iPhone 4 + Canon 5DmII + Me.
Got to mess around at work with a Canon 5D mark 2. I am in love. Maybe it's lust. Electronics lust.
Oh, but it that camera is SO SWEET.
Pretty please, oh please, oh please Santa?
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Dream Team
Got to mess around at work with a Canon 5D mark 2. I am in love. Maybe it's lust. Electronics lust.
Oh, but it that camera is SO SWEET.
Pretty please, oh please, oh please Santa?
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Red Sea Peninsula Paradise & an Evening Surprise!
Despite the hilarity and unforgettable times had by all in Wadi Rum at Bedouin camp, one thing was missed by everyone in our group: Hot showers.
So as sad as I was to leave my Oh-Sum fiance, I was anxious to reach the next destination.
You know, there's an odd something about tough group travel that makes body odor acceptable. In fact, it mostly goes completely unnoticed. I don't know if it was the copious amounts of desert dust stuffed up our noses that rendered it harmless, because everyone in my group knew it was there or if it was the fact that everyone stunk so really, no one did.
Push come to shove: It was a fact of life; expected and ignored because really, what could anyone do about it?
After feeling quite smoky (from the fire pit), sandy (from rolling down the sand dune), gritty (the desert is dirty and dusty!) and greasy (from not showering) the entire bus ride from Wadi Rum to the Red Sea Peninsula, we gang of gross travelers offloaded our bus and stumbled (literally) into an oasis of open-air seating covered in straw roofing and flowering vines: Sawa Beach Camp.
On arrival in the main complex we all just stood for a few moments taking in the drastic difference between the harsh desert and lush topicality of the beach camp. It was paradise!
--
Sawa Beach Camp is one of what used to be many beach camps along the Red Sea. The Egyptian shore of the Red Sea used to be a hugely popular destination amongst middle-easterners (because Egypt was cheaper than the other countries). Sawa beach camp survives and thrives because of it's partnership with Intrepid Tours. And it's gorgeous, basic, very clean and a little slice of heaven. By basic, I mean BASIC. Not that it really mattered to us, but if you're looking for a luxury resort, keep looking. This place is the Rolls Royce of basic camps.
The accommodations are small huts.
Electricity after sunset only, and only in the form of a single lightbulb per hut. If you need to charge your phone/laptop, etc, you have to take it to the common area and leave it. A simple mattress lay on the ground, which was a concrete slab covered in hand-woven cotton rugs. And over the mattress was a gorgeous, opera, heavenly-choirs singing-moment: A bright pink mosquito net.
I did a happy dance when I saw it. After my open-jaw moment ended, that is. I have never in my life been so very happy to see a piece of mesh netting. I think I was in love. Because, if you remember, the mosquitoes are voracious in the Middle East.
Each hut had a covered porch with a hammock.
Mmm.
Hammock.
Beach.
Me.
In love again.
I sometimes fall in love easily. Don't you think? And with a place like this, wouldn't you?
Communal bathrooms and showers with solar-warmed water, which is quite brilliant for the middle east, don't you think? (I must note that the cleaning crew employed by Sawa camp to keep the bathroom tidy was AMAZING. Truly. I've never, ever, ever been in a cleaner bathroom, and this one was smack on the ocean, surrounded by SAND. Sand gets everywhere, but the cleaning crew beat it into submission and kept it out of the bathroom!)
The heart of the camp: The beach and the covered Pavilion replete with cushioned sitting areas and a small cafe.
If you were to visit Sawa Beach Camp on your own, can you guess how much you'd pay per day for a heavenly little beach hut? $50? $75?
About $3 US per day. That's right. $3.
(When I checked out, I'd spent around $40 on food, drink and snorkel kit for two days... Serious good living on a budget.)
--
As we weary travelers stood in the pavilion after arrival, we could see and hear the ocean crashing in the distance through the open walls and the moment we got our hut assignments we all took off, changed into our suits and met in the water five minutes later.
It was an unspoken agreement, a primal need felt by everyone: WATER. GET IN. It was around noon and the weather was a perfect, balmy 80-ish degrees as we splashed the desert dust from our skin. The water was quite shallow for hundreds of feet before you'd reach the reef and the bottom drop-off - the place for snorkeling, which most of us decided to do the next day, when we weren't so exhausted.
I'm a beach bunny. I could spend all day, every day at the beach. In a hammock. Or in the sand. On the beach. LOVE IT. So when I tell you that after spending 20 minutes in the water I booked it back to my room, grabbed my towel and a change of clothes and headed to the shower, you might understand a smidgeon of how dry, dusty and dirty I felt (now salty too). I wanted a hot shower.
