Mohammed of the Mountian

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The journey continues…

We ended up spending the night with Ali in his wonderful apartment in Giza. Taking another mini bus to the city center I watched the Pyramids disappear under the urban sprawl of Cairo. Once we reached the city center Jess, Tony and Ali stepped out grabbing our bags. I was on my way to the vast barren desert of Sinai. Ali, our Egyptian friend had given me some advice on getting to my destination and told me what bus I had to take. Ali was going with jess and Tony to Alexandria, and I was on my way east. I stood on the side walk with my backpack as I watched the cars on the street pass each other and swerve in and out of lanes like racers at a flat track, throwing no caution to pedestrian safety or there own lives for that matter. The street was piercing with loud noise as cab drivers yelled at Mini bus drivers. Bus drivers honked at people crossing the street. It was a setting that I had assumed was only found in purgatory.

I expected that I would need a cab to get to the bus station in time, what I didn’t expect was Ali walking into the torrent of traffic and stick out his arm at a cab barreling down the boulevard at 40 miles per hour in front of him.

Remarkably the cab stopped just short of his pot belly. “yes, this one, you get in” said Ali before instructing the driver where to take me. “yes, get in, must hurry” Ali took my bag and threw in the open window of the back seat like Mr. T at a midget toss then hurried me into the cab and closed the door. I didn’t have any time to wave goodbye to my new friends Jess and Tony whom I had shaired such an amazing day before. I Cairo is a fast town and no one take the time to stop for anything except Prayer, tea, and hassling tourists. Ali was one of the good ones.

I arrived at the East Delta bus station shortly after 10 am. I was on my way to St. Katherine. A isolated village, smack dab in the middle of the rugged Sinai peninsula. Sinai is famous for the biblical odyssey of Moses, when he lead his people through for 40 years. At 10:30 am my bus left. Driving out of the bus depot the Coach was ensnarled in stop and go traffic. Cairo is the heart of Egypt, and if its many roads and highways are its veins and arteries, Egypt has got some serious circulation problems. Picture the kind of traffic when you leave the parking lot of a major sporting event. Its like that times a thousand. Gridlock in all directions, the noise of honking, and drivers yelling at one another. normally I enjoy seeing humanity in chaos like this but not when im sitting in the back of a bus without air conditioning wedged between ail Baba and Hodgi Bonagi going to a village to pick up a few goats and chickens.

It took 2 hours to just get out of Cairo but at last I was on my way, the desert outside of Cairo was a veritable wasteland, rocks and sand as far as the eye could see. And although there was not a sign of life from animal or humans there was still litter from the outsets of town all the way to Suez. Just garbage. It had been 4 hours so far on the bus and we hadn’t gone more than 100 k outside of Cairo. Every 5 minutes the bus would stop for some reason. Someone had to take a shit, the driver wanted a smoke, a dude wanted the driver to pick up his cousin 5kl out of the way down a dusty road. no one but myself was concerned about making good time. A westerner has a hard time staying open minded about predicaments like this. being so use to going somewhere on a schedule, arriving on time and doing whatever I have to do on my agenda. I had to remember that This part of the world moves much slower, it moves on what is famously understood as Egyptian time. This concept can be converted to most any 3rd world country. Zambia time, Cambodian time, morocco time. it’s the idea that although most Egyptians are poor and have few commodities the one thing that everyone has in Excess in Egypt, is time, and ‘inshala’ they will not leave a second unused if possible.

From time to time the bus would pass some speck on the side of the road. Some satellite village were someone come aboard cramming there way onto the bus. It was an ugly earth, littered with trash and rocks. I personally thought that this place would be a primo spot to test nuclear weapons. Peering out the window the bus passed countless armored vehicles on along the highway along with many more military camps farther off the road in the desert. APCs, tanks, from time to time a Platoon of Egyptian troops passed my window. Either the middle east was in one of there classic wars to oust the Zionist promise land again or the Egyptian army was playing war games.

