Western Desert safaris are plenty of fun, Pierre Loza discovers, but not for those who expect to be pampered When you ponder a safari trip in Egypt, you are likely to be thinking of a smiling Bedouin offering you habak -scented tea in the shade of a palm-studded oasis -- think again. Less conventional but by far more popular is an altogether different trend -- one that has caught on internationally as an instance of eco-tourism, and one tinted, invitingly, with all the mystery of a lifetime's adventure: desert travel. The prospect of braving the heart of the Western Desert may be anathema to the psychic stability of the average couch potato (for which read "me"), but it is for this reason and no other that even the most unrelenting vegetables find it stimulating enough to be compelling. Black-and-white movie scenarios spring to mind -- what if we are lost? What if we run out of water? Even the least imaginative among us realise that this is a particularly exciting side of Egypt, a far cry from any tried and tested Nile Valley experience. This expedition set out from 6th of October City, where five Land Cruisers welcomed our entourage, their metal shimmering in the morning sun. Such are the precarious instruments of our destiny, I was thinking, until the sight of our crew expertly placing the luggage on top of one car calmed my fears. These were definitely experienced people, efficient and confident in the way they fit the items together like the pieces of a puzzle, securing them in place with cotton belts -- an impression confirmed by the appearance of our distinguished tour guide, Ahmed El-Mistikawi, a border control colonel who took part in two major wars and spent years chasing smugglers on the Libyan frontier. Travelling with a war hero was reassuring in itself: I felt I would be in good hands for the duration of this life-changing emprise. And following instructions, I boarded the vehicle in the company of the driver and two younger wayfarers, one of whom promptly slipped a Bob Marley tape into the cassette player as we headed southeast towards Bahariya Oasis, thus starting the trip on a positive note. Soon enough the raggae-mediated rhapsody of clean, dry air and fossil- and coral-dotted highway was rudely interrupted. The car in front was radioing the rest of the caravan -- a moment of suspense. But the issue was far less weighty than I initially suspected: We had to stop, they said, to allow those who needed to, to answer the call of nature. I chuckled with nervous relief as we were cordially informed that the right side of the road would be for men, the left for women; soon I too would have to resort to such embarrassingly basic measures to relieve myself. If this isn't getting intimate with mother earth, I don't know what is. Three hours later, after a brief stop to obtain government permits, the road steeped down to Bahariya Oasis. Standing 128 metres above sea level, Bahariya has the highest elevation of all the oases in Egypt -- and perhaps the most heterogeneous atmosphere. The town of Bawiti -- the largest of several smaller oases that make up Bahariya -- seems to combine elements of both the countryside and the desert, boasting the mark of both fellah and Bedouin in equal proportions; it has the feel of a port of call, too, bustling with arrivals and departures -- eager emissaries from the four corners of the globe. A brunch of French pastries took the edge off before we resumed our desert-bound course, east of the uninhabited Sitra Oasis (which we were to visit the next day) and past the area in which mobile phones can catch a signal. (It is advisable to phone your loved ones at this point, to tell them you will have no signal while in the desert). That said, with our tour leader's satellite phone, communication was still possible, if only really allowed in case of an emergency. Nor was this our only stake in modern technology during the trip: El-Mistikawi was also equipped with a potentially life-saving GPS (Global Positioning System) that works with satellites as a kind of complex, if not 100 per cent reliable compass. A twinkling piece of machinery. On arrival at the campsite four of our vehicles were parked to make up a three-sided rectangular enclosure which, lined with tent covers, was to form our open-air dining hall. Within minutes the crew -- remarkably versatile workers, as it turned out -- had set up an impromptu kitchen. They handed out numbered tent bags, together with a crash course on how to assemble them, a task with which my newfound desert comrades helped me while dinner was being prepared. Together with the sleeping bag, neatly tucked inside, was a heavy blanket anticipating the frosty desert night. I decided to take a little walk by myself -- amazing how the concerns and tribulations of the city melt away in this pristine stillness. Dinner was served under the wondrous gaze of the stars, with assorted cheeses and sardines as appetisers; the main course was okra stew with tomato sauce, complemented by a creamy spaghetti alfredo to top that of many Cairo restaurants. Towards the end of the meal a huge full moon paid us a visit, a mix of yellow and silver so bright it rendered the torch light redundant. As I surveyed the silver reflections dancing over flat dunes that seemed to rise and fall at will, the surroundings felt so alien to anything I had ever experienced I was on the point of wondering whether I might be on another planet. The effect is uncanny, something to which the hush, the shimmering stars, the sense of limitless space all contribute. After dinner, Siwa-style rugs were spread around a fire in which the roasting of sweet potatoes seemed to punctuate the conversation. It turned out