2006 Egypt

21 December 2006, Thursday; Desert Rose Hotel, Siwa Oasis, LE80

OK, you have not lived until you have been delivered to the Desert Rose by Mohammed and his donkey Ali Baba. Clopped along in his donkey cart for 5km from Siwa town, the centre of Siwa Oasis, into a Saharan desert night. With a chill in the air (the first fresh air since our arrival in Egypt) and a sky full of stars. With the street lights, intermittent at best, left behind and the road dusty and rough and barely seen. With Mohammed tapping lightly on Ali Baba’s rear and humming a small tune. Now and then Mohammed would lift his stick in a more threatening manner, but seldom resorted to using it as Ali Baba’s ears would twitch at this faint sound and he would pick up his sluggish and stately pace a little.

We were stopped part way to the hotel by a young man headed in the opposite direction on his donkey cart. Who hopped off to tell us to let ourselves into room 2 and that he would be back in an hour (obviously an optimist).

When Mohammed took his LE20 and said his goodbyes, we let ourselves in through a gate in the wall to find ourselves in a wonderful little place with cushions on the floor and beds on the roof – all dimly lit by the stars and the odd oil lantern.

We were hungry after our long day on the bus – 10 hours from Alexandria to Siwa – and did not know whether we were to get any dinner (we had not realised it was quite so isolated out here and had neither arranged for dinner nor brought supplies).

We had a fairly large breakfast at the Hotel Union this morning, including eggs and croissants, before taxiing out to the bus station. And had bought, last night, some snacks for the bus journey: date biscuits, coconut cake, nougat and Turkish Delight from Palestine, a couple of colddrinks and a bottle of water. Some of this still remains, but we would not mind a good meal.

Our bus ride took us past familiar territory – the first 100km to El Alamein which we did there and back the day before yesterday. Past the 100km of developments (predominantly 3-storey flats) between the road and the Mediterranean (about 500m deep). Elaborate gates opening on to 1000s of places to holiday. In developments called Neece and La Reviera and Costa del Sol and Hacienda and Long Beach. Some partially built, some built awhile ago – with gardens in varying stages to match. And fewer shops to service the multitudes than we assume are necessary. Mohammed (of Mohammed and Mustafa fame) had told us yesterday that the ownership here was predominantly time share and therefore not only for the rich (we had assumed a growing middle class the only explanation for so much “growth”). At this time of year the places are all empty, all fancy ghost towns. The houses stand essentially on the beach (an extension of the desert). Build not your house on sand?? An amazing sight.

Charl and I are now officially way too fat to fit comfortably on two bus seats side by side. Luckily there were empty seats at the back of the bus for the first half of the journey – 300km from Alexandria to (Marsa) Matrouh – and so Charl re-seated himself and we were both relatively comfortable. The bus was well air-conditioned and therefore relatively comfortable from that perspective – if you could ignore the noise, that is. First “Arabic” music, then a comedy on the telly (very slapstick and quite amusing – even in Arabic), then a haranguing “lecture”. Perhaps a description of how best to prepare fuul, or a call to arms – who knows. Luckily I have had lots of practice at dealing with unwelcome noise. The trick is to let it wash over and through you rather than to resist it. And to hear it “in context”. So I quite enjoyed the music, had a little chuckle at the telly (which included some scenes in which Egyptian men became totally obsessed with a blonde European – both sides of the equation caricatures being mocked), and tuned out the lecture.

At Matrouh, after a police inspection and an unnecessarily long stop, we turned south into the desert. The first 50km from the coast is all undulating sand and stone dotted with scrubby bush (and plastic bags). Thereafter no bush – just sand and stone. The odd oil company; the odd building on the roadside; the odd passenger disembarking in the middle of nowhere; the odd camel.

We had tea in an isolated adobe abode and soon thereafter the sun dropped below the horizon and we began our descent into Siwa. Accompanied by a sudden change in scenery – the desert more hilly here. And so into Siwa’s unexpectedly developed centre – there to be surrounded by Siwa “taxis” (donkey carts).

While we awaited Khalid’s return to the Desert Rose, we lay on the beds on the roof and admired the night sky. When Khalid got home he fed us on omelettes, bread and cheese.

And so to bed in our room with its cerise and peach mosquito nets.