I arrived yesterday evening in Dahab on the coast of the Sinai Peninsula within swimming distance of Saudi Arabia.

For New Year’s I was in the company of the French, betwixt and between, as we flew over the Atlantic. Initially I suspected that Air France would spare no expense and no extravagance would be considered too great for passengers in their care as the year turned. While visions of bare breasted women running down the aisles painted impossible orange hues where NOT part of my expectations I did expect a proper nasalized toast over the plane’s loud speaker followed by the uncorking of a vintage dom perignon. A kazoo or party blower might have been a nice touch as well.

Alas, nothing. I was asleep and if anything painted orange flashed down the aisle past me it did so sufficiently quietly as to leave my sleep undisturbed.

Since that somewhat anticlimactic flight I managed to arrive on Jan 1st with the rest of my family in tow (or the general state of ill-preparedness and sleep deprivation with which I fled the US maybe it was they who had me in tow).

It was a good trip, colored only by the occasional rankling when the lap of luxury in a developing country does not necessarily guarantee superior food or comfort.

By the end of it we had visited nearly every temple and tomb from Cairo to Abu Simbel. No phaoronic sage (nor their eternal resting place) was left undisturbed in our inquisitiveness.

At the end of our journey we came to Sharm El Sheik. The Red Sea, Mt. Sinai, Moses’ burning bush (fire crotch?) were all there to greet us.

And yesterday I got to Dahab.

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