On the Edge of the Universe I

On the Edge of the Universe I

 Do you occasionally feel enervated by the incessant din of our modern world? If so, come with me to a sanctuary deliciously devoid of the trappings of our time. One caveat - we must first pass through more of the clamor and chaos that inundates our biggest cities.

 We take a plane to Cairo, Egypt, a cauldron of some 20 million souls locked in a struggle to secure enough calories for the day and keep a roof over their heads. From there, a van shuttles us north through the lush delta of the Nile, its peasants following the agricultural rhythms laid down in the time of the pharaohs.

 Breaking out of the heat and dust, we cruise through the gentle sea breezes of Alexandria, once home to a vibrant community of artists, writers, and long departed Jews, Armenians, and Greeks who fled Egypt after Nasser took the reins of power in 1952.

 Tacking west along the Mediterranean, we pass El Alamein, site of a graveyard hosting over 8,000 souls who perished in the Western Desert campaigns of World War II. Then, just after the turquoise waters of Marsa Matruh, we head south into the sahara, Arabic for desert.

 Our destination is the Siwa Oasis lying only 30 miles from the Libyan border.  An outlier of some 25,000 ethnic Berbers, Siwa is separated from the rest of Egypt by the Western Desert and was connected to the outside world by asphalt road only as recently as 1984. After one night in Siwa we focus on the goal of our trip to this outpost of civilization: the Great Sand Sea.

 Home to no one, the Great Sand Sea is a seamless mass of sand, smothering the desolate frontiers of Libya and Egypt. Its parallel dunes begin just three kilometers out of Siwa and spill south for almost 800 kilometers to the bottom of Egypt where they run smack into the Gilf Kebir, a limestone/sandstone plateau rising 1,000 feet and the size of Switzerland. 

 The dunes of the Great Sand Sea are relentlessly driven by the Hamseen, cousin to the other winds of the Arab and Persian worlds: Haboob; Harmattan; Simoom; Shamal; Sharki; and Sirocco. Following their geological imperative, the billions and billions of sand grains that make up these dunes climb higher and higher on the shoulders of their neighbors drowning everything in their wake.  At the Gilf Kebir, the dunes have accomplished the unthinkable, breaching its 1,000 foot-high crest.

 Cassandra Vivian, author of The Western Desert of Egypt: An Explorer’s Handbook, has written, “When all life forms have disappeared from the continents, only the sand dunes will remain.” Her advice: “Anyone planning an expedition to the dunes of the Great Sand Sea has to be especially well prepared, as there's not a single water source in 150,000 square miles.”

 At the Gilf Kebir, nature parsimoniously bestows only a few centimeters of rain once every 13 years. Just west over the border, the Libyan Desert, the most arid region on Earth, is the site of the highest recorded temperature - a startling 58 degrees C (136 F) recorded south of Tripoli in September 1922.

 Having secured two jeeps, each with a driver and guide, our party heads out. Once clear of town, we stop and our guide deflates the tires to 15 psi to help the vehicle float on the deep sand. We approach the first dune and the driver expertly snakes his way up: steady gas, no sudden starts or stops, keep the jeep moving.

 When we hit the crest the view is breathtaking: endless dunes soft and sinuous under an impeccable cerulean sky. And something surprising about the air – such a light, fresh, clean fragrance with undertones of salt as if we are at the ocean. However, the most overwhelming element is the silence – deep, absolute and all encompassing. No other place, yet experienced, is bathed in this exquisite silence that seems to shout a mysterious presence.

 For a few hours we continue cresting the dunes and fording the tight valleys that lie between them. By now the sun is high overhead burning the sand and we are as parched as the dunes themselves. About ten kilometers into the dunes we stop and make camp. The afternoon sun and heat have been brutal and a question is nagging in the back of the head. What is it about the desert that kept inviting the prophets and holy people of The Book to seek it out? Were they intent on inflicting deprivation and hardship on themselves, or was there something more?

 The guides make a small campfire out of the stump of an olive tree that they have lashed to the Jeep roof. Soon a delicious stew of chicken and vegetables is ready. One guide sits on a half empty water jug and taps out different Arab and Berber rhythms – an Elvin Jones of the desert. Night falls, the fire turns to embers and you feel something calling you away from the camp.

 Spent from the days adventure, you trudge to the crest of the nearest dune where you squat with your knees under your chin. As you perch on the edge of the universe, a panorama of ineffable beauty thrills you: the heavens are lit with billions and billions of stars, big as bushel baskets. The overpowering silence along with its mysterious presence, now intense and palpable, penetrates you to the core. You reach out your hand and touch the face of God. 

 Bibliography: Vivian, Cassandra, The Western Desert of Egypt: An Explorer’s Handbook

 A special thanks to our guides, Mostafa and Ahmed for their laughter, music, and for taking us safely to the edge of the universe.

 Steve Guthrie