Retreat or Transformation

I decided to go on holiday to Dahab, South Sinai in March 2007. I signed up for a yoga retreat held at the Blue Beach Club and tutored by my usual yoga teacher, Mary Niker. I expected the physical rigor and sense of achievement that comes from doing four hours of yoga a day for a week; however Egypt had a major surprise in store for me.

Friends and acquaintances who chatter away endlessly about their lives and experiences were strangely taciturn when I told them I was going to the Red Sea. That is, those who had visited the same area. One sentence responses were the norm; “You’ll find that interesting” being typical, with the stress on “interesting”.

What an understatement!

The journey to Sharm el Shiekh airport involved the usual cattle crush and stressed-out airline staff at Gatwick, though the flight itself was blessedly chilled and relaxed. Five hours later, we touched down toward the end of the Egyptian day. The sun was low on the horizon and a light wind blew. In common with all the countries I’ve visited, Egypt has her own smell. In this case, a sweetish, spicy smell redolent of long, warm summer evenings and the faint remembrance of ladies’ perfume.

It took a while to get out the airport, but soon my friend Adrienne and I found our contact and started the long journey to Dahab. It takes about and hour and a half by car along a single, dart straight road cut across the Sahara desert. I couldn’t see much as dusk had slammed shut as it does near the equator, leaving a cloudless, star filled night. The chatter soon faded away as we strained to make sense of the landscape and the sheer scale of the dunes either side of the wide swathe leveled for the road.

Yoga classes started the following morning and we soon made friends with the other members of the retreat over breakfast afterward. Then I got to take my first walk along the sea front. A strong yet soft wind blew that kept the mosquitoes at bay. The Egyptians meet you eye to eye in a way that would make most Brits feel very uncomfortable but it reaps major rewards if you can resist the urge to look away as it opens conversations in a way nothing else does.

The sea front at Dahab has a very narrow strip of rocky beach that opens straight onto coral reef. Indeed, Dahab itself is probably best known for its excellent diving opportunities and for being a former hippy town. The shops and restaurants along the front are all low rise, keeping a very human proportion to the place. Many of the restaurants straddle the main path with a western style table and chair room on the landward side and an open-air, Arabic carpet and cushion area on the beach itself.

My yoga group spent a lovely evening eating at one such open-air restaurant. The wind was broken by traditional design rugs hung from a wooden framework and the air heated by fire-pits lined with a double row of I-section breeze blocks. Seating was created by covering tree trunks with a couple of layers of rugs topped with large throw cushions. Those who chose fish were escorted to a large tank to pick their own so freshness was not exactly an issue!

The beach is absolutely inundated with cats. I found myself with an unexpected dinner date the moment I sat down. He was glossily black and leant himself against my thigh. I very gingerly held out a hand for him to sniff but need not have worried about tooth or claw as he immediately rubbed his whisker pads against my knuckles before setting to work washing my fingers with his sandpaper tongue.

The cats were generally surprisingly well behaved, and waited until plates were taken from the low table and placed on then floor before clearing away all that you couldn’t manage, including the broccoli and cucumber. One of my fellow yogis committed a cardinal sin and managed to drop some meat he’d been feeding the cats with onto Mary’s pet vice – an expensive pair of leather boots! I’m sure he was made to pay for this in all the subsequent yoga sessions.

I sat staring out across the Red Sea after the meal and noticed a golden glow just in the gap between two of the hills across the water in Saudi Arabia. As I watched, it rose like a hot air balloon and slowly lost redness to a blue-silver full moon.

You are exhorted to come and eat or drink as you pass each and every restaurant. Each seller’s technique varies but almost inevitably will include a compliment on your appearance that is so sincerely delivered that you cannot help but feel that you are indeed, the most womanly of women. This is also done with such charm that you never feel threatened. I must admit however, that one vendor was so overcome by Ady’s curves, that he quite forgot himself and replaced the naval jewelry she was trying on (in?) with his tongue until she assailed his ears with some robust Anglo-Saxon!

There were a number of special outings planned for those interested. I forwent the two day trip to Wadi Arrada on the basis that I didn’t have the correct gear for it though Ady went and I look forward greatly to seeing her photographs. I did, however, spend an evening in the desert with Bedouin hosts, eating traditional food and getting a belly dancing lessen from two very interesting and completely mad American ladies.

