Sixteen tonnes and what do you get...

Well, according to the song, another day older and deeper in debt. But if you're a Coptic Monk with an isolationist streak and a huge burden of sin you can turn those 16 tonnes into 3,000 precarious steps up a steep mountain in the middle of a moonscape desert. It just takes a few years.

We arrived at Mt Sinai at a bit past one am a few nights ago, groggy from lack of sleep and with heavy legs courtesy of a two hour bus-ride through the barren desert of the Sinai Peninsula. We took on some water, secured a Bedouin guide and started the long trudge up the winding camel track which loops up the less sheer north-eastern face of the mountain. Once we'd cleared the more sheltered lower stretch of the trip, which lies in a cleft between two mountains, the wind swiftly picked up and the temperature dropped sharply.

Progress up the mountain was steady, with plenty of rest stops in the tea-houses along the way to let the tourists catch their breath and pay too much for Twix bars. It took us about two hours to reach the final rest-stop, where we were presented the opportunity to pay 5 Egyptian pounds to go to the toilet. A bargain few were able to resist.

The camel track runs out just short of the summit and at this point even the lazy tourist has to dismount and climb the final 760 steps to the plateau where Moses supposedly collected the two stone tablets inscribed with the ten commandments. The camel option struck me as not only lazy but incredibly dangerous. The narrow track is barely wide enough to accommodate a camel and a man walking side by side and the drop off the edges in some places is breath-catchingly sheer. I was continually called on to avoid a rapidly descending camel.

I had the chance to speak with out guide on the way up and he said they get about one death a week through accident or heart attack. Last year he was behind a camel which stepped on a sharp rock, lurched unexpectedly to the right and plunged more than 80 metres to its death. Its passenger did not survive the fall. And the night before our climb he and four others had had to carry the body of an overweight Russian down half the mountain in a blanket, each holding a corner, after his heart gave out on the climb. That said it's not exactly the North Face of the Eiger.

Speaking of North Face I should throw in a mention here of my former colleagues at the BRC who were kind enough to purchase me a Northface Windbreaker as a leaving gift. Despite the chilly wind and the low temperatures I was toasty warm throughout the climb. If anyone from Northface is reading this please feel free to offer me some form of remuneration for this ringing endorsement. I am thoroughly up for sale.

The final 760 steps made the quads sing a little and required a bit of extra concentration in the darkness but everyone made it up without too much hassle, including Clay, a 60 year old American from Oregon, who stumbled into the tea-hut, face wet with sweat, arms raised aloft declaring; "sixty and I'm here". Thirty seconds later he was sound asleep.

We hired some blankets and, after a thirty minute rest in the warmth of the hut, we climbed the last few steps to the peak, where we hunkered down to await the sunrise, passing around Pringles and chocolate.

Now static and exposed on the summit of a 2,200m tall mountain I have to confess I got a bit cold. Part of this may be accounted for by the fact I was wearing shorts. We waited about an hour for first light to show and a further twenty minutes for the sun to breast the horizon. It was a good feeling, although I'd have to say I've had more religious experiences watching the sun rise as I stumbled back home from the pub. That might have something to do with my relative emotional state at the time.

I opted to take the stairs on the return journey, down more than 3,000 steps and past the temple of Elijia. As an experience that probably surpassed the sunrise.

I'm getting bored with writing now and if you've made it this far well done.

We visited the Cairo Museum yesterday. Today I'll be spending an afternoon by the pool and trying to figure out some kind of itinerary for India.

Hope you're all well.

That's it for now,

Dale Atkinson

ps. We located Bubbles in the front bar of the Sheherezady Hotel. It seems he has developed something of a drinking problem and can be easily found any time he gets it in his head to run by conducting a simple sweep of the local night-spots. He is currently locked in our hotel room and we have left the staff explicit instructions that under no circumstances is he to be served alcohol. God help us if he's found our stash of duty-free.