Intrepid traveller... Catching up in Cairo

Ending a tour and farewelling the individuals with whom you've travelled - both the ones you liked and the ones you're giddy to see the back of - is the perfect time to reflect on the type of person you are. After four weeks missioning across the Middle East, it's confirmed: I'm temperamental.

I've been happy (riding a camel), sad (continually battling thieves), excited (diving the Red Sea) and petrified (squealing from the back seat when our 'Speed Racer' drivers rally raced across deserts). I've been patient with some locals and hissed at others (notably the ones who pinched my arse or were obviously picturing me naked); been blown away at the wonder of ancient ruins and bored stiff by others. Yes, I'm temperamental. But at least when I rest my head each night, I manage to see the funny side of life. And travelling in this region, you need to.

Sunrise as the moon sets on Sinai

Our group arrived in Cairo on Thursday afternoon, utterly sleep deprived, having left Dahab at midnight to start the climb of Mt Sinai at 2am. Neither of us religious, Boyfriend and I struggled emotionally and physically with the 6 kilometre hike. Rocky, dusty terrain, herds of smelly camels and their equally smelly Bedouin owners pimping their rides were just the beginning. My tired eyes bulged and the higher we climbed the colder it got until at the summit I lost feeling in my fingers and toes altogether. And even then it wasn't over. Having climbed for just under 3 hours we still had to wait an hour for sunrise - apparently a must-see in Egypt.

Must-see for some (at least 1,000 tourists, mostly senior citizens, joined us, while daily visitors average 3,000 during peak season), but jaded Christians that we are Boyfriend and I merely grumbled. After all, it's not even the 'real' Mt Sinai - that one's over in Saudi Arabia, along with Islam's Mecca - and the sun rises every day, doesn't it? Yes, I'm a totally ungrateful traveller.

After what seemed an eternity, the sun rose enough to warrent us to sigh, "Ahhh," and begin our trek back down the mountain. With the sun came the blazing heat, more grumbles and a dire need to pee. At the bottom I searched for a toilet only to be rudely shocked with a bowl full of used tampons and faeces, for which I paid ₤2 for the privilege.

From there our van drove westwards 8 hours - via the Suez Canal - into Cairo. From middle-of-nowhere to middle-of-mayhem, Cairo is one busy city. Full of dusty streets, falling down buildings next to half-built highrises and 18-odd million people, the city's one saving grace is its proximity to the pyramids.

With a local guide, on Friday, we saddled up camels and rode across the sand dunes until we were right up close. Finally something spectacular. More than four and a half thousand years old, the Great Pyramid of Giza is truly a world wonder. And while theories abound about the details of their construction, when you stand dwarfed by each pyramid's sheer size and magnificence, imagining near-naked, ancient workmen quarrying huge limestone bricks and piling them one by one, makes you appreciate just how easy life is now.

Like the millions before us, Boyfriend snapped me 'kissing' the Sphinx. We crawled into the sweaty depths of the Second Pyramid and even checked out Cheops' Solar Boat. Today we visited the Egyptian Museum to see Tutankhamun's gold bust and other tomb relics. Unsurprisingly the other 120,000 ancient Egyptian items on display are arranged in Arabic-disorder, most without labels and almost all without dates. Nearly two hours later we emerged into the sunshine, mummied-out and hungry.

Now we find ourselves preparing for our flight to Abu Dhabi. In the chaotic Khan el-Khalili Bazaar we bought a bigger carry-on bag to unload some of the weight from our checked baggage: sadly Etihad's limits severly restrict consummate consumers like myself. And in the land of the burkha, I doubt I can smile my way out of an extra 10 kilos!

Intrepid traveller... Diving Dahab

My cheeks are rosy, my shoulders bronzed and my skin has that tight, sun-dried, sandy feeling that you only get from beach exposure. Yes, I've finally found the sunshine. Happily, in Egypt.

Although interestingly enough, I spent most of the morning underneath the water. Having wanted to scuba dive for years but lacking both the funds and locale, Boyfriend and I signed up for an intro dive with Big Blue Dahab. We figured the Red Sea was as good a place as any to don wetsuit and fins and start breathing underwater. And while the concept isn't such a tough one, the reality was more of a challenge.

Squeezing into the micro sized wetsuit was the first hurdle. Thankfully I'm well practiced in jumping-like-a-moron-to-fit-into-skinny-jeans; Boyfriend struggled more so, initially putting his on inside-out-and-backwards.

And it wasn't like we'd not sat through 45-minutes worth of instruction - about equalizing water pressure on our eardrums, clearing water from our goggles while submerged, learning the relevant hand gestures and most importantly breathing in and out through our mouthpiece - but when it came to taking the plunge (pardon the pun), a huge part of my conscious mind started to panic. Just what the hell was I about to get myself into?

