My days have been complex since leaving Eilat two days ago. Shortly after I posted my last blog about the Egyptian border crossing and going to the Sinai Peninsula, I got ahold of an International Herald Tribune weekend edition. Sitting on a terrace overlooking the Red Sea, I scanned the front page, stopping abruptly with the following headline:
"AL QAEDA OPERATIVES CONFIRMED IN SINAI AFTER GAZA INCIDENTS". The article went on to report that Israelis were warned not to cross the border except with armed guards or with a group. The situation was escalating.
Oddly enough, what ran through my mind was this; What if something happened, say I got kidnapped or robbed... what would they tell my grandson? "Grammie was crossing the border between Israel and Egypt and there was a bit of a war going on." I didn't want Ethan to think Grammie had acted on impulse--or, on the other hand, that I had been scared off by hearsay. I really wanted to see the Sinai, and had tickets to fly from there to Cairo, so I really had reason to want to cross the border and head west, then south , to Sharm-el-Sheik.
So, I called my new friend here on a peace mission who I'd met in Tiberias on his cell. " Hello, Michael, this is Mary CAtherine. I'm just wondering if you could call and let me know what you think of the possibilities are of me having trouble going to St. Katherine's and then on down the three hours through the desert to Sharm? Give me a call back if you can."
I sat there a minute, trying to decide what next? Call the embassy in Cairo, I thought outloud. Now like most things in my short experience in the Middle East, you don't just do it--and whatever "it" is, it doesn't get done on the first try.
So here was the thought process.
1. Where's the embassy number? Oh, in the guide book.
2. Dial the number in Cairo. Oops, what's the country code? 0020 ( after 10 minutes of searching through two guide books.
3. Dial Cairo US Embassy. " We're sorry but your call can't go through as dialed."
4. Call the hotel desk and ask them to connect with an international operator. 20 minutes later, they connect me w/ Israeli phone company's service line.
5. Plan B: Call the US Embassy in Jerusalem--I know that country code, and it has
worked in the past.
6. "Hello, I'm an American citizen about to cross into Egypt at Taba. I want to
know if there are any advisories--and talk to someone who knows the
situation. (Oh, by the way, dear reader, it's Sunday as I'm doing this. For
Israelis, it's a work daybut I wasn't sure about the embassy staff.)
"Just a moment, I'll find someone to help you" says the switchboard
dispassionately. ( Hey buddy, I thought. This is my life here, you know?)
7. "Hello, this is the duty officer, can \i help you?" I could hear young kids in
the back ground. The duty officer, a woman, sounded cheery, even breezy.
"Yes, I'm going to the Sinai and wanted to know if there is any reason I should
rethink it because of the Gaza situation and recent information about terrorist
activity in the area".
"Well, Ma'am, we have no official warning for Egypt." ( I knew that. That's
clear from their website. Tell me something I don't know, I'm thinking--this is
my life here.)
" I just want to know if it's prudent to continue to St. Katherine's--I'll be
traveling alone?."
I was clear that she wasn't going to give me any reassurance, or more information. So, I gave her my full name and passport number so that someone else on earth knew that I was crossing into Egypt the following morning.
I sat there a long time, thinking about my options, how badly I wanted to see the monastery, all 1500 years of it, and the Sinai.
The hotel room phone rang. I figured it was the operator still trying to figure out how to call Egypt. ( I was not impressed with Eilat, or the Dan Eilat Hotel where I was staying. )
" Hello, Mary Catherine. It's Michael."
I'm afraid I sighed with relief right into the phone.
"Man, I'm glad to hear from you. Thanks for calling back. What do you think?"
"You've got a guy picking you up at the border, right?"
"Yeah. But I heard about him from another traveler who read it on Fodors.com, Michael. I called him on his cell--where he lives I don't know since my Arabic is non-existent and his English is pretty close. But he said he'd be there. I know his cab number and the color of the car so no other driver can mess with me."
"Well, he'll be there. I'm betting he's a bedouin, and if he's got an American calling to be picked up, he's not gonna want to risk a bad report from you to others."
"That's what I thought. But I have to tell you, I now know what those movies are talking about when they show drug deals being done from tents or caves. He could be anywhere out there."
" Ya, I know. But it sounds good. And then you talked to the monastery?"
" Called and finally got through--it's in the middle of nowhere, as you know.Got one of the Greek Orthodox priest who asked me to wait five minutes! Anyway, Akman got on the phone finally and told me he'd find someone very safe to take me to Sharm."
" I don't know. I think you've got it covered. You'll be 100 Km or more from the Gaza border. I don't know any thing official but it sounds fine. I'd go early, though, because it may take you some time to get through; they may keep you a bit."
We said our goodbyes with a promise to meet in New York when he gets back from this mission in early March.
#############
I woke up early the next morning, anxious to get going. I put on my warm clothes, the mornings were always cold--even my new wool socks that I'd bought for the climb.
The desk called a cab. We stopped at the ATM so I could get some US dollars. Not available. British pounds will have to do. Yet another currency to memorize exchange rates for.
"Now to the border at Taba," I said to the driver. In ten minutes, I was walking toward the checkpoint, an Israeli guard and me, the only life around. He checked my passport, and let me through the gate. Another Israeli checkpoint, 67 shekels exit fee, another passport check along with questioning about contents of my bags.
I walked 5 minutes to the other side. The Egyptian soldiers had to put down their breakfast ( but not their AK47s ). No one was crossing from Israel but me this morning, or so it seemed just then. It took 30 minutes, mostly because no one seemed to know where to send me, or were to sleepy to notice that I was clueless ( Arabic signs, remember. )
After the last check, I walked to a small circle right next to the Taba Hilton. That hotel had been bombed a couple of years ago by a suicide bomber protesting the Palestinian situation.Immediately two Egyptian cab drivers started following me as I walked briskly toward the main road. "Hey, where you going? " I kept walking shaking my head firmly.
A young man with a cornflower blue turban and a cheap jean jacket approached me. "You call cab," he asked. I could see his discolored teeth from probably a lot of tea and too many unfiltered cigarettes.
I ignored him. But he persisted.
"I'm waiting for Hamad," I said, sounding as irritated as I felt.
'I am Hamad."
"Where's the lime green car with your cab number?"
"I go get," he said, pointing to a parking area 100 yards away.
And sure enough, there it was, the green taxi.
We pulled away. There were no other people there except the cab drivers still hoping someone else might cross the border.
Now I was on my way to Moses' Sinai with a bedouin driver in the middle of the most deserted road I've ever seen in my life.
M.C.
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