Sleeping on Mount Sinai

After the desert tour, I received the news that I’d been dreading – the rumours were true, and the weekly ferry to Sudan on 15 November had been canclled. I had two options, I could either head straight to Aswan now, just making the replacement ferry on the 11 Nov. Or I could hold back and catch the ferry on 22 Nov. Not being decisive at the best of times, I struggled with the decision. Either rush to Sudan, for more time in Ethiopia? Or take things easy in Egypt for a few more days. In the end, Sudan seemed too far away, and too big a leap to jump into. I was feeling lazy. I was enjoying the coffee and dominoes in Cairo. I still had Sinai, temples and fellucas to see in Egypt. And I opted to catch the later ferry.

With a pounding head, dodgy stomach from the previous night, my last time to Cairo, I caught a bus to catch St. Katherine in Sinai – where I hoped to escape the crowds a bit. After 8 hours in the bus terrible hangover, and still with a pounding headache, I arrived at my campsite and went straight to bed feeling very sorry for myself and wonder if I should have finally led to the Sudan.

I woke up feeling a little better for me and realized I had arrived at the camp after dark, was to set the stage with the towering peaks of the Sinai in red in each direction. I am the center of the camp, and apparently the center of town was also a Bedoiun tent with the locals, the world, the rights of Shisha smoke filled thick in the air. I spent the whole morning (except for squatting over the toilet), and would have stayed for the whole day, but the monastery of St. Catherine was just down the street, and there it was a good review in the guidebook, I went away road up. The monastery was a massive disapponitment. As an Egyptian Sisten chapel, it was a long queue of tourists sheperded in single file, with flashing cameras when they were allowed. After about lost and harassed for an hour, I sullenly returned to the camp. I think I forgot to say that thousands of Americans and Greeks, that I would come here to escape the crowds.

After another lazy morning in Bedoiun tent the following day, and finally feeling better (after eating some leaves of a "herbalist" I had), I decided to climb Mount Sinai in the afternoon, and spend the night on the summit. It seemed like a good way to escape the crowds and save on hotel charges for a night. I packed my bag and went behind the monastery and up the 3750 steps to the summit, as the midday heat began to fade. Racing the sunset, I could not afford to stop (except for a brief and not very pleasant chat with racist Sri Lanka), and the winding steps fought over endless false summits. The steps got bigger and steeper the closer I get to the top, but eventually, with the sun low in the sky, the burnt orange mountains and valleys of the Sinai mountains and the sun glistens on the Red Sea in the distance, the Church The summit drew in sight.

Within minutes the sun had disappeared and with it the 30 other hikers started on the mountain (French chatter and wear flip-flops Aussies) the down to their hotels. They left me alone, cowering brew one other tourists in the church door, and two Bedouin tea. With the summit now silent, and at last way out of the tour bus, it felt like the whole place was my own. The emptiness of the mountains and the night was perfect. After an evening drink in the chat and tea with the Bedoiuns, I settled for a night under the stars. I found a sheltered spot, on as many clothes as I could put, climbed into my sleeping bag and lay the clouds the sun rise just wait …

I admit I am not a morning person sometimes, but caught sunrise on Mount Sinai me at my worst. I went with the mountain as my own bed – just me, the mountain, and the silence of the night. By 3 clock in the morning I was the first of 500 tourists who decided, in what was before my bedroom, would share the sunset with me trample aroused. Hustling, bustling, jostling, fighting, screaming. The silence was destroyed in a second. Maybe I was self-righteous (it would not be the first time), but I felt I earned the right to be there. I'd spent the night. I would enjoy the mountain and experienced at it's finest. But now I was jostling egaer of hundreds of tourists to the best place to get their telephoto lens aroused. Which happens to be exactly where I slept.

I rose sullenly from my sleeping bag, packed and left the summit. Away from the masses. Away from the noise. I found a spot away from the summit, and the 500 tourists and watched as the sky turned into a calidescope the yellow-orange, red and purple. I sat for 30 minutes, and then noticed that the spectators had already separated – up for most people to walk 3 hours to the mountain, in the dark, stay for the 15 minutes of sunrise, and then back to their tour buses. Within minutes, the mountain was me, and I was able to enjoy the travel on my own. At this time alone, I would not have had otherwise.

More Source:

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Submited at Sunday, November 28th, 2010 at 5:00 pm on Africa by admin
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