And I wanted to beat everyone else to it to ensure my water was indeed HOT. And you know, there was nothing in this world that will ever compare to the delicate, velvety feel of that solar-heated hot water on my skin as I soaked in it, scraping the layers of dirt and sand from my skin and hair.
Shampoo!
Soap!
Conditioner!
And the lotion.
Oh.
The lotion.
Slathers of it on clean, parched skin. I felt like a princess in a spa. It was bliss.
After my gorgeous clean-up, I found some other group members beginning to gather in one of the recessed, cushioned sitting areas at the pavillion and joined them, along with our guide, Ghandi.
(I really think he should have been called "Yul," because he's Egyptian, not Indian!) After a while of sitting and chatting, few more stragglers joined the group and Ghandi announced, with a twinkle in his eye, that something very special was happening tonight and we were very, very lucky.
So we all looked on, intrigued by this announcement as he continued: "Tonight is the full moon and it is the spring. So it is not too hot. Once a year, Bedouins gather from near and far in the desert about an hour from here to have a mass wedding. Tonight is the night because the full moon will light the whole night and the Bedouins will party until sunrise. The Bedouins are very friendly and you are welcome to come to the wedding if you wish."
Um. Yah. Seriously?
Bedouin Wedding in the Egyptian dessert?
Don't have to tell me twice!
Heck yes! Despite being exhausted, I knew this was something I couldn't pass up. So those who wanted to go agreed to meet for dinner around 6 and leave camp around 8pm via taxi.
And then, with a few hours to spare I fell into bed. Well actually, I crawled under the mosquito net, which was tucked into the mattress, re-tucked the net and then fell into bed. When I woke it was dusk. I miraculously didn't have a single new mozzie bite! Imagine that!
I stumbled, sleep-groggy, into the pavillion right on time only to find that the camp staff had set up a series of tables for our group to eat dinner by candle light on the beach! How cool is that??
Dinner was fantastic and hilarious. Lamb Kafta, rice, grilled tomatoes and french fries! It's amazing how universal french fries are. Seriously. And what is it about salty air at the ocean that makes all food taste ten times better than normal? Plus, you really can't go wrong eating by candlelight on the beach. It puts everyone immediately in a good mood, am I right?
I could have sat under the dark sky all night and enjoyed the ambiance from dinner, except I really couldn't because I had to get to the Bedouin wedding!
So as sad as I was to leave my Oh-Sum fiance, I was anxious to reach the next destination.
You know, there's an odd something about tough group travel that makes body odor acceptable. In fact, it mostly goes completely unnoticed. I don't know if it was the copious amounts of desert dust stuffed up our noses that rendered it harmless, because everyone in my group knew it was there or if it was the fact that everyone stunk so really, no one did.
Push come to shove: It was a fact of life; expected and ignored because really, what could anyone do about it?
After feeling quite smoky (from the fire pit), sandy (from rolling down the sand dune), gritty (the desert is dirty and dusty!) and greasy (from not showering) the entire bus ride from Wadi Rum to the Red Sea Peninsula, we gang of gross travelers offloaded our bus and stumbled (literally) into an oasis of open-air seating covered in straw roofing and flowering vines: Sawa Beach Camp.
On arrival in the main complex we all just stood for a few moments taking in the drastic difference between the harsh desert and lush topicality of the beach camp. It was paradise!
--
Sawa Beach Camp is one of what used to be many beach camps along the Red Sea. The Egyptian shore of the Red Sea used to be a hugely popular destination amongst middle-easterners (because Egypt was cheaper than the other countries). Sawa beach camp survives and thrives because of it's partnership with Intrepid Tours. And it's gorgeous, basic, very clean and a little slice of heaven. By basic, I mean BASIC. Not that it really mattered to us, but if you're looking for a luxury resort, keep looking. This place is the Rolls Royce of basic camps.
The accommodations are small huts.
Electricity after sunset only, and only in the form of a single lightbulb per hut. If you need to charge your phone/laptop, etc, you have to take it to the common area and leave it. A simple mattress lay on the ground, which was a concrete slab covered in hand-woven cotton rugs. And over the mattress was a gorgeous, opera, heavenly-choirs singing-moment: A bright pink mosquito net.
I did a happy dance when I saw it. After my open-jaw moment ended, that is. I have never in my life been so very happy to see a piece of mesh netting. I think I was in love. Because, if you remember, the mosquitoes are voracious in the Middle East.
