After a while, Eric finally gave the hostel guys another call. Turns out our driver had already arrived and was waiting for us. We just had to walk a bit further to find him. Our driver was sitting by a parking lot, where a bunch of other Arab guys were, too. Upon seeing them--their traditional garb, hearing their Arabic, seeing a fresh skin tone on new faces--it became instantly clear that we were in a different country, and all of two minutes from Israel.
We arrived at the Bishbishi hostel and were immediately accomodated by a young guy named Alex, who ran the show there. Straight off I picked up on how smooth talking he was, giving us a SCUBA diving package "no problem," a camel ride "no problem," a private minibus "no problem." He was really, really good at loosening us up and making us feel taken care of.
Eric holding "The Bible" (our Egyptian travel guide)
in our hostel room.
in our hostel room.
Alex suggested that we check out the Funny Mummy, a restaurant across the street. It was an extremely chill setup, floor cushion seating right on the Red Sea surf. There was something so classy, so style-and-chic about it, that I was pretty into the Dahab scene already. A guy named Muhammad was our waiter. He asked if I was from Africa, and I said no, but the way he'd asked had come off as an extremely nice compliment. Apparently Egyptians don't consider themselves part of Africa as much as the Middle East, so dark skin is still somewhat a fresh thing among its bronze-skinned folks. I dug the question. Muhammad had seemed genuinely honored to have an African in his restaurant.
At one point--I think it was Muhammad who asked--we were asked where we were from by a waiter. The problem: Gaby and Eric were pretty sensitive about exposing that they were Jewish in an Arab nation. From the get-go they told me their plan to keep the fact that we were Hebrew U students under wraps, and I let them know I had a pretty big problem with lying to people. So when Muhammad asked where we came from, and I began to answer honestly, Eric cut me off with a fake answer. After Muhammad was gone, I asked if we really did have to lie to people when they asked directly. Eric and Gaby bristled, trying to be careful with me, but trying to express the need to protect themselves.
I said something like, "How about this. When someone asks me, I go to Hebrew University. You guys can say whatever you want." The subject was dropped.
We got some rest soon after dinner, and in the morning we made our way over to the diving school down the street. By afternoon, we were set up in SCUBA gear and ready to get wet.
Ready.
Set.
Flow.
I dived linking arms with Eric and guided by a SCUBA instructor. Going underwater was frustrating and beautiful. It was my first time ever SCUBA diving, and getting accustomed to the process was challenging. The further I descended, the more my ear started hurting because of water pressure. I constantly had to "equalize," pinching my nose while blowing air into it, to get the pain to stop. Once I had to even signal my instructor to take us higher because the pain was so sharp. But that's pretty much it for the complaints. Seeing the fish and the corral up close was gorgeous. A one of a kind experience. Do it sometime if you haven't already.
Set.
Flow.
After drying off.
After the "discovery dive" was over, Eric and I snorkeled a little a bit, dried off and went back to the hostel. Around dinner time, we found a restaurant right next to the hostel for dirt cheap food. While we were mulling over the window menu, we heard someone call Gaby's name. We turned to find friends of ours from Hebrew U: Corina, my roommate, Jeremy, my Christian buddy, and Zuzana, a cool-as-can-be Czech chick. Another friend, Melissa Johnson, was right behind them. We decided to eat together.
Together again.
Turns out their group hadn't been doing too well. They'd run into visa troubles too, and had been through hell trying to get legit ones all day. Although they were successful, they were pretty unhappy with the trip so far; a lot had gone wrong, and undeservedly. Their visas actually looked like ours, but glued to their passports with official stamps on them. Anyway, I was really glad to see their group. Just being able to talk to them was so refreshing and exciting. We got the name of the hostel they were staying in, so that may be we could meet up in Cairo. If my group could even make it there at all. Our visa situation was sketchy at best.
Gaby, Eric and I went to a club, where they had some beer and I danced myself out a little. We turned in and woke up early the next day for some camel riding. The hostel arranged for us to take a jeep to our destination, the Blue Hole. Just before we left, one of our friends from Bishbishi told us not to tell anyone we were American. I kind of stiffened; I was feeling some mounting tension regarding the whole white lie identity deal.
