Leaving Basata was as appealing to me as getting out of a sauna to roll around in the snow or crawling out from beneath the covers on a cold rainy day. It put everyone off their guard to see us carry our last bags over to our bikes in preparation for departure. Caroline and Catherine who managed Basata's guest relations nearly lost consciousness when we asked for a final accounting of what we owed. They'd become accustomed to us beginning each day by asking sheepishly if we could rest another day at Basata. Today we were determined to continue our journey.
It was a nearly tearful goodbye for us; we'd bonded so with our hosts and the other guests. Our departure was an especially difficult for Andy, who began his day by changing yet another tire. We finally pedaled onto the highway sometime after ten and were soon riding the two lane blacktop south to Dahab. Within few kilometers down the Sinai's coastal road \--sandwiched between the crystal blue Red Sea and craggy exfoliated peaks\-- we heard the horn of a Peugeot 505. The 505 is the preferred vehicle for service taxis that shuttle folks from place to place in the Sinai and operate like group shuttle services.
One of our paranoid Israeli friends from Basata told us that they were all stolen from Israel, which made me wonder why I hadn't seen a single one north of the border. From within the passing cab Marianne and Lindsay (the Dane and Brit we spoke of in the last section) waved frenetically at us from inside the taxi on their way to embark upon their overnight camel trek. Later we learned that their taxi driver had taken an immediate liking to Marianne. He'd popped Frank Sinatra into the tape deck to get her in the mood and began to fondle her knee just as soon as they entered the cab.
We stopped to wish them a camelside bon voyage and witnessed Lindsay bonding with her mount as their Bedouin guides prepared for departure. Her camel moaned and bared its teeth each time it was burdened with a new package or parcel. We'd decided that a group photo was in order and were surprised when Marianne's friend the taxi driver grabbed her and mugged for the camera instead of reaching for the camera to snap a shot for us. Even with the stop it seemed like we reached Nuweiba faster by bike than by car with Yusef and Mahmoud a few days before.
We zipped through the dirty sprawling port town without hesitation. Just as we were riding out of Nuweiba a grinning Northern European on Motor cycle zoomed up beside me. I looked at his motorized transport with disdain at first, but his smile won me over and we began to chatter with me about our respective trips. Mikko from Finland was on his way to Cairo and then further south into Africa. We stopped and took photos of one another before parting. Mikko validated my perception that the Finnish are among the kindest and coolest folks we'd met on our trip. Mikko was, however, not good enough to offer to tow us up one of the most vicious hills of our trip.
Before us lay an 8% grade over 17 kilometers. At the base of the hill a slow moving truck struggled to pass me. Just as I saw its taillights I thought to sprint up to it and get a tow up the hill but I glanced back and saw Andy pumping behind me and let it pass. Just after the truck's plume of smoke faded, Yusef and Mahmoud rode up next to us, honked, waved and parked their car in the shoulder on the incline. They'd decided to wish us farewell once more. Mahmoud and Yusef jumped from their little yellow Fiat and walked back down the road towards us.
At first I laughed and then scrambled for safety as I watched the little car roll down the hill in our direction. Mahmoud sprinted to the car and pulled the hand break just before it gained terminal velocity. We laughed together about our adventures and they were off to Cairo. A river of sweat poured off of me and I began to miss the comfort and convenience of Basata. My stomach churned for one of their lunch time fresh-baked vegetarian pizzas. Bob's Bedouin village popped into my line of vision as my stomach's growling began to drown out all other thought.
At Bob's we snarfed a nutritious meal of soft drinks, cold water, potato chips and cookies. All the while yet another Middle Eastern kitty found a friend in Andy. This one had a taste for Andy's curry-chicken chips and ate more of them than we did. Refreshed and sated we were ready to venture onward. Bob counseled us on the terrain that lay ahead telling us that it was basically downhill all the way to Dahab from his perch at the top of the steep Wadi that led to the sea. The remainder of the day was spent in a wide inland valley with abrupt walls formed by more decomposing granite.
Marred only by the huge power poles that were being installed to supply electricity to the ugly resorts we'd seen riding to Basata, the barren and largely pristine path was glorious \-- no traffic, well paved, downhill, bright blue sky overhead. The only sound we heard for the next 40k was the wind through our hair and our tires whirring beneath the bikes. We arrived at the checkpoint outside of Dahab to find that this one was far better staffed than those a few days before near Basata. This left me wondering if the events at Luxor were making the Egyptians more security conscious.
This time the soldiers actually stopped us and looked at our passports while their gun's bayonets gleamed in the afternoon sun. We were waved on and began the final descent into town. Only now our \"glorious\" downhill was now difficult to pedal for the huge headwind that met us. The closer we got to Dahab the less appealing it looked. Its setting by the Red Sea is pretty enough, but the rampant construction of downmarket tourist traps made it all the less interesting. The first hotel we stopped at didn't help to make our impression of Dahab a positive one. Andy looked at a room, had been quoted a price and started the patented BikeBrats' bargaining regime.
\"Have a cyclists discount?\" he asked. The retort was swift and merciless: the clerk raised the price a few dollars. We left wandering into the Inmo Diving Center. We were quoted a fair price, shown a comfortable room and treated with respect and kindness by our hostess Ingrid. A few moments after checking in, Mohammed \--Ingrid's husband\-- greeted us warmly and offered to do anything he could to help us. It seems that Sharif from Basata had been there the night before and told them all about us. Mohammed helped us log-on to AOL to get our mail, invited us to dinner and made us feel at home.
INgrid and MOhammed (get it? INMO diving center...) run a first-class diving resort. The town of Dahab itself is not exactly my tasse du thé. Restaurant after restaurant next to bar after bar line the waterfront walk where touts try to entice you into their establishments making a relaxing stroll along the coast less than. The one thing that all of these little places had going for them is that everyone had a backgammon board. We whiled away the night playing backgammon and drinking beer at a nearly empty place near our hotel. The funny thing about the tavern was that each time we'd order a round, -a delivery boy would arrive from the market next door with two beers to replenish their stock.
Sort of a just in time warehousing of beverages. The next day we worked on our website, trying to finally finish Israel before going on to lower Egypt. We still didn't have a plan for how to get to the Nile and were facing increasing pressure from our friends and family not to go down to Luxor. We finally gave up the idea completely when inquiries about flights from Sh'arm el Sheik to Luxor revealed that all had been cancelled. We were both disappointed but decided to push on down to Sh'arm el Sheik anyway and then make our way back to Israel for the trip home.