Each hut had a covered porch with a hammock.
Mmm.
Hammock.
Beach.
Me.
In love again.
I sometimes fall in love easily. Don't you think? And with a place like this, wouldn't you?
Facing one way: The Red Sea
Turn around and looking the other way: The desert.
The heart of the camp: The beach and the covered Pavilion replete with cushioned sitting areas and a small cafe.
If you were to visit Sawa Beach Camp on your own, can you guess how much you'd pay per day for a heavenly little beach hut? $50? $75?
About $3 US per day. That's right. $3.
(When I checked out, I'd spent around $40 on food, drink and snorkel kit for two days... Serious good living on a budget.)
--
As we weary travelers stood in the pavilion after arrival, we could see and hear the ocean crashing in the distance through the open walls and the moment we got our hut assignments we all took off, changed into our suits and met in the water five minutes later.
It was an unspoken agreement, a primal need felt by everyone: WATER. GET IN. It was around noon and the weather was a perfect, balmy 80-ish degrees as we splashed the desert dust from our skin. The water was quite shallow for hundreds of feet before you'd reach the reef and the bottom drop-off - the place for snorkeling, which most of us decided to do the next day, when we weren't so exhausted.
I'm a beach bunny. I could spend all day, every day at the beach. In a hammock. Or in the sand. On the beach. LOVE IT. So when I tell you that after spending 20 minutes in the water I booked it back to my room, grabbed my towel and a change of clothes and headed to the shower, you might understand a smidgeon of how dry, dusty and dirty I felt (now salty too). I wanted a hot shower.
And I wanted to beat everyone else to it to ensure my water was indeed HOT. And you know, there was nothing in this world that will ever compare to the delicate, velvety feel of that solar-heated hot water on my skin as I soaked in it, scraping the layers of dirt and sand from my skin and hair.
Shampoo!
Soap!
Conditioner!
And the lotion.
Oh.
The lotion.
Slathers of it on clean, parched skin. I felt like a princess in a spa. It was bliss.
After my gorgeous clean-up, I found some other group members beginning to gather in one of the recessed, cushioned sitting areas at the pavillion and joined them, along with our guide, Ghandi.
Ghandi explaining things to Chris
(I really think he should have been called "Yul," because he's Egyptian, not Indian!) After a while of sitting and chatting, few more stragglers joined the group and Ghandi announced, with a twinkle in his eye, that something very special was happening tonight and we were very, very lucky.
So we all looked on, intrigued by this announcement as he continued: "Tonight is the full moon and it is the spring. So it is not too hot. Once a year, Bedouins gather from near and far in the desert about an hour from here to have a mass wedding. Tonight is the night because the full moon will light the whole night and the Bedouins will party until sunrise. The Bedouins are very friendly and you are welcome to come to the wedding if you wish."
Um. Yah. Seriously?
Bedouin Wedding in the Egyptian dessert?
Don't have to tell me twice!
Heck yes! Despite being exhausted, I knew this was something I couldn't pass up. So those who wanted to go agreed to meet for dinner around 6 and leave camp around 8pm via taxi.
And then, with a few hours to spare I fell into bed. Well actually, I crawled under the mosquito net, which was tucked into the mattress, re-tucked the net and then fell into bed. When I woke it was dusk. I miraculously didn't have a single new mozzie bite! Imagine that!
I stumbled, sleep-groggy, into the pavillion right on time only to find that the camp staff had set up a series of tables for our group to eat dinner by candle light on the beach! How cool is that??
Dinner was fantastic and hilarious. Lamb Kafta, rice, grilled tomatoes and french fries! It's amazing how universal french fries are. Seriously. And what is it about salty air at the ocean that makes all food taste ten times better than normal? Plus, you really can't go wrong eating by candlelight on the beach. It puts everyone immediately in a good mood, am I right?
I could have sat under the dark sky all night and enjoyed the ambiance from dinner, except I really couldn't because I had to get to the Bedouin wedding!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Sweet Emotion
Once upon a time...
I was eighteen and traveled to Europe for the first time with a group of musicians from across the US. We sang and played music in Austria, Germany, Italy, France and Switzerland.
And I fell in love.
For the first time.
With an adorable boy from Montana.
And after we left Europe I went to Montana and worked on his family's Bee Farm, extracting honey for the rest of the summer.
Ahhh... summer love. So cute.
One of the lingering effects of that summer is a somewhat baffling love for Aerosmith.
The Band.
Yes.
And you're right. I'm SOOOOOO not a rock and roll girl. But I LOOOOOOOOOOVE Aersomith.