The Bus carried on underneath the Suez canal. Because of the military presence there was increased checkpoints. At one of the armed checkpoints solders walked quickly around the bus checking underneath with mirrors searching for bombs. While we waited I saw a very stoic, very flashing young solder standing at attention by a guard station. This was my chance to pretend I was a war correspondent, covering the conflicts of the middle. I took my small digital camera from my pocket waiting in the back of the bus to add a nice photo to my face book collection. The camera focused in and I pressed the shutter button.
Moments after I pressed my finger down on the button three solders that had been sitting in a black jeep opened the doors and came marching towards the bus. the first solder rapped his fingers around the handle of his pistol sitting in the holster on his belt. I immediately knew they were coming for me. Two of the solders climbed aboard despite a verbal protest from the driver then pushed there way through the crowd on the bus, many of whom had been on there feet for hours. Sitting in the last seats in the back. I went into stupid tourist mode and put the headphones to my ipod on, opened the first page of my travel guide and put on a baseball hat I had buried in my bag. hoping that in the eyes of the solders I would look like a regular idiot tourist . The solders reached the back of the bus. The leader still with his hands on his gun sternly asked me for my passport. I surrendered my passport to the solder. His face displayed a sense of concern about the fact I was an American, and turned to the other solder behind him. The second solder motioned for me to go along with the military tuffs off the bus. The second soldier lead me to the door as the first one put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me along toward the front of the bus. Outside, I was lead passed other soldiers who clustered in a group smoking cigarettes while they looked at me, some of them were laughing. They took me to a small building across from the checkpoint. I didn’t speak, but I remained calm. It was understood that I had goofed up, although had no idea what was in store for me. As we walked along, it dawned on me that I was at the time working for the department of defense as a Ski instructor (that’s a different story), and that I was holding a military ID in my wallet. My mind began taking me in the direction of a painful and torturous future. Would I be put in jail? Tormented in a dark cell waiting for a indifferent representative of the U.S. state department to come with a stack of papers translated from Arabic describing the terms and condition of my public hanging as a spy? Nothing seemed impossible at this point. You read about the middle east being a place where people get there balls chopped off for peeing on a toilet seat.

Taken inside the small one story building. Paint pealed off the walls as a sorry looking fan hanging from the ceiling squeaked a rusty racket. Wobbling from side to side as if it were about to fall off. It was hot and musky in the building like the inside of a laundry room. The floor was solid concrete with small drain in the center, probably to wash out the blood from the victims who’s heads get chopped off for taking photos of military instillations. In the center of the room there was a small desk with nothing more than a pen and a single peace of paper on it. Lead to the desk I took a seat on a small wooden chair at the desk. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was in the middle of the Egyptian desert , at a armed checkpoint, detained. in the corner with an AK-47 a soldiers stood guarding me as if there wasn’t full platoon of battle ready young men just outside the door. Who did they think I was? John Rambo. I know exactly what the crime was. taking photos of military personnel at a checkpoint was something that you just didn’t do. Despite my fear I insisted that I try to humor myself in such and obtuse setting. Looking behind me I began issuing a number of stupid questions at the man on guard. I went as far to ask him how many times he had seen Star Wars and what his favorite brand of catsup was. He, of course he remained at his post standing silently showing no expression. After a few minutes, and what felt like a small heart attack, an officer walked in the door holding my passport. He flipped through the pages examining my visa. His green uniform was wet under the arms and he had a musky sent rising about him. His black hair was slicked back with oil and grew a slightly creepy mustache. The kind you only see on mug shots of pedophiles. The officer asked me for my camera. I handed it over expecting never to see it, or my photos again. He reviewed my photos quickly and asked me to delete the ones he didn’t approve of. Ones like the lovely shot of the solder that got me into this mess in the first place. To my relief and surprise, he was satisfied with looking over my photos and handed me back my camera along with my passport and walked me to the door with all my fingers, toes and testicals attached. most surprisingly my bus was still there waiting for me. So I learned a valuable lesson that day. Don’t take any pictures of military checkpoints unless you want to end up being pulled off a bus at near gun point. Lesson learned.

