A horizon of sand and stones

After having cycled for eight months through Europe and the fantastic Middle-East we leave Cairo on the 25th of February to go to Luxor. The route we´ve chosen leads through the western desert, over nearly 1.500 kilometres of undulating tar-road and four oasis. Five laps varying in length between 190 and 380 kilometres. The first is the longest. Since we are not sure about the possibilities of obtaining water and food the next days, we carry sixteen liters of water, thirty Arab breads and a bag full of macaroni, jam, cheese, peanut-butter, vegetables and fruit with us. After cycling for thirty kilometres passing Cairo´s houses and buildings we enter the desert. Traffic that roars by at great speed, while honking at us, and polluted air make way for silence and clean air. A disappointment is the wind that tries everything in its power to blow us back to the capital. Now we realise again why we prefer cycling in the mountains to cycling in the Netherlands: the never-ending wind. After having cycled for 55 kilometers we call it a day, we find a sheltered place for our tent to spend the ice-cold night.

The second day is identical to the first: stormy headwind. After fifty kilometers with an average of about ten kilometres per hour, we dive behind a sandy hill where we wrestle with our flapping tent. Exhausted and gloomy we talk about the only bright spot of the day: the ambulance-posts where we´re welcomed ever so friendly and warm with water, a meal and extensive conversations. The workers do have some good news for us as well: there are ambulance-posts the whole way to Luxor, some fifty to sixty kilometres apart.

The next two days make us forget about the first: sun, a weak wind and a landscape so vast it can´t be expressed in words, sometimes interrupted by villages and lakes that turn out to be fata morganas. With a day-record of 160 kilometres we cycle into our first oasis: Bahariya. The oasis covers an area of about thirty kilometres. The village consists of dusty streets full of shops, people, donkeys and camels; around it are grainfields and palmtree-plantations, fed by water out of the many wells. We rest for a few days, take a bath in a hotspring, cycle through the palm trees and visit ancient tombs and temples.

The second lap leads us in two days to the oasis of Farafra. The Gods seem to be at peace with the route we´ve chosen: under a warm sun and without wind we cycle passed the millions of black stones of the Black Desert.

After one hundred kilometres we find a perfectly quiet place for our tent between the shiny rocks of Crystal Mountains. In the light of the nearly full moon and the sparkling starry sky we experience complete silence for the first time of our lives. No traffic, no animals, no humans, radio or television, just the singing of the blood in our ears. A memorable moment, we can´t get enough of it.
The next day, after having crossed a huge sandy plain, the wind returns, of course from the wrong side. The landscape slowly changes: vulcanic hills of black and grey stones rise from the sand, the beautifull tar-ribbon winds through them. There is no traffic. After forty kilometres we enter the White Desert: white, eroded limestone-formations are scattered over the yellow sand that reaches the horizon.

Our vision is limited more and more by the increasing wind, that takes tiny sand-particles with it in a journey without destination. Windveils of sand force us to close our eyes to slits. Despite this hindrance we cycle in ecstasy between the snow-white limestone-formations, that after centuries of sand-blasting have taken the shape of mushrooms, slugs, camels and sphinx´s. Have we landed on Mars?

In Farafra we take some time off again. It is the smallest of the four oasis. The original Bedouin-population of 5.000 souls lives in old mud-houses. Since huge underground water-reservoirs were discovered some years ago, the population has grown to three time the original size. Ahmed, the owner of a small restaurant, invites us to his home, where we eat date-paste in the original Bedouin-way: dipped in home-pressed olive-oil. Delicious, but a bit fat. Walking over narrow tracks between thousands of palmtrees we imagine ourselves in another world. The Magic Spring dates from the Roman era: in the summer the water is cool, in the winter warm. The locals can´t explain it and have acknowledged its magic centuries ago.
The third lap is 325 kilometres long. With a light tailwind we cycle past villages, small green oasis, after which a sand- and stoney-plain follows. Once in a while we cycle right across one of the many whirlwinds; sand-whirlpools as we lovingly call them. Not dangerous at all, but you´re covered in sand top to toe. At night we´re sitting on the crest of a forty meter high sand-dune, our faces coloured red in the setting sun.

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After three days of wonderful cycling, we enter the amazingly beautiful oasis of Dakhla, without doubt the most beautiful of them all: green, small villages with playing children, donkey-carts, grainfields with cows and snow-white egrets. During our stay we visit ancient El Qasr, a town almost competely made out of mud, mainly uninhabited nowadays and a monumental maze of streets, houses, schools and mosques.

The tombes of Mozawaqa – at a short distance of El Qasr – are hewn out of small vulcanic hills, that lie as bridal cakes in the barren landscape. In a number of the tombs (holes in the cake) we can even touch the human and animal mummies. At another - very badly maintained – hill, we see the mummie-bandages and skulls lying in the sand.

 

The fourth lap to the oasis of Kharga we´re mostly on our own again in the bizarre and varying landscape. Barren plains in the colours white, pink, golden yellow, brown, purple and black are alternated with grim vulcanoes and a yellow-red Ayers Rock. Camping between hunderds of desert-roses and under an amazingly clear starry sky we have dreamless nights.

Kharga, the fourth oasis, is the least attractive to cycle into: garbage-dumps, ugly buildings and an industrial area make us forget we´re in a oasis. Positive highlights are the Hibis-temple and the necropolis El Bagawat. The latter is a Koptic burial-site dating from the fourth century AD, entirely made of mud. A lot of tombs can be visited, the temples and basilica contain original Biblical paintings.
The narrow streets at the back of the main village in the oasis are the nicest, thanks to the enthusiasm of the children and the naive paintings of boats, planes and Ka´aba on the houses of the people that completed their Hadji to Mecca.

In the last lap, to Luxor, the wind initially is in our favour and the kilometres glide under our wheels without effort. At night we do have a guest at our tent: a small and hungry desert-fox loves the bits of bread and fish we feed it. We´ve gained a friend.
The next day we´re treated to a delicious warm meal at one of the ambulance-posts. After a grand tour of the dusty mini-hospital we gratefully say goodbye. Thanks to the tailwind we put up our tent 120 kilometers further in a bone-dry wadi.

Our last day in the desert becomes the most memorable of the entire journey. After cycling for forty kilometres, the right side of the road becomes as smooth as a mirror because of sheets of fluid tar on it. We start cycling on the left side of the road, just like the rest of the sparse traffic. A pick-up that can see us from hundreds of metres already, comes up from behind at full speed, hooting without slowing down. We race to the right side of the road, through the wet tar, causing the tar to splash all over our bicycles, bags, clothes and legs. The car slips in the extremely slippery tar and lands on the verge of the road: like in a trance we see the heavy car roll over five times and come to a standstill in a huge dustcloud. Horror-struck we put our bicycles to the side and run to the car. As if by miracle two young men climb out of the smashed window, unharmed.
Only two hours later, with a stormy headwind as dessert, we realise that we´ve escaped death by an inch. We´re in Luxor, enjoying a well-earned cup of tea and look with mixed feelings at the ´civilisation´ around us.