Advertisement
Published: October 13th 2006
Edit Blog Post
Good times...
I think my wrists are about to break So I have allowed myself a few days buffer to try to wrap my head around my last experience in Siwa and try to figure out HOW (as implied by my last entry) nature is so intoxicating and, even more difficult, HOW to explain its effects. Unfortunately I haven't really figured either out...but I at least wanted to give you all an idea of the rihla (journey) before it leaves my head:
Siwa is way out about 100 Kilometers from the Libyan border and supposedly takes around 14 hours to get there from Cairo (although that is completely on an insha'allah basis and heavily affected by the driver, the type of vehicle, and the number of random stops.). I think in total travel time including haggling with the minibus driver and buying an extra seat so our luggage would not be thrown on the roof unsecured, it took us about 12 hrs (but only about 8 on the way back since we wised up considerably in those 2 days). My first reaction to the town was that we aren't in Cairo anymore, Toto. Stepping out of the bus all we could see were donkey carts and men in ghalabiyya
typical...
two women all wrapped up sitting on the back of a donkey cart (traditional Muslim dress that basically looks like a cotton buttoned shirt with material extending to the ankles). It was a whole town of men. I can count the number of the female race that I encountered the whole weekend on two hands. This includes two little girls playfully sweeping the roof of the building across from the hotel, an elderly woman entering a shop, and a few 14 year old girls selling textiles they had made. The only women from around 16-60 I saw were sitting complacently in the bed of donkey carts completely veiled. Now, though it did irk me a little that all these women were wearing what I would definitely consider a burka, it really got to me that I never saw them walking on their own two feet. They were always being subserviently carted around while their husbands and sometimes very young sons sat at the reigns--but maybe I'm getting all bent out of shape because it reminds me so much of the movie Osama (which I think I have recommended in another post). On the other hand, while it was a little intimidating realizing where I was exactly, it was not nearly as frustrating as
being in the city warding off straying hands (though Liz did get a little surprise grab on her leg in the bus) and ignoring hisses---many of the men seemed more respectful, including our guide in the desert who wrapped himself like a mummy in a blanket as we swam and got dressed. I guess it always goes back to that paradox of whether a seemingly masochistic tradition of veiling can actually be supported by ideals of protection and respect for the women who wear them.
Because of negotiation difficulties we missed out on a few of the sites in town like the temple of the oracle (that Alexander the Great supposedly went to) and Cleopatra's Bath House, but we did get to climb around the Shali Fortress and relax at a nice restaurant--the only one open during the daytime because of Ramadan (I wasn't fasting because I was travelling...but I'll talk a lot more about Ramadan soon). The Shali Fortress is from the 13th C. and is made with salt so it is slowly disintegrating (good thing it rains very rarely). It always amazes me how such touristy places can have such disregard for the upkeep of monuments.
Elyse lookin' mighty fine...
...in a pond full of Le-Mumkintastic surprises. I mean, we climbed all over that thing like it was a big boulder field and probably did more damage than a monsoon.....yet there are never guard rails or signs or paths to stay on. But, at the same time those things would, like, totally have ruined all my gorgeous photos! After a night in the town we went with a bedouin--Hasan--out into the Great Sand Sea. There we went 4 wheeling over dunes, some of which I swear were at 70 degree angles to the horizontal, and at one point his cousin came along for the ride and just sat on top of the car--I have no idea how he held on. We also went swimming in a small oasis about an acre big--the type you would think of in Hollywood where the water goes right up to the fine sand of the dunes surrounding it--and hey, why not throw in a few patches of reeds for the heck of it. This is very different from the large oasis at Siwa that looks more like Lake Powell and is surrounded by hundreds of acres of palm groves. To dry off (and keep occupied while our guide dug us out of a ravine between two dunes that he drove into) we went SANDBOARDING! Of course this would have been really cool to try with a real board: carving and turning in the sand; but the contraption we rented was little more then a piece of wood with a pointed front and two strips of velcro to hold your feet in place. Awesome regardless 😉
The moon was almost full and we were disappointed to learn there would not be the October harvest festival like we had hoped. Apparently it's a 3 day festival where everyone of all rank and stature comes to celebrate the harvest on the October full moon (probably a lot like we would imagine Thanksgiving used to be like) and there are a lot of Sufi prayers and such (which I would have loved because I am taking a class on Sufism)--but everyone is fasting and would have been too tired to prepare such an occasion, so they put it off until after Ramadan. But that all doesn't matter because the qamr (moon) was beautiful anyways and lit up the desert like it was day. Because of its light Elyse and I were able to go for a little hike up some large dunes at 3 am. Sitting up there and playing in the sand (maybe one of the softest textures I have ever felt) I realized I can completely understand how people in such an environment would HAVE to believe in some sort of God or some greater power (I'm not saying it has to be an anthropomorphic power, but just something inclusive of everything and beyond ourselves--much like gravity and laws of science) which is the basis for all life and thus does not distinguish between anyone or anything. It's funny how in a big city like Cairo with millions of people all you can think of walking around is your own identity, how you are different from everyone else, and how being with more people makes the world even lonelier. Yet, out in the middle of the desert where there isn't even any flora or fauna, a place that has long been a symbol of solitude and was even at the heart of christian monastic life (there's my nerdiness coming out), is where I feel the least alone and most like myself.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.131s; Tpl: 0.014s; cc: 7; qc: 56; dbt: 0.081s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb