The next oasis, Siwa, had a strict no alcohol rule and a more conservative dress code for women and men. We knew that we had to cover upper arms and legs, so shorts and tops with regular t-shirt sleeves were out for both men and women. Also signs of affection are not approved of in public. The long drive through the desert to Siwa was punctuated with stops to go to the toilet, check in at military posts and to see natural wonders. An armed army captain rode in one of the vehicles to protect us and to ensure that our small convoy of three vehicles did not do anything illegal, such as crossing the nearby Libyan border.
Most of the check points were in very remote places and we noticed attempts to beautify the surroundings with plants and garden edges. Many soldiers have dogs as pets. Some of the dogs had very long, pointy ears and Mamdoh said that they were a cross between dogs and foxes. 
At one check point, a barefooted soldier strolled out and quickly raced back to find his boots when he heard that an officer was in our third vehicle. Wisely, our Captain chose not to notice the lack of socks and undone laces and all was well. 
The road frequently disappeared under shifting sands.This was a wonderful day – desert travelling, with a delicious lunch supplied, and enough stops to appreciate the changing landscape and geology.
We stopped for lunch beside a large rock which we found to made entirely of fossil bivalve shells. We could even open up the two halves of the shells.
We even saw a little gecko, about 8 cm long – spotted by sharp eyed Pamela and Julio – which was perfectly camouflaged and stayed very still. 
As we approached the last check point before Siwa at about 3.30 pm, we noticed that a soldier was walking towards us accompanied by a seemingly agitated backpacker. Mamdoh got out to help with translations. It turned out that this young German tourist had walked out there 45 km from Siwa along the road and intended to hike to a village which she believed to be 20 km further on out in the desert. She had no hat and was already incredibly burnt, and was carrying a half empty water bottle. The soldiers had attempted to tell her that no such village existed nowadays and that from that check point on, the road is not always visible and the terrain is dangerous to travel in without backup support and specialist guides. Also, there is a requirement for a permit for desert travel and she had set off without one. Mamdoh explained everything but she didn’t trust him or the soldiers and didn’t believe that our army Captain really was one since he didn’t have a uniform. He showed his identification but of course she couldn’t read it. Mamdoh offered her a lift back to Siwa where she could organise a permit and find out more about the area she wanted to go but she refused. Her only other option was to stay at the post and return to Siwa at the end of the day with the soldiers, so we left her, still irate and distrusting and saying she could walk back to Siwa and that it would only take her an hour. This was an interesting situation because, although her plan was not logical and clearly dangerous and she was being advised by people who know the area, she did not seem to be able to listen or think clearly. She easily could have consulted the 13 of us about desert conditions if she didn’t trust Egyptians, but she didn’t.
Our hotel in Siwa was a pink palatial structure with a guard post at the entrance, layers of pink rooms, with arched verandahs to each room picked out in dark green, green domes rising at intervals above the rooms and an immense garden square in the middle which was actually watered. All around was dusty desert (the great sand sea) and about 600 metres away, the township of Siwa. This complex was built by the army and had an enormous gymnasium at the side. I thought that this palace might provide a reward for the soldiers who served at the remote desert checkpoints, after the boredom of waiting for the rare vehicle to pass by, the watering of plants and the feeding of the dogs. It turned out not to be the case, with soldiers having to pay for their stay like anyone else. Hopefully at a reduced rate!
After a brief time of relaxation and, in my case, a little snooze, we all set off in the late afternoon on foot towards the township. There are some multistorey blocks of flats with balconies bedecked with washing near the hotel, and gradually the buildings change to concrete or mud brick one or two storey structures with some shops at street level.
Siwa was only connected readily to the outside world when a bitumen road was made in the 1980s. Previously it was so remote that the influence of Saint Mark and the change from worshipping the Egyptian gods to Christianity, which swept across Egypt, didn’t reach Siwa. It remained as it had been in the Pharaonic era until the takeover by the Muslims in the 7th century. The population speak Siwan, which is a Berber language, and many of the people have Berban heritage.
