The antiquity of this land scares and fascinates. Gray old man, otherwise you will not tell. However, they say the same - gray hair in the head, a devil in the rib. Though this saying is not good with respect to the holy places, but still ... Sharm El-Sheikh is a strange Egyptian flower that opens above the southernmost tip of the Sinai Peninsula.
City? Hardly. Meanwhile, airplanes from all over the world fly here, as well as to more shining points of light - Paris, Berlin, Milan (by the way, in order to purchase the cheapest air tickets, they must be booked in advance). They land at a small airfield, something subtly similar to a vegetable garden, without frightening two small black goats wandering in the distance. “Welcome to Sharm El Sheikh!”
The visa is stamped right on the spot. Nimble dark-skinned guys throw your bags into the luggage compartment of the bus with shouts: “Bakshish! Bakshish! ”It looks like they are screaming purely reflexively and strongly on baksheesh - a tip - they do not insist. The bus starts off, and barren bare earth looms outside the window for half an hour - how does it manage to do without a blade of grass? - several completely dried palm trees and black bald mountains on the horizon. How is this a new international resort?
Suffer a little, and the bus slows down against the long wall of the snow-white hotel, sparkling with tall palace windows. There, behind the fence, is a real oasis in the desert. Low juicy palm trees waggle strong fans, a banana tree grows, roses and small southern jasmine with a delicate stupefying smell fragrant. They say that the thermometer is + 35 °, but the heat is not felt. It is dry, as in a sauna, and therefore it is light, and the breeze is constantly blowing from the sea - a beach with shaggy straw umbrellas right there on the territory. Once we sang: "The most blue in the world is my Black Sea." Now I think: the blue is the red. It shines on you from any balcony, from every veranda.
And to whom this sea will seem too salty, is free to prefer a civilized swimming pool to the wild nature. There are no huge bright blue freshwater baths, whole lagoons are poured in exotic parks of three- and five-star hotels. During the day, their implausible azure is burning under the sun, at night the opaque electric lights are tempting to dive, chop a warm living mirror into small splashes. Many pools have a smaller compartment for the kids, as well as a picturesque gazebo growing right out of the water with a bar where a friendly Arab will gladly pour something refreshing.
So, the hotel is an oasis in the desert. Modern oasis, equipped with a jacuzzi, sauna, massage room, disco and gym. There are several restaurants in it: Arabic, Italian, Indian - which one you want, there are hotels where the cuisine changes every day: on Monday they feed in French, on Tuesday in English and so on until the end of the week.
In addition to the various delights of architecture and design - and this stylized Muslim dome, white and squat; and flat Arabian roofs that run down to the sea, on which during the day it is pleasant to weather and sunbathe, and in the evening to smoke hookah; and multi-tiered gold lamps of three meters in the main halls; and filigree carved ceilings; and ominously-solemn statues of the ancient Egyptians, meeting at the entrance, - in addition to what one hotel tries to show off in front of another, you will also find many small surprises: the Arabs are rare masters. Returning after a walk in the room, we wondered every time something else smiling Abdullah who thought up our room would come up with something else. Then on the bed there was a lotus flower twisted from fresh towels, and a nightgown, shyly tucked under a pillow in the morning, reclined next to it in an Odalisque pose; the hard starch towels turned into a white swan or a couple of kissing swans with swans, and the touching couple had a half-dried Chinese red rose flower, one for two.
Sharm el-Sheikh is not a city in the true sense of the word. He has neither the central square, nor the main mosque, nor the city hall. There is no history, or rather, its history is just beginning. This is a giant construction of capitalism in the desert, where only the Bedouins lived recently. Americans, Germans, French invested their money in the construction of numerous hotels that grow like mushrooms. There is only one task: to make the fairy tale "Thousand and One Nights" come true, with Western money and scope, creating truly oriental luxury.
To the hotels are molded benches. They have T-shirts with Egyptian inscriptions, paintings on papyrus, Bedouin burnuses and scarves-arafatki, scarabs of any size and different values - from gold to plastic. It also sells famous Egyptian incense, the basis of many French perfumes.
Many local people speak Russian: some have studied in the Soviet Union once, others have mastered the language in courses in Cairo and have coped well with it. In short, the traces of the former Soviet-Egyptian friendship are found at every step. On the roads of Sinai there are frequent posts and outposts - in case of sabotage by Israel. You drive along the highway - suddenly the road is blocked by heavy striped barrels, the sentry with the “Kalashnikov” runs to the bus, but when hearing from the driver: “tourists” - as a rule, waves his hand: you can not show your passport.
Where is it worth to go? If you manage well with a mask and flippers (they rent not only them, but also a full diver’s ammunition), then go on a trip to the marine reserve. Once Mohammed watch coral bushes and strange fishes.
