Journal 22.01.2026.
Sawa Camp, Nuweibaa, Sinai Peninsula,
Egypt
6 days Barefoot through the Desert
- Eilat, Israel: Day One.. continued
As one approaches the twilight of one’s life, we sometimes wonder what is must be like to be old. Older than we are now but not that much older. How quaint it must be. To be so unaware of one self’s very own reason for existing, for it is no longer becomes a question - but an answer of - no reason at all!
To have existed once knowing that
eventually one will have as much reason as a cabbage patch doll, with a real
rotting cabbage as a brain – to, perhaps, but highly unlikely, fathom the
concept of becoming a badly leaking, wrinkled leather, rancid old sack of offal
- sooner rather than later.
One would wonder then, that supposing
there was another way to be able to look at oneself deep inside, and honestly
acknowledge the fact that –
my feet are really hurting me now and I
must present myself for the next inquisition, which –
Now pay attention here…because I am about
to meet and greet a strange tribe at their back door, which coincidently enough
has an entrance fee. There were four pretty girls in dark olive unforms and
well lacquered nails, not like mine, for unlike these idle women whose interruptions
from watching Tik-Tok videos made them glance up and nod towards another Fagan
machine, my nails had become worn from rolling little tubes whilst exploring
the mysteries of the cosmos – which was now being scanned.
Not a word was spoken in jest as here one
could be shot if one has no inkling to how the chosen people’s mind works. I
have been blessed with some of their quaint idiocies of only asking questions
with questions that have no answer for if you do, they know you are a foreigner
and easy pickings.
There is a row of fancy machines that read
passports in the hall. But these are only for Israelis. But why so many? One
would presume that if you want to invade another country it would be time
consuming to have to scan your passport to come home.
People, such as myself, a rare thing in
these parts, find themselves with no help at all and presenting oneself at a
window of a cabin, from which a bearded man with a black round bit of cloth
covers what must be a bald spot, on his head, takes my passport and asks if I
have been here before. I said that I had indeed I had but via the front door in
1982.
Flicking through my passport, he asked where
I was coming from, which was a reasonable question since I looked like a Shmil
Shleper with no luggage besides a tartan rucksack.
Blah-de-blah and hey ho, of we go donkey
driving except, the donkey transport was behind me in Egypt and before me was a
white Mercedes – a TAXI driven by a very happy gentleman of my age who had
never heard of Rhodesia and…
‘You should have seen this place ten years
ago. Packed with tourists from Russia, from China, from Germany, from
everywhere - but now it is quite. First was corona and then some trouble, now
only the Israelis from up north come here, but it is winter now. A lot just come
for the casino at the border.’
Aah, now I understand the amount of
passport machines. I had been surprised to see the building just a few steps
away from the ‘Welcome to Egypt’ sign.
He drops me off at my ‘hotel’, where I
have a room the size of the one deathrow inmates have but with a fridge and a
TV to watch YouTubes of ‘The History of Israel’, which I had a rather good idea
of, but all I wanted was a shoe shop and an electronic shop for a set of
headphones as – I had lost one of the NEW pair of buds, the right one, in the
coming and goings between countries.
Dumping what little I had and, in my
slops, wandered out past the prissy cleaner woman who had scowled at my
greeting of ‘SHALOM my Mon Cherie and what a remarkable facial similarity to
the school teacher in The Wizard of Oz you have.’
And just as nice and forthcoming as some
loafer in the background muffling from a room next to reception that check-in
is at 11.00am.
He, a shaved headed Russian Mafia type
figure, did eventually arrive and present me the key at 50 Euro a night. I
wandered onto the main street of this 57,000 people populated city (like fuck
it is,) and rapidly come to the conclusion that Tombstone in Arizona had a lot
more to offer and at a fraction of the price.
To be continued…
No comments:
Post a Comment