Dahab Means Gold

I travel as respectfully as possible, as I generally consider myself to be considerate of other's plans. But when we decided, at 9:30 PM in a silent Nuweiba, to change the next days' planned trip to St. Catherine's with Mr. Hamdi's friend/guide, personal comfort had taken precedence over sticking to the plan. We walked a few doors down to Mr. Hamdi and requested, if it weren't too much trouble, if at all possible, could we maybe get a trip to Dahab and cancel our plans with his friend...if it's not too much trouble...

Mr. Hamdi sounded optimistic and sympathetic as he informed us that yes, his friend would easily take us to Dahab tonight. We were relieved with a relief that had only just realized how unhappy we would be if it hadn't worked out. But when Mr. Hamdi's friend arrived, he was not relieved. He was hopping. We were disrespectful to change our plans this late, he was going to lose money because of us. We assured him that we didn't mean him any harm, and that we would pay him just as he expected to be paid for our reservation tomorrow. After a few minutes, he had calmed enough to take us to his van and then to a van that he had arranged going to Sharm al-Sheikh. We could just be dropped off at Dahab - the Hilton, I requested, not knowing any other hotel off the top of my head - on his way.

But our stay in Dahab was worth the trouble it had taken to get there, the late, exhausted ride, the inconvenience of the tour guide. We managed in one day with the helpful staff of the HIlton to find out the bus schedule (for the bus stop was not 3 km from our hotel as in Nuweiba, but just down the block) and arrange for tickets back to Cairo at 7 PM, much better than the previously planned 3 PM departure from Nuweiba. We breakfasted richly on crepes and omelettes, jams, and real coffee. We strolled to the main drag and finally felt like we were vacationing at the Red Sea. The first little surf shop we saw arranged for a ride to St. Catherine's, a snorkeling adventure at the Blue Hole, and a camel ride back. This was exactly what we wanted.

Camels at St. Catherine's Monastery

St. Catherine's is an impressive monastery at the base of Mt. Sinai, built by the ambitious and pious hundreds of years ago. The road to Catherine goes through a magnificent desert whose horizons are vast but never straight: they are always marred by the tips distant mountain ranges. Sand dunes occasionally sweep across, but not in a hostile way, as in the Western Desert. In a serious, lonely, pleasant way, the sand nestles into the crags of occasional sharp black mountains and blows across the road that seems to stretch into, perhaps, China. For as far as you can see, and surely as far as you can walk, it seems flat and manageable, particularly if you are a lonely sort of person or if you are a beduin with a herd of camels. But just beyond where you presume you could walk in a day rise reddish-brown rocks, dry, intimidating, soft against the horizon because of their rounded shapes. The desert is an ever-changing, ever-deepening palate of camel and sienna and terra cotta. The hostile Western desert seemed simply miles of stale dust, while this seemed warm and full.

Sinai Sand

And then you reach St. Catherine's, an oasis of humanity and commerce, pilgrims and tourists, nestled into a nook which would be otherwise indistinguishable from the rest. Her bell tower rises up in a geometric contrast to the round rocks, and her golden rooms are full of scripts, textiles, incense, and bearded priests. Her spiritual bounty is in stark opposition to the desolate, albeit beautiful, desert that creeps up on her doorstep. You wonder about the men who built this, who came from other countries, probably on horses or camels, with their clothes and their Scriptures.

St. Catherine's Bell Tower

Our ride back was quiet and thoughtful. We sped to the horizon we couldn't see, almost as if rewinding our trip up to the monastery; we would recognize a mountain, or a change in color, or a particular gathering of camels.

Our guide met us back in Dahab and we took a bumpy jeep ride to the Blue Hole, where we snorkeled and saw many fishes. It was in the late afternoon, or it felt late, and by the time our camels had arrived at four, we were tired and wet with tangled hair and pruney fingers, like little children at the beach. We changed, sloppily, into our damp clothes and mounted our camels, led by a small withered but spry man with a blue galabaya and big rubber sandals.

The Blue Hole

A trip on a camel from the Blue Hole to Dahab is longer than you think it is, but we saw the sun set over the mountains of Saudi Arabia's Red Sea coast, and to see that from a camel is, well, really cool. The light changed gradually from stark shadows of the sun behind the mountains to a twilighted pink and blue haze that made you rub your eyes instinctively in order to see clearer, like when you put a filter on a camera lens. It was methodical and refreshing to feel the camels beneath us plodding, bored, toward our destination.

We made it to the bus station at 6:45 and boarded our final night bus, headed for Cairo and then to the airport. Our last night and day in Dahab had somehow made up for the troubles of Nuweiba and the sleepless nights leading up to it. We had vacationed, successfully, at the Red Sea.