Desert
Posted March 6, 2007[Author's note: much of the text of this entry was written over the course of last weekend, which I spent in the Western Desert with nine other students. You can click on some of the pictures for high-resolution versions.]
March 2, 2007
I am in Egypt's Western Desert, the Sahara, THE desert, as even in the Arabic صحراء means simply "desert". There is not much light left, and in fact the sun has fallen below the horizon, so I will soon have to find another light source by which to write.
We woke early today, boarded a minibus, and four hours later arrived at the small town of Bawati, home of the Western Desert Hotel. The manager, Samir, is our lead guide on our trip this weekend, assisted by Ahmed and Mohamed, two of his employees. As soon as we arrived, they fed us and began to prepare our jeeps for the journey. In the downtime, I took in the view from the hotel's rooftop garden, which revealed that roofs in the desert are where bicycle tires to go die. The last phase of those tires' lives is a joyful one as a child's plaything, and we see children rolling them through the streets. Kids see the best of everything.
A bicycle tire graveyard.
Molly's in red. To her left is Danny, Andrea, Sasha, and Suzanne. In back are Rosa and Dina in her cap. Up front sit Michele and Adam.
We have ten students and two jeeps. Once loaded, we drive off on the highway. But not for long, and soon the guides leave the pavement, and the jeeps go to work. The guides are clearly having fun, and we stop at a sand dune. I heeded Colin's warning to not wear proper shoes on this trip, and he was right; sandals are best, and we slip them off to run and jump in the sand as only foreigners can. It's midday, but the sand is cool and clean and beautiful. A while later, we stop at some old volcanic cones, remnants of the geologic history of this place.
Danny chases Molly up a sand dune.
Ancient volcanic cones rise from the sand.
After a brief stop at the underwhelming Crystal Mountain (more like a bump, and barely semi-precious), it's time to go really off-road. Our guides rev their engines and we fly off the highway, tearing across sand and rock in equal measure. The scenery turns strange as we leave the road behind. Round mountains poke from the earth, some lined with jagged chalk. I think to myself that if it weren't for the fact that I could see the moon, I might believe I'm on the moon. Our first night will be in the Black Desert.
The wind and sand shapes the landscape strangely.
Later, we are at our camp site, a sandy spit beset by narrow mountains of sandstone and chalk. The guides have built a fire and a sheesha is being set up. From my vantage point, the moon rises over the mountains across the canyon, almost too bright to look at. Introductions of the other students are in order. There is Molly, Suzanne, Dina, Michelle, Andrea, Rosa, Adam, Danny, and Sasha, and all but Molly and I are new AUCers this term. I have a new name, too. Our guides have dubbed me Mahmoud on my suggestion, which I like better than Mohamed or Ibrahim.
Moonrise over our canyon campground.
Our guides prepare our campsite and dinner.
Now, perhaps two hours later, we are done with dinner, sitting around the fire. The guides made rice, chicken, and vegetables, all roasted over the campfire. They have served us tea and are singing a song in Arabic while Mohamed beats a drum. The air is clean; only the fire's smoke tears the eyes. But we don't mind, riding the high of being out of Cairo. The song ends abruptly and another is begun. We drum and dance, and break to play dizzy bats and blind man's bluff on the sand. There is more dancing and music, and we settle around the fire, telling jokes and laughing and talking. After a while, Molly and Andrea and I decide to take a night hike. Using my tripod, I shoot the moon and stars. I try to climb one of the mountains for a fuller view, but the final ascent is too dangerous to brave in darkness and sandals.
The Orion constellation glows over the canyon walls.
There is a wind in the desert. Most of the time, it blows from the north, and so our guides have built a windbreaker out of our two jeeps, spreading cloth between them. On the protected side, mats cover the sand, and on these mats we lay our sleeping bags. The wind is cold, and ever-present. It carries away first the finest sand, lifting it from the ground and rocks, uncovering the limestone hills. In the morning, some of it has settled on our sleeping bags. In spite of the cold wind, I am too warm and sleep only in pajama bottoms. It is bliss, brought by the stillness of the desert. Calling it a "stark difference to Cairo" is like saying the Earth and the Sun are not the same. The desert is a peace, and you know it when you walk across it, bare feet on cool sand, in the knowledge that your tracks will disappear within the week, and if you're not careful, you, too.
