Desert trek end in heaven (From Stroud News and Journal)

Desert trek end in heaven

IN this final part of her account of the expedition to the Sinai peninsula of Egypt by a band of nine supporters of the Cotswold Care Hospice, SNJ editor Skip Walker describes the magnificence of the desert sky, the delights of camel riding and dune walking and the joy, after eight days, of taking a shower

After four days of hard climbing in the high mountains we were all pretty much done in, suffering from nose bleeds, tummy upsets and a range of other minor disorders.

Our leader Danny, however, showed no mercy and on the morning of the fifth day we were compelled to rise at 2am, drink a quick glass of herb tea, pack our meagre belongings and set off in the dark down the 3,750 rock "steps" leading from the top of Mount Sinai to the monastery of St Katherine 8,000 feet below in time to attend the 5am service.

The darkness was a blessing, masking the severity of the drop to one side of the steep, tortuously twisting path which hugged the sheer side of the mountain.

Almost three hours later we had made it to the bottom with just enough time for the women to fling on skirts over their trousers, cover their heads and be admitted to the inner sanctum of the monastery where there was much ringing of bells and waving of incense, particularly in our direction which we felt was probably because we had none of us had had a decent wash for five days.

A two-and-a-half-hour service seems interminable at that time of the morning but it was an interesting experience and I don't believe any of us actually snored.

Finally we left the monastery, paid a visit to a couple of Beduoin craft folk, bade a very sad farewell to our guides and to the mountains and were driven in our jeep to the desert. The Sinai Desert, although vast, is firmly on the tourist trail and after the clean, crisp air and barren beauty of the mountains the desert sand and shingle seemed somehow dirty. There was litter here, foil wrappings, tin cans and discarded plastic water bottles, and it was HOT.

Yes, I know the desert is supposed to be hot but the Sinai was experiencing a heatwave that week and at one point the temperature reached 47 degrees Centigrade, which with a gallon of water on your back and sinking way past your ankles in soft, soft sand is my idea of torture. The 50-minute walk from the jeep to the oasis was as much as most of us could bear.

The oasis, once abandoned, had been restored by the Makhad Trust and three generations of a Bedouin family now live there.

They have not, however, as the trust expected, returned to their subsistence way of life but instead make a living out of selling soft drinks, trinkets, handmade crafts and headscarves to the endless stream of tourists.

There were zillions of flies, almost no breeze and the sheikh (the head of the family) was ill. We felt sad as we left, this was not the tranquil oasis of the picture books. Modern life had caught up with and overtaken the ancient traditions and while probably inevitable it was nonetheless dispiriting.

The next two days, however, were generally uplifting. We trekked through the White Canyon, with creamy coloured rocks towering on either side of us and blindingly white sand beneath our feet; we spent the night with a delightful Bedouin family who served the most delicious supper and breakfast, in vast quantities, and we slept beneath a sky so wide, so clear and so bespattered with stars that it was possible to imagine what the view must be like from a space rocket.

The next day we crossed the desert on camels, grumpy and complaining beasts but then they had the right in those temperatures and with such a burden. The pace was wonderfully plodding and for the first time we had the luxury of being able to drink in our surroundings, which were far from flat.

Strong winds, which had created the sandstorms and changed our plans that week, had blown the sand up against the rocks and created acre upon acre of magnificent dunes, exactly like the picture books.

The knife-edge of the dune ridges and the symmetry of the ripples covering their sides were so perfect we were loathe to intrude with our footprints but when encouraged by Danny to remove our shoes and socks and run the several hundred feet down the sides it was the most exhilarating and unforgettable experience, almost as if we were running on water.

On the eighth day it was time to leave the wilderness and return to civilisation and after being driven at death-defying speed (Egyptians do not need to pass a test before they climb behind the wheel of a vehicle) for three hours we arrived at our eco-hotel on the shores of the Red Sea.

We had expected greater luxury than the spartan bamboo beach huts and self-catering kitchen but there was, oh joy of joys, a shower block.

The sounds emanating from the women's block as we doused ourselves from head to toe in the seductive cool water and lathered on the soap were, we were told, akin to those to be heard from a whore house.

The next day, our last before the airport, we relaxed for the first time since stepping foot in Egypt, sunbathed a bit, snorkled over the coral reef, drank instant coffee, cola and alcohol-free beer and tucked away our memories of an extraordinary eight days.

It may not sound much to you but we were in heaven.

*A gentle reminder to those who have very generously sponsored a member of the expedition but not yet paid up, now is the time to do so. Cheques should be made payable to Cotswold Care Hospice. Thank you very much.