Land of Cedars

After transiting a couple of nights in Damascus we took the early bus to Beirut. There was talk of the mountain pass being closed. The driver loaded snow-chains – a welcome omen if the road was to be icy. We passed cars with 30cm coats, and the odd vehicle-shaped snow-mound. All of this was lovely from the comfort of our coach, that is until I had to disembark at the Lebanese border and run through freezing, ankle-high puddles back to Syria because they failed to stamp Weisie’s passport. With the papers properly in order, I zipped up my jacket, put on my beanie and was about to beat a quick retreat to the warmth of our bus when a taxi whizzed by, obliviously covering me head to toe in wet, brown slush. Brrrr. Grrrr.




Beirut was a wonderful place. It was like a central European city with its up-market restaurants, bars and street-side cafés. We found a cosy room with a few mod-cons, including a fridge, and set off for the shops to stock up on supplies. Our supermarket experience was actually quite fun - it was the first one that resembled anything we were used to in the UK/Aus (they even had Tim Tams). And so it was, on the third anniversary of our wonderful relationship, we whiled away a few hours pushing a trolley together along the aisles with irrepressible smiles.

The restored Beirut museum was outstanding – it was interesting to see how many priceless artefacts too big to be moved to safety during the war were sealed up in concrete and ultimately cracked open again and put safely back on display. Whilst the museum survived the war (with the help of restoration), many buildings did not, leaving the old and the new, side by side.




A word for the wise: if you snooze on the bus to Byblos, you end up in Tripoli.

Tripoli was quite a fine place to have lunch, which is all we really did because we wanted to spend the day in Byblos. The old Phoenician port and fortified town were so photogenic. As usual, we had the site to ourselves and, being left to our own devices, picked amongst the potsherds imagining (with the aid of a guide book) what and how life was like for the people who lived there in days of old.




Our day in Byblos was lovely, but the primary reason I came to this region was for the following day – the day we planned to visit the greatest of all ancient Roman sites. Grander than anything in Rome, the ruins were the most beautiful either of us have seen. Blanketed in snow, we had a total of 45 minutes to blaze a trail around the site snapping photos at every opportunity: lion statute here, snow covered mosaic there. Our time was very limited because it took us around 7 hours to get in to and out of the Bekka Valley for reasons discussed below. But I think you will agree, the time and effort were well worth it.




In fact, there is no larger megalithic construction anywhere else in the world - as far as I am aware. Furthermore, I have not come across a reasonable explanation for how the builders of the Jupiter temple pedestal (pictured below) carted the gigantic stones using 2,000-year-old technology. And if that does not bake your noodle, it may interest you to know that whilst there are a handful of commercial cranes in the world capable of lifting stone blocks of the size used in the pedestal, none are capable of simultaneously transporting their loads, except on restrictive rails that would not be able to cover the distance or terrain confronted by the ancient builders!




We both rate this day as equalling our day at Giza. However, we nearly perished on the mountain side in a blizzard when we stopped to tow a broken down, over-loaded car. We only had one snow chain and it kept falling off - it was a truly near death experience. But we did meet a biology student on the way to Baalbek who invited us to his parent’s house for coffee, which we accepted. We did not get to meet his parents who were on Haj (pilgrimage to Mecca). Later, we met the mayor of Baalbek who sold me a genuine 3,000-year-old Assyrian cylinder seal purportedly discovered on a dig in Iraq (it is legal, although ethically questionable, to buy antiquities in Lebanon).

On our last day in Beirut, we strolled along the Corniche, a sea-front road, which I have recorded in my diary as being “wonderfully refreshing”. We covered several kilometres, making it as far as the “Pigeon Rocks” – a natural rock formation similar to those along the Great Ocean Road in Victoria. It was very sad to later hear that the former Prime Minister of Lebanon and a number of his aides were killed by a bomb quite near to the Corniche in a place that we had visited less than five days earlier.

Follow me, I know the way!

A screaming mob rattled the gates of immigration at Aqaba port on our arrival. Armed men held the crowds back threateningly. We were a little intimidated, but not so much as a lone Japanese boy who was being monstered by taxi drivers. Weisie and I saved him from an indeterminate fate, but in spite of friendly quizzing during the half-hour ride into town, we failed to raise him from a monosyllabic state. We left probably the most boring person we have every met at his nominated hotel but before we could say a bad word against him, we counted the money he gave us for sharing the ride and smiled. Great bloke, but good luck.