One of the American ladies, Francine (name changed), has led an amazing life. She has lived in the Middle East for a number of years, first as a photographer with the American and then with the Israeli army. She related a little of her experiences serving in Palestine and how she went from being “a typically politically ignorant yank” to having her eyes opened by the level of child abuse she witnessed and the realization that she had been “serving the wrong government”. From this, I took it to mean that she was using allusion to cover her true religious allegiance due to the company we were in.

In the course of this conversation, I mentioned that I had sought out a good translation of the Koran when the second Iraq war started in order to gain a better understanding for myself. I told her that I had been amazed to find out that it was written as a huge poem and that how different the translations into English were between the three scholars translating the same verses were. That how I would no longer misunderstand why there were such divisions between Islamic groups over the true interpretation as a result. She exhorted me to go further, to read some of the original Hebrew stories that have been carried forward though both the Bible and the Koran.

I also told her that I had spend the last couple of years trying to re-discover and re-build myself due to having undergone a lot of stress in the six years preceding and having lost myself somewhere in the process of caring for my father during his last illness. I mentioned that I had become aware of a spiritual vacuum in me but that I didn’t really understand exactly what it was that was missing in my life. She described this as a God hole and encouraged me to track down a copy of an out of print book (that I think is called Genesis and Creation) that addresses faith for those of a scientific mind (I had told her the reasons for my agnosticism were largely that of lack of empirical evidence).

I hadn’t realized before I went that the Sahara is stone desert near Dahab, nor that it would be so full of colours. Ady told me later that it was once sea floor and that there were a surprising array of minerals in the rock; everything from chalk to pumice and back. I got my first proper look for myself when Mary and I dug a tunnel toward the end of the week and went on a pilgrimage to St. Catherine’s Monastery on Mount Sinai together. This journey takes the best part of two hours each way by road and passes through a number of military check-points. Our driver told me that the journeys with us took longer than those without as most of the ‘security check’ was about checking out the women in the car rather than ensuring we weren’t drug runners or paramilitaries!

I admit that St. Catherine’s itself did not move me, however the desert was incredible. I’m not normally attracted to barren landscapes, but the Sahara drew me in like a Siren. The broad area cleared for the road enables you to gaze miles into the distance and the immediately adjacent dunes can be seen from base to tip such that their scale hits you square in the face. Our driver drew our attention to a flash of green. The very topmost fronds of oasis palms could just be seen peeking between two dunes. The air is clear, dry and faintly scented. We stopped once for a photo opportunity and were immediately surrounded by young Bedouin girls wanting to sell us some of their hand-made jewelry. In between trying to persuade me to give them my own ear-rings that is!

A Turkish Bath-house opened on Dahab sea front just three months before. The hotel manager, Ian, had not yet visited it himself so tasked Mary and I to act as hotel Ambassadors with the final instruction of “try everything”. Well, who could resist?

To say this was an interesting experience would be to understate things considerably. I have never been so pampered for so long by such truly gorgeous young men! I could have done with the endless cold showers being a little warmer, but the salt scrub, soaping and follow-up oil massage were divine and performed with such care and attention to detail you couldn’t help but feel loved and honored.

My second visit to the baths saw a moment’s inattention on my part result in falling off a marble slab and nearly dislocating my right shoulder. I was covered from head to foot in soap at the time but admit to being distracted by an ear-to-ear smile with dimples to die for! The owner of said smile virtually threw himself under me to prevent me cracking my head on some marble steps. Fortunately for him I had already stopped but not before landing rather awkwardly on my forearm.

The owner, Tamer, is a trained therapeutic masseur, so he led me back to the Jacuzzi and fetched a large chunk of ice before taking over my oil massage so that he could work on my wrenched arm.

