Well it has been something like seven days since my last confession and my sins have been entirely too numerous to list in any detail.
We arrived in Dahab three days ago. It's a resort town on the north-western bank of the Red Sea with the most incredibly diverse and accessible aquatic life. In some places the seabed drops from two feet to over 400 metres in depth in the space of a few paddles. Yesterday we went snorkeling at the Blue Hole, an 860 metre deep abyss, the deepest point of which is just fifteen metres from the shoreline. It's an incredible feeling floating above a vast expanse of nothing and peering down into the deepening gloom.
An enormous coral reef stretches for kilometres along the length of the sea wall, sustaining the most splendid array of sea life, from massive schools of tiny neon-blue fingerlings to giant moray eels. I've never seen so many fish in my life.
Dahab is relatively underdeveloped compared with the alternative resorts of Sharm El Sheik and Ogado to the south. MacDonald's hasn't made it here yet and the centre of town is still relatively neon-free. But the first signs of encroaching development are already apparent. Our hotel is a twenty minute drive from the town. In the no-man's land between the road and sea at every point along the journey you can see footings being dug and concrete shells of hotels and time-share apartments going up. Russian money is coming and it's going to put every inch of Sianai sand along this narrow strip of coast under Ches lounges. This is going to be their Spain.
The days are starting to roll into one and I've already forgotten the names of half the places I've visited. Abu Simbel, Luxor, Com Ombo, the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens are still fresh in the mind but others are lost, fortunately my new camera is recording most of it and my notebook is full of notes. I'll write a bit more about the sights when I get a bit of down time later in the tour. And I'll let you know about the feluka trip along the Nile, which has been undoubtedly a highlight of the journey so far. Traveling down one of the biggest water-courses in the world powered by nothing but a warm breeze, a strong current and, judging by the little black box which was handed around between the captains, industrial quantities of hash is something that everyone should experience at least once.
That's it for now.
Dale Atkinson
ps. Buddy Hayes, of course the Nepos count mate.
Monday, 29 October 2007
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
LOOK, SOME REALLY OLD STUFF
Day three of the Ancient Egypt Assault Tour and we've been hammering through the local monuments at a phenomenal rate. On day one we knocked off the Pyramids of Giza (quite large but not as awe inspiring as I'd thought they would be), the Sphynx (smaller than you'd imagine), the Step Pyramid of King Joser and had the very good fotune to visit an authentic papyris factory just as they were offering 20 percent off thier entire range of hand painted papyris. I couldn't believe my luck.
Day two I believe was yesterday although the first two days seem to have merged into a single entity due to the rather rough night I had on the overnight train from Cairo to Aswan. I'm becoming increasingly jelous of my traveling companion Steve, who seems to have the uncanny knack of falling asleep in seconds, no matter what the terrain or ambient circumstance. That said, it wasn't as bad as the tour guides had suggested. On the bus on the way to the train they spent a lot of time emphasysing the poor state the toilet facilities would eventually reach with the kind of language which had me worried that we might have to wake in the middle of the night to sand-bag against an oncoming efluent flood. Fortunately the prophets of doom were exaggerating.
After departing the train we headed up to the Aswan damn, which, if my tour guide Romany is to be believed, is probably the greatest engeneering achievement of the 20th century. I'm not sure about that, but it is an impressive bit of work. Romany spoke with passion about the history of the damn and the importance of liberating (ie nationalising) the Suez to the fund it. He spoke of Egypt's right to recalim Suez from the French and of the thousands of Egyptian workers who died in its construction. He spoke of the frustration of being invated and occupied following the nationalisation and the triumph and restored pride of reclaiming the lost land. I suspect the Israilis would take a slightly different view of that reclaimation but they were slightly underrepresented on the bus.
After that we visited the Temple of Filal.
The great thing about travel is that you get to see so many exciting new things, like a man cycling home from work with a nine-foot-tall tree on the back of his bike, or another man loading what looks like large chunks of horse-meat directly into the boot of an enormous early model two-door black Mercedes. And all of that was withing an hour of checking into my hotel on Saturday.
At the Cairo airport before I got sight of the horse-meat Mercedes I got caught up in a post Eid stampeed, as two flights worth of Meccan pilgrims returned from (and correct me if I'm wrong) symbolically stoning Satan and seemed pretty intent on doing me in as well. It got pretty intense in the clinches as the guards sturggled to maintain an orderly queue. Being Australian, and subsequently with no taste for front-line scrummaging, I prooved no impedement to the forward advancement of the returning pilgrims. My resolve and my backbone stiffened a bit after I discovered that I was actually moving away from the customs desk and with a little defensive backpack swishing I earned enough breathing space to punch up to the yellow line, where I made the almost fatal mistake of stopping as instructed, respecting not only the polite request of the sign above the desk, but also the semi-automatic weapon being casually wafted about by a youthful guard. Bad idea. Needless to say I started heading backwards again. Lesson learned I muscled up again and went shoulder to shoulder with a surprisingly spirited four-foot tall fifty-year old woman. Despite the fact she managed to get her passport thorugh the immigration window before me, mine was the first returned. So moral victory at least.