And it's probably not for the reason you're thinking.
Here's why:
One afternoon the cute boy and I were hanging out with one of his friends. We decided to take a drive down the highway to get lunch. (Everything out in Montana requires a drive down the highway.)
And we take the friend's old POS Jeep. This thing had serious issues. I ended up riding in the back, sitting on top of a HUGE speaker. Once we got going I was immediately overwhelmed by CRAZY gas fumes, which passed directly over where I was sitting and then out the open (missing) back window. It was a wind tunnel of gas fumes and blaring Aerosmith. And if getting high on gas while listening to "Walk This Way" doesn't fry your brain into loving Aerosmith, I don't know what will.
So today Aerosmith comes to town. And you betcha I'm gonna be at that concert.
YAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! (Screamed all Steven-Tyler-Esque)
I was eighteen and traveled to Europe for the first time with a group of musicians from across the US. We sang and played music in Austria, Germany, Italy, France and Switzerland.
And I fell in love.
For the first time.
With an adorable boy from Montana.
And after we left Europe I went to Montana and worked on his family's Bee Farm, extracting honey for the rest of the summer.
Ahhh... summer love. So cute.
One of the lingering effects of that summer is a somewhat baffling love for Aerosmith.
The Band.
Yes.
And you're right. I'm SOOOOOO not a rock and roll girl. But I LOOOOOOOOOOVE Aersomith.
And it's probably not for the reason you're thinking.
Here's why:
One afternoon the cute boy and I were hanging out with one of his friends. We decided to take a drive down the highway to get lunch. (Everything out in Montana requires a drive down the highway.)
And we take the friend's old POS Jeep. This thing had serious issues. I ended up riding in the back, sitting on top of a HUGE speaker. Once we got going I was immediately overwhelmed by CRAZY gas fumes, which passed directly over where I was sitting and then out the open (missing) back window. It was a wind tunnel of gas fumes and blaring Aerosmith. And if getting high on gas while listening to "Walk This Way" doesn't fry your brain into loving Aerosmith, I don't know what will.
So today Aerosmith comes to town. And you betcha I'm gonna be at that concert.
YAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! (Screamed all Steven-Tyler-Esque)
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
OH-SUM!
Place: Bedouin Camp
Time: After Dinner
Scene: A group of travelers sits around a campfire with their Bedouin host, Sheik Zahid.
Action!
Sheik Zahid to the group: "You know, I am looking for a wife. Who is free?"
Group: Uh... silence.
Pat (part of the group, one half of the "mature" couple on tour): These girls are! (Points to me, Freda and Bea)
Sheik: You know, I learn from you all (the travelers passing through his camp) over the years one thing. I say "OH-SUM!" He grinned a toothy grin and gave two-thumbs-up.
...
Somehow, I ended up being cornered as the Sheik's next wife.
?
Oh-sum! As a person who takes things very literally I was flabbergasted! Was this a joke? What should I do? I didn't want to be rude!
But then again, when push came to shove, there was NO WAY I was getting married.
Not that night. Not to the Sheik.
But, he did offer me a very handsome dowry:
"What do you want? I will give you three Jeeps, one racing Camel (which are super expensive, who would have guessed? ... as in about $100k!), horses, goats, sheep, a gray mule, chickens, a cook, a house in Wadi Rum, a house on the beach in Aquaba. Gold, silver... Oh and my parents and family would move out there and we would all become Muslims.
Riiiiight.
Decidedly, this was all fun and games. (But dagnab, why don't American men make offers of marriage like that???)
And then there was much laughter over sugar-coated roasting marshmallows. The Sheik complemented me on my roasting technique.
"This is a very good woman."
And when my fiance lit up a cigarette I firmly put my foot down: "No smoking!"
And he grinned and repeated "This is a very good woman. See how she cares about my health! Oh-Sum! (Two-thumbs-up)" And then he took a long drag on the cigarette.
And before we all turned in for the night I told him "Make sure you brush your teeth!"
And he said "Oh-Suum!"
Time: After Dinner
Scene: A group of travelers sits around a campfire with their Bedouin host, Sheik Zahid.
Action!
Sheik Zahid to the group: "You know, I am looking for a wife. Who is free?"
Group: Uh... silence.
Pat (part of the group, one half of the "mature" couple on tour): These girls are! (Points to me, Freda and Bea)
Sheik: You know, I learn from you all (the travelers passing through his camp) over the years one thing. I say "OH-SUM!" He grinned a toothy grin and gave two-thumbs-up.
...
