Regina Style Nuweibaa
- Swimming pool
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Travel Blogs from Nuweiba
... is no assimilation to be taken lightly. So seeing this ex-city dweller entertain old companions, who recline in their long white garbs, wizened sun beaten faces and dark eyes glowing in the light of a campfire, all totally at one, makes a striking sight.
So how are these remarkable people, whose goodness I've heard of and seen after just a few days, the faces behind the masks of the bold print 'KIDNAPPERS' plastered chillingly across ...
... this time Cheng opened up a melon and shared it around.
The police car arrived with 4 cops inside it. When they arrived couple of tourists on a motorbike arrived as well. Mamdoh asked the tourists to join us as well. Finally we were off again. The police car stayed well behind us as we made our way to Nuweiba. They police had to come with us because, as I mentioned earlier tourists were kidnapped as recent as two weeks ago in this area. We arrived at the next town and ...
... There is supposed to be a fast one and a slow one. Fast = 1 hour, Slow = 5 hours. Only, not today. “No fast boat today, maybe tomorrow.”
Ok, plan B. To the bus station. Bus to Taba in the north. Walk 15 minutes to the Egypt border. Cross border. Another story altogether but let’s just say that the border guy wanted to make us tea (!) and tried to steal my pen. I’m also pretty sure that he is using the same stamp pad ...
From Dahab, I proceeded to Nuweiba, which is a bit further North. Definitely much more quiet, not as touristic, and still some nice beaches with crystal clear blue water!
I stayed a night at the soft beach camp, a very simple but friendly place with very good food!
Relaxing a day there without all the crowd of tourists of Dahab was just what I needed.
The next day, just before midday I went to the port to get a ticket for the ferry to ...
... edgy tales which linger. And Wendy Cope's poetry for amusement and recognition; “The Big Short” where Michael Lewis details how the free fall of the American economy happened so it reads like an amusing mystery story; and am beginning “The Language of Baklava”, a book of memories and eating by a Jordanian writer, Diana Abu-Jaber of whom I had never heard and probably would not have read until I came this way.
We have become dozy in the still ...