Dahab, Egypt

It was nearly midnight by the time we reached Dahab. We checked into our hotel, exhausted from the plane trip and subsequent taxi ride that had brought us here. Though we were tired we felt the coastline calling to us, and figured a quiet cup of tea and a leisurely stroll would help us relax before bedtime.

Walking out towards the water I felt an immediate sense of relief. After two and a half weeks in the hot desert sun, it felt so good to be by the water again. The darkness of the night was punctured by the dim and colorful lights of the restaurants that lined the stone pedestrian pathway. A cool, relaxing breeze drifted in from the water and the mellow sounds of jazzy flutes lilted out from nearby speakers to massage the last remnants of stress and over stimulation from my brain.

Scrap everything I've said about Egypt when it comes to this place. Dahab is different. There are no ruins here, no great architectural masterpieces. The closest thing to a historical monument this area has is the mighty Mt. Sinai where Moses was given the Ten Commandments. And though there are some hucksters here trying to hustle you into their restaurant or souvenir shop, for the most part everyone in Dahab is too busy relaxing and enjoying life to be all that aggressive.

The tourism industry in this area has evolved around scuba diving, which is of course why we came here. Clear back when I took my first PADI Open Water course in Honduras my instructor Joel had entertained us all with his stories about the diving in the Red Sea. My exotic fantasy about Egypt combined with the beautiful undersea pictures he painted with his words made this a place I had to visit.

The most infamous dive site in Dahab is the Blue Hole, which has the dubious honor of having the most fatalities of any dive site in the world. This tunnel of water descends an astonishing 130 meters deep into the sea, and the endless blue that surrounds one when immersed in it makes it hard to get your bearings, much less know which way is up.

One look at the Wikipedia article on the Blue Hole is enough to scare anyone out of the water and onto the nearest patch of dry desert. But the truth of the matter is most of these fatalities are from Tech-Divers, a special breed of undersea adventurer who use mixed gasses to descend to levels that make most recreational divers shudder at the very thought.

For recreational divers, the Blue Hole is just an exit point from a long drift dive along a nearby reef shelf called El Bells. This dive, though rather deep, is slow and easy with a beautiful wall of coral which serves the double purpose of helping with orientation, and give you something interesting to look at while you're diving.

Other nearby sites include the fantastic Ras Abu Gulum, a much less busy area which is only reachable by an hour long camel ride from Dahab. Besides the wide expanse of the sea, the only thing out there are a few Bedouin tents and couple of squat toilets. An afternoon in Ras Abu Gulum is enough to make Dahab seem noisy and bustling. The diving is pristine at these sites, and though there are not as many fish, turtles, or other large sea creatures, the corals are among some of the most diverse and beautiful I've ever seen.

Dahab also allows easy access to the marine park of Ras Mohammed, where hammerhead sharks are often spotted, and the wreck of the SS Thistlegorm. Though I didn't get to see any sharks, I took the opportunity to make a once in a lifetime wreck dive.

The Thistlegorm is a WWII boat that lies 30 meters below the water's surface on a sandy bottom. It was discovered by undersea explorer Jacques Costeau in the 1950's, but he kept the location a secret and it was only re-discovered again recently in the mid 1990's. Since then it has become one of the Red Sea's most popular dive site due to the length of the ship and the diversity of it's intact cargo. Rotting away inside the enormous belly of it's hull are British BSA motorcycles, army jeeps, and dozens of rifles. I don't normally enjoy wreck dives all that much, as these kinds of sites are normally silty with poor visibility. But if one is an experienced enough diver, exploring the SS Thistlegorm is well worth the time and money.

As inevitably happens when we visit diving meccas, we stayed longer than we had anticipated. A full three weeks in fact. These three weeks represent the single longest amount of time we've spent in any single place on our entire journey. We probably would have stayed longer if we hadn't already overstayed our visas. Coming to Dahab saved Egypt from being a complete let down for us. And actually gave us a reason to want to come back.

The Thing About Egypt...

I'd been waiting my entire life to come to Egypt. I mean really, who hasn't dreamed about visiting the land of the Pharaoh's? Who hasn't romanticized standing on the edge of a sand dune, gazing across the desert landscape into the eyes of the enigmatic Sphinx? Or pictured themselves puzzling over hieroglyphics at the temples of Luxor or Karnak? Egypt is more than just a destination for tourism, it is a pilgrimage site where we as a society go to explore our collective fascination with the mysteries of the ancient world. Unfortunately, it is a lousy place to travel.

