I’ve twirled in clubs, shimmied on cement floors and wiggled at many social events; now my feet have felt the floor of the desert and my heart has opened to the magic of Sinai.

Wadis are valleys through the mountains that pass as floodways in the winter carrying the rainfall from areas like St Catherine’s (mount Sinai) through miles of sand and rocks ending in the sea. We travel deep into the wadis, into the heart of the desert, where the sound is a high frequency, the voice of the mountains. We build a fire at the foot of the mountain, to make chai (Bedouin tea), adding herbs like samwa, or habbaq and sugar. Tea or food made on the fire has a special taste, its natural.

We dance on a mat or barefoot on the rocks, our shadows cast on the rock walls by the heat of the fire. ‘look at your hands, connect with them and explore the shapes they create’, I glance at the women’s faces; at their concentration; their effort; their discovery, the look of serenity. ‘dance with your shadow’, they look up the wall, their shadows tall, curving, reaching, and we all laugh. ‘love your shadow’. The music carries us to the galaxies above our heads as our feet slide over grains of sand, sensing our joy, feeling our pain.

Each women’s dance is beautiful and intriguing. I stop to capture their creation and wish I could secretly video each dance to show them later. To show how sacred their movement is, how god-like their faces. Why consider a face lift when each time we dance we peel away years of suppressed anger, sadness, frustrations of modern life. Swaying, circling and thrusting the hips, a rhythmic release of energy that no words can console.

‘One more song’ we look up, the women are lost in their beauty, we have danced for hours that flew by so quickly, each minute carrying us deeper into ourselves.

‘Chai?’, they gently nod their heads, sipping the sweetness. Food is served; fish, rice, tahina, salad …… we ravish the meal. Nothing tastes this good!

We return looking younger,so tranquil and still. Mostly silent, we gaze upon the lights of Dahab.

Deserted

Occasionally I’d open my eyes and see the wheels of the bus careering off the road into the dry desert sand and I’d shut them again. Best to not look. Another police check, I condidered taping my passport onto my chest so I would not be woken, again! Egyptian police are everywhere,  near st Catherine they took two Egyptians off the bus for questioning. In the distance the Sinai mountains lured me out of my lack of sleep, in a trance-like state I allowed the journey of the overwhelming emotions I felt for this place I’d never seen, but so wanted me. The pink sun rose lighting the majestic range, like cut out peaks shadowed by the morning rays.

As I took my first steps alone wandering up a wadi, I noticed a fox watching me.  I took a few steps towards it, then waited, its ears overpowering the face so attentive on me. I walked again, and slowly it made its way up the mountain, interested in my every move.  Rocks and sand make the floor of the wadi, contained by the mountains it acts as a path for the occasional rains. And somewhere imbetween stands a small but strong Acacia tree which withstands endless months without water and as food for hungry camels.

Bir Ugda a deserted dwelling, is a 4 hour walk though the desert  in a wadi supplied with water from the well.  In its day the Bedouin grew fruit trees and sustained themselves living in small rock houses camouflaged into the mountainside, and  sleeping under the stars. Mohammed my Bedouin guide prepared the fire from small sticks we’d gathered, as I sat taking in the silence and nothingness.  My senses in overload.  Yet there is nothing? As the full moon rises a white light appears on the distant peaks, then lightens the emptiness like a stage light, slowly making its way across the sand; milking the mountains shining with pride. So bright was she there was no need for candlelight. I slept with my head covered, the blanket tucked under my body to keep out the cold, occasionally  mapping the moon as she ventured across the starry sky. Jemel, the camel grinds his teeth, Mohammed stirs, then the silence of the penetrating energy of the mountains.

I awoke the next morning with the smell of fire Mohammed made with the black pot of sweet tea bubbling away. I grew to love this way to start my day, nothing to say, staring into the fire watching the lid of the pot.  Thanking God for the lessons I’d learn and the issues I faced surrounded by such beauty and tranquility. We climbed a mountain, walking through rocks for an hour till we came to Wadi Laba, a wide branching course through the desert. So enticing was this place that Muhammed agreed to return for supplies so we’d stay here a night and I’d be on my own in the desert for five hours.  I watched him turn the last bend of the wadi on camel Ready to explore the pyramid shaped rocks and find a place to sleep I walked, just the desert and me. I called out to echos of my voice, joyful of this moment I’d waited so long for. And it felt so right for me, the place where I could be.  I lay naked in the sun brushing away the persistent flies that followed Sadiga and me. Sadiga (arabic for friend) is a black female dog that lives by some restaurants where tourists feed her and from where she followed me. She stayed 5 days at a time, living with me, walking and sleeping close to me. One morning, returning to my  hut I found she had crept in during the night, waiting for me.

I’d slept in the hut with Charlie, my Australian friend I travelled round Dahab with who I met after a long walk past Asilea and my first taste of the mountains. I had seen her sitting alone, so asked her to join Hassan and me.  This was me thinking she was lonely, traveling alone in need of company, little did I know that even though she arrived the same time as me, she knew many people in Dahab from a visit before. Looking so brown already thanx to sun beds in London! As soon as we spoke we laughed, in her Australian brawl she said ‘We are not traveling for a month together mate,’ a premontion I guess, cos we did! As the evening began at Dolphin,  Egyptians started dancing.  We stood up, watching them over the wall I danced  copying the woman now on the table. The men circled round her shaking their shoulders and clapping, as she turned and dropped her hips to the rhythm. The waiters saw me dancing and grabbed me up on the cobbled wall. Before long I was dancing on the walk way, having money stuck on my forehead! My first night out in Dahab, after grabbing a bottle of red wine we found ourselves in Elzar Club, me dancing on chairs, tables,  anything completely free. The dance floor tho dirty created a space for me to play with the music and tease the audience!

