation:

zero: dot

one: similar

two: backwards seven

three:: backwards seen with three pointed scripted top

four: backwards epsilon ("E")

five: zero

six: seven

seven: a "V"

eight: upside "V"

nine: similar

If we use the Roman alphabet, why are our numerals Roman? If we have Arabic numerals why don't the Arabs use the same? And why do the Arabs write numbers sometimes left to right and sometimes right to left?

We were on a West Delta Bus heading for Siwa Oasis, cruising first north toward Alexandria. The comfortable bus had two video monitors and amusingly we watched a small child master defeating armies of villains, fling through air, and dancing on sharp twirling fan blades.

We bypassed Alexandria proper, a Mediterranean city created and named after Alexandra the Great 1700 years ago and turned westward along the coast, staying a kilometer from the sea. Ray commented on the inviting azure water for windsurfing and remarked about the annoying land mines that are still a holiday makers issue for this was the Second World War fighting ground of Rommel and Montgomery.

On board we chatted with a chatted with a friendly couple about traveling, Siwa, and many topics. He was German and she was half French and half black American.

The bus arrived Marsa Matruh on time just before 3pm. The couple, Fredrick and Fredjie, and Ray and I spent turns minding our luggage and using a thoroughly disgusting toilet across the road in a Mobil station. We walked a bit toward a plain restaurant for tea and were accosted at a taxi stand from many including a young Israeli doctor named Shy. Shy, the driver, and six others were in a beat, old, dark blue van leaving immediately for Siwa - if we boarded making the van full. Shy sold us by saying the trip is three hours and cost EP10. Instead of waiting an hour for the West Delta bus we agreed, tossed our bags atop and sliding inside.

We had assumed this taxi would make our destination before the 4pm bus but an hour and a half into the trip two buses overtook, one labeled West Delta.

The scenery thus far was mostly sand and grass clumps, now the grass was losing the battle. The flat desert flowed endlessly in all directions from our drafty and noisy car and I pictured our dark blue taxi from the air in a Hollywood film, alone on the desert road and surrounded by the featureless outstretched sands.

By 5:30pm the sun was nearly down, the air cooler still and blowing through many cracks to shiver Ray and I who sat near the door. The Toyota van stopped at a small tea shop in the middle of nowhere. Why it was there was unknown. We all bought chocolate wafer cookies, stood in the cold on the concrete veranda in front, and watched the sun set. When the driver signaled to leave with the engine revving, we filled the car except for one Egyptian who then went to pray. We piled out was again and stood about talking and waiting.

Arriving the area of Siwa we watched various buildings and lightpoles gradually appear from the long lonesome darkness. We then entered the small village in the frosty desert air and saw it as a dimly lit and mysterious place. Most interesting was an ancient hill fort (Shali, 12th century) dimly lit in the background near the village center, most of it fallen and leaving strange shaped crumbled walls and windows.

Siwa is said to be Egypt's most attractive oasis. It's 306 kilometers southwest of Marsa Matruh, 425 kilometers west of Bahariyya Oasis, and about 75 kilometers from Libya. Basically, it's central to nowhere. In a straight line Siwa is roughly 500 kilometers from Cairo and while the shortest road route from Cairo is from the Western Desert oasis loop, the road from Bahariyya to Siwa is too rough with little call for public transport. So from Cairo transport passes Alexandria, parallels the coast and turns south at Marsa Matruh. Siwa has large plantations of date palms and olive trees, and mineral water bottling plant. The village center is encircled by many sights - pools, hot springs, lakes, temples, tombs, abandoned ancient villages, and the magical sand sea. Of course Siwa also dates from ancient times, Alexander the Great (331BC) sought the famous oracle to confirm he was son of Zeus, and Cleopatra has a pool named after her.

(left Cairo 830a, arrived Marsa Matruh 3pm and left 310p, arrived Siwa 8pm)

Fredrick and Fredjie, Shy, Ray, and I made our way to the recommended Tree Palms Hotel, arriving at 8pm. The hotel had loads of potential but cried for attention. I was happy. Ray and I took a double room with electricity, toilet, shower, and balcony overlooking a fig tree garden. The cost was EP15. So, we had a nifty second floor double room for US$4.50. The standard was way below American, but perfectly suitable.

The five of us had a late dinner at the East-West Restaurant in the center, a two minute walk away. The building was open air and without heat, as are most buildings here and we sat heavily dressed and shivering. Our waiter was thin, dark skinned and carried a hairy, scraggily face. Most intriguing were his bright gray-blue eyes but I questioned the intelligence behind. He didn't speak English which I don't discredited him for, but he constantly forgot thinks, service was slow, and he couldn't deliver change properly. Hey, we were guests in Siwa and couldn't knock the local pace. Our Egyptian food, when it came, was very good, and the conversation never halted.

Tu 1/25/2000 - Siwa, Western Desert, Egypt

In Cairo the Muslim call to prayer seems to occur more often than the prescribed five times per day. Throughout the day the amplified screeching whine echos from speakers on mosques throughout the huge city. This morning I was jarred awake with Pavlov training by what I thought was again the call to prayer, but it was only gas.

Someone had promised that every shower in Siwa was hot, heated by underground thermal activity. After a frustrating cold shower I assumed a view from the hotel's roof and was not disappointed. The ancient hill village and fort of Shali sat west and therefore was strongly lit by the low morning light. I admired the deteriorated walls covering the hill and ached to wander between them. The roof afforded a decent view of the village as well. Below I watched donkeys with heads low and swaying pulling carts piloted by Berbers with sticks to influence the beasts of burden. Boys rode old rusty black bicycles around the dusty square. A handful of incredibly bright and delicious stands of vegetables and fruits beckoned. Not many women are seen in public here. We would later see women sitting in the back of donkey carts covered head to toe in cloths with only a tiny flap of cloth allowing an eyehole. I suppose with such cultural armament they need help getting around.

Taking a lesson learned from our first day in Egypt, we thought it best to organize a local trip for the first day and booked a trip with our hotel that included "Fresh and salt lakes, hot spring, fossil finding, and sunset in the dunes". Salaman, the manager bopping around the Palm Trees, could speak English well, and he affirmatively replied when I asked if our drier cold also speak English.

Our trip was to depart at noon, so with the time available we walked the couple of minutes across the town center to Siwa's icon - a 12th century fort and village called Shila on a hilltop. We had passed the mysterious icon in the dark last night and this morning on the hotel roof we had taken photos of it while being tortured by an overly frisky and thin calico cat with Egyptian eyes.

