The trip to Mount Sinai and the Monastery of St. Katherine's was an optional excursion. The vast majority of the group went down to Sharm El Sheikh (one stayed in Cairo to check out other ancient sites). Being at the very southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula, it’s a six hour drive from Cairo, riding along the Suez Gulf. It was an interesting contrast from the train ride along the Italian Rivera. 
Along the way we had several check points; obviously we weren’t suppose to take photos but I snuck a couple. There were the look outs, near the check points.
Once we got to Sharm El Sheikh, we stopped at the hotel for about three hours. The six of us who went to Mount Sinai had another three hours on the bus. Technically we were back tracking, I’m not sure why. Our tour guide has to get forms and permits from the police for us to travel certain areas, so it may be relate to that. There certainly were more check points, and we had to pull out our passports, which were carefully inspected, more than once.
By this time the sun was setting, and the light highlighted the mountains rough texture. We were quite on the bus, contemplating upon the journey we were about to take. As the sun was going down, the smallest sliver of the moon was rising. When the bus came to a bend, I saw a circle of camels with a Bedouin family in the center. (It happened so fast, I didn’t get a photo.)
We came into the hotel about 9pm, where we quickly ate from their buffet, got our room and slept with a wake-up call set for 1:30 am.
We arrived at the base of the mountain at 2:15 am. The moon had gone and we were covered with a blanket of stars. I had never seen anything like it. Planets were easy to identify as they were so much brighter than the dusting of stars. You could see the Milky Way. There is section in Eat, Pray, Love where the author was meditating in India and she remarked how she felt that the universe was giving her a hug; I experienced a little of that under those stars. (This is really the only thing I regret about this climb, not getting a photo of those stars.)
There are two ways to climb the mountain. The more difficult climb is called the “Stairs of Repentance” which a monk from St. Catherine’s monastery laid the stone staircase as an act of repentance. This is a very difficult route, which few people take.
Our route was the easier one, called the “Camel Path.” It meanders up the mountain in a series of switchbacks, getting progressively stepper. Both this path and the Stairs of Repentance meet up at the staircase to the summit, where there’s another 700+ uneven, steep steps to the top. It was immediately evident why this trail was called “Camel Path,” there were many camels and their eager owners encouraging tourist to ride up with their constant inquiry, “Camel? You want camel? Camel?” all the way up the path. This added to the caravan like atmosphere of the climb, as you were literally sharing the path with the camels. More than once, when turning to talk to someone behind me, I encountered a camel less than two feet away from me, coming up along the side.
The only manmade light was at the very base of the mountain, the four or five spots to buy water, soda and candy, and the flashlights by the climbers With the darkness, you couldn’t even make the outline of the mountain, just the path in front of you. There was just a handful of flashlights in our group, so we had to shine the light so that you and someone else would not trip on the uneven path, and navigate among the camel dung.
I was determined to walk up the mountain myself, but as soon as the trail became difficult, or when you started to slow your pace, those camels owners were there like drug pushers, “You need help. My camel strong.” “Three hour hike, you can’t make it, ride my camel.” They knew your weakness and wanted to exploit it.
At first, climbing a mountain didn’t seem like an overwhelming challenge to me. I live in Denver, I’m used to the altitude, and thousands of people do this every year – what’s the problem? Once the incline became strenuous, there was a serious realization – “Hey, I haven’t been home for a month. I’ve been spoiled with sea level oxygen – oh crap.” My legs groaned as my lungs burned. Several times a voice in my head whispered, “You really came here for the monastery. Maybe the next rest stop will be your summit, why do you have to climb to the top?” The camel owners certainly didn’t help. When I voiced my thoughts, a fellow group member, Elaine, keep me going. “One more turn, just focus on the next curve in the path.” I should point out that poor Elaine was sick on this trail, and there she was encouraging me, when she felt horrible herself. (Quite honestly, when you did reach those rest-stops, it reeked of camel urine and cigarettes that the Russian tourists were sucking down. Might as well keep on going.)
