11.
A Day in Siwa

9th March

We rise bright and early, feeling refreshed and ready for a day of new surprises and explorations in Siwa.

Our hefty breakfast full of the local goodness and richness, is sure to keep us up for the whole day. Tea, coffee, orange juice, local bread, olives and olive jam, grilled tomatoes, boiled eggs and fresh fruit. There is really nothing missing.

A young man shows up and Salama lets us know he will be taking us to the Salt Lakes in his van. That’s where the morning comedy starts. The van is quite old and the young man can’t figure out how to deal with its gear box, let alone the fact that it really is not in the best working order so we have to eventually descend and opt for a more local kind of transportation - the young man’s motorbike with a back cart, where we sit on some patchwork rugs and get ready for a bumpy ride.

It turns out to be even bumpier than we expected, as well as slow, but we do have a sharp sense of humour so if you can picture us both sitting in a push cart on the back of a motorbike, bouncing up and down, I am sure you too will have a hearty laugh.

On the way we pass by many truckloads of Siwa salt, being driven by none other than the military. So we understand that the reason for all of the military in this area is not only due to the proximity of the Libya border, but mainly because they were given the exploration of Siwa’s special salt which is the same as to say Siwa’s gold.

As we approach the salt lake and the place where the extractions are underway, we look at each other in dismay. Miles and miles of dry red soil, where there once was this most beautifully blue salt water. Red, dry soil as far as our eyes can reach. And then, here and there, a pool of the turquoise blue salted water, being upturned by heavy machinery that removes the salt and leaves the land bare.

It honestly feels like Mother Earth is being violently raped right before our eyes and there is nothing we can do about it. I feel this torn land in my bowels, bleeding, screaming “Stop!” Whatever enchantment I had had towards seeing these turquoise blue pools has now vanished under the shock of the feminine being torn and beaten to a pulp by the masculine and I dive deep within myself for any remains of past memories that could be bringing up this feeling of sad disappointment. But no. It is not coming from my past. It is just this. Here. Now. And no matter how I feel, once again I am invited to come into compassion. To allow the depths of my Wisdom to remove the blame, the shock, the outrage , to bring me into that clear point of non judgment, yet knowing that my viewing this is just a reminder that Mother Earth is, indeed, being raped by and large the world over, in many more locations than we would care to acknowledge.

What to do? Accept. For now. Somehow knowing this must stop.

I no longer feel like bathing in these saline pools. I settle with admiring their beauty and dipping my feet in, whilst thanking Mother Earth for creating something so special. But I cannot wipe the sadness away. Not right away. My heart cries for Her. For us. What are we doing? What have we done? There must be someone. The government. Someone in charge. Someone who can come and see this and stop the rate at which this destruction is being executed.

Later on we find out that not only is the military the government itself, but also this salt is exported. It is a delicacy. Well maybe, if you come across salt from Siwa, you might remember this story about where it comes from and how it is extracted and eventually not buy it. That is the power we as consumers have.

That evening we share our dismay with Salama. He is a bit afraid. He does not really want to have this conversation. We also talk to Hemaed. The manager of Albabenshaal. He too is not inclined to discuss this, though we do feel he sees our point and agrees with us.

Someone tells us that the salt grows back in a few months, but the amount of barren land, dry and stripped bare does not seem to me to be getting over it in the near future.

This is a case where it might be more balanced to maybe create a special resort where people come to bathe in these highly therapeutic saline waters, thus justifying keeping them beautiful and safe from those massive bulldozers and trucks constantly stealing her grace.

And the noise… I haven’t told you about the noise and the smell of burnt petrol but I am sure you can imagine it pretty well, considering there are more trucks moving back and forth than I can count and bull dozers at the turn of every heap of salt, incessantly humming their dissonant tune of progress.

Well now, I believe I have made my point clear as to how we felt about the Salt Lakes and it’s time to move on.

Our next stop is at the Cleopatra natural spring, where there are a few “shops” and “cafés”. We choose a tasty lime juice and sit on the top floor, whilst letting go of our prior disappointment and enjoying the present moment as the blessing that it is.

After a while we are ready to go and our “tour guide” asks us if we’d like to go to a natural hot spring, somewhere on the way back, managed by a bunch of young guys who seem to be getting ready for the evening clients.

They can’t speak English, which does not present an issue, as the young man we are with just lets them know we are going for a dip in the pool and that just about settles it.

It is not the cleanest pool we have ever been in, but considering it is natural, we just surrender and receive this opportunity with gratitude.

Soon enough we get out of water and ready to go but believe it or not, our “chauffeur” is nowhere to be seen. He dropped us here and took off somewhere. We wait for a while, imagining he will show up any minute but the minutes go by and he remains invisible.

I eventually call Salama who does not pick up the phone and then Hemaed who says he will see what he can do. Well whatever he did worked because the young man finally shows up about an hour late, as if nothing had ever happened, saying he was just down the road. Meanwhile we got ourselves entertained with the lovely cats roaming around and we of course couldn’t be bothered to be upset with him but when he drops us off at Albabenshaal and the moment comes for us to pay, we decide to give him a bit less which he does not really like. Yet, he does understand.

We are fortunate to have our backs in very good working order, otherwise this Siwa “limousine” ride would have been a tough cookie! But it turned out to be so much more in synch with the local vibe and by now I can tell you we are into Siwa!

Despite the toing and froing in the streets, the mosque loudspeaker calling out for prayer times, the dust… this town is special. It has an innocence to it and a peace, the laid-back stillness of desert life. There is this ancient non-cosmopolitan calmness that gives it a very particular rawness. A safe haven tucked in the midst of the vast desert.

We had actually thought about the possibility of going into the desert to spend the night with the bedouins but Mr Thomas is totally against this and though Salama could arrange it, we decide to respect Mr Thomas's advice. We understand his misgivings. Two women tourists out there in the desert with who knows who. He does not want to be responsible for anything unfortunate happening to us. We know that could not be the case, of course but we cannot explain to him why we trust the way we trust. We know that in our reality we are cared for and respected but we also know we are many miles away from home and it serves us best to embrace this man’s advice and let him be at peace as well.

After a nice rest in our room, we decide to go out and pick up some street food today. So we can taste a few different local dishes that people around here eat everyday.

I cannot tell you what it was, because it was a long time ago and I did not write it down, but it was super tasty, that I can remember.

We go for a last evening walk up and down the main street and decide to retire for the night, feeling really happy with our choice to accept the suggestion to come to Siwa, despite the morning shock at the Salt Lakes.

Siwa is definitely a place we will want to come back to.