Sand Safari

EL FARAFRA, Egypt — Egyptian friends, hearing our plan to spend four days exploring the vast Western Desert that separates the Nile and Libya, asked, “Why?” Indeed, these unsettled stretches of sand, very occasionally dotted with oases, may seem terrifying, treacherous, or even dull.

But we wondered about the 90% of Egypt that is desert, little seen by visitors understandably absorbed by the country’s superb antiquities. What would it be like to see some of Earth’s most remote landscapes, a Beau Geste wilderness that until this century was unknown and unmapped, visited only by wandering Bedouins and crossed by the rare camel caravan? And we were rewarded: It was a doable adventure that awed us with nature’s incalculable variations on the theme of rock, sand and light.

An hour outside Cairo our guide, Amr Shannon, led us off the highway to begin our desert camping safari. An intriguing English-speaking Egyptian artist, rally racer and reader of the badlands, Amr (pronounced AHM-er) had three words of advice for us novice dune drivers: “Read my tracks.”

Those who preceded us on this crossing had been swathed in white robes atop lurching camels. But we modern-day trekkers took two four-wheel-drive Jeep Cherokees, and loaded them with four spare tires, camping gear and chili and crepes (a gourmet treat that packs small and flat) in the coolers. Although we weren’t as streamlined as the earlier explorers, our sense of adventure was no less.

We headed from the capital to El Faiyum, El Bahariya and El Farafra, three of the five major oases of the Western Desert, Egypt’s 600-mile-wide, 900-mile-long northeast corner of the great Sahara. It is about a 300-mile trip if one sticks to the highway, but we stayed off it for virtually all of our trip, emerging from the desert only to refuel at the oases and make up a bit of time on what we came to call, with a hint of disdain, the “asphalt.”

Off-road, we sailed across smooth sweeps of tawny sand reminiscent of scenes from “The English Patient.” It was this desert that the Hungarian count of the best-selling book and Academy Award-winning film was supposed to have been mapping, and in places amid the graceful dunes it is easy to conjure the movie.

As often, however, our Jeeps were moored in flour-smooth gray powder or bumping over surfaces that in any other circumstance we would have rejected as absolutely, unquestionably impassible. Bring on those sheets of jagged shale, for at least they are firm! In fact, it was the first time I’d ever realized there were positive aspects to skidding, as we slid along the dunes in wide, exhilarating arcs.

My friend Gail Walker, at the helm of our Jeep, earned profound admiration as she mastered the accelerate-and-swerve technique for navigating tire-high sand, the floor-it charge up crumbling gravel slopes and the exercise in sheer will--this is where I came in--that seemed necessary to keep disaster at bay.

Adrenaline rushes aside, the desert most often seemed a benign paradise. During our late-spring trip, temperatures were moderate by Sahara standards (March, April, October and November are the most comfortable months to make the trip). By day it was in the low-90s and we wore T-shirts and sun hats; in the cooler night air we needed sweatshirts. Although attacks on tourists from fundamentalist Islamic groups have been in the news in recent years, they are at most a remote threat in Egypt’s traditional sights. Being alone in the desert is an added safeguard. And our group of five--American and British expatriates residing in Cairo--felt enough confidence in our guide, our preparations and our water supply that the desert’s natural challenges seemed manageable.

We fanned out to collect shark teeth--left behind when the desert was a sea--and “desert roses,” black pyrite formed into beautiful buds. We picked our way through fields of bizarre, twisting, towering knobs of bleached limestone known to Westerners as the White Desert and in Arabic as the Valley of the Carrots. Amr pointed out dinosaur jaws embedded in rock, fossilized crocodile remains, tissue-thin sheets of mother of pearl and the tracks of gerbils who visited our camps in the dark.

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Each night’s stop was in an entirely different desert setting. The first was on the floor of a fossil-littered valley, with a wide vista punctuated by huge formations that looked quite a lot like layer cakes, some for weddings, others melting. The second night was near Crystal Mountain, so named for the fields of milky white crystals flowering out from every outcropping in the sand. The last and most visually stunning was in the White Desert, below soaring rock faces of white limestone forming a dramatic panorama against the darkening and then lightening sky.

We made camp about 5 p.m. each night, using tents and gear provided by Amr and our own sleeping bags. He prepared the food we’d brought along and cleaned up, allowing us time to be awe-struck by the vistas.

Nightfall brought a nip to the air, and the steaming bowls of chili and chicken stew were welcome, along with a plastic cup of red wine. After brownies and roasted marshmallows, star-gazing was superb and sleeping on the soft sand was a pleasure. After breakfasts of crepes dusted with lemon and sugar, the mornings brought the somewhat arduous repacking of the Jeeps’ roof racks with all our equipment, as well as the restoration of our site to pristine condition.

We did worry a bit about whether we should be in the desert. Although in four days we saw only one other intruder crossing on the far horizon, nature had not intended for even our tire tracks to cut through its work. And we did see the paths of others who had come before us; in fact, depending on the winds and a rare flash flood, tracks can stay so long that Amr claimed that the signature narrow tires of a 1920s British adventurer can still be identified. Although environmental awareness is far from raised in Egypt, Amr evidenced his with the trademark colors of his Jeep: a zebra-stripe of green for plants and blue for water, actually a bit incongruous in the desert where there were no other reminders that either existed.