The climb became a mental and spiritual challenge as much as a physical challenge. I focused on my steps, “One more, just one more.” I prayed prayers I knew from a child, I prayed to God, the Universe and the Stars. I kept lagging behind the group, huffing and puffing along. My backpack became a metaphor of the needless baggage I carry in my life; why am I holding on to things I don’t need? Why do I clinch on to the painful hurts, doubts and insecurities? (I will admit there was a moment of wanting to fling my backpack off the side of the mountain to free myself from this physical and mental weight. But I did need my camera, and my passport.)
The pre-dawn light slowly came as I finished the Camel Path and reached the stairs to the summit; with its own series of switchbacks. Our guide (aka our Egyptian Mother) Selma was there with me as I slowly climbed those stairs, which were now crowded with tourists. I stopped often, sadden to see the stars disappear as daylight crept in. And then, I could see the summit. I was still slow, but Selma reassured me that we had time to see the sunrise.
One the last past of the climb, you could hear a Japanese group singing, accompanied by a guitar. I was not familiar with the song, but assume that it was spiritual in nature. There were people from Russia, Germany, England, France, Columbia. Hundreds of us were there to witness a daily act of nature, yet celebrate it as a divine miracle.
I slowly climbed up to the group, who were already perched on a ledge. I was there. I made it. Now I know this may be silly to many of you, but I had my I-Pod with me, because I desperately wanted to watch the sunrise while listening to “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” by U2. I have a long, personal history with that song; the essence of traveling and self-reflection. I got my I-Pod on, the song was rolling, and then it happened.
It started with the smallest pin point, and grew to something glorious, like the climb itself. Tears of joy and amazement fell. The sun rose on Mount Sinai, and I was there.
After the climb up and the celebration mood waned, the descent began.
It was then when you realized how far you had come.
Starting at two in the morning when the stars masked the climb was wise, because I would not have had the faith in myself to see what I could accomplish.
(Another member of the group, Eric, videoed the sunrise. Check it out here on his blog. I’m not in there until part three.)
Along the way we had several check points; obviously we weren’t suppose to take photos but I snuck a couple. There were the look outs, near the check points.
Once we got to Sharm El Sheikh, we stopped at the hotel for about three hours. The six of us who went to Mount Sinai had another three hours on the bus. Technically we were back tracking, I’m not sure why. Our tour guide has to get forms and permits from the police for us to travel certain areas, so it may be relate to that. There certainly were more check points, and we had to pull out our passports, which were carefully inspected, more than once.
By this time the sun was setting, and the light highlighted the mountains rough texture. We were quite on the bus, contemplating upon the journey we were about to take. As the sun was going down, the smallest sliver of the moon was rising. When the bus came to a bend, I saw a circle of camels with a Bedouin family in the center. (It happened so fast, I didn’t get a photo.)
We came into the hotel about 9pm, where we quickly ate from their buffet, got our room and slept with a wake-up call set for 1:30 am.
We arrived at the base of the mountain at 2:15 am. The moon had gone and we were covered with a blanket of stars. I had never seen anything like it. Planets were easy to identify as they were so much brighter than the dusting of stars. You could see the Milky Way. There is section in Eat, Pray, Love where the author was meditating in India and she remarked how she felt that the universe was giving her a hug; I experienced a little of that under those stars. (This is really the only thing I regret about this climb, not getting a photo of those stars.)
There are two ways to climb the mountain. The more difficult climb is called the “Stairs of Repentance” which a monk from St. Catherine’s monastery laid the stone staircase as an act of repentance. This is a very difficult route, which few people take.