We spent the night in an ordinary hostel but celebrated making it this far by splurging on a Chinese meal and non-non-alcoholic beer.

The prospect of catching a bus to Wadi Rum evaporated when we learned that it was a holy day and that even though it was 7 am we had missed the only bus. We opted for an extra day in Wadi Mousa (Petra) – a difficult decision to make because we were both looking forward to spending a night in the desert under the stars.

The hotel at Wadi Mousa was fantastic. It had high ceilings, new furniture and an uninterrupted view from a private balcony over the whole valley. I mention this because we had not had a soft bed, air-conditioning or space to Salsa in over a month. We walked into town, spent an hour at the local eatery mulling over whether to have “frieds” or “ships” with our shwermera, then returned to the hotel to rest up for the next two days, which promised to be the biggest of the whole journey.

We took on provisions at the “Indiana Johnes” snack shop, refused every man offering a “free” donkey to get into Petra and began the long, dusty pilgrimage down the valley to the entrance of the “Siq”, the winding chasm that leads into the heart of the wondrous, petrified Nabatean city. Every turn promised to reveal the “Treasury”, which featured in the closing scenes of “The Last Crusade”, and eventually the way opened up and there it was.




In spite of our penitence, knowledge of ancient Hebrew, and utmost faith, we did not meet the spectral warrior-monk guarding a cache of false grails. In fact, even the largest tomb in Petra was completely barren, but still so beautiful on account of the colourful striations in the walls and ceilings.

We spent a whole day snapping photos, wandering and climbing to the “High Places” before getting utterly lost trying to find our way out of the site via a lesser Siq to the north. Short on water, energy and humour, our spirits faded with the setting sun. I climbed a cliff to survey the way ahead and decided we should turn back. But then I lost Weisie amongst the rocks. Needless to say, we were happily (and tearily) reunited and made our way back through Petra and back up the main Siq.

The second day was less adventurous but no less exhausting. However, this time we enlisted the assistance of two donkeys called Jack and Michael Jackson by their young, tyrannical owners.




The “Monastery” is probably the most impressive temple/tomb (its later use leading to its current name). But Jack and Michael were not really up to the task of climbing the thousand or so steps with us on their backs. The odd stumble and teeter near the dizzyingly sheer drop-offs convinced us that they were certainly not capable of taking us back down again so we made our own way and met them at the bottom.




We decided to spare the lives of our poor beasts after Jack, my donkey, adopted a limb following a particularly severe “motivational” kick in the rump by his owner. We thanked and paid the boys and walked for the rest of the day. In total, I would guess we covered about 30 kilometres on foot in two days.

That night we had our first plate of “mensaf”, a Bedouin lamb, yoghurt, spice and rice dish. Although we did not realise this at the time, the only other diners at the restaurant, were a lovely couple who we later met again and befriended in Syria (more of them soon).

Our next stop was the capital, Amman, which we visited during an unfortunately rainy period. Protected from the drizzle by Mr Gore’s fabulous fabric, we braved the city streets, citadel and archaeological museum. Even Weisie, who was by this stage coming down with “museum ad nausea”, was impressed by the small collection, which included some copper scrolls from that now infamous Dead Sea library.




We used Amman as a base to visit the surrounding area. We met the nicest Egyptian man there, who prepared the world’s best fruit drinks, which substituted for our dinner each evening. He would busy himself unseen behind the counter, cutting this, blending that, then present us with two colourful concoctions and declare, “No ice! No water!” We were obviously not the first tourists in Amman.

An hour or so from Amman was the Dead Sea – an extraordinarily salty body of water that tasted awful (a drop in the mouth caused you to spit continuously for an hour). But, the bizarre buoyancy was great fun. You could recline comfortably on your side, lie on your stomach or sit down with your feet in the air. The thick, slimy mud and sharp rocks made getting in and out difficult, and the wind tended to whip up sand and sting our soft bodies. But, neither the foregoing nor the cold showers afterwards could stop us from enjoying this rare phenomenon. (Yes, I am wearing googles.)