Somehow, I ended up being cornered as the Sheik's next wife.
?
Oh-sum! As a person who takes things very literally I was flabbergasted! Was this a joke? What should I do? I didn't want to be rude!
But then again, when push came to shove, there was NO WAY I was getting married.
Not that night. Not to the Sheik.
But, he did offer me a very handsome dowry:
"What do you want? I will give you three Jeeps, one racing Camel (which are super expensive, who would have guessed? ... as in about $100k!), horses, goats, sheep, a gray mule, chickens, a cook, a house in Wadi Rum, a house on the beach in Aquaba. Gold, silver... Oh and my parents and family would move out there and we would all become Muslims.
Riiiiight.
Decidedly, this was all fun and games. (But dagnab, why don't American men make offers of marriage like that???)
And then there was much laughter over sugar-coated roasting marshmallows. The Sheik complemented me on my roasting technique.
"This is a very good woman."
And when my fiance lit up a cigarette I firmly put my foot down: "No smoking!"
And he grinned and repeated "This is a very good woman. See how she cares about my health! Oh-Sum! (Two-thumbs-up)" And then he took a long drag on the cigarette.
And before we all turned in for the night I told him "Make sure you brush your teeth!"
And he said "Oh-Suum!"
Friday, July 16, 2010
Dilemma
I happen to live directly above a shopping mecca.
Nordies. Lucky Jeans. Kate Spade. Coach. Designers I've never heard of. All at this gorgeous little haven.
And can you believe it? I'm not a shopper.
Really. It's kind of a life saver if you think about it. I'd definitely rather spend my money on travel and electronics.
But.
Today.
I.
Needed.
Shoes.
As every girl does, don't you think?
I'm not a shoe whore (I mean really, I rotate between Rainbow sandals and Chacos on a daily basis). But I have do a couple pair of favorite heels.
And I'm going on a road trip in a couple of weeks in order to attend a wedding.
And I need a pair of cute, strappy, heeled sandals.
But every shoe store I went to carried a selection that looked like this (or worse):
I'm sorry. I lived through the eighties once already. I thought the clothes were hideous then.
Can I please have a pair of shoes that doesn't look like the eighties threw up all over them?
Please?
Nordies. Lucky Jeans. Kate Spade. Coach. Designers I've never heard of. All at this gorgeous little haven.
And can you believe it? I'm not a shopper.
Really. It's kind of a life saver if you think about it. I'd definitely rather spend my money on travel and electronics.
But.
Today.
I.
Needed.
Shoes.
As every girl does, don't you think?
I'm not a shoe whore (I mean really, I rotate between Rainbow sandals and Chacos on a daily basis). But I have do a couple pair of favorite heels.
And I'm going on a road trip in a couple of weeks in order to attend a wedding.
And I need a pair of cute, strappy, heeled sandals.
But every shoe store I went to carried a selection that looked like this (or worse):
Can I please have a pair of shoes that doesn't look like the eighties threw up all over them?
Please?
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Wanted: iPhone 4
I have been waiting now for two weeks.
TWO WEEKS.
I'm not a patient person when it comes to waiting for stuff. As in electronical stuff. As in my new iPhone. My old iPhone is now three years old. That's ancient in cell phone years. Like decrepitly ancient, am I right? Bravo to Apple for making such a solid phone, but now it's time to say goodbye (to all our companyyyyyyyyy.... sing it!) and move on.
BUT I CAN'T. Because I'm still waiting for an email to notify me that my phone is ready to be picked up.
ARGH.
Did I tell you that the iPhone 4 was released on June 24th? Which is the very day that I was born, oh so long ago. I mean, really, if ever there was an omen that we were meant to be together, the iP4 and I, wouldn't you think that would be it?????
Apparently not.
On June 24th, I was in Florida, in the middle of my perfect beach break. There were no Apple stores there so I wandered up the highway to the local WalMart, hoping to snag a phone for myself at 8am. I was third in line. But they'd only gotten two phones. TWO. I missed by one. Lame. But I went to the beach to console myself and felt perfectly peachy after that.
Except now I'm still waiting on the 14th of July. Really Apple???
Dear Apple,
I'm not a happy camper.
I've been on this voyage through the last month minus my sparkly new iPhone 4 and I WAAAAAAANNNT it now. Please. Pretty please?
Will you please oh please oh please send me an email from my very own downtown Walnut Creek Apple store telling me that I can come in and pick up my telefonino?
This weekend my veerrrrrrry old 1st generation iPhone (hearts and kisses to the dear old thing) got me good and lost while I was driving in the middle of nowhere with it's outdated and very slow GPS software.