Our Jeep got stuck--defined as having to get out and shovel and push--three times, and had two flat tires. Amr never got stuck, which is to say he refused to get out of his Jeep and through combined macho stubbornness and patience, which he called “experience,” managed to shimmy and snake his wheels out of the anchoring sand. We were impressed.

The “asphalt” alternative was laid in the 1980s, connecting the western oases with Cairo and profoundly changing the villagers’ way of life. For the three previous decades, they had been supplied by what could be grown locally or brought in by small, slow pickup trucks across a hard-packed track. Until the early 1950s, the oases were linked only by camel caravan.

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With the presumption of visitors who will eventually come home to their satellite TV programming, we pined for the more picturesque vision of date palms, tents and nomads. Instead, our quick survey of the oases took in, in addition to the welcome gas stations, a half-hearted sort of desert urbanization with dismal apartment buildings inexplicably raised where the one great resource is space. There are older quarters, but Amr describes the people of the oases as “caught between,” distracted from date and apricot farming by the lures of modernization but not yet adept at being productive town-dwellers.

In El Bahariya, two individuals caught my eye: a veiled Bedouin woman with a 2-inch gold earring in her nose, and a man in a smart khaki raincoat who looked for all the world as if he was about to offer us a hot wristwatch from a display in the lining.

At El Farafra, a spring with Jacuzzi-warm water is piped into a stone basin where, with lucky timing, we were able to take a much-needed Day 3 dip in privacy. The spring is used at sunup and sundown by locals, who would have found the sight of foreigners in swimsuits worthy of a good stare.

Otherwise, we steered clear of settlements and kept our excursion on its target: an antidote to the overwhelmingly congested chaos of Cairo. In the emptiness of the desert, it seemed impossible that we were still in a country of 60 million people. Off-road desert travel is not for the impetuous. Once out there, you realize it is entirely unlikely that a soft-drink stand would suddenly materialize should you become stranded.

Though budget-travel books correctly note that guides can be found on arrival in the oases, it is imperative that travel not be undertaken without at least two mechanically sound vehicles; generous supplies of water, food and fuel; and evidence that your guide deserves to have your safety (in truth, your life) entrusted to him. Look for a serious, detail-oriented attitude, and get testimonials if possible. However, with precautions taken, such trips are quite feasible, and in addition to the magnificent desert and the oases, can also take in Pharaonic, Roman and Christian sites.

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Cairo travel agents can make the arrangements and locate guides, tailoring itineraries appropriate to the degree of “roughing-it” sought and supplying as much of the equipment and food as desired. We took 20 gallons of drinking water plus lots of juice and soda, 20 more gallons of water for washing and radiator emergencies, five gallons of extra fuel, replacement fan belts, water hoses and other auto parts, metal tracking for getting unstuck and yards of duct tape.

Most importantly, we took Amr, an adventure travel pioneer in Egypt who charges $300 per day for his services. He’s something of a legend in Egypt for having been “stopped”--not lost, he was quick to point out--in the desert for four days during a off-road rally when his Jeep became irreparable. No one came to look for him in part because no one believed such an experienced hand could really need help. But indeed he had used all his water, including his drinking supply, and had no food.

Recounting his tale for our group, he delivered quite offhandedly (or perhaps for added drama) the story’s punch line, answering the question we’d all been too dainty to ask. By the time army helicopters finally arrived, he said, “Of course, I’d had to drink my urine.”

Although we asked Amr each day which direction to head “should anything happen to you,” his expertise--and strong back for shoveling--allowed us to relax.

Safety assured, his sensitive eye--one night he persuaded us to forgo a campfire to appreciate the play of the moonlight alone--added immeasurably to the experience. We departed the desert with collections of fossils and other treasures, a formidable amount of sand and an unexpected sense of the visual and palpable fullness of a place so empty.

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GUIDEBOOK

Egyptian Safari

Getting there: There are no nonstop flights from Los Angeles to Cairo, but TWA, United, Lufthansa, Swissair and British Airways offer connecting service, involving a change of planes, in various cities. The lowest current fare is $1,042.20 on TWA, which connects at New York’s JFK airport.

Booking a desert tour: Several desert guides operate independently from their homes in Cairo. We went with Amr Shannon (telephone/fax 011-20-2-518-6130 or 011-20-2-352-0834), who individualizes itineraries for different groups. The usual cost for his services is $300 per day, including one four-wheel-drive vehicle, tents and cooking equipment. Campers usually supply sleeping bags, food, drinks and other vehicles, which can be rented if additional space is required. Another well-known guide is Saad Ali Mohammed (tel./fax 011-20-2-345-8524), who organizes safaris by four-wheel drive and by camel. The cost is approximately $60 per person per day, including transportation and food. Egypt Panorama Tours (4 Road 79, Maadi, Cairo; tel. 011-20-2-350-5880 or 351-0200, fax 011-20-2-351-1199, e-mail [email protected]) is a travel agency that can organize and book trips with guides (ask for Ted Cookson or Iman Salem).

For more information: Egyptian Tourist Authority, 8383 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 215, Beverly Hills, CA 90211; tel. (213) 653-8815, fax (213) 653-8961.