Journal

From the back seat of our blacked out SUV, I feel separated from what I am seeing. An unwelcome voyeur, maybe. Still, I want to know the other sides of Egypt. The parts that keep it breathing. Navigating the narrow alleyways of these once abandoned buildings, we pass a partially opened doorway. Inside, a woman and child sort through a mountain of trash. Behind the woman, a rusted sink and a tattered mattress.

I was living in Egypt, and I didn’t speak Arabic. So, I did what I always do. I relied on gestures to communicate. Sometimes, google translate. A hand wave here, a head nod there. Generally enough to get the message across. Life in Egypt was a lot like my life in South Italy. Beautiful, organized chaos.

The next day we hired a boat to sail us further west along the Sinai, toward Ras Muhammad. Once aboard, we realized we were last minute add-ons to a Russian tour group. This wasn't the epic voyage of free-spirited exploration I had imagined. We were pirate-boat party crashers. 

I had heard of this place before. A distant cousin to the chaos that was Cairo, related but nothing alike. The photos I had seen were of clear, blue waters and golden light stretching out over wild, open spaces.