First let's start with something positive. Egypt has some rather stunning history, and fabulous monuments. The ancient pharaoh's propensity for burying vast amounts of treasure along with them inside their tombs has lead to some of the most dramatic archeological finds in history. In addition Egypt's hot and dry desert climate has preserved monuments like the Great Pyramid and the temples at Abu Simbel in a way that the humid jungles in Guatemala and Cambodia do not.

These stunning pieces of architecture, along with the countries relative closeness to mainland Europe, helped to make Egypt the original tourist destination. Long before air travel opened the world up to mass tourism, people were brought here by the lure of ancient history and exotic culture.

Unfortunately tourism in Egypt has become a victim of it's own success, because no matter how neglected these sites become, or how difficult and bureaucratic travel here is made, people will still come. After all, it's the pyramids, right?.

And believe me, when you first see them in person, approaching from a distance, the pyramids are impressive. But nothing could match the disappointment I felt when I got close enough to see the ring of empty water bottles and other rubbish that encircled the base of these magnificent tombs. Nothing perhaps, but the irritation I felt at being unable to walk even five feet without being harassed by someone who wanted me to take their picture for a fee, or sell me water at horrendously inflated prices.

Now don't get me wrong, I know every world monument has it's touts, but Egypt is the only place I've ever traveled where they are allowed into the monument sites themselves. Places like Tikal and Angkor wisely keep the harassment outside, at the entrance to sites. Once you push your way past the throngs of pitchmen you are allowed to explore these places in relative peace. Egypt however has no such rules. And let me tell you, it's hard to contemplate the wonder of these buildings when someone is shouting in your face to try to sell you a tacky wooden statue of a cat.

It seems like no one here cares about anything. That there's no sense of pride in a job well done. As long as it's done, that's all that matters. The Egyptian Museum, the building that houses all of the country's most precious artifacts, is a jumble of displays with seemingly little order or relative information. Any text that does attempt to explain what you're looking at is likely to be typewritten on a faded, yellowing piece of paper that hasn't been touched in thirty years. It's great to see amulets and sarcophagus that are thousands of years old, but the lack of information here makes what could otherwise be a rich experience, shallow. I learned more about ancient Egypt in one afternoon at London's British Museum than in my whole trip to Egypt.

Then of course, there's the heat.

It would be a dull and obvious statement to say that Egypt is hot, especially in the summertime. But it's hard to precisely explain how mind-numbingly, lethargy-inducingly, patience-shorteningly hot it really is. Amanda and I often found ourselves noting that an evening felt cool only to check her thermometer and realize it was still above 90 degrees Fahrenheit. That's how bloody hot it was.

This unrelenting heat led to the sad fact that we spent nearly all our time we weren't exploring sites, holed up in our hotel with the air conditioning on the highest setting. It is with great shame that I admit that on more than one occasion we found ourselves eating at McDonald's because it was the only air conditioned restaurant we could find.

Upon arrival in Egypt any westerner will find themselves set upon by throngs of touts. I'm no stranger to enthusiastic sales people, having endured the tuk-tuk drivers of Bangkok and DVD hawkers in Kuala Lumpur's Chinatown. But the Egyptians have an exceptionally irritating way of pitching their sales. The following is a characteristic example of an interaction

Tout: “Excuse me my friend, carriage ride?”
Tourist (Politely): “No thank you.”
Tout (Angrily): “Why not?”
Tourist (Still Politely): “Thank you, but I'm just out for a walk.”
Tout (Following the tourist down the street): “Maybe later?”
Tourist (Growing Irritated But Trying to Remain Kind): “Probably not, sorry.”
Tout (Shouting now): “Why don't you want to ride in my carriage?”

At this point in the interaction the tourist may be lucky enough that the tout will leave them alone. However it is important to note that this is often not the case at all, and they will frequently be further pursued. It is also important to emphasise that even if the tout in the above example does leave them alone, then the helpless tourist will immediately be subjected to a nearly identical interaction with the next carriage driver, taxi jock, or junk souvenir peddler on the street, ad infinitum. Even when you find someone who seems to be on the up-and-up, to finally be willing to help you, to be willing to give you directions to where you want to go, or help you in some other way, look out. More than likely they're going to lead you to their perfume shop, or demand baksheesh, or some other such petty and frustrating trick. In Egypt that everyone has their own agenda in mind.