After our dip, we stood by the highway, shaking sand out of unnatural places, waiting for transport back to Amman. After an hour we decided to hitch a ride with a pleasant Palestinian farmer, who agreed to take us in his Ute to his village, where a bus would take us the rest of the way. We were a little worryingly dropped off at the Jordan/Israel border town of North Shouna. But, as promised, a bus showed up and before long we were on the way back to Amman.

The next day we visited Jerash, which would have been the most impressive ruined city we had ever seen – had we not just come from Egypt and Petra. That is not to say it was not impressive, for undoubtedly it was. But the early start, travel time and relentless rain took the edge off. Yet, some of the best photos we took were at Jerash so it is strange looking back at them now and comparing the experience with my diary. It was, however, one of our most memorable days because we missed the last bus and had to, for the second day in a row, hitch a ride. This time was a little more harrowing, but we made it safely and we laughed at how Weisie’s mother would kill us if she ever found out! Woops.

Fan mail

It is official. We have a fan.

-----Original Message-----
From: tathagata dasgupta
Sent: Sunday, 8 May 2005 8:33 PM
To: Weisie
Subject: YOUR BLOG IS GREAT!!

hi,
you may never read this mail, but still i am writing this to you.
your blog rocks!!!
i absolutely love it!!
actually i have always been keen on having a life like you,
travelling as occupation that is so cool,
amazing snaps too, and i also really like the style you write!
if you ever plan to visit india, could ya guys please mail me,
i would really like to meet you!!
till then keep travelling and keep doing the great job -BLOGGING!!

i am tathagata dasgupta, (tatha) - 21 year old guy studying computer
science in india, Calcutta

Welcome to California

The aeroplane landed at quarter to three in the morning. We bought our visa stamps and took a deep breath before striding through customs and into the chaos of Cairo. We took the liberty in London of arranging a hotel transfer to avoid the tourist touts. Apparently, we won the race against other phantom drivers into the centre of Cairo when we pulled up outside our hotel (even the taxi driver was panting).

Our room, on the fifth floor of a previously condemned building block considered unfit for use other than as a tourist hotel, opened eye-level and arms-length with the speakers of a minaret (white building in the background, below). We were afforded nearly two hours of sleep before the first call to prayer boomed through our window to announce sunrise. At around midday, the Orthodox Church on the other side of the road competed for the faithful by tolling its bells. Our room is the middle one on the left.




The Cairo Museum has one of the world’s best collections and the hands-down worst display – it’s labyrinthine rooms would take days to explore – you have to find your way around, like a tomb-raider (or archaeologist), stumbling on dimly lit and breathtakingly significant pieces that barely have labels let alone any kind of coherent description. I love this Museum and even Weisie was won over, particularly when she came face to mummified face of Ramses II (The Great). The highlight for me was finding the discarded, battered sarcophagus of the infamous rebel king Akhenaten.

Our day on the Giza Plateau will be a day neither of us will forget. I will not write about the major highlight (you will have to ask us in person if you are interested) but other highlights were a moment of reflection in the so-called ‘King’s Chamber’ of the Great Pyramid and a brief glimpse of the venerable Dr Zahi Hawass. However, as with my last visit here, they ran out of camels and I lost the toss…




Back in Cairo, we spent an afternoon in the fabulously dense and aromatic old bizarre (Khan al-Khalili). Apart from having to shake a persistent stalker and being unwitting diners of camel kofta (no amount of pepper will mask that musky taste), we were seasoned enough not to fall victim to carpet sellers, inlaid-box vendors, or spice merchants.

Our second day of pyramids, at Saqqara and Dashour, was amazing. At one stage, whilst standing beside the Step Pyramid of Zoser, the world’s oldest true pyramid, Weisie looked like she enjoyed herself as much as I did (I could tell by the way she kept shuffling after me, arms outstretched, saying in her deepest voice, “Im-ho-tep! Im-ho-tep!”). We waddled 60 metres down the steeply inclined shaft of the Red Pyramid, breathing in dank, dusty air. As sometimes happens, the guards turn off the lights when you are deep inside if you do not pay them "baksheesh". Only the lights in the main chamber were extinguished, but as I had my Indy kit with me, we were able to climb some rickety scaffolding up into the main chamber with the aid of torches. The Red Pyramid is pictured below (Weisie is the stick at the bottom).