I had commented last night that Shila didn't look real, that it was possibly made by Disney, and that he looked plastic. But the 12th century fortified village was the best site it town. We clambered onto the hill and between the brown mud and stone walls and roofless buildings exploring like children and snapping photos. Ray and I walked around with gratitude for this fun attraction, then climbing down the far side to interrogate the tourist office personnel.

At the tourist office we met Mahdi, asked about how we would arrange a ride to Bahariyya Oasis and about local attractions. Mahdi handed us a fax copied local map, a brochure, and I paid EP10 for a small book on Siwa that he authored.

Out desert trip started thirty minutes late and our driver who didn't speak English paid five stops around town before bearing southwest into the desert. As soon as he hit soft sand he gunned the Toyota Landcruiser and we started an afternoon of fun four wheeling through the desert.

We bombed along for thirty minutes, the driver intense on making way over (to me) similar soft sand dunes then arriving at an oasis. We disembarked the mechanically camel and because of the communication problem stood stupid without direction as our driver slipped on shorts under his robe then splashed into a round concrete pool with a black straight pipe for a fountain.

This oasis, Berwahd aka Fish Farm (defunct), is the result of oil exploration discovering only hot water. It's manned by a friendly mannered man who spoke English (good for us since our driver didn't) where he and a crew grew produce and lived in interesting, very large, thick cotton tents, white outside with a brightly patchwork interior reminiscent of quilts from home inside. I felt the weight of the layered cloth and knew the heaviness was made for desert winds.

We followed our drivers lead and donned bathing suits to soak in the nearly hot and slightly sulfur water. We admired our position in the desert named both Western and Libyian, an extension of the Sahara that spans from the Atlantic across northern Africa to the Suez. We half floated in the warm, green, murky water, surrounded by sand and more sand along with the pretty ringed hills with flat tops. After our splash we walked wet in only shorts to the top of the hill behind for photos and to dry ourselves.

With a plan to leave at 4pm, Ray and I wandered off over the sand and climbed the third dome shaped hill we came across. The view from our perch was vast and endless. Between fat spires of ribboned earth were rolling dunes and sweeping sands. Instinctively we sat to breathe in the awesome sight. We sat facing south toward Libya and I tried to picture the Sahara there and further on in Tunsia, Algeria, and Morocco.

The flat hard hilltop was covered with many fossils of nautilus, scallop, and oyster shells. After I jumped down the Arabic kopi and ran into the desert sand for a Blacky picture, we found a bright orange section of sculpted eroded wall and overhanging cliff three meters high with countless shells exposed. We strolled happily back toward the oasis through a depression of hard white mineral, possibly calcium.

Our driver took his time saying good-byes to the people at Berwahd and we were off with another Landcruiser chasing one another in serpentine fashion like Keystone Cops without a purpose. Earlier we had noticed wheel paths descending very steep dunes and imagined a driver tearing up the subtle side of the dune to unexpectedly fall down the steep side. Our driver made me nervous, he seemed to drive as if lost, and although I repeated told myself he must have driven here hundreds of times, his expression didn't look confident. When he crested dunes and slowed cautiously I was thankful. But the driver descended the truck slowly down a very steep dune, I lost all confidence, and had Ray laughing at my expressions and comments.

Although we enjoyed Berwahd Oasis, there are other, more stereotypical oasis settings we may have visited with natural springs and cute palm trees. Sleeping overnight at a small oasis would be idyllic, although winter is very cold at night.

The drivers had been looking for a hard depression scattered with fossils. In the other car were two Egyptians and an Australian and once the drivers found a particular depression, we all scratched in the sand searching for ancient remains of little animals.

In contrast to the haphazard service we endured at East-West last night, a group of us thoroughly enjoyed dinner at Abdu's, setting an evening precedence. The service was prompt, the food was great, and especially a flaky desert called banana coconut pie.

We 1/26/2000 - Siwa, Western Desert, Egypt

A favorite means of traveling through Siwa is by bicycle, throughout the small village many peddlers offer single speed bicycle costing EP10 per day for a newer vintage, EP5 for the rest. For EP5 Ray and I had uncomfortable machines that required burning too many calories on hills and into breeze. There's a standard circuit for day pedals around Siwa that we followed, counter-clockwise.

Heading away from the village center and past the Tree Palms Hotel a few kilometers, is the road to the Dakrur Mts., short mountains (or high hills - there aren't descriptive words for different sized and shaped mountains here like the Eskimos and their dozen of terms for snow), rough and barren brown kopi, another vestige of the seafloor left behind a milleneum ago. Tucked beneath is a crumbling, old village, and nearby is a water bottling factory (we would buy many bottles of water originating from Siwa).

With a coarse map, an idea of direction, and hand signals by a local Berber, we rode on a rutted dirt tack to Cleopatra's Pool. The pool is reputed to have been used by the queen and people fathom along with Alexander or Anthony. The spring empties into a eight wide, round, stone pool. The water was extremely clear and tinted blue, growing on the bottom and floating on top is a thick spongy scum. Not that the scum deterred me from a swim, rather the idea of riding wet did. Here we met two people we would later befriend - Martin from Holland and his recent traveling buddy, Ludge from outback Australia and Brighton, England. It's curious now that I ponder the thought - here Ray and I met Martin, and little did we know at the time, but would travel with him on and off for weeks. Well, Martin went in alone (it isn't cool for women to show skin in this Muslim country) and I felt a twinge of jealously, but still was too lazy to join.

Next along the tour route were the ruins of the Temple of Umm Obayda also known as the Second Temple of Amoun (600BC). Amoun is the king of gods and father of the pharaohs. As if time and gravity and earthquake wouldn't bring down the temple soon enough, by in the late eighteen hundreds pieces were transport into the village for construction of a police station. Foundations, piles of cut stones, and a high square doorway and a few walls remain.

The Oracle Temple (First Temple of Amoun), another half a kilometer beyond, and dates from the same period. The temple was home to an oracle known throughout the region. It is here that Alexander visited to confirm his direct lineage from Zeus. This temple remains are far more substantial. We parked our hotrods at the base of the large hill and climbed to browse tombs and viewpoints and centuries old graffiti.

There we talked with Martin and Ludge and found that they were two we hadn't met of the six or seven of us plotting to organize a taxi to cross the desert to Bahariyya Oasis in a few days.