Now whether it was the sad love songs playing in background or the care being lavished on me or both, but I got a little teary. Tamer sat me up and made me explain what was wrong. I tried to demur with a simple statement that I’d been through a lot in recent years and that it’s effects were taking time to leave me, however he gently but firmly insisted on details. I gave him a short, bullet style list of the preceding 6 years :

• Finding my father lying naked in his own waste after he’d suffered a stroke.
• Having to attend job interviews to retain my own job whilst my father was in hospital
• Finding out that I’m at risk of retinal detachment in both eyes
• Spending five years selling my home to a property developer and sharing it with rats for the final six months.
• Losing my father, grand-father, and close aunt within six months of each other.
• Undergoing four exploratory surgeries to try and resolve some gynaecological issues.
• Finding out that a birth defect means I will never have children.

Tamer asked me to consider that maybe God had been testing me and that in denying me a family he may actually have been saving me; that I may have had an ungrateful, rebellious child who would have broken my heart. It was at this point I noticed he was wearing a crucifix.

He then told me that he’d had a troubled relationship with his own father in the past and related the following story.

One day he’d been fighting with his father and had stormed out of the family home. As he stood on the street ranting, and old man (well over 100 years old) sat across the road asked him why he was wearing an ugly face. Tamer asked him what he meant. The old man explained that he meant the frowning and shouting. Tamer explained himself and tried to justify his behavior, but the old man cut across him and asked what he would do if his path on a long journey were blocked with a stone. Tamer responded that there were many things he could do. When pressed, he suggested picking up the stone, climbing over it, or going around it. The old man asked why he didn’t simply pick it up and throw it over his shoulder. Tamer nodded to show he agreed that was something else one could do but it was clear he didn’t rate this method any more or less than those he’d suggested. The old man saw this and explained that as you continue on your journey there will be many stones. Picking up each simply increases the load you carry until, one day, you can move no further. By throwing each stone over your shoulder you leave yourself light and free to move. You are also less likely to turn back as you know that to do so will involve having to clear all those stones out of your way a second time.

Tamer then continued with my massage, asking that I concentrate on the feel of his hands. I didn’t ask, but I suspect he is also a healer as I could feel energy being transferred to me as he ran his hands above my skin along routes I know acupuncturists consider meridians.

Later, wrapped in big, pink, fluffy towels and drinking a cup of Hibiscus tea, Tamer invited me out to dinner. This turned out to be a lovely evening, eating on cushions overlooking the Red Sea, accompanied both by Tamer and by the local Sheikh and his family. Oh, and of course, the obligatory Egyptian cat or two!

Talking of animals, I was very impressed by the overall health and vitality of the animals we saw, be they stray or owned. Camels, horses, dog, and cats were all slim, trim, glossy-coated, and full of energy. Every morning saw horses being exercised on the beach, including a sweet little baby, and a run away adolescent camel with mischief in its eyes.

Prior to my dinner date, I went to the late afternoon yoga class. Mary had scheduled the morning sessions as work outs and the afternoon ones as more relaxing and restorative. I had found it increasingly difficult to stick to my healthy eating plan and to do yoga without it being a struggle for some months previously. Savasana and meditation had become almost impossible as every attempt found me so full of emotion that I’d start to cry. One of my fellow students led a particular form of deep relaxation (yoga nidra) at the end of this session. I found I could not listen to her as far from encouraging me to feel love for myself, feelings of rage and sorrow welled up. I just about managed to hold on until the roof-top shala was empty but then I sobbed my heart out. Adrienne bear-hugged me, stroked my hair and rocked me in her arms until I was dry heaving. She then folded me over a stack of cushions and rugs whilst she fetched some tissues. Mary joined us at this point, herself suffering from traveler’s tummy. She explained she’d needed the loo and knew Ady would help me else she would have been there herself as she could tell I was at breaking point. She then turned to Ady and said softly that I hadn’t had enough love as a child. Needless-to-say, my eyes are filling again as I write this.

The same night as the dinner in the desert also found me in conversation with a Bedouin gentleman in the hotel bar and my fellow yogini, June. He had originally come over as he was confused by Francine’s attire, it being a mixture of several tribal traditions. There was nasty moment or two between Francine and this man as she felt like she was being harassed. We explained to him after she left that she had told us earlier that all too often men use her profession as an excuse for getting fresh and that she had over-reacted. It turned out that this man had traveled the globe, writing about belly dancing and had had a genuine interest.