'The Manager would like to speak to you', the waiter beckoned me. The night filled with many surprises, one being that the club wanted me to work for them to make and dance at parties. I laughed and told them I was only in Dahab for 4 days ..... I had no idea then that this night was to change my mind about where i lived and in 9 months I'd be living permanently in Dahab with my two dogs.  

Turkey – September 2003

Looking out the plane window, my view was filled with building after building, minarets and dry earth. Istanbul was massive! I cringed, once a city was not so daunting to me.  In the custom’s pile-up, everyone looked desperate to outsmart the other and find a quicker way through the crowds, trying eagerly to get past the uncharming officials.  Istanbul is spread over a very wide area divided by the Bosphorous River & the Marmaris sea.  My apartment in Sultanahmet overlooked the aysian side and large ferries and barges constantly made their way in and out her port . There is a theory that when you fly it takes your aura two days to find you,  for me it takes a few days to settle in to a place, but in Istanbul the adaption was quick. We made friends on our first night that would create a week filled with parties, a wedding, private lessons with a pop-star and finally returning home with my magic-carpet!

The harem at Topkapi palace in it’s days must have been beyond our comprehension. The detail in the fire-place, the gigantic jewels and pendants the sultan wore, trembled with power. The Ottoman Empire was rich and mighty in it’s power to hold such a jewel as the vital point where east meets west, that they lavished their Palace and Mosques with mosaics and domes on the grandest scale. Throughout the halls of ancient relics there is little evidence that women ever existed in the Empire.  The Harem has stories but no pictures or items from women of the period. Standing in The Blue Mosque makes you feel very insignificant under the domed ceiling signifying the universe. Those at prayer serene and unaffected by the steady flow of admirers.  Paying £5 for a walk in the underground cistern filled with ghostly carp and a history of dumped corpses seemed a bit excessive, but when we came out we realised just how vast it was underground. In it’s time water was shipped in from the Black Sea and stored in the cistern, whre huge colloseum’s hold up the

Sultanahmet is filled with classy restaurants charging tourist prices, but if you walk behind The Four Seasons you find a small road of cheaper restaurants with very friendly staff and long nights sitting on the terrace watching colourful Istanbul life:  Wali-Baba, our aged post-card and t-shirt man; the Kurdish waiter who threw his arms in the air every time we walked by begging us in.

Everyone says hi to you in turkey, everyone smiles.  Do you know how much that lightens your spirit?  I have never laughed so much and had such a ball.  The people we met were beautiful.  At first you think there must be a catch as they are so welcoming, but it’s said ‘if you spend 30 minutes with a Turk they become your relative’, and it’s true.  I connected with Aytul my dancing teacher and Gullu, even through the barrier of languages. we were able to communicate on a sensual level that is so missed in the West.

Aytul is a shy,  graceful dancer who I was honoured to spend 8 hours with.  She taught me a Roman (Gypsy) dance which consists of a lot of hopping and jumping to a 5 beat rhythm.  She worked my butt off, which resulted in my being able to improvise to a song by a Roman Orchestra  ‘Ahirkapi Buyuk’. Aytul teaches Gypsy children from the Beyoglu area, as part of her interest in working as a co-operative, where everyone helps each other.  Her friends bring the children to her and she offers them Contempory dance classes for free.  I watched one of the classes and was moved by the children aged 12 – 18, whose parents are not so keen for them to be there;  whose lives are so alien to conformity and education.  Society is unable to control them and so throughout the world they are ostracised and abused.  I was introduced to the spirit of he Gypsies, they are born dancing! Their prescence virtually bouncing off the walls.  During tea, they were pulling my partner’s hair, pretending it wasn’t them, and drinking cups of tea with 7 sugars! When they danced I almost cried for the years I denied my spirit and body such freedom. I realize that their lives are not so romantic, but watching them dance left me blessed. 

Gullu, I met in Zeugma, on our first night in Istanbul.  She is one of Turkey’s leading pop-star. Through translation I told her I was looking for dancing lessons and she invited me to dance with her and her band.  The fiddler taught me some moves and she offered me a private lesson later in the week.  We were total outsiders to the place and yet were invited to a birthday party for one of the band members the following night where again I danced with Gullu and heard her open, warm voice.  Each member having a strong rapport with the other and the audience When Turkish sing their passion and intensity is expressed trough their whole being.  Language is no barrier,  the depth and meaning of each song expressed through sparkling eyes.

The bazaar and shops are littered with carpets in arrays of reds and bright colours.  Small tapestry purses, tea glasses in blue for chai (a variety of hot drinks).  If you’ve ever wondered what cherry tea is like, imagine diluted hot cherry powder, this is passed off as tea, and can be a bit of a shock to your taste buds if you are not used to sweet things.

Les Arts Turc were my first contact in Istanbul.  Through Nurdogan I booked dancing lessons with Aytul and accommodation.  Nurdogan is filled with enthusiasm and information.  He has many projects incorporating dance, music and clothing. His shop is situated in sultanahmet above the busy restaurants and a ceramic shop.  I had wanted to further my interest in Sufism, but found $25 trips to see Whirling Dervishes put me off any further investigation.  Whirling is one aspect of Sufism, but just as I would not pay to visit a place of worship in any religion, I felt cheated.

Aytul’s students had told us of a wedding in Campashala, the area where the Kurds and Gypsies live in hostility. we walked at night, people coming out of their houses to meet us, no hostilty, just curiosity. in the distance we heard the music. As the only foreigners, we slowly made our way into the crowd joining the vast numbers in their celebraton of the happy event. The couple were so far away, joined onto a very long line, arms linked and a kind of hop-step. Then it started to drizzle and the families unhooked their arms and wandered into the night.