As we approached the last check point before Siwa at about 3.30 pm, we noticed that a soldier was walking towards us accompanied by a seemingly agitated backpacker. Mamdoh got out to help with translations. It turned out that this young German tourist had walked out there 45 km from Siwa along the road and intended to hike to a village which she believed to be 20 km further on out in the desert. She had no hat and was already incredibly burnt, and was carrying a half empty water bottle. The soldiers had attempted to tell her that no such village existed nowadays and that from that check point on, the road is not always visible and the terrain is dangerous to travel in without backup support and specialist guides. Also, there is a requirement for a permit for desert travel and she had set off without one. Mamdoh explained everything but she didn’t trust him or the soldiers and didn’t believe that our army Captain really was one since he didn’t have a uniform. He showed his identification but of course she couldn’t read it. Mamdoh offered her a lift back to Siwa where she could organise a permit and find out more about the area she wanted to go but she refused. Her only other option was to stay at the post and return to Siwa at the end of the day with the soldiers, so we left her, still irate and distrusting and saying she could walk back to Siwa and that it would only take her an hour. This was an interesting situation because, although her plan was not logical and clearly dangerous and she was being advised by people who know the area, she did not seem to be able to listen or think clearly. She easily could have consulted the 13 of us about desert conditions if she didn’t trust Egyptians, but she didn’t.Our hotel in Siwa was a pink palatial structure with a guard post at the entrance, layers of pink rooms, with arched verandahs to each room picked out in dark green, green domes rising at intervals above the rooms and an immense garden square in the middle which was actually watered. All around was dusty desert (the great sand sea) and about 600 metres away, the township of Siwa. This complex was built by the army and had an enormous gymnasium at the side. I thought that this palace might provide a reward for the soldiers who served at the remote desert checkpoints, after the boredom of waiting for the rare vehicle to pass by, the watering of plants and the feeding of the dogs. It turned out not to be the case, with soldiers having to pay for their stay like anyone else. Hopefully at a reduced rate!
After a brief time of relaxation and, in my case, a little snooze, we all set off in the late afternoon on foot towards the township. There are some multistorey blocks of flats with balconies bedecked with washing near the hotel, and gradually the buildings change to concrete or mud brick one or two storey structures with some shops at street level.
Siwa was only connected readily to the outside world when a bitumen road was made in the 1980s. Previously it was so remote that the influence of Saint Mark and the change from worshipping the Egyptian gods to Christianity, which swept across Egypt, didn’t reach Siwa. It remained as it had been in the Pharaonic era until the takeover by the Muslims in the 7th century. The population speak Siwan, which is a Berber language, and many of the people have Berban heritage.
This photo shows the ruins of the old town above and below is a painting of what it looked like before it was ruined. On the side of the donkey cart the words are "Siwa Taxi".
Many men and boys were out and about and some young girls were mucking about on piles of rubble, or playing a hopping in a game like our hopscotch but set out in a large rectangle divided up into squares. Some women passed in donkey carts driven by their young sons, some of whom were only about seven years old. Siwan custom expects that girls will be married between about 16 and 18 and that, from that time on, they are confined to their homes and are dependent on the mother-in-law or husband to give them permission to go out. They are also expected to wear clothing that completely covers their faces, once they are married. Younger girls wear a hijab, with their faces showing. Brides are selected on beauty, we were told, with quite young girls being engaged and then waiting to grow up to be married. In the past, mothers selected wives for their sons based on characteristics good for housekeeping and getting along with the household, since in those days everyone lived together.
Occasionally we passed two or more girls together out walking, and quite often women on their balconies or porches would smile. Children of only two years old were out and about under the supervision of older ones. One tiny tot was the third passenger on a bicycle ridden by an older brother, jammed up against the handle bars.
