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nmazca.com : sinai peninsula, october 2005
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last updated: 26 jan 2006
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My Lady Friend and I traveled by bus to Dahab, Egypt, which is situated on the eastern shore of the Sinai Peninsula. A friend who splits her time between Dahab and Cairo invited us out there, telling us about how we'd be able to camp on the shore of the Red Sea (the Gulf of Aqaba, to be specific), and how we could venture off to an abandoned Bedouin mountain settlement. We were looking at Mars from the patio of our Cairo flat at the time, so the prospect of some dark-sky observing was enough to get my vote. A few days later, we packed up and headed east into the desert (and under the Suez Canal). We arrived in Dahab just before sunset. Dahab is known for its reef diving, sunny shores and easy lifestyle. It's up and around the coast from Sharm El-Sheikh, Egypt's main European resort destination that was struck by terrorist bombings in July. As a result, tourist traffic in Dahab (and in Sharm, from what I heard) was markedly low. We spent the night in our friend's comfortable beachside house (with a sunroom under palm trees that afforded a roofless view of the night sky). Speaking of which: we were invited to have dinner with some of our friend's Bedouin friends in a wadi (dry ravine) above Dahab. We were treated to local fish (shohour [sp?]), a delectable combination of basmati rice and pasta, the standard cucumber-and-tomato salad, and flatbread {I forgot to mention the scalloped potatoes -- Mm-mm-good!}. And Bedouin-flavored black tea. While the 10-strong group (mostly Irish women) talked around the fire, I ambled up the wadi to try to get some astrophotos of the northern and eastern sky. We came back to town an hour or so later, and we faded off to sleep to the sound of the waves... We were up just in time to see the Balsamic Moon above the palms while a pink and lavender sunrise suffused the clouds above Saudi Arabia (some 25 km east across the water). We ate a porridge and fruit breakfast and then hired a jeep that took us past the Blue Hole diving area -- where German, Italian, Irish and English vacationers lounged with shishas in palm-covered huts, or waddled around in flippers and dive gear. From there, we walked on for a couple of kilometers -- amidst the occasional camel caravan -- to Ras Abu Golum. About halfway along -- not too far past the rocky shore vista shown at right -- we approached a place called The Bedouin Restaurant, which was built of wood and palm-frond ramadas, camel blankets, cushions and a small kitchen. The lone gentleman there invited us over for tea, which we gladly accepted. We rested for half an hour or so, and then we pushed on. We arrived at Ras Abu Golum as the Sun rode low above the headlands to the west. [See my Lady Friend's weblog for more.] Most Mezzaina and Tarabin Bedouins who live and work in this area had lived in the mountains and plateaus further inland for centuries, but modern economics have drawn most of them down to the coasts where there is more work (mostly with tourists). They lead camels for tours and basic transport along the winding, rocky shoreline; they maintain seaside shelters and provide meals for backpackers and divers; and they act as guides for forays into the mountains. We were met by the relations of the Bedouin man with whom our friend had arranged the trip. Because it was not yet sunset -- and thus not yet time to eat, since these were the last few days of Ramadan -- our hosts reclined on blankets with headscarfs over their faces to block the incessant flies. They looked quite tired. Imagine how you might feel after a long, bright, warm and windy day on a beach, but you couldn't eat or drink from sunrise to sunset (and yet we were quickly and kindly served tea and a late lunch). The local Bedouins' existence seems pretty spartan. However, it does allow them to stay near their longtime homelands, from which many Arab Egyptians might trace their origins (But that's a touchy issue since the Bedouins are negatively regarded, to say the least, in modern Egyptian society; dirty, devious, dark-skinned: the same-old story). Anyhow: we arrived at our awaiting palm hut late in the afternoon and were offered more sweet, hot Lipton tea (yes, Lipton; it's the ubiquitous brand out here). We tentatively set foot into the water soon after -- it wasn't like the "warm bath water" in the Persian Gulf -- and I bobbed around and under the surface, trying to get a look at the coral beds. I was so overcautious while moving on the slippery rocks with the Nikon that I cramped a muscle connected to my middle right toe that I didn't know I had. I recovered, of course. We collected shells (well, I collected shells while my Lady Friend made a Goldsworhthy-esque shell spiral on the rocks), the sun set, and then food was served. Quite tasty and welcome after the day's journey. And then came Mars and the stars. I packed my telescope for this Middle East trip, and after a bit of set-up I had it tightened up and locked on to various clusters, binaries and the occasional galaxy. My Lady Friend and I spent some time retracing our visual steps from the "baseball diamond" in Pegasus to find the Andromeda Galaxy. As with many things in such a dark-sky, star-rich setting, the best views came with binoculars. I stayed up for awhile to do some time-lapse astrophotos, then it was off to sleep. I was up before dawn again and watched another Saudi sunrise. My companions rousted soon after, and our Bedouin hosts prepared the camels. We planned to alternately ride and walk on the hours-long hike to Birr Ogda [sp], an ancient, abandoned Bedouin settlement. I rode Fathi the camel for the first half of the trip, then walked the remainder of the time. I was exhausted by the time we arrived at Birr Ogda. I slept in the partial shade of a spindly acacia tree until the partial house in which we were going to settle was selected. Birr, we were told later, means "well(s)" and there are 18 former or currently functional wells at the site, as well as numerous ruins. The site hadn't been lived in for at least 50 years (I can't remember if it was our guide or the Bedouin man who we met at the site who said that the timeframe was 200 years). In any case, some Bedouins do still spend time there -- and there's a motorized pump that sends fresh water down to Ras Abu Golum. Thick plastic tubing for that water ran the length of our route to the plateau. The man who we ended up meeting after we arrived at Birr Ogda was there to tend to the pump, which was operated by the engine of a gutted car next to a stone shack. While our Bedouin companions gathered water and wood and tended to the camels, we clambered around an exposed, multicolored face of sandstone in the hillside above our shelter. The sun had set behind the western ridge, but its light still lingered along the eastern peaks. Twilight set it in and we spotted Venus to the southwest. I'd planned on doing a Richard Misrach-ish exposure of Venus' descent in the lavender-blue light, but the ridge to the west was too high and the time it took to set up was too long. So I opted for some wide-field images and a couple of long-duration star trail photos. Around midnight, when Orion strode brilliantly across the southern sky, I let my gaze go undirected to the point that the structure, depth and immersion of the celestial environment simply (but stunningly) revealed itself to my eye. There was no sound except for the wind, and the green-blue-black undertones in the sky elicited memories and awareness of sights and civilisations long past but still resonant. This was a line of thinking I was happy to indulge as it allowed me to put off getting up into the cold air to retrieve the Nikon, which was wedged between some stones to the north of our campsite for the hours-long exposure. I tried to photograph Orion and then tried to get some more sleep. I awoke to what I thought was light from the stars peeking in through tiny holes in the blanket over my head. In fact, it was the light of the pale-blue sunrise sky. I walked around for a bit, to be joined soon after by my Lady Friend. We watched the Sun rise up from between peaks along the eastern ridge. Soon enough, we gathered ourselves, our belongings and the camels, and we made the trip back to Ras Abu Golum and the echos of so-called civilisation.
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Photos from Dahab
 A desert peak in Sinai
Photos from Ras Abu Golum
 Rocky shore on the way to Ras Abu Golum
Photos from Birr Ogda
 Boulders in a wadi
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