We're off on the feluka today, so I'll be out of contact for a few days.
That is all,
Dale
ps, Bubbles has been confined to the backpack following an incident involving a camel, a red hat and a surprisingly large felafel. I'll write more about that soon.
Day two I believe was yesterday although the first two days seem to have merged into a single entity due to the rather rough night I had on the overnight train from Cairo to Aswan. I'm becoming increasingly jelous of my traveling companion Steve, who seems to have the uncanny knack of falling asleep in seconds, no matter what the terrain or ambient circumstance. That said, it wasn't as bad as the tour guides had suggested. On the bus on the way to the train they spent a lot of time emphasysing the poor state the toilet facilities would eventually reach with the kind of language which had me worried that we might have to wake in the middle of the night to sand-bag against an oncoming efluent flood. Fortunately the prophets of doom were exaggerating.
After departing the train we headed up to the Aswan damn, which, if my tour guide Romany is to be believed, is probably the greatest engeneering achievement of the 20th century. I'm not sure about that, but it is an impressive bit of work. Romany spoke with passion about the history of the damn and the importance of liberating (ie nationalising) the Suez to the fund it. He spoke of Egypt's right to recalim Suez from the French and of the thousands of Egyptian workers who died in its construction. He spoke of the frustration of being invated and occupied following the nationalisation and the triumph and restored pride of reclaiming the lost land. I suspect the Israilis would take a slightly different view of that reclaimation but they were slightly underrepresented on the bus.
After that we visited the Temple of Filal.
The great thing about travel is that you get to see so many exciting new things, like a man cycling home from work with a nine-foot-tall tree on the back of his bike, or another man loading what looks like large chunks of horse-meat directly into the boot of an enormous early model two-door black Mercedes. And all of that was withing an hour of checking into my hotel on Saturday.
At the Cairo airport before I got sight of the horse-meat Mercedes I got caught up in a post Eid stampeed, as two flights worth of Meccan pilgrims returned from (and correct me if I'm wrong) symbolically stoning Satan and seemed pretty intent on doing me in as well. It got pretty intense in the clinches as the guards sturggled to maintain an orderly queue. Being Australian, and subsequently with no taste for front-line scrummaging, I prooved no impedement to the forward advancement of the returning pilgrims. My resolve and my backbone stiffened a bit after I discovered that I was actually moving away from the customs desk and with a little defensive backpack swishing I earned enough breathing space to punch up to the yellow line, where I made the almost fatal mistake of stopping as instructed, respecting not only the polite request of the sign above the desk, but also the semi-automatic weapon being casually wafted about by a youthful guard. Bad idea. Needless to say I started heading backwards again. Lesson learned I muscled up again and went shoulder to shoulder with a surprisingly spirited four-foot tall fifty-year old woman. Despite the fact she managed to get her passport thorugh the immigration window before me, mine was the first returned. So moral victory at least.
We're off on the feluka today, so I'll be out of contact for a few days.
That is all,
Dale
ps, Bubbles has been confined to the backpack following an incident involving a camel, a red hat and a surprisingly large felafel. I'll write more about that soon.
Friday, 19 October 2007
The Hot Janine
Will and I have spent the afternoon talking about Joe's hot mother, Janine, or to call her by her full name, The Hot Janine, Former Miss New Zealand 1972. Joe doesn't particularly like that.
Will and I have never met The Hot Janine but judging by the reaction Joe received from the BRC's female staff at my leaving drinks last night I think it's safe to say she's a bit of a looker. I haven't seen that much flustered giggling since year ten, when my school's 22-year-old art supply teacher, Penny Jane Phitzner, turned up wearing a semi-transparent white t-shirt over a black lace bra. Sure, on that occasion it was mainly me doing the flustered giggling, but other than that the reaction was pretty much on par.
The best thing about last night was that Will and I schooled Katy, who Joe had previously never met, to greet the young Kiwi with a series of probing questions about his mum. Joe looked pleased.
I woke up this morning feeling slightly dusty and certain in the knowledge that the previous week of demob happy drinking had invariably brought on a thundereing cold. Sadly no one at home seems particularly concerned by what could well be a potentially fatal bout of man-flu. My housemate Magalie hasn't made me a single cup of tea or baked a tray of ginger biscuits, despite the fact I'm clearly suffering. She hasn't even brought me a hot towel. There's no love. She'll miss me when I'm gone.
It's nearly time to hand over the keys and walk out on the house which has kept the rain off me for nearly three years. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. Okay I think.
I stood in my bare-walled empty room this morning and stared at the carpet for what seemed like an hour. I just couldn't believe how well I'd vacummed.
That's enough for now. Emirates flight 0004 takes off for Dubai at 20:30 tonight. I'll be in Cairo by 10am local time. You might get an update then.
Unfortunately Bubbles isn't able to contribute today because he's been safely stowed for the journey. I suspect he'll be pissed-off and articulate by the time we get to Egypt.
That's it.