From the top of the Oracle Temple we could see Siwa center and more interesting sights - groves of date palms below, large spring fed lakes, and distance falt topped mountains.

In Siwa we found lunch (Ray bought 9 pita for 50 piastas), made an agreement with Fredrick and Fredjie to meet at Fatnas Island (sadly aka Fantasy Island) for the sunset.

Even with a map, navigating the area can be difficult. There are so many dirt tracks leading everywhere, it's no like once made they will ever overgrow with grass or scrub, the desert doesn't afford such natural luxuries. We somehow lost the paved road to Fatnus and rambled on dirt tracks. A group of children offered nonsensical answers to our cry for help, okay a little exaggerated, but even a group of young men argues on the direction to the island and we had to place our faith in the majority. Truth was, there were many ways across these crisscrossing dirt tracks leading to anyplace.

Fatnus is a sunset haven. After crossing a causeway to the beach we found a deserted palm studded shoreline on Lake Siwa with swinging hammocks and a snack stand. The quietness is curious, I looked at the sun - yup, it was going down within an hour and a half, then the caretaker appeared from the lush greenery and offered us tea. Soon after three others also appeared, travelers from Australia (Dan, Ema, and Mattie). They sat and shared a waterpipe of shisha, to their joy I offered to take their photo with each of their cameras, respectively they handed along the long hose and mouthpiece. Fredrick and Fredjie showed and we sat jabbering, drinking tea, and watching the sun slowly set.

Of our stay in Siwa, one of the most notable activities was bicycling back to town from Fatnus Island. Streetlights? No way! Flashlight? Good luck! Full moon? Nope. Just pushing the bikes through the palms to the causeway was difficult. We were lucky our ankles weren't turn in drainage ditches or worse. The caretaker hadn't an issue, he breezed across like on a moving walkway in Dulles Airport, then hopping on his bike and went. The roads gave leeway to the star studded sky - that was easier - but later on, closer to town we came perilously close to meeting stealth donkey carts head on. So, in other words, we enjoyed it. Pedaling in parallel, talking, craning our necks to the stars, and trying to avoid obstacles.

Abdu's was the place for dinner again and the conversation included a particular traveler new to Siwa. On my walk back to the Tree Palms Hotel I looked up to see a hard saying bum on a tall, curvy, overly dress body, totally out of place for Siwa, the Western Desert, and the rest of Egypt. "Hot dam", I thought, "some kind of sex pot women!" The tall redhead and I exchanged smiles and I easily detected a longing look. But, she wasn't pretty, in fact tonight I found she was a he. Surprise turned to a feeling of being silly - obviously she was a he named Lena, how could I not realize, but how could something like that, a singer in from Paris end up in Siwa and what kind of reception would she - he - Lena - have. The conversation continued with arguments of whether the person was transvestite or transsexual. Urrgh! In Rio with Dan Glenning I followed the most gorgeous thing in long fishnet, pumps, and a tight butt in short black leather skirt - it was a bearded guy!

Th 1/27/2000 - Siwa, Western Desert, Egypt

We had covered most of the sights available via bicycle yesterday, really only one remained - the Tombs of Mt of the Dead. Our plan was to visit the mountain then head to the desert edge, the "Sea of Sand", the vast wasteland toward Libya, the beginning of the Sahara Desert. Here we were to absorb the vast mystical scenery and practice serious lounging.

Ray and I made a mistake. We changed our bicycle rental place. We thought we could do better and on the square looked like a set of decent fluorescent pink hybrid bicycles. We hadn't given them a good try, instead we simply pedaled off.

At the Tombs of Mt of the Dead north of Siwa we allowed ourselves to be led by a smiling caretaker constantly shadowing us. With keys he unlocked small square tombs adorned with two dimensional Egyptian style paintings and with great excitement whispered "mummy" while pointing into a dark room through a wooden door. The smiling guide used a mirror to reflect sunlight into passages dark passages that we had crawled into. After paying a little baksheesh we headed back into town.

The bicycles by now were killing us. The tires were low, the seats were low, our pedals were bent downwards, Ray's front end was incredibly crooked, and the brakes were either always on or useless. We asked the bike shop owner for tools, he pointed across the square, and after we worked on them for fifteen minutes, the bicycle repair shop owner asked for a pound - we argued and left with our pockets intact.

Still, we went on with these pink pieces of feces. The road to the nearby Sea of Sand was at least five kilometers. The sky was thick gray and gusty, windy enough to impede easy ground. And then we were somewhat lost again. Ray and I rode west swearing at our bikes, fighting the wind on pedals without purchase, then walking the bikes through soft sand. We saw vast nothingness, soft sand stretching away and leaving what few small and plain buildings might have been occupied. We headed in that direction. We came across a long canal, and followed it until meeting a sand bridge. Here we dumped the pink feces behind a bushy outcrop and plodded through the sand up and down dunes until one particular dune caught our interest. The dune abutted a flat calcified pan, the center of a sand amphitheater, and we assumed this dune's long sharp slope it was a windbreak. We laid in the lee of the soft sanddune, at the bottom, and I pictured with a satellite perspective the two of us as dots amongst the incredibly vast desert across northern Africa bounded by the Mediterranean and the Dark Continent. Ray was soon snoring, and I also fell asleep.

I woke to "heeey, heeeey!" Ray was atop the dune and staring down. Since I had just woken, the wind was blowing harder now, and the air was even colder, I couldn't rummage the energy to join in frolicking on the steep sand. Ray came hopping down and we cross back to the pink feces.

My knees seriously hurt on the bike, I felt like I was pedaling a tricycle with knees in my mouth and Ray was equally perturbed. With one pedal bent, I couldn't power the bike while standing. On the village peripheral the bent pedal broke off. Luckily I caught myself before crashing the jewels and reestablishing my vocal range.

I walked the bike through Siwa, locals said "hello" and then noticed the calamity. I wasn't happy, but at least the bike didn't break further out of town. I handed the pedal to the bike shop owner and said, "Bike not strong", with my elbows out and arms stiff, and unexpectedly his replied was, "No, bike okay, you too strong!" I told him in was "no good" and not worth five pounds.

Again, a group of us ate at Abdu's, not only the best spot in Siwa, but with good food and decent prices and service. I ate a chicken, mushroom, cheese pie (EP8) not like our pie, flaky crust, tea w/ milk (1.50) lentil soup (2), and banana coconut pie for dessert (5).

