Al-Ahram Weekly 20 - 26 July 2000 Issue No. 491
Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875

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Does the body good

By Fatma Farag

As I was lazing on the beach, the ragged, reddish-brown mountains looked down on me, relentless witness to my indolence. Another world accessible from Dahab beckoned and the time had undoubtedly come to set out on a desert safari.

Since I am an old veteran in desert travel (I visited the eastern White Desert once), I knew that the key to a successful trip would be a proficient guide. My search for one eventually led me to Ehab Farid, the owner of EMBAH Travel, which specialises in desert trips.

The office is wood panelled and inviting. Ehab, a burly, well-set man, invites us to sit around a low table on which a host of catalogues and books on the desert and the Bedouin are arranged. This is where he custom plans arrangements for his customers' trips.

Unquestionably the quintessential desert adventurer, Ehab came to Dahab with the first Egyptians in the early '80s to help map out mountain trails and search for water and mineral sources. "The intimate knowledge I gained from these expeditions made me realise that the sand and the stones of the desert are not dumb -- they are living proof of history," he remarked.

EMBAH was established in 1992 by Ehab and his Scottish wife and started with camel-dive safaris. "We would put the diving equipment on camels and head out to diving sites," Ehab explains as we sip cold karkade tea.

"Today, EMBAH can offer you anything from a one-day 'desert intro' trip to 12 days on a camel," says Ehab. "We specialise in health tourism," he added, handing me a list of Bedouin remedies for curing ailments ranging from eye infections to impotence. "This is in addition to yoga and cycling trips," Ehab continues. "We also run a Desert Survival Project. Students come and learn how to live in the desert; we get them involved in projects, such as small dams to help the Bedouins preserve water. In the spring we take out expeditions to see the medical herbs in the valleys."

Groggy reporter at dawn draped in sheets, while the American is already taking photos (left); unpacking the jeep after a hard desert play (right)

"Space," Farid maintains, is the allure of the desert. "Modern life has cramped and confined people so much that people need simplicity and space to discover creation -- to discover who they are, and parts of themselves they had never thought about."

Our group opted for an overnight introductory trip by jeep. We had heard, of course, of the famous Coloured Canyon and were starting to ask Ehab about this, when he scoffed at the suggestion and told us he preferred to take us off the beaten track.

The car would pick us up at 10 minutes to 8.00 the next morning. Ehab was so efficient we actually believed him. The jeep arrived promptly at 8:30am. Our partners in travel were two guides, two French women and two Americans. The jeep was comfortable and clean and we settled in for an hour's drive out to where the trip would actually begin -- the end of the paved road in Wadi El-Ghazaleh. "This is where the gazelles used to roam," explained Mahmoud, the younger of our guides, who would prove a Godsend for the rest of the day. He took us to a Bedouin man who sold head scarves made in China at the side of the road and then lined us up while he individually wrapped our heads in new scarves. He looked us over approvingly and certified us ready for the desert.

The first item on our itinerary was an hour-and-a-half walk through the White Canyon. The jeep stopped and let us off in what seemed to be nowhere and left. That was it; we had no choice but to walk through the canyon to our destination -- the Sabah Oasis.

Clockwise from top left: Mahmoud sporting his Cheshire grin; rekindling the fire at dawn; Rabi' preparing our breakfast bread photos: Fatemah Farag

We started walking and then we were confronted with a wall of boulders. Mahmoud scampered up nimbly, turned around and beckoned us to follow. "You must be joking," we exclaimed in all languages. We would soon discover that despite his smile, Mahmoud was never joking when he demanded that we, say, scale a mountain, or walk a stretch of hot desert. On these matters he was dead serious.

Well, off we went, clambering up and down cliffs and boulders, none of which offered a shred of shade. Eventually we found ourselves on a thin ridge along the side of a mountain; in the distance we could see salvation -- the lush vegetation of the Sabah Oasis Palms. "You can have a rest," Mahmoud told us with a grin. The Americans positioned themselves assertively on the most precarious part of the ledge and commanded the best view; the French sunk against the wall and started smoking; and the Egyptians just stood in a state of panting disbelief, trying to remind themselves why they were doing this for pleasure.

