Aswan: Camping

We spent a total of three days on and around Heisa Island, Aswan, and while the culture festival (to follow) was undoubtedly a great success, I must admit I would have paid the entry ticket for the camping experience alone. Below are a few photos and brief descriptions of how we spent the majority of our time on the island and how, in between bouts of heat stroke and somewhat disturbed sleep, we began to truly love the country that has become our home.

Above: setting up the tent in the northwestern corner of the island. We have the option to stay in a 'Nubian house' but our budget does not quite stretch that far, and in any case we are far too enticed by the prospect of camping under the stars. Given that only one of us has ever pitched a real (ie non pop-up) tent before it is a bit of a struggle at first, but we cope just fine, mostly down to elation at finally getting to dump our bags somewhere.

Below: The view from our tents, which stand just a few yards from the water's edge. I go mental and throw myself in.

Above: swimming in the Nile at around 6pm. The water is chilly but certainly bearable, and so welcome after almost a full day's travelling. The Nile dam keeps the crocodiles out - a thought that hasn't occured to me during several minutes of treading water against a gentle current, staring up at the sky in what I realise is the most peaceful place I have ever been. The calm is ruined, however, when I wade out again and find myself knee-deep in slimy weeds, reminding me somewhat of the Hyde Park Serpentine - but swimming in the Nile is freer, clearer, better, and costs nothing at all. 

Below: our ten-minute walk across to the main festival zone, with slightly grubby feet. In the distance is the space where the festival volunteers (mostly well-to-do, educated young Egyptians on their gup yahs) camp together, separated from us by an ditch that is confusingly lush and green. It becomes apparent that at night, due to the movement of the water, we are going to be effectively marooned on our rocky outcrop; I am not complaining.

Above: dinner in the 'restaurant' hastily installed on the veranda of a Nubian house, seated on the floor under a translucent white canvas, overlooking most of the festival from its elevated position atop a hill. We are presented with a choice of chicken or lamb, chargrilled to perfection with salad and bread - tahini and potatoes cost extra, and run out fast. Thankfully there is also ice cream a short hike away.

Below: chilling by the water's edge on the second morning. Mostafa has had the forethought to bring dates, a staple in the desert for a number of very good reasons but especially welcome as there is basically nowhere to get food - unless you run into one of the local women carrying sacks of fresh flatbreads on their heads, who, we discovered, are delighted to share. Many of the daytime activities are subject to change or cancellation depending on interest, so until the early afternoon we stay here, reading and observing with interest our various bodily grumbles that are an inevitable result of the intense heat. More groups of Egyptian tourists arrive and join us in our secluded spot over the course of the day.

Above: bones litter the path around the back of the camping area; we share the island with a herd of mountain goats.

At night, the campsite comes alive, as the festival-provided entertainment ends at around ten o'clock. People lie on their backs on the carpeted restaurant floor or sit in happy groups outside the tents, alternately exchanging life stories and profound ideas regarding the future of the planet. On the last evening Mostafa teaches me how to properly use my camera's night-time settings, after a shameful three years 'in the dark' (sorry) - and here are some of my first ever intentional results:

Sleeping in our tent is on the same level as the train down to Aswan in terms of utter restlessness and discomfort - none of us owns a sleeping bag, and only one had the forethought to bring a sheet, having assumed that the 'dome tent' we had paid for would be already set up and include some form of bedding. As with any festival in the world, it gets steadily colder until the early hours of the morning, and I am forced to empty my bag and wrap myself in a strange assortment of vintage jumpers, scarves and Somali dresses, before having to tear them all off in a few hours' time when the sun rises and the tent becomes a sticky, muggy furnace. Nonetheless it does not dent the overall mood as it is clear to us each morning that our fellow campers have suffered the same frustration - and, in the absence of a proper toilet, there is nothing like climbing to the top of a mountain and looking down at surely one of the most beautiful places in the world to lift your spirits.

On the last night we return to our tent to find the campsite all but deserted; most people have left for Cairo the day before to get back to work. We have stolen two matresses that had been dumped by the side of one of the festival tents and take those down to the water's edge, and sit in awed silence, staring up at the bright constellations that had been largely obscured by air pollution in Alexandria. There is nothing to say; we know we are all thinking the same thing. We are so, so lucky. And later, as we clamber back up to pull on socks and brush our teeth under the stars: We will never, ever forget this place. It gradually dawns on all of us that this magical experience, this impossible view in this almost uninhabited place on this fantastic trip unacknowledged by most guidebooks and most explorers and even by those that live in Egypt, is part of our degree. I could not ask for anything more.