Tomorrow we cross the Western Desert in a Landcruiser from Bahariyya.

Fr 1/28/2000 - Siwa, Western Desert, Egypt

The goal of our next destination was generally Luxor, a magnificent city on the Upper Nile although getting there wasn't simple. The straightforward option would be to travel for a full day to Cairo, overnight, and train to Luxor the next day. But looking at a map that option involves great distances in a semi-circle and since we had already bused the route between Siwa and Cairo, a cross-desert trip to the New Valley Oases appeared more interesting and certainly more majestic. Ray and I and many others felt that same way - a Landcruiser ride from Siwa to Bahariyya would be an adventure. We had worked on gathering a group to share costs and to find a good and comfortable vehicle. There was a handful of Landcruisers in the village. The Siwans are gentle and friendly people, but life is changing here and like else where, money brings out greed and local politics. We were told repeatedly to beware of "problems", yet comparatively Siwa was calm after visiting Cairo, Bali, and Nairobi.

A Parisian nicknamed Rico and I organized a group of six and negotiated with two men from Bahariyya who had brought two thick waisted Italians on a tour into Siwa. The deal was EP600 for the Landcruiser including permits (EP10 each).

We were to meet at Abdu's at 8am, eat breakfast and go, but the chef was late as were one couple, Martin and Ludge. They had been told 9am. Ray was up early and so we were optimistic and at Abdu's at 715am in the bitter cold. Siwa doesn't move until mid-morning, we bide the time on top of Yousef's Hotel across the street watching the sunrise over Fort Shali and the village as village life started crepting along.

I searched from the rooftop for a donkey cart with a Berber driver and his wife completely wrapped in cotton including her face, but it was too quiet and I was never satisfied. I had had a chance from our hotel two days earlier, but was without camera. Included with the wrapped women were two children. This was yet another example of the best photographs escaping celluloid.

Finally at 930am the bags were tied down on the old yellow car and the eight of us were inside. Our driver, Magdi, spoke little English but seemed to converse easily with Rico from Paris and his pretty Moroccan girlfriend, Nadia. We past by the Palm Trees, Dakour Mountains, and into the desert. Magdi was constantly joking and laughing, making strange humorous faces, and singing. Magdi's buddy, Asuraf, spoke better English, was more sedate but also smiling at ease. Asuraf was a guide by trade.

The road started paved but quickly turned to simply asphalt foundation. We passed between stratified hills on hard packed sand similar to our desert ride to Berwahd Oasis days ago. Within an hour we stopped at the first of six Army checkposts. Men in brown and white desert camouflage uniforms, black boots, and AK47's smiled and laughed with our driver and guide

We soon stopped for overly strong tea heated on a small wood fire in tiny carbon coated pots. The stopped lasted a long hour since Ashuraf and Magdi were waiting for a second Landcruiser to catch us and they had gotten a flat tire. Finally Way, a young Toronto man of Chinese descent (very Canadian, commercial advertising photography) and six happy Japanese pulled up in a blue Landcruiser and we continued on.

The most amazing aspect of our desert crossing was how the landscape changed along the 425 kilometers. One, an educated one, thinks of desert as endless soft seas of sifting sands. In Egypt we learned that not to be the case, here the desert was once covered by ocean, leftover are tan flat-topped mountains of seafloor, the reminder has been eroded away. And with a comfortable feeling of this updated landscape in mind, I was surprised to see constant changes along our drive from soft sand dunes to mountains to pretty valleys.

Our guides, Asuraf and Magdi, were determined to show us a good time along the way, maybe to increase a good reputation. They stopped at little places of interest such as strange limestone formations and a couple of times made long - too long - stop for thick - too thick tea. The teatime held a curious order. Three small glasses were required - first strong, then weaker, and lastly sweet. The guides relished the tradition, a time to relax and talk and laugh.

We arrived Bahariyya Oasis at 7pm and checked directly into, without even thinking about searching around, Ahmed's Safari Camp (EP20 without shower, with breakfast).

Cairo - xxx - Alexandria - 275 - Marsa Matruh - 305 - Siwa - 425 - Bahariyya - 185 - Farafra - 320 - Dahkla - 190 - Kharga - 235 - Asyut

Sa 1/29/2000 - Farafra, Western Desert, Egypt

Now, the group of six (Ray, Martin, Ludge, Rico, Nadia, and I) of us had rocked up in Bahariyya, an oasis at the top of the New Valley (Western) Oases, the northernmost oasis along a stretch of road created about 45 years ago. In this context, "oasis" means "desert town", for this stretch of oases - Bahariyya, Farafra, Dakla, and Kharga are well established desert towns with substantial population (2,000 to 70,000). The oases of dreams are found in between off the now, somewhat beaten path.

The route between Bahariyya and Farafra in particular contains some of the best and easily accessible desert scenery in Egypt, given a four by four. We negotiated with Asuraf and Magdi for a trip to Farafra in the same old yellow Landcruiser for EP450 total. Since Asuraf's mothers fell ill, Magdi alone guided us, which was a bit of a pity for Asuraf spoke much better English, Magi spoke close to none, although. Nadia spoke Arabic and French, and Rico spoke French and English, so we had a way for gaining explanations.

Magdi brought us off road most of the day, paralleling the paved road, but normally out of sight from the road, bringing us to wonderful sights totally missed by those in a bus.

Magdi said we would see the "shifting sand", we bombed off the pavement and to a long tongue of golden sand extending from mountain. Shouldering the tongue was flats of black dusted sand (Black Desert). The day was just beginning, but the skies were clouded over, and the wind cold. I searched for and hope for a break in the clouds. I told the crew sun would be here within an hour, but I was off by two fold.

Our next sight was peculiar. Magdi's friend named Rene, a Swiss safari operator, had passed away during a friendly night of drinking possibly from heart attack. We stopped at a tombstone, a square piece of cement poured over a hillock. The stone simply read, "Rene 1929-1986".

Back on the paved road, we tore over a flat landscape with rough eruptions of small jagged mountains. Magdi pulled off and pointed up, "Climb!" "Climb? I'm too lazy, I'm not prepared for this!" I thought, then I wiped away the hesitation in hope of a decent view. The small mountain was steep, the path narrow, and unsure. I walked ahead and without resting came to the top totally out of breath, huffing and puffing so hard I was - without sense - embarrassed when I met two other travelers there. The view was worth the hike, there was a different perspective of the flat earth with eruptions dotted across it in matching color of bright brown, black, and white. The road was interesting to explore also, it ran straight in both direction out of sight, an appreciated perspective in space.