A young white guy and his mother got in after us, and we were off. The guy and his mom were South African, and the dude's name was Keith. I forget his mom's name, unfortunately. They were really friendly on our trip to the Blue Hole, though, and made for good company. We arrived at the Blue Hole, which was basically a rocky landscape against beautiful blue water. Here's an idea of it:
Gaby, Eric and I went to a club, where they had some beer and I danced myself out a little. We turned in and woke up early the next day for some camel riding. The hostel arranged for us to take a jeep to our destination, the Blue Hole. Just before we left, one of our friends from Bishbishi told us not to tell anyone we were American. I kind of stiffened; I was feeling some mounting tension regarding the whole white lie identity deal.
A young white guy and his mother got in after us, and we were off. The guy and his mom were South African, and the dude's name was Keith. I forget his mom's name, unfortunately. They were really friendly on our trip to the Blue Hole, though, and made for good company. We arrived at the Blue Hole, which was basically a rocky landscape against beautiful blue water. Here's an idea of it:
That's me in the jeans.
As we got our heads wrapped for the sunny trip, an Egyptian Tourism officer approached me, while I was semi-separate from the group. "Where are you from?" he asked. And after a split-second strain, I let slip that we were from the states. He said okay and walked off. I was honestly pretty scared that what I said was going to blow up in all our faces. I didn't tell Eric or Gaby what had happened; I was starting to feel pressure from them and I really didn't feel like dealing with it.
We found our camels on the shore and saddled up. From there we made an hour plus journey to the Bedouin village of Ras Abu Gallun. The ride there was long and pretty uncomfortable, but the scenery was frickin' priceless. Here's a picture of the ride and of the destination:
As we got our heads wrapped for the sunny trip, an Egyptian Tourism officer approached me, while I was semi-separate from the group. "Where are you from?" he asked. And after a split-second strain, I let slip that we were from the states. He said okay and walked off. I was honestly pretty scared that what I said was going to blow up in all our faces. I didn't tell Eric or Gaby what had happened; I was starting to feel pressure from them and I really didn't feel like dealing with it.
We found our camels on the shore and saddled up. From there we made an hour plus journey to the Bedouin village of Ras Abu Gallun. The ride there was long and pretty uncomfortable, but the scenery was frickin' priceless. Here's a picture of the ride and of the destination:
We got to the Bedouin village, which was basically a bunch of simply built wooden huts on the shore of the beach. We went snorkeling, but my mask wasn't the proper size for my head and kept filling with water. Eventually we got a great lunch with tea from the Bedouin folks. (The whole time we ate, two little girls and an older woman sat by, trying to sell us trinkets. To buy or not to buy? Financial question or ethical one? Didn't want the trinkets, wanted to save money, but these people were probably living in poverty... This is how my mind works.)
At the end of our time in the village, we found the camels again for our ride home. Keith helped me to get onto mine all right. Before he went to get on his own, he said something that really touched me. Something like, "I know this is going to sound weird, but I'm just gonna say it. You seem like a really strong, disciplined person. I respect that, and keep it up." Those weren't his exact words, but he had definitely let me know that there was something about me that he admired. I was taken aback, really--trying to think of whatever my behavior had been to justify his compliment. I thought of a little bit, but not enough to really see why had given me such an uplifting and inspiring set of words. I felt like I was floating after what he said. And as we rode back together, he kept going--kept telling me that he saw something really dignified and special about me. That sometimes people need to know if they're doing well, and that he wanted to seize the opportunity to say that I was doing something right. It was such an incredible feeling to hear that from someone who was a stranger at the beginning of the day. His words really had an affect on me.
As we rode back, I learned more about Keith. He was married, and a new father. He was raising his child on a kibbutz in Israel. His mother was visiting to spend time with him, and to see her grandchild. We talked some more--he encouraged me some more--and we made it back to the Blue Hole to snorkel. This time I found some good goggles and took to the water really well. The fish were amazing to see. There were fish of every kind, "Finding Nemo"-style colorful, incredible to watch and to approach so close. Plus the water was a fantastic blue. It was breathtaking all around.