In their defense though, it must be noted that the desperate in-your-face style of salesmanship the Egyptians favor is a direct reflection of their poor economic standing. With nearly 20% unemployment and little in the way of viable natural resources the Egyptians should be given some leeway. And though as a traveler here it often seems that everyone feels entitled to a piece of your good fortune, it is remarkable how low the violent crime rate really is. In Egypt you're certain to be cheated on an almost daily basis, but nearly no one is ever robbed, even in a big city like Cairo. Take that New York.

You might get the impression from what I've written that we never had a good time in Egypt. This however, isn't entirely true. There were still several highlights such as our camping trip out to the western desert, or seeing the beautiful and mysterious temples at Abu Simble. But the overall experience of coming here was frustrating, exhausting, and ultimately defeating. I'd been waiting my whole life to go to Egypt, and in a way, I'm glad I did. Because now that I've been there, I'll never have to go back again.

Goreme, Turkey

I awoke with a start from my heavy slumber as a tinny arrival announcement burst from a speaker above me. I turned my neck with some difficulty, stiff from sleeping upright during the bus ride that had lasted all the previous night. My head still swimming with sleep, I stared out the window at the sloping rose colored canyons rolling by. Still and smooth they stood as they had for millions of years, like a rumpled blanket thrown across the horizon, waiting to be smoothed by the hands of God. The sun had only just begun to creep it's way up into the eastern skyline, and it's dim light cast eerie shadows across the valley. I reached over, shaking Amanda awake just in time for the bus to turn a corner and descend into wonderland.

It was like something out of a sci-fi novel. Scattered across the landscape were a series of craggy rock formations, that rose into the sky like giant ant hills. Not merely mountains, high up in these peaks were a multitude of deeply carved windows and passageways, that had been chiseled into the soft rock by men who thousands of years ago had called these hills their homes. Above it all hot air balloons hung, silently suspended over the strange, alien landscape.

Few places in the world are capable of eliciting the same sense of mystery as Cappadocia. It's history as a Christian refuge from the 4th to 11th centuries has led to countless sites for travelers to explore both above and below the ground. Besides the endless homes and monasteries built into the soft volcanic rock, and the beautiful hiking within the valleys themselves, there are also vast underground cities that descend over twenty levels deep that were used to hide from enemies during times of war. It's unique and otherworldly. In fact Cappadocia is so visually striking it was infamously used as the set for an alien world in the Turkish film The Man Who Saves the World (aka Turkish Star Wars).

Most travelers here, ourselves included, use the village of Goreme as a base for exploring the area. This village may be one of the few frequented destinations on earth that remains somehow unspoilt by mass tourism. Sure there are countless hotels and restaurants with kitschy names and pushy salesman, but equal to tourism this towns secondary economy is agriculture. And beneath all the the carpet shops and tour guides, beats the uninterrupted heart of village life that remains nearly the same today as it did a hundred years ago. It's not unusual to to see horse driven carriages lumber by bogged down with piles of hay, or to find the small path that leads to your hotel blocked by goats or cattle being herded through the winding cobblestone roads.

Speaking of hotels, one of the unique features of lodging in Goreme is the ability to stay in a cave hotel. These are newly built renditions of the ancient cave dwellings of early Christians. Here modern architecture meets ancient magic as rock forms ooze into brick and mortar like a thick, hardened batter. Cool inside, even on a hot day, these rooms are comfortable and unique, albeit a little musty.

Summer afternoons in Goreme are aboslutely perfect for exploring the surrounding area on foot. Paths connect the beauty of Pigeon Valley, Honey Valley, Rose Valley, and Love Valley together, making for an easy, three to four hour long trek. Evenings can be spent in one of the town's restaurants sampling local wines or taking in a peformance of traditional Turkish folk music. One could easily spend at least a week here, if not more, but sadly we only spent four days. Thankfully though, this is one destination I'm certain I'll be coming back to someday.