Magdi was motoring off road again, alternating between two and four wheel driving by jamming a lever back and forth with supposed purpose - for him, not the poor car. Halfway down a long slope of hard sand was a derelict gray, heavy, three axle, utility truck, on the side were large letters, "UN", with my interest showing Magdi offered to stopped, and I agreed yelling, "Group picture! Group picture!" Ludge wanted driver - surely. I asked the others to grab the heavy piece of steel wire attached to the front and pretend to pull ... no, stop, I asked Ray to push from behind, better, and took a group photo.

The sun came out strongly, we enjoyed the scenery and had many stops - tea (of course), viewpoints, a camel train (Magdi knew the owners), Crystal Mountain, and other points of interest. The highlights were to be the Black Desert, Crystal Mountain, and the White Desert - all easily accessible by some degree with conventional two wheeled drive automobiles. The highpoint, however was a sort of canyon or amphitheater between orange and yellow mountains.

Magdi, although he couldn't speak English, was the liveliest character we've met in Egypt. To Ray's dismay, we found Magdi would sing along to love songs to whoever sat adjacent to him - this happened to be Ray. One song in particular was played and sung, replayed and re-sung, over and over - Abdel Halim Hafez, known as the Brown Nightingale, singing "As Love". The refrain was "Ha Bebe, ha bebe..." translated to "Hey, Baby..." or "My Love ...". Ray didn't want to be courted to, he didn't appreciate Magdi's serenading, and his declaration of love for Ray. Magdi, with thick stubble and pouting eyes may not have been Ray's type. Ray held a dammed and stern face and stared out the window away from Maddi, we however laughing hard. Well, I did until Ray and I switched positions. For all Magdi's crooning and seeming persuasions, we named him "Feefee", it stuck.

After Crystal Mountain, a place where we wandered and picked up pieces of yellow crystals, Magdi stayed off road and brought us to a special late lunch spot in this canyon or amphitheater. The time was about 3pm, the sun was started to lower, so the colors were warming. The unusual shaped mountains were brightly colored anyway - oranges, yellows, and whites. While the others picked up small funky shaped black volcanic pieces and Magdi drove a little further in shade to start tea, Ray and I walked across the middle sand plain and started climbing. Without reference, we weren't sure how long to the top, indeed halfway up Ray claimed high enough - the effort to this point was easier than expected but the remainder looked hellish. I refused and - fooled again - we were on top and staring at the most amazing piece of scenery that day. The others were still searching the ground and slowly walking toward Magdi underneath these incredibly shaped and incredibly colored sharp high hills. And that went off in each direction to our left and right - gorgeous! It's time like this with sights so wonderful you sit and stare and draw a deep with a self-satisfied breath.

We did have a problem with so much off road-ing and long tea breaks. The proclaimed trip highlight was out of reach before sunset - the White Desert. Magdi bombed along quickly, but we needed another hour anyway. We entered part of the White Desert at sunset, a white strange rock shaped place. One famous white rock is mushroom shaped, others are somewhat similar but varied. Madi divided the desert into "new" and "old" here we were in the old, the new across the road supposedly has great dune of white-white hard sand.

In Dakhla we booked into perhaps the most hospitable hotel yet, Badawiyya Safari and Hotel (EP30/2 without bath, with breakfast). It's clean, pretty, orderly, and attractive, but relatively expensive

Su 1/30/2000 - Dakhla, Western Desert, Egypt

Ray and I were up, packed, and out at 8am. We walked one kilometer to the village center searching for a place to eat. We walked to southern end of town where a gate over the road welcomes travelers, "Welcome at the land of promise and future". In the village center we ate bread and cheese at the bus stop restaurant, then walked west into the old village, parts mud and decrepit, parts new with nicely curved and smooth walls. Women walked openly in long and bright baggy dresses, a different sight sine the hidden women of Siwa. We continued west and found ourselves in an olive and date palm plantation with large plots bordered with narrow walking lanes shaded by the trees. The farm looked more like an informal garden rather than a strict western plantation, the trees weren't planted according a precise grid, and the sun's backlighting completed the Arabian Desert flavor. We muddied our feet cutting across a plot in the rear of the plantation and popped out to view the vast and endless desert.

On our return to the village I stood atop a mound and watched a woman pouring bags of olives onto her roof to dry. Why would one dry olives? Two women approached us at the start of an alley nearby brightly colored clothing drying on lines. One knitted from a ball as she walked, I smiled and said, "hello", then pointed and asked if it was camel wool. She replied yes and the second quickly and forcibly told the knitting women something in Arabic. She dropped to ball, needles, and the start of a sweater on the dusty ground and ran away. "Hmmm. Ah, now I'm in a predicament!", I thought. On a rooftop closeby she pulled a number of knitted articles from where they hung and returned. After a lot of broken English, pantomimes, and pointing, I bought a camel wool scarf for EP12 although I never wear scarves. Perhaps it'll be a gift for someone.

The tourism man in Siwa gave a thumbs up when I asked if it was possible to travel from Bahariyya to Luxor in one day - not even close. We were to oasis hopped for three nights after Siwa, today we'd head to Dakla with our same crew (Ray, Martin, Ludge, Rico, Nadia, and myself), together now for the third day in a row.

A man with a white, twenty five-year-old Puegot station wagon drove us (EP15/1) further south through the Western Desert. The interior was red and it had three bench seats. Most cars are Peugeots, old 504 models with cat like headlights. I've been growing more fond of these cars, the battle horses of the desert and Africa. Only one friend has owned one, Mark Cronin, and while at that date I questioned the quality of French autos, my many African adventures and shared stories, including one by Nicole Golubovic has bought a fondness for these machines.

We neared Dahkla. In the town of Al Qasr, 20 km north of Dakla, I asked if we could quickly peeked at the old city just to the east. The old city was to be something special and I had a heavy urge. The sidetrip cost me an extra EP10, but was worth the fifteen minute stop. The medieval mud brick city was a crumbling work of great art with winding passages and decaying walls. In the center is an attractive ancient minaret. Down one narrow passageway I had stopped to admire the woodwork and Arabic inscriptions (builder, date, more) of a beam of a doorway, there are many here, but I was more than a bit surprised to find a dead bat tied open winged across a window opposite the door. Pretty strange, but good for a Blacky picture I reckoned.