Back at Bishbishi, we parted ways with Keith and his mom, with slim chance of seeing them again. Although they were still in the hostel, it looked like our schedules were separating. I hugged Keith and his mom off, but we actually saw them again as we headed out to dinner. I told them where they could find us if they wanted to.
Gaby, Eric and I went to the Funny Mummy again, where Muhammad actually recognized me and remembered my name. He said he remembered me in particular because of the Africa deal,
At the end of our time in the village, we found the camels again for our ride home. Keith helped me to get onto mine all right. Before he went to get on his own, he said something that really touched me. Something like, "I know this is going to sound weird, but I'm just gonna say it. You seem like a really strong, disciplined person. I respect that, and keep it up." Those weren't his exact words, but he had definitely let me know that there was something about me that he admired. I was taken aback, really--trying to think of whatever my behavior had been to justify his compliment. I thought of a little bit, but not enough to really see why had given me such an uplifting and inspiring set of words. I felt like I was floating after what he said. And as we rode back together, he kept going--kept telling me that he saw something really dignified and special about me. That sometimes people need to know if they're doing well, and that he wanted to seize the opportunity to say that I was doing something right. It was such an incredible feeling to hear that from someone who was a stranger at the beginning of the day. His words really had an affect on me.
As we rode back, I learned more about Keith. He was married, and a new father. He was raising his child on a kibbutz in Israel. His mother was visiting to spend time with him, and to see her grandchild. We talked some more--he encouraged me some more--and we made it back to the Blue Hole to snorkel. This time I found some good goggles and took to the water really well. The fish were amazing to see. There were fish of every kind, "Finding Nemo"-style colorful, incredible to watch and to approach so close. Plus the water was a fantastic blue. It was breathtaking all around.
Back at Bishbishi, we parted ways with Keith and his mom, with slim chance of seeing them again. Although they were still in the hostel, it looked like our schedules were separating. I hugged Keith and his mom off, but we actually saw them again as we headed out to dinner. I told them where they could find us if they wanted to.
Gaby, Eric and I went to the Funny Mummy again, where Muhammad actually recognized me and remembered my name. He said he remembered me in particular because of the Africa deal,
which flattered me again...hard to explain in words. While we were eating, we saw Keith and his mom there. They announced that, like us, they were going to Mount Sinai in the morning, which I was really happy about. Ah, and a side note: if you don't know, Sinai is where the Bible says Moses received God's commandments. Pretty slick stuff.
Anyway, the guys and I had a great dinner, but toward the end of it, Eric semi-announced he and Gaby had something to tell me. Not very comfortable; it had the air of confrontation. Eric told me that they really wanted me to keep the Israel stuff quiet, for safety purposes. (Gaby had already experienced a bit of anti-Semitism in small form the night before, and he wasn't up for any more of it.) I must have put up some kind of protest, because I remember Gaby saying--a bit frustrated with me--"We're not lying with malicious intent." It shut me up and sent me into one of my internal temper tantrums. After about ten minutes of feeling bitter, my anger gave way to some shame.
Bottom line: I'm not Jewish. Instead of choosing to empathize with my friends, I took the "moral high ground," disregarding how they might feel in the process. I had the luxury of being truthful because I'm black, Christian, and thus socially unassociated with Israel. I'd failed them a little bit by being stubborn about principles, and when I realized that, I tried to adjust my attitude. I apologized to Eric later about it, and he took it cool.
Early in the morning--I don't even think it was much past 1 a.m.--we got up and were driven in a minibus to Mount Sinai for a long hike to the summit. The journey was dark, cold, and extremely tiring. Our tour guide didn't speak much English, so he didn't do much else but walk really fast and barely wait for us to keep up with him. We rushed up with an enormous crowd, stopping at established rest stops where you could buy candy or drinks, passing by camels, talking to each other as the stars shone in the sky. The hike felt endless, but of course, it wasn't.
The summit. Front row seats to the sunrise.
A feeling of accomplishment as the sunrise approached.