Mediterranean Coast, Turkey

Among our wish list of things we were hoping to do while in Turkey was a cruise along the Mediterranean. Upon arrival though, we realized how much more expensive traveling here would be than we'd anticipated. We quickly had to readjust our budget, nearly doubling it from what we had been spending in Asia. Any hope of doing any boating, scuba diving, or other such activities was quickly forsaken in favor of day to day expenses such as food, lodging, and entry fees to sites.

We found ourselves pleasantly surprised however, when we investigated the costs involved in one these, Blue Cruises, as they call them. Without much trouble we were able to find a three night, four day boat trip from Fethiye to Olimpos that, at just over US$200 per person, didn't completely bust our budget.

The boat itself was a beautiful yacht made of honey colored wood with eight small cabins, a loud, powerful motor, and sadly neglected sailing masts. The Captain, Osman, was a bit of a pirate. A madcap figure who started cracking beers before the boat even left the harbor and spent most of our four days on board drunkenly muttering to himself or singing along to the radio while he steered the ship. Thankfully the waters that line the coast are far more forgiving than the steep and winding roads that edge along them, and our Captain's enthusiasm for alcohol did not seem to heavily effect his ability to navigate.

Day after day we woke late, eating a light breakfast and marveling at our new surroundings. The coastline was a series of tiny ports, pebble beaches, and rocky cliffs, many of which were adorned with castles, or ancient ruins. The waters were an incredible turquoise blue, and in mid-June, comfortably warm to swim in. The high salt content of the water makes for exceptional buoyancy, and though I'm not the strongest of swimmers, I was still able to cover some exceptional distances without the aid of swimming fins.

I could describe our long conversations with other travelers, the infinite rounds of backgammon, or the hours spent reading in the hot mid-day sun, but I won't. To do so would be a betrayal of the spirit of laziness we partook in for those four days. Instead I will let the pictures that accompany this post augment the brevity of text, and instead will simply say that anyone who travels to this part of the world should do themselves a favor and book themselves a similar cruise. At just over US$50 a day, you really can't afford not to.

the Turkish Bath

An important part of every visit to Turkey is at least one trip to a public bath, or hamam. Hamams are everywhere in Turkey. There is at least one if not more in every city or small town, and you can usually spot them by their multi-domed bulbous exteriors. The tradition of the public bath was introduced here nearly two millenniums ago when the Roman Empire took control of the region. The Turks took such an affinity to the concept, that over time it has become an important and permanent fixture in their culture.

I chose to have my first hamam experience in the town of Selchuk after a long, dusty day exploring the ancient ruins of Ephesus. It was around 9pm on a Saturday night when I wandered in and made my way up the front desk.

The proprietor, a tall, salt and pepper haired man with a bulbous red nose helped my lock my valuables in a drawer and handed me a red checkered towel and a pair of sandals.

“Changing area.” he said to me, and pointed at a closet-sized room.

Closing the curtain I removed my clothes, wrapped the towel around my waist and slipped on the sandals. More than a little self-conscious, I exited the room and headed into the bathing area.

The domed interior of the room I entered was incredibly high and every surface was constructed of smooth marble that rippled around the place in great grey and white streaks. Directly underneath the dome was a smooth octagonal bench where people could sit or lay down to enjoy the great amounts of steam that filled the interior, and the walls were lined with a series of private wash stations.

It took me a moment to adjust to the heat and the humidity. There was only one other patron, an older man with grey hair and what would have been a long, proud mustache if it weren't dangling limply below his chin from over-exposure to great amounts of steam. He smiled kindly at me as I lumbered over to the bathing area and began to clean myself off.

After washing I sat on the marble slab beneath the dome and closed my eyes, breathing deeply and absorbing the steam. Before long I began to sweat profusely. The old man had vacated the room while I was washing, and since I had been left alone I tested the acoustics of the interior with a satisfyingly resonant hum.

It was around twenty minutes later that a tall, fat man lumbered slowly into the room, his eyes resting on me as he paused in the doorway. His large round belly hung out over the red and white checkered towel that was tied around his waist, and a shock of black hair grew straight up from his potato shaped head reaching a height that seemed to defy the laws of gravity.

A man of few words he pointed to a slab of marble to the right of the room's entrance and growled at me through a thick eastern accent, “Lay down.”