I'm going to be going on a road trip in a couple of weeks and would like a functioning GPS phone feature on a fast network.
So, dear Apple, please pick up the pace.
Love,
Christy
TWO WEEKS.
I'm not a patient person when it comes to waiting for stuff. As in electronical stuff. As in my new iPhone. My old iPhone is now three years old. That's ancient in cell phone years. Like decrepitly ancient, am I right? Bravo to Apple for making such a solid phone, but now it's time to say goodbye (to all our companyyyyyyyyy.... sing it!) and move on.
BUT I CAN'T. Because I'm still waiting for an email to notify me that my phone is ready to be picked up.
ARGH.
Did I tell you that the iPhone 4 was released on June 24th? Which is the very day that I was born, oh so long ago. I mean, really, if ever there was an omen that we were meant to be together, the iP4 and I, wouldn't you think that would be it?????
Apparently not.
On June 24th, I was in Florida, in the middle of my perfect beach break. There were no Apple stores there so I wandered up the highway to the local WalMart, hoping to snag a phone for myself at 8am. I was third in line. But they'd only gotten two phones. TWO. I missed by one. Lame. But I went to the beach to console myself and felt perfectly peachy after that.
Except now I'm still waiting on the 14th of July. Really Apple???
Dear Apple,
I'm not a happy camper.
I've been on this voyage through the last month minus my sparkly new iPhone 4 and I WAAAAAAANNNT it now. Please. Pretty please?
Will you please oh please oh please send me an email from my very own downtown Walnut Creek Apple store telling me that I can come in and pick up my telefonino?
This weekend my veerrrrrrry old 1st generation iPhone (hearts and kisses to the dear old thing) got me good and lost while I was driving in the middle of nowhere with it's outdated and very slow GPS software.
I'm going to be going on a road trip in a couple of weeks and would like a functioning GPS phone feature on a fast network.
So, dear Apple, please pick up the pace.
Love,
Christy
Monday, July 12, 2010
Sahara Sunset
The details to exploring Wadi Rum by Jeep were many and fascinating. We made quite a few stops on our tour, which turned out to be quite comical as some of the stops were less than two minutes apart... as in: Stop, sit in a tent, sip some tea, get back in the Jeep and drive for two minutes before stopping, looking at some rocks or seeing something else and then getting back in the Jeep.
You see?
It all reminded me very much of the Jungle Ride at Disneyland. You know the one. I hope you do.
But eventually we made our last stop for the evening. Nestled in a cleft between rocky cliffs, perched on a large shelf lay several Camel-hair Bedouin tents. We were to spend the night at Bedouin camp.
Our host for the evening was a wealthy Sheik by the name of Sheik Zahid. A fifty-something Muslim Bedouin man with a Wicked sense of humor and a comic's sense of timing.
The man was Fuh-knee.
Plain and simple.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
There will be an entire blog entry dedicated to the Sheik's comedy.
Meanwhile...
Our first order of business on arrival at Bedouin camp was to stash our stuff in a tent.
Travelers are worried about security. Did you know?
They are.
Constantly.
They are worried about their passports and cash and backpacks full of belongings. Because, well, wouldn't you be if those things were your lifeline in a foreign place?
So as we travelers all piled our backpacks into a tent, I spied nearly everyone staking out their own personal "corner" full of space and looking about themselves as if they were setting up an explosive-laden perimeter around their stuff.
When you have a good group of travel companions, a group you trust, it makes life much easier. We were a good group. And so even though we all initially eyeballed the situation in the tent as a possible breach of personal security, the consensus was quickly reached that heck, we were cool. And stuck in the middle of the Sahara desert together with no way out. So there. And then we left the tent.
Set up in the middle of a square of tents was a large, matted area. Geometrically patterned carpets covered the sand and floral foam mattress pads lined the perimeter of the carpeted area. We all took up residence on a mattress pad and staked out an area. And then we did nothing. Absolutely nothing. And we were quite thrilled with the change of pace and shell shocked at the same time.
You see we had been traveling hard and fast. And to be presented with the opportunity to do nothing felt both thrilling and extravagantly sinful all at the same time. But there really was nothing to do, no chores, no exploring, no task list. And so we lounged for a glorious hour.
Have you ever been in a place that feels calm? It feels wondrous and quiet and to talk would seem to breech a sort of ceremonious aura? This was what Bedouin Camp felt like. No one needed to chat or be loud and boisterous, as normally our group would have been. Perhaps it was the calming effect of the Sheik. A respectful silence. I rather think so. Because when he talked, we listened. When he joked, it was done masterfully to a controlled, captive audience in nature's theater full of quiet sound and ambiance.