Alexandria with its towering Wonder of the Ancient World, the Pharos, would have been fantastic – 1,000 years ago. As it was, Alex was rainy and not much else. The highlights of our stay here were a sumptuous seafood banquet, the Catacombs of Kom ash-Suqqafa and the (rebuilt) Library.

We bit the bullet and took the train from Alex to Aswan. “We’re hard-core travellers”, we thought, “That should not be a problem”. However, our downfall was buying third class tickets for the 15-hour trip. For anyone planning to do this in future, please consider taking second class – at least passengers are segregated from livestock.

Upper Egypt and the sadly sunken lands of Nubia have always been a favourite place for me. The atmosphere is laid back and friendly compared with Lower Egypt. The Nubian Museum and its gardens at sunset should not be missed for any reason. Weisie’s favourite site was the quarry, home to a massive unfinished obelisk and the source of much of the red granite used in construction and artworks from Luxor to the Pyramids.

In preparing our budget, there were a few places we planned to miss. One such place was Abu Simbel. A few years ago, the only way to safely visit the rock hewn temples of Ramses II at Abu Simbel was to fly over the "extremist" hotspots at great expense. We were more than pleased to discover cheap seats in a bus convoy (with mandatory military escort) through the desert in the early morning. We reached the site at dawn after four hours on the road, but the long drive and unbelievable crowds were well worth it. And to think that the temples were moved, block by block, and saved from submersion by the creation of Lake Nasser!




We boarded a felucca in Aswan. The boat may have been traditional, but the "2 Pac" flag it was flying was a sign of the times. Also on board were Na & Kang (from South Korea), Rick, Daniel & Matt (from Australia), Maria, Chama & Christine (from the States), and our 4 crew members: Gober (the Captain), Rubi (First Mate), Ibrahim (Chef Extraordinaire), and Yusuf (Entertainer). Our crew were Nubian and they loved their wacky tobaccy!

We enjoyed a few lazy days tacking down the Nile, passing palm trees, wallowing cattle, fishermen, towns, tombs and temples. We ate communally, drank together, and undertook ablutions en bloc. At night, Weisie and I settled in under our mosquito net (probably not necessary, but you know us) with Orion on the horizon and small waves lapping the side of the boat. After the first night, we lost the Koreans (voluntarily), then the rest of the gang the next night, leaving just Weisie, me and the crew for the final day of sailing.




We had only covered 40 kilometres in the first two days. We needed to cover 65 more to reach our promised destination. We were not surprised to be told that we were only going to make it as far as the next village – but that was okay because, conveniently, most of the crew lived there. However, it was going to require us to sail past dusk, a dangerous prospect if the wind dies down to nothing. I do not mind admitting that my knees were knocking as I waved the only torch we had on board (my tiny LED headlamp) trying to illuminate our sail to alert the relentless armada of multi-storey luxury cruisers bearing down on us. There were a couple of near misses but we made it to the village without further misadventure.

Whilst on board the felucca, we became friendly with the affable Yusuf, who found endless amusement in repeating, “G’day mate, how’s it going?” and “Welcome to California!”. On the third night, we disembarked and Yusuf led us through a banana plantation, in the dark, to his family’s village. We were welcomed into his mud-brick home that housed every manner of beast and fowl, from braying donkeys in the courtyard to pigeons roosting in the ceiling. We showed Yusuf’s family where Australia was on our World map, which we ended up gifting to them - I am sure it will come in handy. Yusuf’s mother cooked a deliciously simple meal with rice, potatoes, tomatos, spices and oil, which we ate in a separate room. Only Yusuf and one of his brothers joined us (everyone else had apparently eaten). The photo below was taken with Yusuf in the kitchen.




Before dinner, we all posed for a family photo (below). Yusuf’s sister, Sabrine (below middle centre - cheeky grin) would not leave Weisie’s side, even after her mother, father, and uncle told her firmly that it was time for bed. Sabrine, we were told, preferred to gesticulate rather than communicate verbally, even with her own family. After dinner, however, Sabrine sat with us and Yusuf persuaded her to sing, which is the only time she evidently used her voice. We were entertained by at least three songs, in Arabic, to the accompaniment of Yusuf’s surprisingly good voice, and the rhythmic tapping of his younger brother (below, front centre).