we had another military man in our midst, Mahmoud El-Kaissouni, the organiser of this very trip, in fact, and chairman of the Eco-Tourism Committee of the Egyptian Federation of Tourist Chambers to boot. He impressed fellow campers reminiscing about his experience as a paratrooper coach in the 1973 October War -- moving tales of heroism and longing. But the mood turned jovial as he began to recount early mishaps at the military academy: when it was time to choose which part of the army to join, El-Kaissouni, as earnestly naïve as he was green, was the first volunteer paratrooper, the only member of his class to willingly join. "Pleasantly surprised, the officer instructed me to climb and jump off the top of the wardrobe, using my handkerchief as a parachute -- and I did it." For his part El-Mistikawi made a comment about the desert and human character: "In the desert it's much easier to judge character, because it places people in a situation where every small decision counts." The pace of conversation slackening, I headed straight for my first night in the desert -- a somewhat disorienting experience at first. But soon enough the relative exertion of the day had caught up with me. I don't think I've ever had such sound, infantile sleep in my life. At sunrise we hurried to breakfast, wearing ski hats to counter the chilling breeze: molasses, tahina, honey, cheese, bread and warm fuul, a great cure for the cold. Rubbish was quickly collected and the tents packed up. Back in the cars, we headed southeast again, towards the southern tip of Sitra, essentially a depression occupied by a lake 22km long and 5km wide. Surrounded by marshes and palms as well as limestone elevations -- all of which reflect beautifully in the water -- this is definitely worth a visit. The lake's saline water originates in a freshwater spring underground: it picks up the salt as it comes up; you could even see it rising at the centre, where the surface bubbles quietly. Fennecs and desert wolves are said to quench their thirst at another, as yet undetermined site. Fox excrete encountered on our exploratory walk contained date seeds, however, confirming that the fennecs do thrive on the surrounding palms. The mid-day sun signals the arrival of Sitra's infamous mosquitoes: we were told we should be on our way before this time. Sitra's remoteness and continuous mosquito epidemic are enough reason for it to be uninhabited, though it is a frequent stop on the routes of smugglers -- an intriguing spot. But as we moved southwest, stopping for a lunch concocted in part out of last night's dinner leftovers, already it was time for something altogether more impressive. At the edge of the famed Great Sand Sea, and the lunch break afforded an excellent opportunity to relive my childhood sliding and tumbling down dunes -- effortlessly. Sand- spreading wind cut the fun short, however: since sand particles primarily endanger the eyes, it is a good idea to bring goggles on any desert trip. Moving south, the dunes seemed to rise higher and higher as the car glided on golden silk. The caravan did lose its grip on the road occasionally, but altogether our trek through the sand was as smooth as butter -- everyone should experience this once. I thought of P A Clayton who, together with Lady Clayton- East-Clayton, was the first human being to cross the Great Sand Sea in modern times. Clayton was a member of the British Long Range Desert Group, which conducted operations against Axis forces in WW II, manoeuvring around Axis supply lines that spanned the entire Western Desert. They were the first to use steel beams originally installed as WW I trench roofs to heave vehicles out of sand traps, inventing the mechanism that is used today. If not for Lord Clayton, I thought, we could never make it. This mind-boggling desert phenomenon is not unique to Egypt. The Grand Occidental in Algeria and the Calanscio in Libya are both sand seas as well, but this, the Great Sand Sea, straddling the Egypt-Libya frontier, is the largest in the world, covering 72,000 sq km with dunes as high as 100 metres. Essentially enormous expanses of sand, sand seas are made up of processions of dunes aligned to the air stream, either raising the ground level or dipping into escarpments that tend to face south. The dunes respond to the wind, moving at a rate of 20- 100 metres a year. The longest dune in the Great Sand Sea, known as the Abu Mhara Dune, is 140km long, a barely imaginable feat of the natural world. Sunset on these dunes was sublime enough, however, as we set up camp again. It was a humbling sight before which theego dwindled and spirit, a lost cause of congested roads and neon lights, reigned supreme. It is at times like this, facing those mysterious, endlessly undulating curves that seem to affirm the existence of the infinite, that you realise that office politics or social flusters mean little in the greater scheme of things. The Great Sand Sea must be the driest place on earth, but to the soul it is its own oasis, offering a hint of eternity and unparalleled serenity. Another delicious dinner, another camp fire. This time the party broke spontaneously into song -- old Egyptian numbers that sounded like evidence of the harmony we shared. But by 10pm everyone had crept back into the tent, eager to make the best of the time left before sunrise at 5.30am. A ferocious wind shook the tent all night, the sand thundering against its sides. I was concerned the wind would send it flying off towards the horizon, but the Egyptian-made cotton shelter proudly endured. En route to Table Mountain, crossing a dune so steep it was almost vertical, those of us who had enough faith to stay in the vehicle -- others