Seventh Heaven in Sinai

After nine miserable hours crammed on a slave-ship bus, we arrived in Dahab Friday morning. I'd come with a pair of very cool Italians, Simone and Marta. A few minutes after jumping into the back of a truck at the station, we checked in at the Seven Heaven, $6 per night. I took it easy for the first day: a little swimming and snorkeling and a lot of lounging with my book in one of the many seafront Bedouin tents. Although the town was a world apart from Sharm, the surroundings were much the same: turquoise water on one end and stark, rugged mountains on the other. This was what I'd come for - not the diving, not the shisha, not the Bob Marley - for the desert. My two Italian friends were not up to biking, so the next day I had all to myself. After checking several shops for bike rental prices, someone offered to simply lend me his bike, for free!



I was off, heading south along the coast. It was about 15km to a place called Three Pools. About ten minutes into the trip a tire had went flat: so much for the free bike. I returned to town, rented another and set off again, this time actually taking the correct route, away from the coast. 

I had no idea what I was in for: the road was a never-ending series of hills, and my legs were burning after just a few minutes. The gears didn't actually work and the seat-cushion might as well have been saran wrap, much like my bike in Siwa. After a few final kilometers on a dirt track, I reached Three Pools, although at the time I wasn't actually aware that I'd reached anything. I stopped for a while to jump in the water and snorkel, then continued south along the coast, feeling somewhat as though I had a mission to fulfill. The road became a narrow dirt track, fit for four-wheelers maybe, as the mountains reached right up to the water line, and soon afterwards I came across some Bedouin. 

They'd just caught some fish, and were clearly surprised to see me. In a strange dialect they asked if I was headed to Sharm, which was only 60 km south, and informed me that Three Pools was actually a long way back. I hung around with the three of them for an hour or so, and in true Bedouin fashion they shared their lunch with me: fish and rice. Later in Dahab, several locals warned me to stay away from Bedouin in the desert: "they will kill you," said one them. Maybe it was the make-shift water pipe they were smoking from, but these dudes were as laid-back and friendly as they come. They explained that they relax like this every day, and seemed proud for not having sedentary jobs. I felt like I might one day fit in with these guys. Another friend of theirs arrived from the south just as I was leaving, so I managed to get a photo before heading back north for another 20 km trip. Besides my Bedouin friends, it had been hours since I'd seen another human being.



The following day I decided to head in the opposite direction: about 10 km north was the Blue Hole, and I thought I'd get another bike and go. As I was nearing the edge of town I still hadn't seen any bike shops, and so not wanting to backtrack yet again, I altered my plans: I'd walk to the Blue Hole. The 10km bit took a while, but there was no shortage of resorts and hotels along my route. For lunch, used the Daniela Hotel's pool, beach and water closet. Dozens of boys on camels passed me as I kept walking north. One boy rode past fast asleep, bobbing around while hanging almost upside down off the side of the camel. When I finally reached the Blue Hole, the sun was getting low. It was a small bay packed with shops, divers, camels, and taxis. There was a line of memorial plaques for all the divers that were still down there somewhere. I spent some time in the water, circling the hole, the best underwater spot I'd seen thus far - and then explored the coast to the north. There were no roads beyond the Blue Hole, and therefore no people. The jagged mountains beyond were extremely enticing, and I made plans to return the next morning.

The two Italians and I taxied to the Blue Hole, and I started north. After twenty minutes along the coast, I could no longer resist and headed up a small ravine into the mountains. I climbed a few walls, passed some strange rock formations, and pretty soon the ocean was out of sight. I climbed to the top of one the peaks, and crawling up the last few feet of black rock the updraft from the sea almost knocked me back down the mountain. I could clearly see the Saudi coast as it faded off to the north, towards Jordan. It struck me that I wasn't ready to leave Egypt. 

I left the Italians at the Blue Hole to return to town and catch my bus, stuffing my face with some ta'mia while riding in the back of another taxi-truck, savoring every last breath of freedom before being stuffed into the bus back to Cairo.