Reverse Exodus

For Passover break, I decided to do something completely out of character. For those of you who know my normally strict adherence to all things Passover, it may come as a shock that the one time I was in Israel for the holiday, I instead skipped town for the very place my ancestors slaved (literally) to leave: Egypt.

On a Thursday night, I hopped a night bus from Tel Aviv to Eilat with Rachel and Adam, my two travel companions. We reached the Taba land crossing that night, only to learn that we had the wrong visas and would have to wait until Sunday to return to Eilat, visit the Egyptian consulate and get the proper visas for Cairo. In the meantime, we decided to make the best of the situation and check out the one place our visas would allow us to visit: the Sinai Peninsula.

The Egyptian border crossing at Taba

How can I describe Sinai? The words beautiful, desolate and free are what come to mind. The beauty of Sinai, an area of deserts nestled between mountains and the ocean is obvious. The coastline itself, from which one can see Israel, Jordan and Saudi Arabia, is simply breathtaking.

The Sinai coastline.

The desolation of Sinai is also obvious. Terrorist attacks throughout the past several years have drained a potentially booming tourist infrastructure. Shells of half-finished and abandoned hotels line the Sinai coast. Capitalizing on the continuing flow of tourists, several entrepreneurs have planted low-cost tourist camps along the beach, each of which consists of huts, Turkish-style toilets and a restaurant.

The mountains loom behind the tourist camps in Sinai.

These tourist camps (called Hushot by the mostly Israeli tourists who frequent them) bring relaxation to a new level. Guests remove their shoes and their watches and simply pass out on mats all day, periodically swimming, drinking or doing other (ahem) recreational activities. Upon arriving on the Egyptian side of the border, I started asking Israelis about these camps and ultimately decided to hop in a shared taxi with several strangers and go to “African Toukl,” one of the many camps between Nuweiba and Taba (where the border crossing is located).

I am forever thankful that I ended up at African Toukl.

Relaxing at African Toukl

The Toukl is run by Juma, a Sudanese man who made the most amazing food, provided that you order it three hours in advance of when you want to eat.

Freedom is synonymous with the native inhabitants of the Sinai, the Bedouin. The Bedouin of Sinai, historically nomadic, Arab and Muslim pay no nation any loyalty. Being a Bedouin means that your home (even those in houses still have a tent next to the permanent structure) is your castle and that you answer to your own laws. For me, the Bedouin freedom translated into a feeling that I wasn’t truly in Egypt or even in any country, but rather in a place where nationalities, religion and all things concrete began to blur and I simply embraced the relaxation. To sum it up, I’ll quote one of my the Bedouins whose acquaintance I made at the Toukl, Mohammed (who also claimed to have 100 wives):

“I’m a fucking Bedouin man, I’m free.”

Our new friend Mohammed regales us with stories.

In any case, our time in Sinai wound down and we made it to Eilat (crossing the border a second time) and got the proper visas for Cairo. The road to Cairo was bare and, upon arrival in the bustling hive of more than 26 million people, we were plopped in the middle of the most chaotic intersection I have ever seen in my life, Midan el Tahrir.

Cairo hosts no true traffic lights and no real lanes. Cars go when they want and pedestrians cross the street like an odd game of Frogger, simply walking in front of cars and expecting them to stop. Cairo is a big, dirty city but one that has an undeniable charm. Cairenes are cosmopolitan people who were remarkably friendly to us Americans (granted, we neither told them that we were Jewish nor that we resided in Tel Aviv).

So, if you are ready for it, below are the shots you’ve all been waiting for. Yes, I saw the Pyramids and yes, I saw the Sphinx.

Camel...the best way to see the Pyramids

The Sphinx

The entrance to Dashur pyramid. The inside of a pyramid is hot, dark and reeks of ammonia.

Outside the Egypt Museum - yes, I saw the mummies.

From our hostel, we booked the rest of our trip, in which we took a night train to Aswan, a tourist city along the Nile in the Nubia region where one truly realizes he or she is in Africa.

Entrance to the Aswan souq.

Philae Temple

In Aswan, we booked a 3 a.m. journey in a police convoy (the only way to go, as the site is only a few kilometers from the volatile Sudanese border) to Abu Simbel, home of awe-inspiring temples built by the Pharaoh Ramses II.

Abu Simbel

Upon returning to Aswan, I boarded a Felucca, which is a special boat that goes up the Nile and upon which guests eat and drink all day and sleep on deck.

