So I went to the desert.
Specifically, we went down to Fayoum, and stayed on the edge of Lake Qarun. And I know this sounds incredible and “exotic” and all those other adjectives that describe what an amazing adventure I’m having out here in Egypt, but fuck me. It sucked.
First of all, I never let other people plan a trip for me, and it’s because most people, unlike myself, don’t take the time to create a plan B before they go. Now it’s not like I can’t get creative on the fly, but when you’re traveling, mistakes equate to money. And this is exactly what happened.
Everything seemed like it would be totally cool – we take a mini-bus to El Fayoum where the owner of a desert camp would pick us up, take us to a grocery store, and deliver us to a rustic but well-appointed camp where there would be swimming, desert hikes, and a roaring campfire. This was supposed to cost us £150, which seemed like an incredible deal for an experience that, given what I do, I should definitely have.
This is nothing like what actually happened.
We arrived in El Fayoum only to find out that we had gone to the wrong city, and would have to get ourselves, at perilous expense, to the correct one. And when we turned onto the dirt road of the camp, I thought our missteps were finally over.
But no.
Remember that lake I spoke of? Right. So we were supposed to be able to swim in it. Except that when we arrived we were told that we could only go if we snuck in after dark, when the guards had already left for the day.
Remember when the owner was supposed to shuttle us to the grocery store? No. In actuality, he tried to sell us dinner at something like £600 each, then refused to take us when we declined. So we hired a tuk-tuk instead, which cost us £200 each way, to the closest town with a store. Because it was an hour late, by the time we got there a lot of shops were already closed, and we were able to buy little more than pickles, cheese, and bread.
And that campfire? It was the smoldering stump of a long-fallen palm tree. We were all fucking freezing.
I slept that night using my hoodie as a pillow in a dirty sleeping bag that wouldn’t zip up all the way. A conservative estimate would be that I got about 50 mosquito bites.
And by the time 8am finally rolled around and it was time to leave, I sprang out of bed to meet our driver who would be shuttling us to a mini bus that would take us home back to Cairo.
I know I’m not supposed to, but you guys, I fucking hated it.
This overnight trip was the confluence of things I fucking hate: unprepared camping, spending more money than I anticipate, mosquitos, and having my host dictate everything I do.
But.
Right after we arrived, when we realized we wouldn’t be able to go swimming while the sun was up, we went for a little hike in the desert. We crossed the palmeraie and onto a trail that led up the side of a hill, and when we got to the top we looked out to see the lake in stark, crystal blue contrast to the rusty desert sand.
There was about twenty minutes up there, looking out silently across this foreign vista, when I was sure that there was no where else I’d rather be.
But I think most importantly is finding out that though I had only left Cairo for less than 24 hours, I was dying to get back. And comedy of errors aside, this experience has left me wondering how the fuck I’m ever going to be able to leave Cairo forever.
–M