As we were leaving the bar, I felt moved to tell him how amazed I was by Dahab and that it had a very weird effect on the mind. The place seems to strip away all the rubbish in your life and make you focus on what is truly important, to the point that it even seems to become redundant to finish sentences when engaging in small talk. He smiled a soft, knowing look and told us a story about the Bedouin approach to life.

The nomadic lifestyle of the Bedouin sees them traveling vast distances across the Sahara, traditionally by camel and more latterly by battered old jeep (trust me, Egyptian flag-down “Taxis” are a whole lifetime’s experience in their own right!).

The Bedouin say that you have two choices when lading a camel for your journey. You can acquire possessions and take them wherever you go or you can eschew material possessions and travel light. If you chose the former, your days are longer as you have to spend time collecting your possessions, loading them, and then the reverse at the end of the day. You find you travel a shorter distance than you would like to each day as your camel is having to do a lot of work and is slower as a result. You may find that you have to walk more yourself as your camel cannot carry both you and your belongings. As the days pass, you will travel shorter and shorter distances as the number of your possessions increases, burdening your camel further. Eventually, you may stop moving altogether. Conversely, unburdening yourself of the material means that you and your camel can travel further for longer and allows you to get to where you want to go.

My final day in Dahab was very full. Ady and I went to do some shopping and picked up some wall hangings and loads of dried herbs, spices and Hibiscus tea. The carpet vendor who sold us our wall hangings was very helpful, escorting us both to the cash point when we realized we need more Egyptian pounds. Ayman also took us both to the local pharmacy so that Ady could pick up the local remedy for traveler’s tummy. She’d managed to suffer quite hard from this despite following advice to only drink bottled water from sealed bottles and to avoid eating any filter-feeding sea food. I went to do more shopping on my own as Ady needed to lie down. Ayman caught me on the way back and made me sit in the shade as the wind had finally died down and the mid-day temperatures were steadily climbing. He then left me alone in his shop whilst he went to collect a bottle of water for me. We talked for what seemed like ages and then he invited me to lunch. We went to a fish bar were I hastily declined the “opportunity” to select my own fish as the smell of cooking was making me queasy. I have no idea what half the dishes were but all was very flavourful. Ayman murmured a prayer to Allah before he ate then stripped my fish of its skin for me. I felt awful having to dash away almost mid-meal but I only had an hour before my lift back to the airport.

As I stood waiting for my lift, I had final conversations with staff and fellow yogis. The last was with Ian, the hotel manager. After about a minute, I realized I had stopped speaking mid-sentence and that Ian was staring at me with a knowing look. I apologized, saying that Dahab had seemingly given me brain failure. He just smiled, “it has that effect on everyone”.

I was very glad that I also had the following week off work as I was still very emotional. The week left me feeling like I had been having visions all week. Messages about loving yourself, about discarding the inconsequential from your life, and about the true meaning of unconditional love were repeated again and again all week. So much so, that I am convinced that God was speaking to me through the people I met. Egypt cracked me open and left me stripped to essentials. I know I have to go back.

This finally fully sank in as I took an early morning walk along the quieter end of the sea front on the Friday morning. There was a local standing thigh deep in the water. He was dressed in a simple cotton shirt and trousers, rolled to the knees. In his hands, the trawl net he was pulling in from between reef banks. I felt a strong sense of history as I stood watching him.

I hope that I was able, in some measure, to return the hospitality I received from everyone I met. In particular, I hope that the head waiter at the hotel finds peace over the hard decision he has to make in his life.

There is a footnote to my visit that is still making me smile as it underlines the irrepressible charm exhibited by all the Egyptian males I met, cats included.

I was going through customs at Sharm el Shiekh airport when the alarm on the body arch sounded. I thought it must be some metal on me but, no, the guard wanted clarification on one of the bottles of fluid I was carrying in my plastic bag (as per current security requirements). I mimed spraying myself with perfume and then sniffed the stopper. After a couple more seconds of confusion, I worked out that he wanted me to spray some into the palm of his hand. He sniffed then looked me straight in the eye, his own twinkling, and said “Beautiful”!

Shukran, Dahab!

Fiona Wilson 28/03/2007

Associated Photos

Fiona Wilson Page 1 of 6 28/03/2007