We piled into the jeep in the middle of the Sahara Desert in Egypt in the hot summer of 2009, cramming into each available crevice. The trip I was on had 100 other people, including much of my family. Being inside this Jeep felt like home after weeks of being in the dusty desert. We drove over hill after hill, deeper into the dark desert, blanketed by a starry nightfall. The ride rivaled my roller coaster experiences; “This is adventure,” I thought, and didn’t question our destination.
The jeep arrived, and we approached rows of white tents made from canvas and men with coffee-like skin, smiling in linen robes. Acting as a gate to their community, I saw a large Persian rug about 20 feet long lying on the sand once I approached the tents. They gestured to the edges of the carpet and our group cautiously sat around the edges, in anticipation.
Drums began to beat, instruments shook and played a simple tune. A woman emerged, dressed in a long transparent red skirt and hordes of medallions all over her body, which played along to the music as she danced. I glanced around, stunned that the Sahara Desert seemed to swim to this same tune. Before the next song, I watch the Bedouin leader tell the dancer something private. I imagine he must be requesting something significantly special, but my ability to speak in Bedouin is still a little rusty.
Dances follow, hookah is set up in a neighboring tent and our group breaks off into groups and pairs gazing at the stars. We don’t want to leave this exotic, strange place, but we have no choice. In somewhat of a daze, we return to our jeeps. All of the sudden, the sleek modernity of it makes me want to cringe. Yet, I look forward to the next leg of our adventure: the Nile cruise.
Egypt was full of sand. Yet, it was full of wonder, of history, of rolling deserts and of ancient stories yet to be discovered.