Our Felucca boat, along the banks of the Nile.

Captain Jack.

Our Felucca captain, a Nubian man who preferred to go by the Pirates of the Caribbean-inspired pseudonym “Captain Jack,” was a hilarious, intelligent and delightful entrepreneur. Captain Jack cooked for us and told jokes and stories as the sun went down over the Nile. As I became more comfortable with Jack, I took the risk of the century and told him that I had come from Israel. Silence ensued as I waited for his response (and wondered if my travel companion, Rachel, was going to jump across the deck and wring my neck). Interestingly enough, Jack was honest and level-headed in his response. Instead of throwing me overboard or spewing anti-Semitic venom, he proceeded to speak from his heart.

“Israel and Egypt will never be friends, not after what they have done to our brothers,” he told me. However, he said, person-to-person, he knows that there are good and bad Israelis, just as there are good and bad Americans and good and bad Egyptians. He looks at people as human beings above all else and has hosted several Israeli guests (including a honeymooning couple for 12 days) on his boat. The dark of night touched the Nile and, amidst the cricket chirps, I fell asleep feeling safe, hopeful and overall trusting of humankind.

Night falls on our Felucca and over the Nile

As I made my way to Luxor in an sweltering cab, I looked out at mud brick villages, whose streets were lined with garbage and where poverty like I had never before witnessed was the norm. It was around that point that, for the first time since I had gotten to Israel, I started to feel homesick. The feelings weren’t, however, a longing for any specific place or person. It was more a sense that this country, a Muslim, Arabic-speaking African nation, was a place where I would never belong, no matter how hard I tried. With these thoughts in mind, I made my way up to Luxor, stopping at Kom Ombo and Edfu temples along the way.

Relief of the Croc god Sobek at Kom Ombo temple.

Exterior of Edfu Temple

Luxor, once the ancient Egyptian capital of Thebes, was another booming tourist town, where mosques, hotels and Pharoanic temples vied for space.

Luxor, from our hotel rooftop.

From Luxor, I toured the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens, where I entered the tombs of Egyptian royalty. I also visited the Temple of Hatshepsut, a female pharaoh (gasp!) whose memory was erased from much of history by her successor.

Hatshepsut Temple, near the Valley of the Kings.

It was in Luxor that I decided that I had had enough of getting ripped off merely because I was a tourist. Unfortunately, foreign tourists in Egypt are subject to higher prices for everything from food to tours. When one goes to the bathroom, he or she is expected to pay not just the entry but also for the toilet paper. Security guards at temples will shine a flashlight on something for you, only to nag you for 5 pounds for what you thought was a favor. Lost in an alley and need directions? Better have some “baksheesh (the name for the habitual tipping system)” on hand.

Why am I so annoyed by baksheesh and overall predatory tactics towards Western tourists? Mainly because, while in Egypt I came to a stunning realization:

These people are so lucky!

Had Westerners like Howard Carter never dug up the sites that the modern Egyptians had abandoned and left to decay, Egypt would have no tourist industry, no wealthy tourists pumping money into their economy and would probably be no better off than their neighbors Libya, Algeria and Sudan. Furthermore, as an American, I felt particularly irked to be viewed simply as a money bag when Egypt receives the second largest amount of U.S. foreign aid in the world (second only to Israel).

Any feelings of disillusion faded, however, when I fulfilled a childhood dream of visiting Karnak Temple, the largest ancient religious structure in the world. Dedicated to the chief Egyptian god Amun, the temple is a massive sea of pillars, statues and obelisks. Wandering through the labyrinthine structure, I nearly had to tie my jaw shut to stop myself from overdosing on awe.

Avenue of the Sphinxes, Karnak

I've been wanting to see Karnak since I was a little kid.

Simply awe-inspiring.

As night fell, we arrived to watch the sun set over Luxor Temple, where a modern mosque is built inside of an ancient Egyptian temple. From the temple, I gazed out at the busy streets of Luxor, lined with tourists and cab drivers, and realized how little of this ancient world is connected to the modern Egypt. I listened to the Muezzins calling to prayer all around the city, fatigued and drained from seeing so many sights in so few days and simply took in the sounds as tourists buzzed by in all directions.

Modern Luxor, seen from Luxor Temple

Luxor Temple at dusk.

Well, I can scratch Egypt off the list now. I am happy to be back in Tel Aviv.