In Dakla proper, all six of us checked into Local Gardens Hotel (EP20/2, with bath, cold shower, no breakfast, a dive). After a welcome glass of hibiscus tea, we walked a couple of km in cold air to Hamdy's Restaurant where I enjoyed chicken soup, tea, kofta (ground spiced meat cooked like kebab over wood fire), hot vegetables, pita for EP13.

Dakla is a large, dirty city. It's only saving grace must be for the village of Qasr that we visited earlier.

Mo 1/31/2000 - Aswan, Upper Nile

Today was a long, traveling day, interesting only for the patience and humility check.

Ray and I were up at 420am. I skipped my head under a cold tap then we had a long, cold two kilometer to Dakla bus station for the 5AM bus. Well, the hotel owner said the bus was at 5Am, but we stood in the butt nipping cold for an hour before a bus for Asyut pulled in. The pitch dark bus lot was dirt, only through shadows could we any of the old buildings nearby save the mosque that blasted away with a amplifier system that crackled and spat. People hung on the peripheral, bundled and waiting patiently for their bus. Across the lot someone had made a wood fire and men stood and crouched around for warmth. Behind our little spot was a teahouse with sleeping would-be passengers and with promise of relief from the cold night air, we retreated for tea in grimy glasses.

Americans are wary of traveling the Middle East, so was I. We borrowed an identity from our neighboring country, those dam neutral people everyone seems to like, the good guys on the continent. Whenever a tout would ask, "Where from?", we'd reply, "Canada!". Hey, otherwise, maybe we'd tell some tout we were American, he'd tell the neighborhood, some Muslim militant fucker from across town may be planning to free extremists in a thick, high security U S of A prison and need bargaining chips, hostages - wallah xxx - Bob and Ray

But we made a potential blunder in telling the bus people we were from Canada. The bus stopped at military checkpoints and soldiers walked the isle asking questions and for identification, normally of just the Egyptians. They would sometime ask the conductor our nationality. On the third or forth checkpoint a soldier ask to see our passports. I feared the discrepancy would raise suspicion, but no issues. From now on we'll tell train and bus and hotel people are true nationality.

The ride was of incredibly changing desert. One scene was of 10 meter high hills immerging from very flat brown expanse, another of large village of identical small yellow brick houses. At the outskirts of Asyut, caught between mountains and the river we paralleled a town of hundreds of domed white buildings - was it a necropolis?

The bus arrived Asyut on the Nile at 120pm. It appeared to be another typical Egyptian city with buildings half incomplete or half falling down. A man who spoke English poorly asked what we wanted and a second joined in. We said, "La - no. Nothing, nothing", turned and walked from the station to stand across the street and fumble through the traveling bible. They followed, and I noticed the first man held a walkie-talkie - tourist police. We heard this story, it's well known in Asyut. Because of the tourist massacre in Luxor a few years ago and other incidents previous to that, the country has increased the number of tourist police who are meant to assist visitors. Problem is they hinder movement and can't speak English. But hey, this would be a new experience!

Our man assigned himself to us (although we saw no other travelers, we heard later some people receiving the same treatment, others not), brought us to purchase train tickets to Aswan, and sat us in a cafe in the station. We had a three hour wait. We read and drank tea and ate Rabisco (yes, Rabisco) chocolate cookies. I ran across the busy multi-lane streets to buy two pens and bread. When our train arrived our man escorted Ray and I through the station, under the first sets of tracks, onto platform four, to our car, and placed us in our assigned seats. It was all too strange, but he was happy to do is job, a nd we exchanged big smiles.

The train left an hour late, at 615am. It was roomy in second class, more than ample leg room, and gratefully not packed. I had looked forward to to the train ride Robyn spoke highly of, but would miss the scenery in the dark.

We talked with an Egyptian named Salah, a Muslim from Luxor, who was to marry in three months. Salah invited Ray and I to his wedding after he fielded many questions. Salah explained that he first asked his fiancée's father for her hand, the father discussed the marriage with his daughter, and they agreed. The father also asked for a EP5000 dowry from Salah. The same amount will be spent on the ceremony, including EP2000 for a cow. With Egypt's high unemployment and partial employment rate, finding a wife is often difficult. A woman requires that the man own an apartment, which Salah does, and he also owns a Hyundai automobile. I found that impressive. I remarked to Salah that if he is Muslim, he can take a total of three wives, I asked how many he would have. "Only one, because the second wife would be jealous, and kill me." I laughed and he said, "No, really." Of course the same problem of finances in a more modern world precludes most Muslim men from taking more than one wife.

We clacked south through Luxor and onto Aswan, sleeping roughly toward the end. About 130am we arrived the winter retreat city, walked ten minutes to the Nubian Oasis Hotel an checked into a room too many flights up. I read until 230p, "Rage", by Wilbur Smith.

Tu 2/1/2000 - Aswan, Upper Nile

After seven nights at Western Desert oases we amidst the city, we were back to the rich culture of temples, tombs, mosques, museums, mausoleums, and monasteries. But first, after a haggard twenty hour trip from Dakhla, Ray and I slept in our comfortable beds with clean sheets, waking only at 930am.

We just made breakfast (two rolls, butter, jam, soft white processed cheese) before 10am. At the reception desk our dirty desert laundry was left for cleaning, then Ray and I set our to orient ourselves in a new city.

Aswan (pop 500,000) is a common stop while touring the Nile river Valley. The city is known as Luxor's small cousin, comparatively calm, easy going, and relaxed. Aswan is normally the hopping point for a plane ride to Abu Simbel, Egypt's most picturesque ancient sight, but sine the road is closed because of terrorism (or politics?) and the plane flight costs $100 we'll be skipping that part of Egypt. The most recommended activity is to sit and watch the Nile pass by or take a relaxing felucca (dhow) ride.

Through the hotel windows came the loud buzz from a nearby playground. From the hotel's seventh story roof we watched a mosh pit of schoolboys tearing, tripping, and throwing one another about. The schoolyard was dirt and they boys raised a dust cloud like a stampede. We marveled at their aggressive wildness and if this efficiently dissipated hours of confinement.

From the hotel we walked right and right again heading for the tourist information office. The street was alive with brightly colored produce stands, men smoking shisha, and Muslim's filling the walkway. This city is very vibey!