In retrospect, the walks we took were always challenging, though never really intimidating. Nonetheless, it would have been preferable if someone had told us ahead of time to wear proper sneakers and to take off our watches. Both myself and my partner had the faces of our watches smashed while trying to save our bodies from falling off various pieces of stone.

At the oasis, we were treated to a very cold spring and some shade. Despite the relief, there was a feeling about the place which was somewhat manufactured. Maybe it was the little girls who started laying out their merchandise of cheap bead necklaces as soon as we sat down, or maybe the Coca Cola cartons over in the corner. When the tuna fish (our lunch) came out carefully arranged with cucumber and tomato, basic desert life shrunk further beyond our reach.

I took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with our second guide, a tall and slim young man with high cheek bones and dashing pistachio green head scarf. "Which tribe do you come from," I asked, all confidence with my pen poised at a right angle to my paper. "Actually, I'm from Maadi," came the answer. It turned out that Mohamed Fayez is a naval engineer, who spends part of the year at sea and the other part guiding tours in the Egyptian desert. "Most of the time I work in the Eastern Desert -- now there's a real desert -- but the summer is the slow season there, so I came here," he explained.

With this cross-desert perspective shared, we were whisked off by the never-tiring Mahmoud to our next walk -- this time it was the Sugared Canyon. Again, there was a stretch of uncompromising desert to be crossed before reaching a thin slit in the hills. "Go in," ordered Mahmoud and we did. The following stretch was a half-hour walk through a thin crack in the mountain with occasional fallen boulders that had to be surmounted. All of this led to a dead end, at which point we simply turned around and went back. Do not get me wrong, it is a very dramatic walk and well worth the effort.

Next Mahmoud treated us to some exciting sand dune driving. We stopped to see the Magic Mushroom Rock (a rock that looks like a sick mushroom) and we were left in the valley of Hadra with Rabi'-- a real Sinai Bedouin -- and Rehab, an Eastern Desert Bedouin who had joined up with us, to make camp and spend the night.

I won't get into the details of desert life; water is rationed and not much is allotted for washing. There are no toilets and despite the openness of the desert, there is not much privacy.

Rabi' started a fire and soon vegetables and macaroni were cooking as we drank small cups of tea. For dessert I had a very melted, large chocolate bar, which we all shared, eating it with spoons. Then it was time to settle back and contemplate the stars. Rabi' started talking about the camel race that used to take place once a year between the Bedouins of north and south Sinai. He went on and on -- describing who won and when, what their camels were like and how much they were worth after they had won.

"Did you ever race, Rabi'?"

"Yes," he exclaimed with enthusiasm, "And I never won," he added, with the same zeal.

I fell asleep and he was still on about the races. Sweet guy.

Sleep in the desert is very peaceful and by the time dawn broke we were all up and alert. At 6.00am the fire was rekindled and a breakfast of fuul, tea and fresh bread was in the making; by 6.15 Rabi' had pulled the bread from under the coals and was beating it against the mountain; at 7.00 he took us to climb a nearby mountain (piece of cake) and by 8.00 we were ready and waiting for our jeep to come and pick us up.

While waiting, Rehab taught me how to play khal, a children's game played with stones. He had obviously had years of training and I wound up watching him most of the time. It was when we moved on to a version of tic-tac-toe that I realised he was a cheat and I warn you: if you ever meet Rehab in the open desert do not let him entice you into a game of any sort.

Off we went to the Nawamees -- round low-ceilinged structures made of slated stone that are said to date back to the Bronze Age. Rehab kept trying to get me to play with him again and went off sulking when I adamantly refused. We rounded out the day with a stop at Gabal Al-Maktoub, where ancient travellers scratched their graffiti. Not-so-ancient travellers have also etched their mark on the mountain and it takes a good guide to show you the difference between old and new.

Though a little achy, we probably could have scrambled over a few more mountains if necessary, but this was the end of our excursion. As we headed back to what seemed a very modernised and high-tech Dahab, a lazy dip in the water seemed a fine idea indeed.

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