At this point in my story, I suppose I should lend some context to what was about to happen. Contrary to what you may be thinking this was not one of “those kinds” of bath houses. Shame on you for even thinking it. In Turkish baths after one has properly pressure cooked by steam, they receive what is called a soap massage from one of the attendants. During this process one lays down on a stone slab while a they are lathered up, massaged, and then scrubbed down with a kese, a cloth glove that looks vaguely like a kitchen mitt and feels roughly like a loofah sponge.

“Where you from?” asked the attended as he covered my skin with thick, foamy suds. Before I could reply he popped my spine three times with his great ham-like hands.

“...America.” I responded weakly.

He grunted at me and proceeded to massage my arms and legs with soap, finally rubbing the lather into my hair and scalp, effectively making me feel like a toddler getting a bath from my parents.

Once he had completed lathering me, he next put on his kese and began to scrub my body. Though the texture of the cloth is quite rough, it is not a painful or unpleasant experience. In fact, I found it to be quite relaxing.

“You are dirty. Very dirty,” the attendant grumbled.

I wondered momentarily if this was his idea of pillow talk until I saw the skin he was rubbing from me coming off in thick, grey clumps. I was indeed dirty. Very dirty.

After he had finished with me, the attendant pointed towards a shower at the corner of the room. “Cold shower,” he ordered me.

The ice cold water was for a moment like razors on my skin, but once I had adjusted to it the temperature felt quite pleasant, and when I was finished rinsing off my body radiated intensely against the heat of the room.

“You want oil massage?” the attendant asked, the tone he took made it seem less like an offer and more like a threat, and the idea of being further manhandled by his tree trunk arms was a bit more than I could bear.

“No, thank you.” I replied, and forced a weak smile.

Once outside the steam room, the proprietor of the hamam wrapped my head and body in soft green towels and sat me in front of a television with a cup of hot tea where I endured watching part of a surreal Turkish film about a farmer who had no arms.

Though the entire experience was a little disconcerting at the time, for the next two days I must admit to feeling unbelievably fresh. My skin was clean in a way that no amount of simple showering and washing could ever hope to achieve, and I began to understand why the hamam is such a popular phenomenon within Turkish culture. I might not recommend the experience to everyone, but it is certainly not one I will soon forget.

Archeology - Behind the Scenes in Istanbul

“Istanbul is one giant archaeological site,” Jonesy explained to us, “Every time they try to start a construction project somewhere they discover some palace or other something that's thousands of years old. They can't complete the project until the whole thing has been excavated. That's what happened here. They're trying to build a subway system, and they found the remains of an ancient shipyard.”

Michael Jones, Jonesy to his friends, is an archaeologist with an unfortunate last name for someone in his chosen field. He is a student of Texas A&M University, and a childhood friend of my girlfriend Amanda. He is tall and lanky, with long brown hair, thick glasses, and an even thicker beard. At first glance he looks more likely to be a cult leader than a p.h.D. student, but when talking to him it quickly becomes obvious that he is an expert in his field. Michael Jones has that rare blend of intelligence, enthusiasm, and patience that make for a dedicated researcher.

For the last three years Jonesy has been living in Turkey while working on his degree, and helping his Professor excavate Byzantine era ships. Every time he starts thinking about going home, they seem to dig up something new and exciting and he ends up staying longer. When we initially discussed coming to Turkey to visit him, he was talking about leaving at the end of summer. By the time we got here, he'd pushed it off until Christmas.

It was a cloudy and overcast day in early summer when Jonesy took us for a behind the scenes look at the world of archeology. The excavation site he works on is huge, loud and dirty. Full of construction equipment, and workers wearing rain boots, helmets, and orange safety vests. The subway construction still proceeds on as much of the site as possible, but at this point the real bulk of the area still seems dedicated to the shipyard research project. So far they've discovered thirty-one ancient ships on the site, making it one of the largest discoveries of it's kind.

Archeology is not sexy work, no matter what George Lucas and Steven Spielberg would have you think. To avoid further decay, the wooden wrecks of these ancient vessels must be kept wet while researchers document the exact state they were found in. Weeks are spent slogging through damp earth, photographing and drawing wet wood. Since the site is below sea level, the area fills up with water at night and the workers have to spend each morning removing the excess liquid; a process Jonesy crassly refers to as “pumping out your mudhole.”