The bus ride went on for an dreadfully long duration. Watching the sun sink behind the jagged rocks and cliffs of Sinai. Fires began to spring up in little huts along the road while the hot suppressing Sinai sun gave way to a cold, moonless night. Passing village after village, the bus wound thought the mountains of Sinai. most of the shanty houses were without electricity. Every few miles the bus passed though more checkpoints. This time I was on good behavior. The men and that lived in this hostile land are nomadic people of the desert, the line of those that warred across the Arab world along side the profit Mohammed to claim the land in the name of Allah. these rugged and hardy people embedded in this unforgiving land we where the Bedouins.
The Bus pulled off along the side of the road. The lights turned on and the few passengers left on the bus got up off there seats and grabbed there bags and made there way to the door. I collected my belongings and cast myself into a dark and unfamiliar world. I could only see a few dimly lit buildings in the distance. there presence revealed only by firelight. The driver walked off the bus and closed the door behind him before vanishing into the darkness. Left alone I put on a light jacket and threw my backpack over my shoulder. In the daytime this small village was populated by men selling souvenirs but there were no hankers or touts at such a late hour. Just me, and my backpack
With all my positions I walked back down the road that the bus had come up where I had seen a street sign. pointing to saint Katherine Monastery where I was headed. walking down the dark road saw the lights of an open café sitting isolated like star in a distant galaxy far from earth. My stomach growled wanting to be fed. Entering the café the few local men who were still awake sat smoking and drinking tea. they examined and scrutinized my looks before they welcomed me in Arabic and broken English. the owner fixed me a cup of Nescafe and a plate of food. I asked him how I could get to Mt Sinai. He clamed that It was far to late and too dangerous to try go there in the night, and that I should see his brother who had a hotel in town. I read his clame to danger to the affect; that it was perfectly safe to walk alone in the dark and that he wanted to sell me a hotel room. The bottom line Was that I was going up the mounting be it darkness or day. I was determined to be at the top by sun rise.

I turned up the road leading to the monastery of St Katherine, and where the path to the mountain started. With only a flashlight I navigated my way a mile before I could see the fortress like home to Moses’ burning bush. As I drew closer, I walked to a gate guarded by several un-uniformed police. There curiosity of a young man walking alone in the dark drew suspicion to my intent. Before they let me thrugh the gate the officers went through all my bags, unrolled my sleeping bag and questioned every article in my possession. ’what is this, what is this thing here?’ asked a fat officer.
‘that’s a water bladder, I call it a camelback’ I said
‘and this thing what is it?’ asked another ’this Is weapon, yes?
“no, that’s a tool, its called a letherman, don’t play with it or you will hurt yourself” I commented, while the ten or more idle officer fought over the letherman like children hording candy. I don’t think they thought I was a real threat. They just wanted to rummage through my bag to see what they could confiscate or steal. However you wanted to look at it.


Once satisfied the police let me pass through the gate. I was now totally on my own. Alone in the night. Bright lights illuminated the high walls of the monistary. beyond the walls the earth rose into the sky with formations of rock that gave the setting the eerie feeling of being on a newly discovered planet. High above my head the holy mountain where Moses was delivered the Ten commandments waiting in a veil of darkness. The path to the summit was beneath my feet. a destination of many religious Pilgrims throughout the history of Christianity, and although I never considered myself religious, if the stories of the bible were true, I was walking in the footsteps of god, and would have to be careful not to step on his heals.
The trail before me was harsh and rocky, seemingly leading into the endless void of desert. a path wound around the holy mountain. as I began my climb, the air was silent. the calmness of the earth was dream like. The air was breathless and still. Not a sound passed my ears other than the crunch of sand beneath my boot . I fell into an illusion that I was a ghost of the earth witnessing the birth of the universe brightly displayed above me. My mind was suspended in time watching as the stars and galaxies expanded at a rate where I could almost see them move gracefully across the sky without boundaries or limitations. I had reached a parallel universe sauntering on a lifeless rock hurling through space. Where only I existed. only me. After an hour of hiking I stopped to catch my breath and take a drink from my pack. i sat, wedged between two rocks. While resting my ear ushered in no sound. Even upon the vast horizon of the desert the stillness remained unbroken . It was the kind of absolute silence that seemed defining. the silence was so deep I could hear the beat of my heart. Far below the lights of St Katherine monastery although hidden behind hills and boulders cast a dim glow on the mountain silhouetting the steep ridges and cliffs. It was altogether both frightening and peaceful.