stepped out to make the descent on foot -- experienced an adrenaline rush to rival that of Disney World's space-mountain rollercoaster. The descent made my heart bound, eliciting a hysterical laugh. Lunch afforded a well-deserved moment of calm as we contemplated the otherworldly rock formations of this colourful mountain terrain. Silver rocks decorated the hilly plane, setting off mammoth peaks of pure gold that serrated the horizon. Another hint at eternity. (All this beauty notwithstanding, it is important to remember that in such a dry, windy climate chapped lips and dehydrated skin can be a nuisance -- remember your chap sticks and moisturisers. Desert is not all dryness, mind you. Subterranean water supplies abound in the Western Desert, easily accessible only in areas of low depression. This water originates in the rains of equatorial Africa and makes its way north through underground fissures, eventually spilling into the Mediterranean. The closer to the source an oasis, the better its supplies of fresh water: Dakhla and Kharga, for example, have more freshwater than Siwa. Salinity notwithstanding, all underwater springs contain medicinally beneficial minerals and gases, which makes them healthy to use. Camp was set up with greater ease now that we were becoming veterans. Three days in the desert and you begin to miss your urban luxuries: the closest you can get to a shower is a quiet spot alone with a spray gun, a task better accomplished during the day to avoid the low temperatures of a winter night. Great for the morale as well as hygiene. We reached Table Mountain later the next morning -- a strange place where spheroid rocks identical to bowling balls express the more jovial side of mother earth. The temptation to bowl is hard to resist, and so we played, breathing oxygen so pure it seemed to reach the bottom of the belly -- the most surreal sporting event in my personal history. Our next stop was to the spring of Ain Dalla, some 10km northeast of Table Mountain. A military intelligence post for smuggling surveillance, the spring is little more than a hole in the ground surrounded by shrubs and palm trees, with two concrete blocks in the vicinity. The importance of the spot is rather in its strategic position 200km from each of Siwa, Bahariya and Farafra, which made it a regular stop on smuggling routes from ancient times to the present. While Libya was under Italian occupation, men and guns often made their way through it in the course of the liberation struggle, which prompted the Italian army to erect a wire fence extending from here all the way to the Libyan oasis of Kufra. With the Sand Sea to the east and the White Desert to the west, Ain Dalla must have saved countless lives through history. Its clear water tastes pleasant -- our first experience of freshwater on this increasingly multi-faceted tour. About 20km east, the almost fantastical rock formations of the White Desert begin to make an appearance. Golden pillars up to 50 metres high pierce the firmament, white peaks recall the snow-covered Alps, inselbergs -- chalk structures rising individually from a level plain, a phenomenon unique to this terrain -- decorate the landscape as you move into the protectorate. Snow-white mushroom-like marvels, inselbergs are known to exist on other planets in our solar system -- but nowhere else on earth. Coming in countless shapes and sizes, they form when plateaus start braking down where the bedrock remains intact, and erosion takes its course. Corals suggest that this area -- home to the highly endangered slender-horned gazelle -- might have been a pre-historic ocean. Setting up camp in the White Desert is an experience unlike any other. Brush the yellow sand and milk-white chalk shows underneath. Following a failed attempt to climb an eroded mountain, dinner was served, followed by gathering around the fire for what was to be our last night in the Western Desert. Even with the sky partly clouded over, the stars gleamed interminably. Our voices echoed through the expanse, evidence to peaceful co-existence with these white wonders. Fending off sleep for as long as I could, I bid one of Egypt's most unadulterated areas a heartfelt farewell, and waking up at dawn progressed with the party eastwards, on the Ain Dalla rubble road, reaching the Oasis Highway in half an hour. So incredibly far from civilisation, we had been that close all along. We stopped in Bahariya for lunch. Bazaar shopping gave me a chance to indulge a secret passion for dates and galabiyas, and the phones were working again. Living up to its environmentally friendly reputation, the trip left no trace in the wilderness: it was time for our crew to dispose of the rubbish we had accumulated throughout now. Only our footprints on sand remained, as El-Kaissouni put it. By 7pm, we were back in 6th of October City, and Cairo managed to engulf us in no time. A trip to the desert is a worthwhile experience beyond doubt, but this is not exactly luxury tourism. The traveller seeking to be pampered should avoid it at all costs. Being prepared for your desert sojourn is key, so is taking the climate into consideration. Anything from clothes to gadgets assumes tremendous importance, for it becomes all you have. Needless to say the raw beauty, the sheer stillness of the desert is sufficient to make up for any relative discomfort. This is the great escape, and for a temporary relief from the hectic life led by most urbanites remains unparalleled. A journey into the desert is a journey into yourself, the allure of its boundless mystery often instigating an inward journey of discovery. This is why it has fascinated people for so long, and will likely also fascinate you.