Our guide happened to guide us to a spot on the summit where Keith and his mother were. We went down to where they were sitting and chilled with them, waiting for the sun to do its thing.
The reason we woke up so early.
The unit, triumphant.
Anyway, the guys and I had a great dinner, but toward the end of it, Eric semi-announced he and Gaby had something to tell me. Not very comfortable; it had the air of confrontation. Eric told me that they really wanted me to keep the Israel stuff quiet, for safety purposes. (Gaby had already experienced a bit of anti-Semitism in small form the night before, and he wasn't up for any more of it.) I must have put up some kind of protest, because I remember Gaby saying--a bit frustrated with me--"We're not lying with malicious intent." It shut me up and sent me into one of my internal temper tantrums. After about ten minutes of feeling bitter, my anger gave way to some shame.
Bottom line: I'm not Jewish. Instead of choosing to empathize with my friends, I took the "moral high ground," disregarding how they might feel in the process. I had the luxury of being truthful because I'm black, Christian, and thus socially unassociated with Israel. I'd failed them a little bit by being stubborn about principles, and when I realized that, I tried to adjust my attitude. I apologized to Eric later about it, and he took it cool.
Early in the morning--I don't even think it was much past 1 a.m.--we got up and were driven in a minibus to Mount Sinai for a long hike to the summit. The journey was dark, cold, and extremely tiring. Our tour guide didn't speak much English, so he didn't do much else but walk really fast and barely wait for us to keep up with him. We rushed up with an enormous crowd, stopping at established rest stops where you could buy candy or drinks, passing by camels, talking to each other as the stars shone in the sky. The hike felt endless, but of course, it wasn't.
The summit. Front row seats to the sunrise.
A feeling of accomplishment as the sunrise approached.
Our guide happened to guide us to a spot on the summit where Keith and his mother were. We went down to where they were sitting and chilled with them, waiting for the sun to do its thing.
Keith and his mother.
The reason we woke up so early.
The unit, triumphant.
We descended the mountain, which took forever, and finally said our last goodbyes to Keith and his mom. After some ridiculousness, we found our driver, picked up snacks for the undetermined length of the trip, and began our journey, hoping for the best. It was our moment of truth coming up--all the visa drama was going to be laid to rest one way or another. For those of you just tuning in, we didn't have confidence that the "visas" we bought would get us into mainland Egypt. If they didn't, it would be hours driving back to Taba Heights, and through the border to Eilat. Not to mention the drive back. If we weren't cleared at the checkpoint, all our hoping was going to be for naught. After maybe fifteen minutes we reached the checkpoint, hoping for Cairo and not Taba.
As expected, our driver took our passports and gave them to the military to check over, with our visas inside. We held our breaths. Eventually one of the military officers handed the passports back to our driver and said something to him. Our driver turned the van away from the checkpoint and began driving.
We asked him where we were going. "To Taba," he said. He briefly added that our visas weren't good.
We began to leave the checkpoint behind.
Shalom,
Eric
As expected, our driver took our passports and gave them to the military to check over, with our visas inside. We held our breaths. Eventually one of the military officers handed the passports back to our driver and said something to him. Our driver turned the van away from the checkpoint and began driving.
We asked him where we were going. "To Taba," he said. He briefly added that our visas weren't good.
We began to leave the checkpoint behind.
Shalom,
Eric
4 comments:
Hey!
I am totally blown away by this entry! so much to take in.
It's 430am and I'm off to the airport on my second leg of crazy travel this week and next (got a gig in Florida-- at the Culture Center).
Will write more when I can
LOVE LOVE LOVE... the mama
and... your friends are pretty darn cool! tell them I said hello.
dear eric,
just wanted you to know that you're my hero (and jenny's, too, i'm pretty sure-- we sat together just reading this). love and miss you bunches, and glad to hear that this whole thing is working out.
-c
Those pictures are incredible. I love seeing you with a headrap, riding on a camel. Ridiculous. Talk to you soon!
ok.. back from my drumming trip.
Your entry is just wonderful.
Can't wait to see the next one...
love... the mama
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