Sanctuary of Peace

Location:
Egypt

oasis, desert, women

By Emily

In the sticky Bahariyya tourist office I picked the New Oasis Hotel based purely on the fact that it listed having private baths. The bus trek from Cairo had been harrowing not because of the distance, but because everything in Egypt involves an aggravating, albeit humorous, amount of hassle. In particular, western women are treated like exotic fish in a tank of guppies. Leaving the bus, we encountered a swarm of young men hawking questionable hotels and repeatedly welcoming us to Egypt, despite that by now my travel partner and I were far from newcomers.

After greeting us with a customary glass of sweet Egyptian tea, the hotel owner, Rafaat (“Max”), loaded us into his car to tour the oasis, Bahariyya’s raison d’etre. The dusty streets and scruffy children hardly bore witness to the town’s so-called tourism business. Along the main road men sold mangy chickens weighed on crude scales, and the nearest ATM was back in Cairo, it appeared.

Yet a joyfulness emanated from the eyes of Bahariyya’s residents. “Where could you find a better place?” they silently asked. Indeed, beneath the surface of rubble and chaos exists a sanctuary of peace. On the outskirts of town – watermelon, Egyptian brown bread and cheese in tow – we turned off into the desert just as the low sun cast our bodies in long shadows and the sand turned pink. The source of the oasis was merely a gushing stream filling a concrete pool, but it fueled a lush forest of palms that was able to sustain a city surrounded by the intimidating, barren desert, like a Biblical miracle.

As twilight sank into darkness, we climbed into the pool whose heavy, sulfuric waters are said to cure all kinds of physical ailments. With my long t-shirt floating around me and my hands stroking the thick mineral water, I thought that this is the closest thing to everyone’s dream of swimming in a pool of whipped cream.

Rafaat offered to rub my back under the healing current. Necessity dictated I protect myself and decline, but the novelty of the situation prevailed. As I lay floating around the spring I realized that my eyes were squeezed shut, an effect of the residual stress I felt as a woman circumnavigating a man’s world. Opening them, I experienced a quiet surge of peace with the universe to see stars peeking out through palm branches, fuzzy orbs comprising the Big Dipper.

In a hut next to the spring we warmed our shriveled hands on the fire and feasted on our dinner of cheese, bread and watermelon with the Bedouin men who make it their job to host tourists. Just as a love of life seemed to live beneath of evident poverty of Bahariyya, so too does hospitality underlie hassle in Egypt. I was reminded of The Little Prince quotation, "What makes the desert so beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well."

With watermelon juice running down my arms, I was thankful to have let down my guard.

Further Information

Other helpful information: Only work with the tourist office. Dress modestly.

Must see/do at this place: Jump in the spring, have dinner with a local family, check out the girl's cooperative shop.

You should avoid here: Don't get ripped off. Well, try not to.

Don't run out of money, as the desert has no ATMs for hundreds of kilometers.