December 27, 2002 — Mudeif Productions

*The Red Sea holds colorful treasures below the waters.*

We arrived at about 4:00, wondering why our driver was bothering to hurry along the road. Our middle of the night drive took us down the Jordan Valley road, the fastest commute we've recently had along that path.

After a routine crossing into Taba, on the Egyptian side, we began the long - and fruitless - search for our bus to St. Catherine's, in the middle of the Sinai Peninsula. Some were insistent that one would come at 10:00, others that no such bus existed due to the dramatic decline in tourism in the whole area. Accuracy is a moving target in this part of the world.

An hour later, we discovered that the tickets we purchased in Nazareth were supposed to deliver us to Sharm al-Sheikh, down at the tip of the Sinai Peninsula - the bus was still waiting for us (much to the delight of our fellow Nazareth travelers), and we boarded, deciding to be dropped off in the town of Dahab, about halfway down the coast.

Every highway intersection here has police and checkpoints, something we remember from last year's trip to Egypt. Particularly in tourist areas, security presence is beefed up. The signs in Hebrew along the side of the road (as well as in hotels and restaurants) were a sign of times that have largely passed with this Intifada. After Egypt retook the Sinai from Israel in the 1973 War and signed the historic peace treaty at Camp David, they expanded on the tourism infrastructure planted by the Israelis along the Red Sea coast. And it has remained a major holiday destination for Israelis - until now, that is.

Our bus dropped us off on the main road, about three miles outside of Dahab, so we walked into town, finally arriving at our hotel on the beach. Admittedly, after a sleepless night on a bus, and a sweaty three-mile walk with our (thankfully small) bags, we were wondering what kind of "vacation" we'd made for ourselves. On the way, we did enjoy the stark scenery; the Sinai seems to be nothing but harsh, craggy mountains and desert, and the Saudi Arabian coast - in sight across the Gulf - seems to echo more of the same.

The "holiday village" where we are staying is pleasant enough, standing off by itself. Clusters of rectangular stone huts topped by whitewashed domes, like Motel 6's version of Cairo's City of the Dead. After resting from our long overnight trip, we investigated the town. To the south are the 5-star joints - Novotel, Hilton, etc. To the north is the heart of Dahab, where scuba-bums congregate in shops like the Laughing Buddha to pore over tie-dyed t-shirts and beaded necklaces. We haven't smelled this much patchouli since we saw the Grateful Dead at Rosemont ('94 - any tapes?).

After buying a few disposable underwater cameras, we enjoyed lunch at the local Chinese restaurant and strolled the boardwalk, soaking up the sun and the scene. Back at our hotel in the evening, we walked along the sea, passing under the hotel's pastel wooden beach umbrellas. Outfitted with colored light bulbs, they decorated the beach like so many discount Tiffany lamps. It's a far cry from Zababdeh - just what we needed.