We stayed the final night on the felucca, and the next day we made our way through Yusuf’s village, this time in daylight, to catch a truck to Edfu. It was market day and light-haired foreigners were obviously not common. The experience of walking trough a Nubian village and market, with more than 20 children literally falling over each other trying to be near us, will be an enduring memory.

The effort to reach Edfu, where the felucca was supposed to have taken us, was ultimately in vain. We had not seen clean running water for days, and we were absolutely knackered. Instead of visiting the wondrous temple of Horus, we waited at the station, in the bothersome sun, for the next train to Luxor.

After another long third class train ride, we showered and fed ourselves, before mustering our remaining strength to visit the temple of Luxor at dusk (below) where we bumped into Chama, from the felucca, and subsequently the rest of the "Feluccans".




We filled a day on the East bank of Luxor, walking along the Corniche and spending 3 hours in the sprawling temple complex at Karnak. The following day we visited the West Bank where we saw all the major sites (I will not bore you with the names, with the exception of the temple of Medinat Habu, which had the best preserved colouration we saw in all of Egypt). The map I was reading made us get lost (ha!) as we walked through tomb-riddled valleys en route to the temple of Hatshepsut, the queen who ruled as a king, leaving us with just enough energy to check out the wondrous Valley of Kings.

The next day, we had another long wait in the sun for the bus from Luxor to Hurghada, which was not too bad as we bumped into Ben & Megan, an American couple living in Prague who we first met in Cairo. The bus ride itself was scenic but we were distracted by a Rambo-Fabio character who insisted on watching inappropriate video clips on his mobile phone whilst winking at Weisie. Creepy.

We transited the night in Hurghada where we bought some sheets of painted papyri depicting Akhenaten and his most famous wife Nefertiti. Then we took a ferry to Sharm El-Sheik, and although it looked like it may have been a repeat of our Malta to Sicily trip, we were relieved to find the sea was calm.

We did not wish to hang around in Sharm El-Sheik but the next bus was not for several hours. We tried to hire a taxi to Dahab with Megan & Ben, but the bus station manager would have none of it. He insisted, with the aid of armed security, that we wait for the next bus. After some assistance from a polyglot, a coach was arranged for us – just the 4 of us – to get to Dahab. Oh, the efficiency.

The journey through the desert to Dahab was beautiful as we drove up the wadi between enormous cliffs with wide diagonal seams of what looked like basalt that stretched out of sight. After an hour or so, we spilled out of the wadi onto the flood plane and down to the beach-side town of Dahab. With a strong enough wrist, you could have skimmed a stone across the beautiful blue waters of the Red Sea from Dahab to the shores of Saudi Arabia.

We intended to take a PADI Open Water Diver course, and after considering a variety of prices settled for "Deep Blue Divers" (which we would recommend). Our dive instructor, Claudia, an energetic German lady set us some home work on the first night (130 pages of reading), which we struggled through following a reunion dinner with our fellow Feluccans who we chanced upon (again).

Diving was a real joy. The conditions were good and the aquatic life was fantastic. We saw a sea turtle, moray eels, and what looked like the whole cast (and crew) of "Finding Nemo". In spite a timid start (Yoda’s immortal words were ringing in my ears: “He is too old. Too old to begin the training”), we both became accustomed to our new underwater world. After studying the books and charts for five days, we eventually passed the course and sent off for our PADI licences. When we were not diving, we were eating fabulous meals in beach-front restaurants. We would drink Stella Beer with one hand whilst protecting our meal from ill-mannered cats and dogs with the other.




In addition to Ben & Megan, and the Feluccans – Chama in particular – we made some lovely new friends including Sarah and the team from Deep Blue Divers. Sarah (below), and others, decked out the "Elazar Bar" in Aussie paraphernalia and signs sporting catchphrases, such as "Fair Suck of the Sav" for Australia Day festivities.




After a week in Dahab (we could have stayed a month), we took a crowded taxi north up the Sinai Peninsula. It seemed like the start of a bad joke: “What do you call an Israeli, Japanese, Egyptian, and two Aussies, driving through the desert…” (someone think of a punch line). The driver stopped occasionally to fill the radiator with water, and to pick flowering herbs, which we were told had strictly medicinal properties. The taxi dropped us safely in Nuweiba, from where we said farewell to Egypt and made the very slow journey to Aqaba in Jordan.