To better understand and learn from the ships they dig up, the archaeologists here need to become versed in ancient construction methods and nautical engineering. They have to understand what typifies the building methods of certain eras, and what makes those methods different when compared to the ships they find here. This knowledge allows them to pick out advances within eras and enables them add context to the broader historical timeline of building technology.

In addition to the ships found here, they have also dug up huge numbers of smaller, but still significant artifacts. Many of the most interesting pieces are already on display at the Istanbul Archaeological Museum, but they are constantly discovering more. In a temporary on-site office, Jonesy rummaged through a bucket pulling out zip-lock baggies filled with water where they store these artifacts. Wooden buttons, game pieces made of bone, hair brushes. Ordinary objects that serve as clues about every day life centuries ago.

“People back then used the harbor as a trash dump.” he said, “So we find all kinds of stuff that people threw away. sometimes we'll find multiples of items together that we think fell from shipping boats when they were being unloaded. We found a whole stack of plates the other day. That was pretty good.”

Less sensitive objects like the bits of pottery they unearth almost daily, are stored in short plastic bins that are stacked all over the site. There are so many of these kinds of objects that the majority of them will not be kept once they have been cataloged. Instead they will be reburied in tidy landfills of ancient rubbish.

Real archeology, just like any other kind of research, is a long and laborious process. Lots of work goes into small results that build upon previous findings. The ancient world is like a jigsaw puzzle, waiting for us to dig up it's pieces to construct a clearer picture. More thoughtful than the grave robbing and tomb raiding that goes on on the silver screen, the work that Micheal Jones does here in Istanbul is noble and pure in it's pursuit of knowledge. Archeology may not be sexy work, but that doesn't make it any less interesting, or worthwhile.

Mustafah Kemal Attaturk

It is difficult to understand the modern Turkish state without first discussing it's progenitor: Mustafah Kemal Attaturk. Attaturk (who's surname literally means Father Turk) is the George Washington of Turkey. During World War I he rose to power in the military by winning a seemingly impossible campaign against Allied forces at Gallipoli. He defied orders from superiors and turned his insurrections into victory after victory for an army that otherwise seemed to fall flat on it's face.

He was infamous for his direct participation in battles, seen high on his horse in the middle of the fray, shouting out orders and somehow managing to not be killed in the crossfire. His methods were shrewd and effective, but often cruel and calculating. On more than one occasion he sent thousands of troops to their deaths to buy more time for significant reinforcements to arrive. By the end of WWI Attaturk was a controversial figure of near mythic proportions.

After the war Attaturk took advantage of the power vacuum in the capitol and seized control of the country. He set about erecting a new, modern Turkish nation from the now smoldering ashes of the Ottoman Empire. Using clever strategies, both military and diplomatic, he was able to eventually expel occupying forces from Britain, France, Italy, and after many fierce and ugly battles, Greece.

The textbook example of the benevolent dictator, Attaturk created with one hand the blueprint for a democratic nation, while using the other hand the strangle any opposition to it. He put into effect sweeping reforms that included universal suffrage, changing of the alphabet from Arabic to Roman, and adoption of the western calendar. Wishing to avoid the kind of theocratic government that often holds sway in the Middle East, Attaturk drafted laws establishing separation of mosque and state. These moves were aimed directly at creating a new national identity, that aligned Turkey with Europeans in the west whom Attaturk saw as the nation's future, rather than Arabs in the east, whom he saw as the nation's past.

Unfortunately this new national identity was ethnic rather than regional and there was little room in the new Republic for the minorities who had lived alongside Turks for so many generations. For the sake avoiding instability Attaturk made choices that stain the nation to this day.

After WWI an arrangement was made between Greece and Turkey that Greece would receive all of Turkey's Christians while Turkey would receive all of Greece's Muslims. No thought was given to the diverse communities that had flourished side by side so long, and thus a religious exchange across the Mediterranean began. This exodus has left Turkey with a culture that is still heavily influenced by it's former Orthodox Christian citizens while being sadly devoid of their presence.

Everywhere one travels in this country they will find statues, photographs, and monuments of Mustafah Kemal Attaturk. He image graces the presence of not just one, but every denomination of currency. It is a veritable cult of personality. Though there is still some debate about many of the methods Attaturk used, there is no doubting the results. Today Turkey is a thriving, modern nation, that has become more firmly linked to Europe with each passing decade. And good or bad, these people largely have their Father Turk to thank for this, or to blame.