Christi and I are awake and moving at dawn today to explore as much of the stunning rock formations of the White Desert National Park as possible before we return to Cairo. There is no one else around – even our guide Mohammed is still fast asleep. It is quite amazing that these formations exist at all and we get to experience them in complete solitude. There is a mystical, other-worldly quality to the place, especially as the sun rises and illuminates the landscape. Science offers a less prosaic explanation that uses words likes ventifacts and aeolian particle transport, but in essence scientists believe that the chalk rocks in this area were (and continue to be) exposed to sandstorms and it is tiny sand particles within the storms that chip away at the rocks carving out the unique formations. It’s as simple as that, although sometimes natural wonders such as these do not require an explanation just admiration.
Mohammed disturbs our reverie, calling us to breakfast. As Christi and I eat he packs up the camp and then – finally – we get the tour. We visit many of the most famous rock formations within White Desert National Park, including the mushroom, the rabbit, the hen, the chisel, and the ice-cream cone to name but a few. Whoever named the chisel, by the way, clearly does not have much of an imagination! There are other magnificent formations that we simply don’t have time to see, which is so frustrating when you consider that the whole purpose of doing this tour was to explore White Desert National Park. And Mohammed does not like the time we take to photograph these unique formations.
It’s a fairly frosty ride back to the Bahariya Oasis, whereupon Mohammed begins smiling and acting friendly. He asks whether we had a good trip. I tell him we had a wonderful trip. He is pleased to hear this, but looks very disappointed when we quickly say goodbye and board the bus back to Cairo. As we wait for the bus to depart, a small group of Japanese tourists sitting behind us are hassled for a ‘backsheesh’ from another driver from the same company as our driver Mohammed.
The White Desert National Park (and the Black Desert) offer amazing scenery, but this time our tour company left a lot to be desired.
It’s another long ride back to Cairo, which is punctuated by a break at a roadside mosque so the faithful can pray. And today the bus doesn’t even return to Cairo, but kicks the passengers out at Giza. Christi and I are faced with the unpleasant prospect of taking the metro back to the Canadian hostel off Tahrir Square. Imagine our surprise, therefore, when we are greeted by someone purporting to work for the Canadian hostel who informs us that we need to get to Giza train station as quickly as possible. I’m befuddled (this doesn’t take much incidentally). We did ask Hamada (the co-owner of the Canadian hostel) to book us a sleeper compartment on an overnight train from Cairo to Luxor – but that is for tomorrow night and the train is due to leave from the main Ramses II train station in Cairo. The supposed staff member says the train leaves tonight from Giza and we need to hurry. He waves a flimsy piece of blue paper in my face, which I assume are the tickets, although I am beginning to wonder whether this is a scam organized by Amir. What I can’t fathom is how the guy is going to make money out of us. Stupidly Christi and I go with him. When we get to Giza train station he helps us carry our bags to the correct platform and gives us the tickets. He then wishes us a good trip and disappears. So the guy was for real. What a difference between Hamada’s organization and that of Amir.
We wait on the station platform with dozens of other perplexed tourists who at least have some sort of tour guide to calm their fears. Christi and I truly have no clue what is going on. Train 82, the tourist train supposedly leaves at 9.35 pm, but the only train to arrive anywhere near that time resembles a refugee express from a war-torn country overloaded with bedraggled-looking locals. We’re assured that’s not our train. Train number 82 arrives an hour late. It bears no resemblance to the local train. For a start each carriage has a besuited host who greets us and will cater to our every whim. I feel a mixture of guilt at our good fortune and relief that I’m not going to be crushed together with aromatic-smelling locals in an airless train all night following a night sleeping out in the Sahara. In fact this reminds me of a similar adventure in Mauritania. Been there, done that. Now show me the way to my luxury bed.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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