At the tourist office we picked apart a cordial man for whatever information we thought useful. Standing to the side was a 29 year-old Capetonian name Tim and soon afterward his wife Claire (Oz) arrived. We chatted and since the conversation was easy and interesting we skipped off to a popular traveler's restaurant and watering hole named Aswan Moon on the river (Corniche el-Nil).

We exchanged stories for hours and found that Tim and Claire were on a major adventure. In London they raised money to outfit a Mitsubishi 4x4 for a Trans-African trip to Uganda where they will spend one year building a school. I had driven to Aswan Moon with Tim and was very impressed by the offroad gear and sponsor stickers outside and the crush of kit on the inside. When Tim said he was from Costantia I asked if he new my acquaintances three - Kinross, Pickard, Mylrae, Doyle - he had heard of some, but was not well acquainted. Tim was trained as a helicopter pilot and was tossed from the military, worked blue collar in the oil industry in Southern Africa, moved to the North Sea and pitched the occupation when he saw the stock oscillating. He successfully moved into landscaping in Wimbledon and was now on a crusade for worldly good. Claire claimed Tim a Bible thumper, he admitted being an ex-dopehead, we thought they bordered on pisscats. They were great to talk to, their adventure from England covered two months, and they were on to driving cross a decent chunk of deep black Africa. I was excited for them and expressed just that.

Our first day had rushed by, we had enjoyed a long lunch, but did nothing to advance our cultural worldliness. To research Aswan more, to research enough to get a warm fuzzy feeling of what the city offered would take the rest f the day. In a fit of desperation I motioned for a felucca ride to the Nile's west bank and a trip up to the Monastary of Saint Simeon, a 6th century structure surrounded by desert. After negotiating on the sidewalk for a felucca (EP5 each), I engaged two young lasses also at the restaurant and asked them to join us - wow, they agreed!

Anta and Claire (second Claire of the day) were from Amsterdam, pretty and bright faced girls too young to find much excitement in old Americans, but still it was nice to be in a group for our Nile adventure. The felucca sailors were named Salami and Salamam (well, something like that) and after we warmed from the sharp negotiations for the boat, they smiled, joked, and sang to a small battered tapeplayer. Then, of course, they asked if we would like to join them on a three-day felucca trip.

The boats were close in design to Lamu's (Kenya) dhows, except the feluccas were beamier and metal hulled instead of wood, and so they should be related - the Kenya coast if Swahili, highly Arab influenced.

We sailed north around Elephantine Island amidst dozens of other similar feluccas, crashing three times within ten minutes of setting sail - the crews yelled at one another while the tourists laughed. The felucca landing for St. Simeon and the mausoleum of Aga Khan was a sandy flat area, an extension of high dunes tapering nicely to the Nile. Other feluccas sat idly waiting for patrons and hopeful salesmen held camel's reins. If you're in Egypt, at a tourist spot with sand, there's certainly a camel to be had.

The girls had kept to themselves and talked softly in Dutch and giggled but we started ascending the dune together, then they faltered behind. We choose to head for St. Simeon first, the more interesting site. We arrived at 4pm, just as the gate was closed and locked. The girls caught up and we circled the 1600 year old monastery with a site guide on camelback trodding directly behind. He wanted to herd us back to the felucca, instead we walked slowly and enjoyed the vastness of sand, then strolled to Aga Khan's mausoleum (circa 1950) which was also closed. From the dune edge was a terrific view of the Nile, feluccas, and Kitchner's Island below. Although the sites were closed, we had ourselves a good adventure into the nearby desert and incredible views of Aswan.

As we descended to te river, the camel jockeys loaded up after the finish of a day's work and in a file of fifty, heading up and across dunes to the north, across a small dune valley. The caravan serpentined up the dune and out of view. Unfortunately, this was a rare instance of being without film.

Our felucca men again sailed north of Elephantine Island and docked at Aswan Moon. We paid EP20, they asked for baksheesh, and we threw in another couple of pounds.

We walked up the steps of Aswan Moon to Corniche el-Nil in the dusk and was surprised to find the Dutch girls interested in dinner. We made a plan to meet at 7pm and went off.

Ray and I walked to the new Nubian Museum (the local people are Nubians), which received rave reviews from travelers we've met, but once there hesitated for the EP20 entrance fee. Damn, if we had student ID's all our fees would be halved along with transportation - this was a major sadness. Egypt will rape you with entrance fees and often after spitting out 10 or 20 pounds, you're then asked for baksheesh. We decided to skip this one.

The best attraction in Aswan is Sharia el-Souq (market street), the main market strip running north south through the center of the city. It actually passed our hotel, the Nubian Oasis. We walked most of its length. The sky was dark and it was well lit, the colors and aromas from the market were a majestic sight to see. Vendors sold every commodity item - shoes, clothes, groceries. Of course the tourist curios were well represented - stone carvings of Egyptian deities, papyrus paintings, and so on. Most interesting were the colorful spice shops tended by old Egyptian men traditionally dressed in flowing robes and headwraps.

Our Dutch friends were slightly late for our date and they had already eaten. Claire and Anta sat and drank juice while Ray and I pigged at the Mona Lisa. Our food was dreary but conversation was light and flowing. The girl's English was very good, and they were cute with their accents and silly expressions and mannerisms. Anta works as production manager for Dutch movies, together they are writing a screenplay centering on a boy born and raised by a lesbian couple.

We parted ways and wished them well. Unfortunately Ray's strict workout diet has faltered and we attacked a store and bakery on our trip home buying ice cream, cookies, and pastry. Although my pants had loosen recently I believe I'm heading into a battle of the bulge.

Outside the policestation opposite the waterfront sat an old drab green German BMW with sidecar. Mounted on the sidecar front was a machinegun with a small armor shield, behind the gun was a very bored, nearly sleeping, policeman. He wore a heavy black uniform and black beret and sat with his chin in the cup of his hand with his elbow resting on the sidecar. Propped against a tree next to the motorcycle was the driver similarly dressed and appearing equally bored in the cool night. The motorcycle looked very old and like most things Egyptian was beat and privy to little maintenance. I suppose most of its action was in days past, maybe in the heady days of conflict with Israel, and that these two men have seen little action. Then I pictured the German machine careening dangerously around corners with the faces of both men wide-eyed and unsure of their survival potential. No, I don't believe I would appreciate risking my life in a heated situation as the sidecar man and relying on a young mad Egyptian driver.