i walked for another half hour before I drew near the summit. Without the protection of the mountain the wind picked up, and the air was much colder. I was 50 meters from the top when I found a place between two rocks sheltering me from the strong wind where I laid out my sleeping bag. already shivering I climbed into my sleeping bag and waiting for the dawn. My stomach rested on two rocks as I tried to ignore the complete discomfort of both the striking cold and sleeping on hard rock. I creled up placeing my hands on my groin for warmth but I was too cold to sleep.
Just when I was at my most uncomfortable my heart jumped into my throat at the sound of approaching footsteps moving over the rocks. Careful not to make a sound I remained absolutely still. I could hear the footsteps moving closer. Whoever it was they began to slow as they drew ever closer befor they stopped. A few moments passed without a sound from ether one of us. I opened my eyes still unmoving, prepared for any action as I moved my hands slowly closer to my knife in my jacket pocket. Suddenly the ground around me was illuminated by a flashlight. I jumped to my feet nearly tripping over my sleeping bag. Befor I could make a sound the figure holding the flashlight turned away an started walking up over the rocks. I stood motionless as the man walked along the rocks above me. He stopped again, and shined the flashlight on my face. ’come, you go higher at top. Much cold here, you come with me, we make fire.’
Just as he moved on a cold blast of wind wiped across my body. ’to hell with this’ I thought to myself, and bundled up my sleeping bag and scurried up the rock scab towards the stranger. seeing the mysterious man along bottom of a short cliff holding his flashlight, jumped from bolder to bolder before catching up to the man. When I finally came face to face with the Figure he extended his hand, ‘ Ahlan wa sahlan, hello my friend’

Yes, shukran hello" i said catching my breath.
"speak English yes, come with me, I am Muhammad” I followed Muhammad a few steps towards the bottom of the cliff where he stepped down onto a rock that went into a small cave. He drew back a thick sheet where fire light escaped threw its it opening. Muhammad lead me inside and laid out a rug for me to sit on. The walls of the cave were dressed with blankets and sheets. In the center of the cave a dieing fire crakeled as embers glowed brightly. From the top of the cave several lanterns hung some dripping with oil . Lining the cave were several cardboard boxes containing supplies like flower matches lantern oil, a few spices, tea bags sugar and water bottles.
Muhammad put a old coffee can with water on top of the fire and suggested we have some tea. Then grabbed a old radio and tuned into some music. as I looked upon Muhammad for the first time I had no idea to how old he was. He could have been in his 50s from the thick wrinkles and tiered look on his face. But his eyes were young and bright. So he could have been younger than 30. His beard had no gray in it but is nature told me he was older than his years. He wore a long smock like dress and a traditional head scarf. his head covered in a cloth woven around his head. At first he didn’t pay much attention to me until after I removed my boots.
Peering into the coffee cup over the fire he asked me if I was tierd, and if I wanted to sleep. After meeting a stange person shining a flash light on me as I tried to sleep between two rocks then lead me to the top of Mt. Sinai and invite me into there cave in the middle of the night I was feeling rather awake. Muhammad poored me a cup of tea and gave me a blanket to rap around myself although the inside of the cave was surprisingly warm.
First thanking him for taking me in. I introduced myself and then we began to talk. Naturally my first question was why he was living in a cave on top of a mountain. Muhammad told me he had lived in the cave for a number of years making small crafts to sell people who hiked to the top. he started telling me that he thought this would be a good way to make money. Muhammad came from a small village in Sinai. He was raised to be Sheppard but one year his flock was killed and he had no money to buy more goats. One day he decided to sell crafts at the top of the mountain. He had to hide because it was illegal to sell crafts at the top of the mountains and if he was ever caught by the police they would throw him in jail. When I asked “if its so illegal, why don’t you try to go where you can get a better job like in Cairo or Sharmel Shek on the read sea?”
“Life is terribly lonely” he said, but stated he was happy. “If Allah wishes I will go to jail, and if Allah wishes I will die here then it is like this, it is all in the hands of god.” He remarked without question that he loved the mountain. He was born in the desert and the desert was all he knew, he liked the way he lived that’s how his people lived.
"Bedouins are simple people, we live through the desert. although the desert is looking like there is nothing, to us it provides us with all we need. Allah crated the desert, he created all things, the rocks the camels, the sky, everything. we have tribes around Sinai. we use to war and try to take land camels and women, but the teaching of the gods’ messenger and word of Allah is that we are all the same, a single force under god. once we knew the greatness of Allah there were no more wars, no more taking what was not ours, all things were ours, all was gods." said Mohammad as the words flowed from his mouth almost poetically.
"but dont Bedouins have differences? other ideas of life? things that happened that made men go to war?" I asked.