Our route was the easier one, called the “Camel Path.” It meanders up the mountain in a series of switchbacks, getting progressively stepper. Both this path and the Stairs of Repentance meet up at the staircase to the summit, where there’s another 700+ uneven, steep steps to the top. It was immediately evident why this trail was called “Camel Path,” there were many camels and their eager owners encouraging tourist to ride up with their constant inquiry, “Camel? You want camel? Camel?” all the way up the path. This added to the caravan like atmosphere of the climb, as you were literally sharing the path with the camels. More than once, when turning to talk to someone behind me, I encountered a camel less than two feet away from me, coming up along the side.
The only manmade light was at the very base of the mountain, the four or five spots to buy water, soda and candy, and the flashlights by the climbers With the darkness, you couldn’t even make the outline of the mountain, just the path in front of you. There was just a handful of flashlights in our group, so we had to shine the light so that you and someone else would not trip on the uneven path, and navigate among the camel dung.
I was determined to walk up the mountain myself, but as soon as the trail became difficult, or when you started to slow your pace, those camels owners were there like drug pushers, “You need help. My camel strong.” “Three hour hike, you can’t make it, ride my camel.” They knew your weakness and wanted to exploit it.
At first, climbing a mountain didn’t seem like an overwhelming challenge to me. I live in Denver, I’m used to the altitude, and thousands of people do this every year – what’s the problem? Once the incline became strenuous, there was a serious realization – “Hey, I haven’t been home for a month. I’ve been spoiled with sea level oxygen – oh crap.” My legs groaned as my lungs burned. Several times a voice in my head whispered, “You really came here for the monastery. Maybe the next rest stop will be your summit, why do you have to climb to the top?” The camel owners certainly didn’t help. When I voiced my thoughts, a fellow group member, Elaine, keep me going. “One more turn, just focus on the next curve in the path.” I should point out that poor Elaine was sick on this trail, and there she was encouraging me, when she felt horrible herself. (Quite honestly, when you did reach those rest-stops, it reeked of camel urine and cigarettes that the Russian tourists were sucking down. Might as well keep on going.)
The climb became a mental and spiritual challenge as much as a physical challenge. I focused on my steps, “One more, just one more.” I prayed prayers I knew from a child, I prayed to God, the Universe and the Stars. I kept lagging behind the group, huffing and puffing along. My backpack became a metaphor of the needless baggage I carry in my life; why am I holding on to things I don’t need? Why do I clinch on to the painful hurts, doubts and insecurities? (I will admit there was a moment of wanting to fling my backpack off the side of the mountain to free myself from this physical and mental weight. But I did need my camera, and my passport.)
The pre-dawn light slowly came as I finished the Camel Path and reached the stairs to the summit; with its own series of switchbacks. Our guide (aka our Egyptian Mother) Selma was there with me as I slowly climbed those stairs, which were now crowded with tourists. I stopped often, sadden to see the stars disappear as daylight crept in. And then, I could see the summit. I was still slow, but Selma reassured me that we had time to see the sunrise.
One the last past of the climb, you could hear a Japanese group singing, accompanied by a guitar. I was not familiar with the song, but assume that it was spiritual in nature. There were people from Russia, Germany, England, France, Columbia. Hundreds of us were there to witness a daily act of nature, yet celebrate it as a divine miracle.
I slowly climbed up to the group, who were already perched on a ledge. I was there. I made it. Now I know this may be silly to many of you, but I had my I-Pod with me, because I desperately wanted to watch the sunrise while listening to “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” by U2. I have a long, personal history with that song; the essence of traveling and self-reflection. I got my I-Pod on, the song was rolling, and then it happened.
It started with the smallest pin point, and grew to something glorious, like the climb itself. Tears of joy and amazement fell. The sun rose on Mount Sinai, and I was there.
After the climb up and the celebration mood waned, the descent began.
It was then when you realized how far you had come.
Starting at two in the morning when the stars masked the climb was wise, because I would not have had the faith in myself to see what I could accomplish.
(Another member of the group, Eric, videoed the sunrise. Check it out here on his blog. I’m not in there until part three.)
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