We 2/2/2000 - Aswan, Upper Nile

There were easy options for a day trip around Aswan. A taxi would carry us to a sight, wait, and we'd move on. But no, Ray and I wanted to play hardball, we didn't want to spend the Ep15 for a taxi, instead, "we'd do it on our own."

(taxi 15, Aswan Dam 10, Temple of Philae 20, boat for Philae 2.50-10, unfinished obelisk 10)

Up at 630am, we ate breakfast and were on the 730am train south to the High Dam on Lake Nassar. The local train was disgusting, no, worse. It was littered high with wrappers and orange peels, and even higher with dirt, seasoned with urine Easily the most disgusting train I've seen. No one was on it but train urchins and us.

We hung between cars to vacate the bad odors and filthy seats and to watch scenery - local villages and barren desert. About twenty minutes later we disembarked, walked from the large terminus station and toward the High Dam, the dam that created the largest man made lake in the world, Lake Nassar, on the longest river in the world, the Nile.

Ray and I walked to a guard booth, were charged EP10 to walked across the dam (not a problem, we knew of the charge) and were peeved when soldiers with Ak47's told us we needed to ride across the first section of dam to a tree area. We were angry, we hadn't heard of this, but when they said, "No money", well, we couldn't complain. At the dam center is the tourist hangout, a parking lot of large coach buses, a couple of shops, some trees and patches of grass. An admission charge to a dam was bad enough, but the area has no redeeming qualities. The dam is a low landfill and much of it is covered with huge, horrible power lines. The area is unsightly and not in the least interesting.

Only to ponder the immensity of the lake is interesting. It stretches for 250km to Abu Simbel and keeps on going for another 250km into Sudan. I have also read the actual length is 500 miles or 800 kilometers.

We walked by the busloads of tourists with camera gear and searched for something of interest to see. We continued on, beyond the tourist lot, to the dam's western end, and came upon a large monument, the Egyptian-Russian Memorial, a ring suspended by four arched squared columns 76 meters above the ground. Within the open monument was impressive or ugly depending on your tastes. The floor was tiled and to crane a head toward the top was dizzying. To the left was an elevator door. We pushed the button, nothing. Well, not nothing, but a long drawn out affair trying to seek permission to be elevated to the monuments high ring.

The guard explained in broken English that we needed "permission". A man in the cafeteria next door confirmed this and pointed to a set of concrete buildings down the road, away from dam. We employed nearly every body we came across for directions. After thirty minutes we were back at the monument with a little scrape of paper with Arabic writing on. We couldn't read it, it may have said, "Kill these guys at first opportunity". But the guy didn't have a gun and since he escorted us to the high ring, I assumed the note didn't actually say that. It took energy receiving the permission and our gift was decent views around the dam area. We had a rare view of the trashy dam, of a commercial fishing company below the monument with blue painted boats, and of temples on islands up river. Down river (north) was most interesting, a wide river gorge with many cuts and cataracts.

Our walk continued west of the dam, trying to reach for the old dam, down river. Many men were interested in finding a taxi for us. Instead of dealing with them though, we stopped and spoke to a man at length about the old blue convertible he drove, a Russian car that literally came with the Russian built dam almost forty years ago. It (name like "Duetz") was cool, a blue four door, a great social car ala the 1940's.

We walked toward the lower dam, six km away straight line, but no idea how far along or where exactly the road to the dam was. After a few km, we took a ride in a brand new Egyptian made car (EP2). I couldn't help myself but to scrutinize at the details, to wonder about the quality. It look liked any other cheap car except it must have come without carpeting or floor rubber for the owner had laid out patterned linoleum. The proud driver didn't hesitate when we asked to be dropped off before the lower dam, he grabbed the two pounds and happily cared on across the dam and into Aswan.

We faced a very familiar problem - we couldn't walk across the low bridge either. A young and power high, arm-toting soldier happily stopped us and passed on the bad news. A second and third soldier helped ask passerbys for a ride and first one willing had us. This time it cost though (EP1/2.

There wasn't really much to see at this dam either, although it wasn't as unsightly and was lower and closer to the valley. The lower dam was British built over a hundred years ago (1895) to assist in the Nile Valleys agriculture and to provide energy. It was subsequently rebuilt twice, then the Upper Dam came along.

The day was definitely stretch on our self personalized tour, but it was fun and creative. Unfortunately we didn't jump out of the taxi at the east end of the dam because of our own confusion. We walked a few km back to the dam, skirted along the river, and came upon the 150 plus boats that transfer people to the Temple of Philae and the parking lot and the many curio shops. Here we joined ranks with three strangers and haggled for a boat (EP20/5, 1.5 hours) to the mystical Nile island.

The Temple of Philae (4 BC to 3 AD) is reputed to be the most charming and romantic ancient site in the Nile Valley, but I would have to qualify 'romantic' that by adding - company considered. The island is 300 meters long and not the original site of the temple. The old dam below the temple created a lake that flooded the temple six months of the year. The new dam, upriver of the temple, would have somehow put the temple completely under, thus with foreign aid (again), the Temple of Philae was moved during the 1970's to a nearby island. It does exude charm though, it's halls, temples, gates, chambers, courts, and chapels are a maze of inscribed and relief stone, honoring the Egyptian gods Isis, Osiris, and Horus.

Although Pharonic times lasted until 341 BC, the Greeks built temples dedicated to Egyptian gods to appease the people.

Blazing our own tourist trail he pursuit of lowering costs worked. We tailored ur trip to the Aswan Dam and Temple of Philae, walked a lot, and experienced a bit of Egypt streamlined tourists miss, including a trip to the top of the Egyptian-Soviet Memorial. The effort was greater but the experience unique and a welcome for a change of pace. Transportation costs for two were EP10 rather than EP30 excluding the Philae boat trip.

We returned to our hotel by service taxi and foot. After resting and writing and typing in our journals for an hour or so, we wandered the great market of Sharia el-Souq, finding a small locals stand for shawarma (carved processed grilled beef, sauce, and pita). Ray was convinced by his sister's friend that popping Pepto-Bismol before eating Egyptian food is the answer to stomach upset, and he grudgingly brought along a boatload. The healthiness of our dinner environment was questionable and he didn't hesitate to use the prophylactic, and even I wondered if I should follow suit.

-end