Mohammad instructed me to hold out my hand " you see, each one of your fingers are different, this one is smaller than the other, one is fat and this one is long. all the fingers are different. but look, they are part of the same hand, this is like people. This is life. all things are different, but all is part of the
same plan. You make your hand into a fist and all are one. This is how Allah sees all things". I finished off my tea, and with the warm blanket on my shoulders and the heat of the fire on my face my eyes hung heavily. The events of the day had taken its tool on me. It was time to get a little sleep. I laid my head down to rest. and soon fell asleep. Muhammad promised to wake me before sunrise.

Some hours later Muhammad woke me befor he slipped out the screen of the cave motioning for me to fallow him. Throwing back the sheet of the cave I steped out onto the strange red rocks of the mountain. Taking the last few steps to the top of the mountain where there was a small church I looked out across the landscape that I had crossed in the night. On earths horizon the orange glow reached far into the sky the as the last of the nights stars failed away to make room for the coming dawn. I was not alone. I had a few short minutes of solitude alone on the mountain before I could see a line of package tourists heading up the side of the mountain minutes from the top.

When the dawn finally broke the bright sun illuminated the strange and awesome mountain tops of the Sinai. It was sea of read rock that had worn and sharply cut by time and pressure. From the top of the mountain I could see all the way to the hills across the red sea in. It was the sun rose and in the distance i would see the mountains all the way in Saudi Arabia. I found a place to enjoy the sun rise alone in peace without hearing people recite the ten commandments. But perhaps the strangest thing was when I started working my way down towards Muhammad’s cave a company of Kenyans on a biblical tour of the holy land walked up the mountain singing songs about Jesus and clapping there hands rhythmically some even dancing all the way to the top of the mountain. By the time they had all reached the top mount Sinai looked like a black ant hill. I tried to look passed the weirdoes and fixed my eyes on beautiful sun rise in the stillness if the world as new. A freedom took me. I was now on a mountain top in the Sinai desert. I could be the king of the world, and master of creation. An adventure on a quest, and a long ways from anything .Home, friends, family, all were miles and miles away.

Muhammad fixed some tea when I went back to the cave to get my gear. We sat and talked for while longer before I descended. It was a new day, and soon would become another day I would never forget. as i made my way across Sinai via, taxi and mini bus. until reaching the read sea where i would chill for a few days on the beach in the sun. a needed rest for a ski bum lost in the desert. But relaxation would not last long, i had miles to go and was on my way to Jordan, where i would find a place that i thought could not exist in reality, a place that existed in a lost dream...

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