The wait

  Nuweiba, Red Sea and Sinai, Egypt
Thursday, April 24, 2008

· Nuweiba, Sinai Peninsula, Egypt
· GMT +2hrs

New day. Different result

01 Nuweiba

It's 1:30pm and we've been sitting in the departure hall of Nuweiba ferry terminal for two & a half hours already waiting to get on the ferry for the short trip north to Aqaba in Southern Jordan. Yep, we secured our tickets at 10:30 this morning and have already passed through passport control meaning we're officially, if not yet physically, out of Egypt. No one, not even the port 'officials' eying us westerners from across the glorified

02 Ramadan

barn of a departures hall, has any idea when the ferry itself leaves (we don't even know if it is here yet). So far we've heard estimates of 2pm, 3pm and 3:30pm, bringing back memories of our 9 hour wait for the 'special' train we took some weeks ago from Varanasi to Delhi in India. Even though our patience with Egypt is totally shattered, and there is so much uncertainty, even now, as to when we'll actually get to Jordan, we're adopting the approach that 'we'll leave when we leave, in sha' Allah (God willing)', the approach we are only prepared to take to this whole shambles of an international ferry schedule because of two very good reasons: we've no choice in the matter, and because we know the reward for the wait, however long it ends up being, will be worth it. 

Day 255 Observations (April 24th 2008)
 
· Time to go i
The signs were there when we woke in Dahab yesterday morning hinting that maybe, just maybe, we'd hung on in Egypt one day longer than we should have. The power in our room died at 6:30am taking our air-conditioned comfort with it. Then the hot water tap stopped dispensing emm, hot water meaning we had to shower in not only salty water but cold salty water. Shortly after that even the cold salty water tap stopped working. We got out of there just before the ceiling fell in (it wouldn't have surprised us if it actually did). The last thing we did before leaving Dahab for good? Collected our latest set of fresh laundry from the nice laundry guys on Dahab's main street... only to discover that a few of my previously white CK's, the ones Pat didn't leave behind in Kathmandu, had been dyed pink. Great.

· Time to go ii
Fast forward 24 hours to this morning in Nuweiba, where the signs were also there for all to see. This time the air-con died at 4:30am, bringing the mozzies out to feast on us. The sweaty clamminess may have woken us up, but it was the mozzies buzzing around our heads that kept us from falling back asleep (the annoying buzzing sound was well amplified thanks to the 4:30am silence). Applying oily DEET repellent at 4:45am in the pitch dark (no lights of course) wasn't fun and the fact that, of course, there was no water in the room at all, salty or otherwise, just added to the 'lets-get-the-fuck-out-of-here' frustrations.

· International relations restored

03 Success

We knew when going back to the ferry ticket office this morning that the guy selling the tickets, assuming it was the same dude as 24 hours previous (it was), wouldn't be too happy to see me considering I growled at him yesterday out of sheer frustration after our 2nd unsuccessful attempt to get either tickets or information for the ferry we are hoping would take us to Jordan (and quickly too). So to increase our chances of success this day I hid out of sight and Pat, the model of decorum that he is, approached the window, all smiles and oozing 'top-of-the-beautiful-morning-to-you' charm.

"Good morning. Can we buy tickets for the ferry today?" Pat inquired.

"Passports," the seemingly-having-a-better-day ticket seller replied.

He flicked through both our passports, raised an eyebrow and looked suspiciously at Pat before looking back once again at the passports, holding up mine and stating,

"He not Irish!"

Pat didn't know what to say to this latest twist, so he said nothing at all.

"He not Irish. I been to Ireland. I been to Dublin. Irish people polite. This man not polite... he not Irish," the ticket seller forcefully claimed as he pointed to my passport picture.

Pat now understood what he was getting at and went on a damage limitation footing stating that I definitely was Irish, as was my father and grandfather before me. He then went on to explain, in that calming managerial tone of his, that yesterday we were just having a "bad day," a phrase the ticket seller seemed to understand.

The "Irish," us, were called up some 30 minutes later to collect our passports and tickets, 30 minutes we spent swatting flies and taking in the unusual sight of, amongst other unusual sights, a goat carcass being skinned as it hung from a tree in the open-air ticket office compound. Apologies were given by both sides for yesterday's show of frustrations, handshakes were exchanged and after a quick spot of joviality about Dublin & Guinness (no mention of U2) we were on our way, pretty sure that Irish-Egyptian relations were on a good footing (or at the very least a firmer footing than they were 24 hours previous). 

· Timing
About an hour ago, as we were sitting here waiting for the okay to board the ferry, an Egyptian tourism official approached us requesting we fill in a survey detailing our experiences of travel in Egypt. Needless to say his timing wasn't what I would call impeccable. With little else to do I took my time with the survey, answering honestly and needing extra paper to do so. That means it won't make for comfortable reading for whoever peruses it. Not that they'll care; our experiences have show that Egypt is only interested in high-rolling package tourists, the kind who pay a lot of money to come here in their droves, stay in the fancy hotels, eat in the fancy restaurants & ogle at its justifiably famous monuments, all the while being ferried from one to the other in air-conditioned comfort. They - the high-rolling package tourist - will continue to do this - visit & spend money in Egypt - regardless of how many touts are here to hassle them. They will also continue to do it regardless of what opinions a couple of budget backpackers may express on the trials & tribulations of independent travel in Egypt, opinions they freely give as they sit in a dive of an Egyptian ferry terminal wondering when the hell they are ever going to be allowed to leave the country. We know this - that the high-rollers will still come regardless - and we're guessing so do the Egyptians. & we're also guessing they will be fine with that. It's arrogance, of the tourism kind.