March 3, 2007
We are at an oasis, about to have lunch. There has not been much time to write yet today, though I was able to finish last night's entry before things got underway this morning.
Rise and shine!
The sun's first rays woke me, raising the air temperature quickly, and for some reason James Brown's "I Feel Good" plays in my head. We rose and gathered ourselves one by one. Our guides set out bread with cheese, sliced cucumbers, jam, and honey, and there was Nescafe for the coffee drinkers. We were instructed to take a half-hour walk in search of the "desert flowers" while the campsite got put away. While in search of the flowers, we found pawprints in the sand, no doubt left by the fox we saw in the moonlight the night before. We found no flowers, but volcanic rocks in unusual shapes litter the ground, giving the Black Desert its name. Some are rounded, some are cylindrical, others knobbed. Suzanne discovered the first of many fossils on this trip, some sort of shell imprint. We returned to our campsite and hopped in the jeeps, which returned us to wherever we had gone on our walk. As it turns out, the desert flowers were those very rocks we took an interest in. We should have guessed at the metaphor.
The dark stuff on the ground is all volcanic rock.
Strange, cylindrical, igneous rocks.
Fossils rock. Puns, too.
Then we drove into more of the desert. Our first stop was a wonderful, small oasis, where we dunked our heads in the cool pool of water. On a hill a couple hundred meters away, someone had placed a marker: a tall pile of stones at the summit. In an alcove on the hill are some human remains, including a torso and legs and three skulls. Some more driving brings us to another oasis, where our guides prepare lunch as I write this.
What else do you do in a desert oasis but hula?
We couldn't even begin to guess at the age of these remains.
The Desert Entries are dedicated to a boy named Ahmed. I met Ahmed in a small Bedouin village yesterday. He approached our jeep as we were stopped, and after we exchanged introductions he began to recite his English lessons to me. He made it through the alphabet admirably, then asked me for a pen. I didn't have a pen, but gave him some gum, which he deposited in his jumpsuit pocket. I got out of the jeep to chat with him and he wrote his name for me in my journal. When he was done writing, he asked if he could have my pencil to use at school. I have never wished harder for another writing implement, but that's also the only pencil I currently own, so I could not give it up. So these entries are written with him in mind, and if I see him again he'll have whatever he asks for.
He wrote some English characters, too.
Smile!
Now, in the afternoon, we are in the White Desert. The landscape of sand is staggered with hoodoos of white rock, shaped into rounded domes on thin spindle bases by millennia of wind. It's right out of a 1960s space drama, a fake movie set designed to fool a scientifically illiterate public. Our campsite sits astride a double-domed mound, a thin tower of white chalk poking up from the lower dome. We take walks and lounge in the cool desert air. Dinner is pasta and potatoes, and it's excellent. Tea around the campfire follows our meal, and we relax in the arid solitude. A fox creeps around and gets a few potato scraps. Later, I try some more astrophotography, and manage to capture Orion and his nebula, to my amazement. The moonlight bounces off the desert, lighting up the horizon, and in one picture diffuses into a giant six-pointed star. The desert is the most beautiful place I've yet seen in Egypt, and I am infinitely glad I came.
Samir provided for us well.
What planet is this?
Aliens!
Our second night gave us a full moon.
Good group of folk.
My favorite shot of the weekend. That's the moon.
The Orion constellation, zoomed out...
...and zoomed in. The nebula is the pink smudge to the left and down from the belt.
Part desert fox, part cyborg, as evidenced by the laser eyes.
As we prepare for sleep, the moon sits at the apex of her nightly journey. I stare up at her glow in astonishment, for her once-full body is disappearing. It's a total lunar eclipse, and the desert bleeds a red light in sympathy. Now we truly are on another world, and this is how we slept that night.
March 4, 2007
We have returned to our starting point, the Western Desert Hotel. The others are finishing lunch, and we'll take off for Cairo soon.
We woke this morning, ate and packed, and boarded the jeeps for the drive back to the hotel. There was one stop to make, in front of a hoodoo known affectionately as the Mushroom, where we take a group picture. I promise myself I will come back someday.
Breakfast on the second day.
Group picture in front of the Mushroom.