The most obvious thing was the lack of cars other than occasional safari vehicles and tour buses. People rode motor bikes, donkeys and donkey carts. The town is arranged around a large market square, with roads leading off in various directions – it is simply the most beautiful and charming village imaginable.
We came to the site of the ancient village of Shali, just off to the side of the current market square. This village was built of a mixture of lumps of salt from the nearby salt lake, rock and mud. It had buildings of eight storeys and a mosque with a chimney style minaret. It was abandoned due to population increase long ago. Apparently it was the custom for a house to be built for a family and then, as each son took a wife, extensions were added down through the generations. Eventually the walled town, which only had one entry gate for everyone and branched out in twisting ways from there, became too small and everyone abandoned it to start a new village. In the 1920s a rare event of three days of solid rain led to great destruction of the ancient buildings.
From a high point in the village we could see the modern town, the thousands of date palms and olive trees, the olive oil factory and several historical sites. Slowly the sun set over the white desert, leaving pink and apricot streaks of clouds, muting all the colours until everything seemed to be shades of creams, mustards, slate blues and deepest shadowy greens. This is my favourite time of the day and I have learnt that the colours of places make a big impression on me, and affect me in the way that music does for other people, touching something deep down inside. So it was a two in one situation and, given that it involved history and sociology as well, one of my highlights.
The call to prayer sounded and, as we made our way back down to the modern village, we saw men going to the ancient mosque to pray.
Our meal was in a restaurant made of palm trees and mud brick, with palm fronds for the ceiling and walls. The selection was wide, the prices low and the food was excellent, so we agreed to eat there again the next night.
A stop at the internet café, where the connection was incredibly slow, took up the rest of the evening. It is amazing how exciting it is to see that someone has written to us. We hope that this blog is providing interesting reading about our travels. We are very good at responding to emails and we love to hear other people’s news and to feel in touch with home.
Occasionally we passed two or more girls together out walking, and quite often women on their balconies or porches would smile. Children of only two years old were out and about under the supervision of older ones. One tiny tot was the third passenger on a bicycle ridden by an older brother, jammed up against the handle bars.
The most obvious thing was the lack of cars other than occasional safari vehicles and tour buses. People rode motor bikes, donkeys and donkey carts. The town is arranged around a large market square, with roads leading off in various directions – it is simply the most beautiful and charming village imaginable.
We came to the site of the ancient village of Shali, just off to the side of the current market square. This village was built of a mixture of lumps of salt from the nearby salt lake, rock and mud. It had buildings of eight storeys and a mosque with a chimney style minaret. It was abandoned due to population increase long ago. Apparently it was the custom for a house to be built for a family and then, as each son took a wife, extensions were added down through the generations. Eventually the walled town, which only had one entry gate for everyone and branched out in twisting ways from there, became too small and everyone abandoned it to start a new village. In the 1920s a rare event of three days of solid rain led to great destruction of the ancient buildings.
From a high point in the village we could see the modern town, the thousands of date palms and olive trees, the olive oil factory and several historical sites. Slowly the sun set over the white desert, leaving pink and apricot streaks of clouds, muting all the colours until everything seemed to be shades of creams, mustards, slate blues and deepest shadowy greens. This is my favourite time of the day and I have learnt that the colours of places make a big impression on me, and affect me in the way that music does for other people, touching something deep down inside. So it was a two in one situation and, given that it involved history and sociology as well, one of my highlights.The call to prayer sounded and, as we made our way back down to the modern village, we saw men going to the ancient mosque to pray.
Our meal was in a restaurant made of palm trees and mud brick, with palm fronds for the ceiling and walls. The selection was wide, the prices low and the food was excellent, so we agreed to eat there again the next night.A stop at the internet café, where the connection was incredibly slow, took up the rest of the evening. It is amazing how exciting it is to see that someone has written to us. We hope that this blog is providing interesting reading about our travels. We are very good at responding to emails and we love to hear other people’s news and to feel in touch with home.
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