Dahab (Eid)

Number 2 met me at old campus (where I was having my last Ramadan night class) for our midnight bus to the Red Sea resort town Dahab. Since Number 2 is as punctual as I am, she was three hours early and had time to chat with me and a classmate before it was time to begin. In the course of a few moments, we discovered that we three (and three more of Classmate's friends) were not only on the same bus to Dahab but also staying in the same hotel. As a result, we had some jolly companions with whom to eat and drink incessantly.
Dahab by day and night:


Not only that, as experienced repeat travelers to Dahab, Classmate and his mates had the fore-thinking to book transportation to the hotel. Number 2 and I took advantage of the ride - which ended up being in the back of a pick-up truck - and before we knew it were eating pancakes alongside the Red Sea, staring across at the cliffs of Saudi Arabia.It's a bit disconcerting to see Saudi Arabia so close. I imagined swimming a bit too far and stumbling onto the shores of Saudi, bikini-clad and discombobulated. I never swam that far, however, not to mention the fact that I don't own a bikini. The idea was entertaining, nonetheless.
There are many opportunities to ride horses and camels along the beach. We passed up these opportunities, and luckily also passed up the assorted piles of waste the riding industry produced.


Here is Number 2 enjoying a blissfully camel and horse-free beach. Unfortunately, there are no such restrictions on the cats and dogs: they wander freely through beachside restaurants and even felt compelled, as was the case of two seperate cats, to poop right next to Number 2's chair while we were dining at Nirvana Indian restaurant. The food was delicious. I have no similar report about the cat poop.


Here is what we did for three days in Dahab, with only slight variations: breakfast, walk, nap, homework, nap, snorkel, homework, dinner, sleep.
The town is has the reputation as a hippie haven, but although I spotted a few deadlocked heads I was not particularly blown away by any psychedelic atmosphere. No Grateful Dead music, one was dancing in the streets or living in the trees, no one offered me drugs or looked particularly under the influence of anything except beer. There is a bar in the shape of a giant ship, with beach volleyball in the back and a comfortable upper deck from which to spy on passers-by and guess their nationalities. There were quite a few Russians, some Germans and, of course, the requisite Americans/Brits/Australians/Canadians.

On one of our walks, Number 2 and I encountered an abandoned disco with the most intriguing decor; we were compelled to come back later, camera in hand, to trespass and take photos.

The place is arranged like a castle, complete with turrets and plaster guards inside and out. Its as if the disco is anticipating invasion from a rival bar, or else the establishment is emulating the dance bars of yore.




I asked Number 2 to take my picture while we lounged in hammocks. She took far too many pictures, and in the process captured my many emotions: disgruntled, annoyed and skeptical.

Fine camera work.


To my ongoing mockery of those who don't speak English as good as I does, I add this sign from a Dahab tour agency. Bonus points for spelling like the mispronunciation.