Our (amazingly patient and downright lovely) instructor, Ibrahim, waded me gently into the water - just off the shore - brought me to my knees and told me to breathe in deep: I did... and I still freaked.

As Boyfriend looked (laughed) on - clearly enjoying my plight - I mustered all my courage and told myself, "Pull yourself together and pretend this is Pilates." I did... and it worked.

But when we took to the water I had another dose of panic attack, having not quite fathomed the fact that we'd actually started our dive. Ibrahim had asked us to link arms and swim and I'd taken that to mean we'd 'practice' our swimming technique; as we began to delve deeper into the blue-black hole that was the sea I forgot my breathing, lost my serenity, threw Boyfriend off my arm and scrambled to the surface. Graciously the boys gave me another go. So down we all went to explore the wonder that is a live and vibrant coral reef.

I'd love to say that I took in every sparkling angel fish, every brilliant damsel and clownfish, all the wonderful coral clusters and the vast depths of the ocean, but I didn't. Sure I glimpsed them all - they were there in abundance - but as a first-time diver I spent the majority of the 46-minute dive breathing in, and breathing out; kicking from my hips and worrying that my ears weren't popping properly. Of course once it was over I wanted to dive again and again...

Just next time, I might meditate first.

Note: Pic thanks to Big Blue Dahab

Intrepid traveller... Jordan: In review

One week in the deserts of Jordan with no Net access and limited shower facilities has made me one smelly and anxious lady. Now in Aqaba - Jordan's seriously filthy seaport that borders Eilat, Israel, Boyfriend and I are counting the minutes (and our dinars) until we board our ferry to Egypt.

Not that we're under any delusion that Egypt will be less sandy or dirty, but our first destination is Dahab and our guide, Chloe, assures us that we'll be pleasantly surprised. We're taking that to mean that for the first time in a while our hotel bathroom won't smell like a urinal and that our bedsheets might just have been washed in between guests.

But I digress...

Not knowing much about Jordan other than it shares the Dead Sea with Israel and that it's the home of the wonderfully elegant Queen Rania, I had no preconceived ideas about what to expect. The capital city of Amman was much like Syria's Damascus only with better roads and infrastructure and it was there we met four new members of our group (two Irish sisters seeking some Jordanian sunshine, and an Aussie girl and English guy who will be with us right through to Cairo).

Our day trip to the Dead Sea was ludicrously expensive, and although the weather was great - just shy of 26 degrees - I failed to see the luxuriousness of bathing in a salty, oil slicked-bath. I stayed in long enough to pose for a photo then headed to the resort's chlorinated pools to take a dip in water nearing freezing point. We left two hours later all a little redder and dirtier than before.

Next stop was Petra. We bought a two-day pass, although I don't know why as neither Boyfriend or I are that into exploring old rocks and ruins... But we did the first day justice, covering a whopping 14 kilometres worth of the ancient Nebatean "rose-red city" (c.100 BC). We snapped the famous Treasury and hiked 45 minutes up to the ancient Monestary. And along with a thousand or so Thomson Cruise ship tourists - who'd been bussed-in for the day - we battled the blazing sun and the oppressive stench of donkey and camel urine. While the sheer size of the site can't help but be impressive, the litter everywhere and the pushy Bedouin salesmen (some as young as two years old) made the experience more of a challenge. Similarly, we found little beauty in watching donkeys being whipped across the mouth as they lugged lard-arsed tourists up the rocky cliffs. Petra certainly shows tourism at its worst.

From there we ventured further into the desert to stay a night in a 'traditional' Bedouin camp. A short safari jeep ride (to see some old rock inscriptions) and a mighty sandstorm later, we woke this morning ready to brace more sunshine. We've sand all through our bags (Australian customs is going to grill me for sure) and all our clothes are filthy...

What I wouldn't give right now for a flushing toilet and a real shower!

Note: Pic thanks to Sacred-Destinations.com

Intrepid traveller... Damascus

It's the early afternoon and I'm in a dusty internet cafe, cloaked in the smoke of a dozen Arab gentlemen all sitting around sipping tea. Boyfriend is tucked away in our hotel watching B-grade Hollywood movies having officially called it a day, in Damascus.

More mosques, more rubbled remains of 'great walls' and another grand bazaar... Damascus, our last stop in Syria, hasn't exactly wowed us. True, the ice cream rolled in pumpkin seeds served at Bakdash ice creamery in the Al Hamidiyeh Souq was lovely (if not a little gelatinous in texture) but apart from those, we're starting to see a sad trend of 'same-old, same-old' when it comes to Middle Eastern menus.