Around 6:30 the Sheik motioned for us to get up and told us it was time to walk a few yards over and watch the Sun set over the valley. We continued in a reverenced silence as we walked along and each found a perch along the rocky ledge.
It was an unforgettable sunset. Golden rays of sun bouncing off of rough, smooth, holey and solid walls of red. Copper-red sands blew gently on the valley floor, dancing in a light wind. The rays of light bent the colors minute by minute, constantly changing the scenery to deeper, richer hues and tones. And when the sun sank finally behind mountainous surrounding walls we were left with a blank sky, waiting for the moon to rise.
You see?
It all reminded me very much of the Jungle Ride at Disneyland. You know the one. I hope you do.
But eventually we made our last stop for the evening. Nestled in a cleft between rocky cliffs, perched on a large shelf lay several Camel-hair Bedouin tents. We were to spend the night at Bedouin camp.
One of the "Jeeps" parked outside of camp. I'm pretty much in love with that old truck. And this photo.
Our host for the evening was a wealthy Sheik by the name of Sheik Zahid. A fifty-something Muslim Bedouin man with a Wicked sense of humor and a comic's sense of timing.
The man was Fuh-knee.
Plain and simple.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
There will be an entire blog entry dedicated to the Sheik's comedy.
Meanwhile...
Our first order of business on arrival at Bedouin camp was to stash our stuff in a tent.
Travelers are worried about security. Did you know?
They are.
Constantly.
They are worried about their passports and cash and backpacks full of belongings. Because, well, wouldn't you be if those things were your lifeline in a foreign place?
So as we travelers all piled our backpacks into a tent, I spied nearly everyone staking out their own personal "corner" full of space and looking about themselves as if they were setting up an explosive-laden perimeter around their stuff.
When you have a good group of travel companions, a group you trust, it makes life much easier. We were a good group. And so even though we all initially eyeballed the situation in the tent as a possible breach of personal security, the consensus was quickly reached that heck, we were cool. And stuck in the middle of the Sahara desert together with no way out. So there. And then we left the tent.
Set up in the middle of a square of tents was a large, matted area. Geometrically patterned carpets covered the sand and floral foam mattress pads lined the perimeter of the carpeted area. We all took up residence on a mattress pad and staked out an area. And then we did nothing. Absolutely nothing. And we were quite thrilled with the change of pace and shell shocked at the same time.
You see we had been traveling hard and fast. And to be presented with the opportunity to do nothing felt both thrilling and extravagantly sinful all at the same time. But there really was nothing to do, no chores, no exploring, no task list. And so we lounged for a glorious hour.
Have you ever been in a place that feels calm? It feels wondrous and quiet and to talk would seem to breech a sort of ceremonious aura? This was what Bedouin Camp felt like. No one needed to chat or be loud and boisterous, as normally our group would have been. Perhaps it was the calming effect of the Sheik. A respectful silence. I rather think so. Because when he talked, we listened. When he joked, it was done masterfully to a controlled, captive audience in nature's theater full of quiet sound and ambiance.
Around 6:30 the Sheik motioned for us to get up and told us it was time to walk a few yards over and watch the Sun set over the valley. We continued in a reverenced silence as we walked along and each found a perch along the rocky ledge.
You have to love a travel itinerary that schedules this in:
"Watch the sunset from a cliff-top in the Desert Camp at Wadi Rum."
It was an unforgettable sunset. Golden rays of sun bouncing off of rough, smooth, holey and solid walls of red. Copper-red sands blew gently on the valley floor, dancing in a light wind. The rays of light bent the colors minute by minute, constantly changing the scenery to deeper, richer hues and tones. And when the sun sank finally behind mountainous surrounding walls we were left with a blank sky, waiting for the moon to rise.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A Jeep by Any Other Name...
I'm a proud Jeep driver. I'm on my second Jeep, actually. I started out with an old, square body Cherokee. It was fantastic. When it was time to replace it, after much dismay that I couldn't get a newer version of the same vehicle, I settled on an '07 Wrangler.
I love my Jeep.
One thing that I was quite excited about that was included on the tour I took was the inclusion of a four-hour Jeep ride through the Wadi Rum desert. How cool does that sound? I was pretty excited for it.
So imagine how perplexed I was to find on arriving in Wadi Rum exactly ZERO Jeeps. None. Hmm.
