Mum in the Middle east

My heart fell as I opened the computer site that tracked mums movements to see that her plane had been delayed by a whole day. When I finally went to pick her up she was wheeled out by ‘a lovely man’. I could see she had already struck Arab hospitality. She launched into a description of adventures and trials about staying in two luxury hotels and having been wheeled from one end of Dubai to the other by a young lad who knew as much idea about where to go as she had.

Determined not to waste any more time, we launched into a hectic pace catching the local buses everywhere. We set off on the first day to the Dead Sea. After passing herds of goats, sheep and villagers mum declared it was a real education. I was less excited as we took far too long and had to make a bus change. We ended up having to hitch the last couple of kms; finding another lovely man who drove us directly to our destination; the Movenpick hotel. It cost but the enjoyment couldn’t be measured as we wallowed in warm pools with the Dead Sea stretching out below. The occasion was slightly marred when mum fell into the Dead Sea thick salt water cutting herself on the sharp rocks . She had to be administered to by a handsome lifeguard and hosed down with band aids applied. All was forgotten as we sat looking out over the sun setting over the Dead Sea, drinking coffee and eating cake.

I wondered how we would fare as we climbed on a minibus the very next day bound for Wadi Musa near Petra. I did try to warn mum about the toilets en route. However when we were faced with reality it didn’t help as we faced both filthy squat toilets and a man who asked for money. For what I wondered as we covered our noses.

Mum - 'I don’t like nodding off, I might miss something, even though it’s all the same.’ as we drove through kilometres of unrelenting desert. Finding a hotel, never content with the first one I did the rounds somehow still ended up in a seedy but cleanish place run by two fat brothers. A sleepless night for mum in NZ time, we at 6am faced boiled eggs and pita bread, looking at a dismal morning of howling winds. It was hard walking for mum so I bargained hard for her to ride through the Siq on a horse to save her energy. The ride turned out to be only a km to the beginning of the Siq and then we had to walk after all.

With all the hard sell and commercialism, it’s hard to remember that the locals are trying to scratch out a living in a very competitive market place. The Siq; created by tectonics, narrowed to 2-5 m in places. The walls towered 200m above finally leading to the ancient city and the Treasury. An awesome sight with its symmetry, scale and grandeur. Carved out of solid iron and sand stone to serve as a tomb for the Nabataean King. The swirling colours of the rocks struck me – a local told me there were 50 shades.

The Nabateans are Arabs that dominated the region in pre Roman times chose Petra as it was concealed from the outside world. It really did feel like that as you entered and left through the Siq. We pushed through the cold wind past the theatre down Colonnaded Street stopping for a cuppa in a cave with a welcome fire. A poor donkey took mum to the Monastery climbing up steep precarious steps with her clinging for dear life, leaving her near the top to be befriended by a Bedouin girl selling trinkets as I went up onto see the view way over the Rift Valley. Meanwhile the girl gave mum a present of a necklace that I had to pay for dearly; however mum had learned all about her life being bought up in a tomb cave and enjoyed the experience.
We retraced our steps through the Siq, tired and dusty back to a new hotel this time with water problems but a tasty buffet dinner.

An early rise bound for Wadi Rum by minibus, which the guidebook described as a myriad of moods and dramatic colours. We ended up at a place where a guide did a hard sell to get us to go to his Bedouin camp to stay the night. Tempted but knowing it would be freezing cold we begged off that one. Mum had her heart set on a camel ride.Wondered the village until I found the brother from my trip last time here. He organised a trip for us for three hours – a long time on a camel with new anatomy I never knew before. Although I was not sure this was my idea of a way to travel it turned out to be an unforgettable way to go; a great way to enjoy the desert without the roar of a vehicle churning up the sand. Our guide was great; an older Bedouin man and his young friend. Getting on and off the camel was as difficult for mum as it was me. It was worth it though to experience Wadi Rum the way the Bedouin have for centuries.

The Red Sea

We successfully hitched a ride to Aqaba spending the rest of Christmas day wandering around in the balmy winter climate. Aqaba is surrounded by high desert mountains and feels like a holiday town looking out on the Gulf of Aqaba sea. Eliat in Israel is just 7 kilometres close by. Crossing back to Egypt I had by now sussed out a nice spot for us to stay and enjoy the sea and surf for a day. By now I had the procedure at the customs worked out. Avoiding yet another man who wanted to marry mum we found a a ride to the bus for perfect timing to get to Nuweiba right by the sea. We stayed in a bach in a low-key camp and ate delicious fish meals, relaxing by the turquoise waters edged by fine, sandy beaches and rimmed on both sides by barren, rugged mountain chains. Very nice and warm, a pleasant place to spend a few days.

Moving on to Cairo we got a ride in a small mini van with our knees up around our ears. Here mum is pictured our fellow travelers who treated us with kindness, shouting us cups of tea, lining up the taxi and ringing our hotel on arrival. All with very little English. We were to find throat-rasping air pollution, chiefly caused by traffic. Apparently Cairo out-pollutes LA every day of the week: breathing the atmosphere downtown is reputedly akin to smoking thirty cigarettes a day. The seething immensity of Cairo, with its bazaars and mosques, the streetlife, where medieval trades and customs coexist with a modern, cosmopolitan mix of Arab, African and European influences. We found our backpackers on the 7th floor - reached by a antique cage lift.

From the lonely planet: 'The sole survivor of the Seven Wonders of the World, the Pyramids of Giza still live up to more than 4000 years of hype. Their extraordinary shape, geometry and age render them somehow alien constructions; they seem to rise out of the desert and pose the ever-fascinating question, 'How were we built, and why?'.

Centuries of research have given us parts of the answer to this double-barrelled question. We know they were massive tombs constructed on the orders of the pharaohs by teams of workers tens-of-thousands strong.' Despite all the tourists, buses and hype the pyramids were spectacular. Dimmed memories from all those years ago when I first went, I will not forget this time.