Usually a huge fan of kebabs, falafels and the like, Boyfriend today announced that if he has to eat one more falafel sandwich he'll dry reech. Just over halfway through our trip, I'm hoping he's exaggerating. Although I think his negative attitude has more to do with the fact we've had more money stolen - this time from my wallet which was inside our last hotel's safe...

At the rate we're hemorrhaging money I'm thankful at least our flights home our paid for!


Note: Bakdash ice cream pics thanks to Flickr.com

Intrepid traveller... Still wandering

We find ourselves amid a vast expanse of desert (only 230 kilometres from Syria's border with Iraq) in the ancient town of Palmyra (above). As I battle to blog via a dial-up connection let me reminisce our last few days.

En route from Aleppo to Hama - an important agricultural and industrial region of Syria - we passed the ruins of the Temple of Saint Simeon, a 5th century extremist-Christian monk who spent the last 36 years of his life living atop pillars (ranging from 9 to 60-feet high). In his quest for the meaning of life, and following a revelation he had in a dream, Simeon joined a monastery at 16 only to be dismissed for his extreme forms of penance (allegedly Simeon was a cutter). Seeking solace in the hills he went to live in a cave but when word spread of his devotion he soon found himself the object of pilgrimages. It was then he began to build pillars. Thanks to pilgrims and monks providing him with food and water via ladders, Simeon was able to live permanently mid-air. Why exactly he was made a saint is unclear, although the fact that he was reflects the favouritisms of the Christian church: Simeon taught that women were the spawn of the devil and refused for women to come anywhere near his pillars of solitude.

The Temple of St Simeon - the boulder representing the site of his first 9-foot-high pillar

Not exactly a hot spot for tourists, in Hama we were met with cautious smiles (revealing rotten gums and blue-black, bead-like teeth) and a good numbers of, "Well come"'s. Promoting tourism isn't big on the Syrian Government's agenda; however, Hama is considered a 'go to' place for locals to visit the 14th century water wheels (or norias) that border the Orontes river. Sadly the wheels weren't turning for our visit.

While revered by the townspeople, that doesn't stop them using it as their local dumping ground for waste. One woman begging on a bridge, with her crying toddler on her lap, casually threw a used diaper over the edge in between her wails of, "Baby. Money. Baby. Money." The build up of refuse has even caused a phenomenon I've termed, 'bubbling river' – first we thought raindrops were falling, but then we realised the bubbles were actually rising from below the green-murkiness. Lovely.

From Hama we bundled our group of four into the back of an old Merc (c.1955). The boot full to bursting we sat with bags on laps for the four hour drive to Palmyra, stopping just out of Hims for a guided tour of Crac des Chevaliers - one of the best preserved Crusader fortresses in the world. Only 30 kilometres from the border with Lebanon, Boyfriend was able to see the snow-capped mountains of his mother's ancestral homeland; although being as sentimental as a stone it required some coaxing on my behalf for him to eventually take a photo. As far as ruins go, Crac des Chevaliers is definitely one to see. Built in the early12th century by more than 1100 slaves over 75 years the result was a castle fit for fairytales. Heavily protected by two moat systems and innumerable holes in the ceilings and walls from which hot oil was supposedly poured over anyone attempting a break-in, the castle was never penetrated. Instead the Crusaders gave it up to the Islamic army in the late 13th century in return for safe passage out of the region.

Arriving into Palmyra in the late afternoon we were once again met by a semi-ghost town. Not ones for working excessively at the best of times, it would seem Syrian's take the words "off season" literally. Of the few shops open for business we had the options of dusty jewellery, carpets, remodeled Roman and Islamic helmets and shisha pipes for sale, and two run down restaurants. But according to The Lonely Planet, Palmyra is the place to see.

And to be fair, the ruins of the ancient city are fantastic. Set in a desert oasis and established in the 1st century, it was a prosperous city along the trade route linking Persia to the Mediterranean ports of Roman Syria. Having seen lots of (as Boyfriend calls them), "bundles of old rocks," on this trip we were surprised by the sheer size of the ruins and the enormity of the relics that have been restored. A trip at sunset to high hilltop where Palmyra's citadel still stands, gave us a wonderful panoramic view of the site. If only the new town were half as grand.

In the spirit of the Bedouins, tonight we ate a traditional underground-oven cooked dinner of chicken and rice in a carpeted tent amid the oasis. Suitably stuffed, we all agree that the food on offer in Syria has surpassed that of Turkey. Hummus, mattabal and tabuleh are provided in abundance, along with to-die-for falafel wraps sold by street vendors for a mere 20 cents (US). How strange it is to be in gastronomic heaven, amongst all this dust and debris.

Note: Top pic thanks to Flickr.com and St Simeon's boulder courtesy of Atlasttours.net.