But, probably, the most amazing - climbing in the footsteps of Moses to Mount Sinai. "And Moses went up the mountain ..." It is easy to say - "I ascended"! Climbed, scrambled! The height is 2285 meters, so go not in a straight line, but along the serpentine. Frankly, older people without sports training are better, maybe refrain from this - the company is not an easy one. Moses, however, almost at eighty accomplished his ascent, but he and Moses! Although stay downstairs - and this beauty can not be seen.
This is traditionally a night trip. Having met the dawn on the mountain of Moses all sins are released. In addition, during the day, a similar forced march is simply impossible due to the scorching heat. As it should be in southern latitudes, darkness immediately falls here without any twilight. Egyptian, of course. The bus will take you to the Orthodox Monastery of St. Catherine (VI century), which stands at the foot of the sacred mountain, Its walls can hardly be guessed in the dark, like the surrounding rocks. It is very cold: from thirty-degree heat, you fall into a temperature of + 7 °. Warm clothing, wool socks and durable, comfortable shoes are essential. Ladies, put on pants - a camel is waiting for you! About him - separately.
You should not be horrified and randomly fight back, when from the darkness Bedouins wrapped in the eyes of the Burnus and shouting “good camelo, good camelo!” (“Good camel” - a mixture of English with Italian. Author's note) rush at you. you by the hand and drag somewhere in the night. These are not robbers, but humble monastic servants. For centuries they live by escorting pilgrims, giving them a camel. Pay thirty-five Egyptian pounds (about ten dollars) and boldly climb into the saddle. You will see a real Arab night - a thousand and one or just one, eternal, with huge stars, to which you will clearly approach, they will increase so much as they rise; with meteorites, generously scribbling the sky, and the month lying horizontally, as if on the local emblems and mosques.
Muslims did not invent their own symbol, they copied it from nature. Under the measured rocking of the camel's hump, no, no, yes, and fear will take: will the animal slumber? Steps on the very edge of the path, and below - a failure. Or maybe the driver fell asleep? It looks like he drags his legs and swings his head. “Listen, Mahmoud! Are you awake? ”No, it seems to be awake.
And all this is not a decoration, not a masquerade for tourists. These people are not mummers. They are really Bedouins and live here in the desert like ten centuries ago. And after that - a pedestrian climb of the steps, carved by the monks in the rocks. If you stop breathing, you will turn around and see - an endless series of pocket lanterns wind up between mountain ledges, as far as the eye can see, Germans, Japanese, Russians, Italians - all sinful humanity rushed up to God. Dante's “Purgatory”, and only. And finally, if you don’t believe yourself, you will step onto a flat platform at the top, you will see a chapel and people waiting for the dawn, and the stars will melt in the morning air.
And below is waiting for the monastery of St. Catherine. The monks sacredly cherish a vibrant green bush - Burning Bush. Attempts by pilgrims to carry a scion with themselves and root it in their native lands turned out to be in vain - it does not take root. Icons in the monastery of Greek letters - the sixth, seventh century.
But that's not all. Excursion to Cairo. You will see the Suez Canal and the huge gray city - the sixteen million Babylon, - smoking at the dawn of the Nile, and the pyramids, and the sphinx ... And the giant mosque of Ali Mohammed, decorated with carved alabaster? A museum of Egyptian art, where you get lost from the abundance of statues of pharaohs, tombs, sarcophagi and sad portraits of Fayum? And here is the oriental bazaar. Narrow streets, cafes, shops, Bargaining is not only possible but necessary! Reduce the proposed price in two or three times - this is the ritual.
After a long journey - how? Am I in Egypt for only a week? Nice to be back in his native Sharm el-Sheikh. Take a ride on a yacht with a transparent bottom, watching the underwater life, and as it gets dark, go to the most crowded part of the resort, Naami Bay area, cafe, restaurants, sea. Street masters sit right there. One paints a T-shirt with the masks of Tutankhamen, in front of the other - a wooden tray with compartments filled with the finest colored sand: yellow, pink, blue. He scoops up the sand with a narrow iron tube and carefully pours it into a thick-walled small bottle. A little white, a little pink. The bottle is quickly filled with a sandy picture: yellow camels against a background of blue and pink mountains, lilac clouds and a colorless sun above them. The sand is poured to the very top, and the vial is tightly corked. Now the flowing landscape is nothing scary. Twist it, turn it over - the pattern will not crumble.
Walking on the apple smell of a flowing smoke, it is good to climb onto the roof of one of the restaurants. There, among the mattresses and pillows, you will bring tea, coffee or hookah with a sealed disposable mouthpiece. And so, leaning back on the sloping headrest, like the Count of Monte Cristo, returning from wandering in the East, listening to the water bubbling in the hookah, you slowly unwind the fragrant smoke of not a poisonous potion, but a soft tobacco with a taste of green apple and looking at the night sky , remember how recently you were alone with the stars that night and saw them as real - naked and silent, without flashlights, blinking ads and music. A sand camel, corked in a bottle, will remind you of live camels on the solemn spurs of Sinai. You will see the distance, the pyramids, and, perhaps, the thought flashes: “But the sun of the desert is indeed white.”
