Dear Dahab,
It was 3 am when we met. I wandered through your streets in search of a bed, exhausted from a day of flying and a taxi bargaining shitshow, scared of an unkown place—when your walls asked me “you lost habibi?”, and pointed to the entrance of Rafiki hostel. I was lost indeed, just at the beginning of my journey, thinking I’ll just pass through this strange and barren Sinai on my way to Wadi Rum.
I went into the hostel, found a bed and slept in it as deeply as if it were my own. I was worried someone would kick me out or at least be quite angry, but in the morning volunteers Rahma and Ash assured me not to stress about it.
Rahma said her name is pronounced as if opening a can of coca cola—”ahhhh”—and Ash greeted me with “dobar dan, kako ste”, cause he used to date a Serbian girl. He also had a backpack full of different board games, and even a jenga set, all of which he was very happy to present one by one.
By 11 am I was checked in and had my sandals on and my light blue ahirt I’m really fond of and the sunglasses too. The smell of sunscreen and the steady breeze reminded me of summers at home, and it felt really fucking good to have summer on the 17th of March.
No stress my friend, I was told throughout the day, as many times as it was necessary for me to finally settle into your ryhthms. No stress, I was told when I inquired whether they forgot about my breakfast at Flat White beach bar, after waiting an hour for it.
“I make everything from scratch” the waiter/chef said. An Egyptian breakfast it was; with an omlette, hummus, babaganoush, fresh vegetables and fresh pita bread. The waiting was worth it, and truly everything was from scratch and homemade.
There were two more people sitting there on low colourful cushions in the shade of wooden shacks whose dry palm leaves fluttered with the wind. “Classic German tourists” I thought when I saw Reike and Boe. Boe in his rubber swimming shoes and his pale skin burned, reading a tourist guide titled “Egypt”. Little did I know that 2 years ago he had read a whole volume on Egyptian history, and that Reike was an energetic yoga teacher who knew all the locals in Dahab.
“It is beyond beautiful down there” Reike said coming out of the sea all refreshed, “the coral reef is magical”.
I looked at her sceptically. How spectacular can snorkling get? I thought going in. The water was very shallow and full of monotonous grey rocks that made it difficult both to swim and walk. Then it wasn’t shallow and monotonous anymore. I reached a majestic drop where big red shells nestled like a field of poppy flowers. The whole reef was alive, and even the rocks seemed organic in a sense that they were breathing and not really solid, but rather fleshy, fibrous. The late breakfast had made my buoyancy somewhat troublesome, but I dived and dived alongside the magical reef. It didn’t take me long to adapt to the relativity of Egyptian time, spending the whole day between the sea and the colourful pillows of Flat White beach bar.
I became very fond of Reike and Boe, and not just because they bought me a beer and a second one and fried ice cream in the evening. I became fond of them even though Boe shouted his disaproval of open-mic performers unapologetically and very loudly—in German. Even though Reike had quite a lot of energy from all that yoga and attacked a poor barely 18 yo boy working in a bar for not having pancakes on the menu. They really should have pancakes on the menu. The fried ice cream was very good though and mouth-dripping as they say, and Reike gave me hers after I complained that her portion was noticeably bigger. Boe and Reike were quite an eccentric duo, and I’m glad they were. I haven’t travelled in a while and was all shy and anxious, but they pushed me out of my bubble and embraced me as part of the team-whatever that team was.
They took me to another swimming spot by the lighthouse for sunset, almost as if by the hand, along the promenade of Dahab. Travellers, locals, hipsters, restaurant workers smoking and chatting, kids kicking a ball, stray dogs sunbathing, well-fed cats meowing to be fed, shop owners smiling, backpackers, divers, digital nomads, the real Bedouin nomads—a stream of souls on a promenade that smelled like grilled fish and glittered like fish scale with sparkles of sunset reflected in shiny pieces of thin metal decoration above it.
I didn’t really see that lighthouse, but it didn’t matter.
“I like it here, it’s relaxed” I said after our dip as the sunset laid a blanket of peace over Dahab.
“Not relaxed, but peaceful” Reike said, which was indeed a more suitable word.
In the evening we sat at the rooftop open-mic bar. Everyone was polite and considerate and made sure they didn’t talk loud, except Boe. A girl sat next to us trying to eat her burger while a cat tried to dive into her plate and eat the burger too. She didn’t push the cat, but took her plate away. Her name was Thea and she was from Jordan. I asked Thea many questions about Wadi Rum, where I was heading to do my research about the Bedouins’ way of life and Bedouins’ way of doing tourism.
“But I also plan to hike on my own a lot” I added.
“There where you see no one, that’s where you go. Have the desert all to yourself” Thea said.
“But its dangerous” someone remarked.
“Snakes are not dangerous really” Thea said, as she showed me a night photo of a venomous viper in front of her sleeping bag in the desert.
“The sand doesn’t leave you for months after you leave the desert” she added, “it changes you”
I liked the advice, and I liked Thea, and hoped to perhaps see her again in Wadi Rum, fantasizing an epic encounter on top of a red dune in the middle of that vast sandy nothingness. We would continue walking through the harsh desert together and have epic one line conversations every now and then.
I got Thea’s number “in case you need anything” she said, and we said goodbye to her as the bar closed right before midnight.
At midnight, I said goodbye to Reike and Boe, crossing the wide road where the walls of Rafiki hostel asked you lost habibi?
From distance I saw Reike making some weird funny faces back at me, and heard Boe’s indistinguishable shouts, most probably in German.
I went to bed a little intoxicated, but not so much from the Egyptian Stella beer as with everything Dahab promised. I thought I would just pass by, but little did I know I would be so sure of returning.
Thank you Dahab, I’m not as lost any longer. Until next time, inshallah.
