Day 20. Thu 2nd October
Farafra Oasis
We get a lie in until eight o'clock, but most of us are up well before
this.
After breakfast Saleh takes us for a walk to the town, where it is
market day.We buy grapes, guava and sweet potatoes to roast on the camp
fire tonight. Then we go for a ramble around the local farmland where date
palms, olives and sweet oranges grow. Saleh shins up a palm and throws
down dates which Abdul, our tame policeman, mostly fails to catch in his
hat.
On the way back we visit the home and studio of Badr Abd El Moghny, "an
artist with a dream". A native of Farafra Oasis, Badr is a self-taught
artist whose work in oils, water colours and coloured sand reflects the
local life and people. He has built and decorated his own home using local
materials, and the house and garden now serves as his home and his gallery.
He has exhibited his work in Egypt and in Europe, and in 1995 pioneered
the use of palm-tree trunks for sculpture. Even I am moved by the beauty
of the paintings and sculptures, many of the pictures reiniscent of Picasso
or Dali. I would love to buy some of the clay sculptures, but for a) the
difficulty of getting them home, and b) the ones I particularly like are
not for sale. I content myself with a sand painting of a desert scene for
120 EGP.
We chill out for an hour or so, eat lunch, and chill some more, playing
backgammon and scrabble. About three we head off into the White Desert.
After about half an hour's drive in the coach we meet up with the three
FWDs that will take us to our campsite. Several million years or so ago
this area was all the bottom of the sea. Because there is zero rainfall
here the chalk laid down at this time has not been washed away, but has
been gradually eroded by the wind and the sand into all sorts of strange
shapes. I befriend a dung beetle and spend a happy ten minutes trying to
get a good close up of it. I suggest to Laura that I get a photograph of
her screaming and waving her arms about and make a composite picture of
her being eaten by a giant dung beetle. She thinks it's a great idea, but
we never get the opportunity, so, Laura, if you read this, if you can get
a suitable picture against a plain background send it along. Laura also
has the most tremendous laugh, which I try to get a recording of, also
to no avail.
The jeeps are rickety to say the least, and we have an anxious moment
when one of them bursts a radiator hose. Recalling our adventures in Sinai
I make to dig out my soap, but all is well, although in the time it takes
to fix the hose the vehicle is already up to the axles in the drifting
sand and has to be pushed out.
On one photo excursion I climb over an outcrop to get a better view,
and find a remarkable artefact - a message written in stones. However,
it is not, unfortunately, in hieroglyphics dating from sometime in the
pharaonic period, but in plain, albeit somewhat cryptic, English from the
last Explore group to pass this way. So if your name's Kate and you were
in the White Desert around early September 2003 (probably with Maria leading),
your message has been received!
Our three bedouin hosts pick a spot seemingly at random in the middle of
the desert and set up camp for us by putting the jeeps into three sides
of a square, and then hanging rugs all round and covering the floor with
mats. As custom demands, we remove our shoes before making ourselves comfortable.
While our guides cook the usual meal of chicken, rice and vegetables,
we climb a nearby hill and watch the sunset over the camp. The illusion
of being alone in the middle of the desert is somewhat spoiled when we
notice two other groups of jeeps and tourists also setting up camp. Oh
well.
No music tonight, but we tell stories and jokes. Saleh is an excellent
companion, with good English and a fund of amusing stories. No drinks at
all are supplied on this picnic, so I break out the remains of the Southern
Comfort. Our ever-cheerful tame policeman Abdul accepts a tot with alacrity,
despite presumably being a muslim. A little later I feel a tap on the shoulder
and find Abdul indicating that he would like some more. This seems a little
cheeky, but I am about to offer it round again, so I wave a "help yourself"
gesture and return to the chat. Now, I couldn't swear to it, but I reckon
there was a good inch and a half left in that bottle, yet when I come to
offer it round a few minutes later the whole lot, and Abdul himself, have
disappeared. There is just an empty bottle lying on the floor.
When bedtime comes I decide that I am very comfortable exactly where
I am in "dining room", which is sheltered and well padded, and I see no
point in moving. For some reason everyone else decides to take advantage
of the available 2.8 million square kilometers of Western Desert and all
spread out to sleep, with the result that when I get up for a pee in the
middle of the night I have to find my way round three or four different
rocky outcrops before I find one that doesn't have someone sleeping behind
it.