Dale Atkinson
Will and I have never met The Hot Janine but judging by the reaction Joe received from the BRC's female staff at my leaving drinks last night I think it's safe to say she's a bit of a looker. I haven't seen that much flustered giggling since year ten, when my school's 22-year-old art supply teacher, Penny Jane Phitzner, turned up wearing a semi-transparent white t-shirt over a black lace bra. Sure, on that occasion it was mainly me doing the flustered giggling, but other than that the reaction was pretty much on par.
The best thing about last night was that Will and I schooled Katy, who Joe had previously never met, to greet the young Kiwi with a series of probing questions about his mum. Joe looked pleased.
I woke up this morning feeling slightly dusty and certain in the knowledge that the previous week of demob happy drinking had invariably brought on a thundereing cold. Sadly no one at home seems particularly concerned by what could well be a potentially fatal bout of man-flu. My housemate Magalie hasn't made me a single cup of tea or baked a tray of ginger biscuits, despite the fact I'm clearly suffering. She hasn't even brought me a hot towel. There's no love. She'll miss me when I'm gone.
It's nearly time to hand over the keys and walk out on the house which has kept the rain off me for nearly three years. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. Okay I think.
I stood in my bare-walled empty room this morning and stared at the carpet for what seemed like an hour. I just couldn't believe how well I'd vacummed.
That's enough for now. Emirates flight 0004 takes off for Dubai at 20:30 tonight. I'll be in Cairo by 10am local time. You might get an update then.
Unfortunately Bubbles isn't able to contribute today because he's been safely stowed for the journey. I suspect he'll be pissed-off and articulate by the time we get to Egypt.
That's it.
Dale Atkinson
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
NO NOTHING
No car, no house, no four-poster bed, no box-spring mattress, no Eames Lounge Chair, no Dfs leather lounge suite and no Ramvik coffee table with clear acrylic lacquered beech veneer. No rugs, no curtains, no Egyptian cotton sheets, no desk lamp, no desk, no wine collection, no PSP, no Sony BRAVIA flatscreen television, no Nintendo Wii and no Bose Lifestyle Home Entertainment Centre with non-directional base sound unit. No camping equipment, no golf clubs and no club membership. No bespoke suits, no cashmere socks, no handmade Italian leather shoes. No DVD collection, no espresso machine, no dishwasher, no dishes to wash, no electric toothbrush, no lawnmower, no lawn, no cat, no dog and no canoe.
No material possessions at all really and, from Friday, no job too.
Nearly four years in London and nothing to show for it but the record player I bought for eight pounds from a car boot sale in Wimbledon, a three-foot-high, wood panelled, rotating bookcase given to me by a friend before she left the country and the regulation drift-wood-catch of records, CDs, pictures and books that accumulate any time you stop in one place long enough to get your name on a utility bill. And that is it, aside from a few clothes, a nervous looking bank account, an iPod, a backpack full of anti-malaria tablets, an economy class open return ticket to Auckland via Cairo, Dubai, Mumbai, Colombo, Singapore and Melbourne and a freeloading sock-monkey called Bubbles who, like so many unplanned offspring, came into the world as the direct result of a Sunday drinking session. That excessive alcohol consumption will harm your unborn sock-monkey is now beyond dispute. The poor bastard never had a chance.
But despite his birth defects Bubbles at least has personality and in this world there’s much to be said for that. By Saturday morning we’ll both be in Egypt.
I’m not sure what this is going to be really aside from a way for you to keep track of Bubbles and me while we’re on the road. I’m not even sure how frequently it’ll get updated. Possibly never for all I know but keep an eye on it over the next four months anyway, just in case.
I’ll see some of you for a swift pint tomorrow night at the Phoenix in Victoria. The rest I’ll see some other time.
That’s all for now,
Dale Atkinson
No material possessions at all really and, from Friday, no job too.
Nearly four years in London and nothing to show for it but the record player I bought for eight pounds from a car boot sale in Wimbledon, a three-foot-high, wood panelled, rotating bookcase given to me by a friend before she left the country and the regulation drift-wood-catch of records, CDs, pictures and books that accumulate any time you stop in one place long enough to get your name on a utility bill. And that is it, aside from a few clothes, a nervous looking bank account, an iPod, a backpack full of anti-malaria tablets, an economy class open return ticket to Auckland via Cairo, Dubai, Mumbai, Colombo, Singapore and Melbourne and a freeloading sock-monkey called Bubbles who, like so many unplanned offspring, came into the world as the direct result of a Sunday drinking session. That excessive alcohol consumption will harm your unborn sock-monkey is now beyond dispute. The poor bastard never had a chance.
But despite his birth defects Bubbles at least has personality and in this world there’s much to be said for that. By Saturday morning we’ll both be in Egypt.
I’m not sure what this is going to be really aside from a way for you to keep track of Bubbles and me while we’re on the road. I’m not even sure how frequently it’ll get updated. Possibly never for all I know but keep an eye on it over the next four months anyway, just in case.
I’ll see some of you for a swift pint tomorrow night at the Phoenix in Victoria. The rest I’ll see some other time.
That’s all for now,
Dale Atkinson
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