Well, apparently outside of the US, people call SUVs of most sorts Jeeps. I think it dates back to the war. You know. The big one. With all the Jeeps. Yah, that one.
I might have been a bit peeved about it, but then I saw that instead we would be riding in these sweet old things:
Yah.
I was excited all over again.
It was sweet and old and covered in dust. The upholstery was ripped and faded and worn. And if I could get my hands on one of those in the US I would love it! Except I don't know anything about cars and repairs and restoration, so I would just have an old, probably broken down, sweet Toyota Land Cruiser in my driveway.
I need to date a boy that knows stuff.
Stuff about cars
Amongst other stuff.
But that's another subject altogether, isn't it?
We drove around for hours. Wadi Rum is in the Sahara Desert. It is now a preserve for the Bedouin tribes that live there. On the four hour tour we saw rocks.
Red sand-a-plenty.
A giant sand dune.
Which, yes, I did indeed roll down. How did you guess?
And a kid that tried to shoot me with a fake gun. After all, boys will be boys, no matter where you are.
Oh yes, and we stopped for lunch by some more rocks.
This is when I got food poisoning. I recommend skipping the yogurt from the store at Wadi Rum. That is, if you want to keep your lunch down.
After lunch, Matt decided to entertain us by building a pillar of rocks. He (and the other guys) then proceeded to try to knock it down. Yes, they threw rocks at rocks.
See what I mean about boys being boys?
I spotted this inscription on the back of one dusty windshield. The locals wouldn't tell me what it said. They said only that it was not "Wash me."
So I asked my tour-mates what they thought it said. Our British tour-comedian, Chris, replied "It says: I wish my wife was this dirty."
After lunch we wandered around for a while longer in the Jeeps and looked at more desertous stuff. It was fairly fascinating and a lovely afternoon. Especially when, at one stop, I noticed my driver doing some maintenance under the hood of the "Jeep." I walked over and leaned in with him and asked "Well, is it broken?"
He replied. "No, no. It is not broken. I am just fixing it."
I love my Jeep.
One thing that I was quite excited about that was included on the tour I took was the inclusion of a four-hour Jeep ride through the Wadi Rum desert. How cool does that sound? I was pretty excited for it.
So imagine how perplexed I was to find on arriving in Wadi Rum exactly ZERO Jeeps. None. Hmm.
Well, apparently outside of the US, people call SUVs of most sorts Jeeps. I think it dates back to the war. You know. The big one. With all the Jeeps. Yah, that one.
I might have been a bit peeved about it, but then I saw that instead we would be riding in these sweet old things:
Yah.
I was excited all over again.
It was sweet and old and covered in dust. The upholstery was ripped and faded and worn. And if I could get my hands on one of those in the US I would love it! Except I don't know anything about cars and repairs and restoration, so I would just have an old, probably broken down, sweet Toyota Land Cruiser in my driveway.
I need to date a boy that knows stuff.
Stuff about cars
Amongst other stuff.
But that's another subject altogether, isn't it?
We drove around for hours. Wadi Rum is in the Sahara Desert. It is now a preserve for the Bedouin tribes that live there. On the four hour tour we saw rocks.
This is called the "Seven Pillars of Wisdom." It's quite famous. Lawrence of Arabia loved it.
Red sand-a-plenty.
A giant sand dune.
Which, yes, I did indeed roll down. How did you guess?
And a kid that tried to shoot me with a fake gun. After all, boys will be boys, no matter where you are.
Oh yes, and we stopped for lunch by some more rocks.
This is when I got food poisoning. I recommend skipping the yogurt from the store at Wadi Rum. That is, if you want to keep your lunch down.
The pink speckles are actually sand from a sudden sandstorm. I lucked out with the sand. It stopped me from finishing the yogurt or I would have become much more ill than I was...
After lunch, Matt decided to entertain us by building a pillar of rocks. He (and the other guys) then proceeded to try to knock it down. Yes, they threw rocks at rocks.
I spotted this inscription on the back of one dusty windshield. The locals wouldn't tell me what it said. They said only that it was not "Wash me."
So I asked my tour-mates what they thought it said. Our British tour-comedian, Chris, replied "It says: I wish my wife was this dirty."
After lunch we wandered around for a while longer in the Jeeps and looked at more desertous stuff. It was fairly fascinating and a lovely afternoon. Especially when, at one stop, I noticed my driver doing some maintenance under the hood of the "Jeep." I walked over and leaned in with him and asked "Well, is it broken?"
He replied. "No, no. It is not broken. I am just fixing it."
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