Egypt Part 3

Someone recently mentioned to me that it seems as though I had forgotten about my blog sight. While that is not true, I almost wish I had so simple an excuse to explain the tremendous lack of posting. As a person this blog site has been a uniquely painful experience. The fact is I have no excuses that are plausible. The fact is that I should have had this travelogue finished months ago. The fact is that I broke my word. I am tired of offering excuses. I am only left with my apologies. My apologies and the knowledge of my failure. It is true, and I am sorry.

I don't know what else to do but to press in. So, here it goes. I have failed, but if I give up, it will haunt me for longer than I would like to deal with it. This still was the best trip of my life. This still was the most amazing experience thus far in a life that has been blessed with a multitude of blessing. I don't want this to be the crimson stain on a friendship founded on generosity beyond compare.

The Camel Ride through the Desert

Following our enlightening conversation with our Egyptian friends, we engaged in something which, while cliché and touristy, was definitely necessary and probably the single greatest event that I experienced on the trip. It was a Camel ride through the desert.

We entered into a new era, or maybe it was an old era with our modern perspectives. We did not arrive on the smooth wings of Angel’s, but the constant jostling of Camel's toes. The sand was our destination. The great pyramids of Giza were our map, and our ever-present backdrop. Our ride lasted for hours, although we mostly just went in semi-circles around and near the pyramids, wandering from gate to gate which were guarded by the police (which we paid off with a smile). Our Guide was mostly silent, and his son, Mohammad, even more so as he clung to his father's back. The sun began to set as the new found night was welcomed by Islam's prayer. We were not supposed to be out after dark in the sands and national park around the pyramids, but still we rode on in search of Arabic tea. We laughed at ourselves, as we imagined how silly we must have looked holding onto the handle like it was a life vest and the camel's bouncing humps were the sea.

We continued to ride for 20 minutes more as the sun sent its last rays of fond farewell, and the desert sand soaked them all up with the lust of a madman who thinks that he will never get enough water and drinks himself to death. And still we rode on.
Finally after crossing several dunes, we reached what we were looking for. A small hut, made of sticks and stones rose up out of the desert to a humble 4 foot height. It had only one wall and a roof and two pillars to keep it standing. There were only logs for guest to sit on. Yet, we climbed off our camels feeling like we had reached Aladdin's palace.

We watched as the fire was stroked and the tea was prepared. Dusk waltzed across the sky and slowly stars began to creep from their hiding places. We talked and speculated about the desert, and we each felt like we knew what Abraham must have felt like when he was alone in the desert and it was only him and the stars and God. We were far enough away from the city that we felt like we really were in the desert, and all we knew of the world was the stars burning like a thousand candles and the wind--the wild, wild wind that blew across the sands and made the fire for the tea dance like a belly dancer. And we were mostly silent, as our eyes wandered from the Pyramids imposing shadow and city lights and the sand.

When the tea leaves was all that was left in our cups, we climbed back onto our camels and lumbered off towards the bus. The desert was dark and quiet, and all we had to rely on was the guide in front of us. But then the light show on the pyramids started, and we were awed as one of man's greatest wonders was lit up blue, red, yellow, and green. And we were awed by one of God's greatest--the sky.
We bumped and jumbled along the city's impoverished streets, looking in on the locals watching Al-Jazeera, with an occasional one staring up with us, not with contempt, not with jealousy, and not with hatred, but mostly with a bemused look of surprise and perhaps a bit of kindness. I could only feel wonder towards them.