An update

For blog readers I have not met,  you may think that this story has an ending. It doesn't. I returned to Jordan for Thanksgiving of last year and it was a completely different experience. I stayed at Zidanes camp and the act of going back to Jordan proved that it wasn't all a dream. I occasionally have attacks that tell me to drive to JFK and purchase a one way plane ticket and never come back, but I will go back. I recently returned from an amazing trip to Malawi where I taught english to 8th graders in Chezi near Lilongwe. There are no words to describe how wonderful that trip was. Like Jordan it was a whole bundle of emotions with stories that are tucked away in my journal ready to be written down in a book. If you would like to see pictures or have any questions for me please do not hesitate to email me at petitbateau17@gmail.com. It would make my day to hear from you. 

B.

Sorry =[

I have felt the power of writing, the way it can affect people. I am experiencing a unique thing in Wadi Rum that is too sensitive to write about. It is over and done with, but I don't feel comfortable writing about it on the internet. It is just in the journal. It may be a while until my next post, I'm very sorry and If you want to know I am alive please email me. I sometimes may not check my email for about a week, so don't get too worried.
Love,

Bailey

Burdah Bailey

I’ve noticed something strange since we have been here. Before we went to Egypt, I would always look down at the sand when we went in a jeep or on the camels, now I look up at the mountains. I think my body and mind are finally starting to take this magnificent desert in. It took some time to concentrate on the ground, but now I am concentrating on the mountains. I just recently went up one of those mountains and it was fantastic. I had done a tour with a couple of British college kids, and they were planning on climbing Burdah Rock bridge, and invited me to go along. Climbing Burdah was on my list of things to do before I leave, so I leapt at the chance. We started a trek out in the desert to get to the bridge, which hurt my hips. There is something strange about women in the desert; our hips start to burn right at the joints after walking for an extended period of time. For men, they don’t hurt at all because they don’t have “real” hips. The scramble up to the rock bridge was difficult, with slippery places, ledges, and drops. You cannot have a fear of heights to do the scramble. We had met two groups of people that were scrambling and said there was only one difficult area just at the top, but you should be okay if you have ropes. ROPES?? We didn’t have any ropes and I started to get nervous. I took one look at the difficult part and told my self, “there is no way.” It was a little windy slippery path that went straight up a rock face. Richard and Hayley (college kids) went up and when I saw them on top of the bridge I began to regret it. I studied the path and knew where to put my feet and called Mehdi to come and help me. I finally made it to the top and the view was spectacular. You could see everywhere and I felt so happy that I was living in this desert. I consider this place my home. When we went to Egypt I missed it so much, and realized that a piece of my heart will be buried in this sand forever. I have fantasies of me having a tent out in the desert where I would just sit in the silence and write all the stories that come to my mind. This desert has energy that wraps you and you can never let go, because you never want to. I also love the culture here, some people say this place reminds them of out west, just by how it looks. Out west you don’t have that culture, here you have the spirit of the Bedouins that is embedded in every nook and cranny of the rocks. The people here are extremely friendly, but they are humans as well and susceptible to jealousy, temptation, anger, and all the other traits we humans experience in life.
On the way back Hayley and I were so tired and our hips were on fire. Finally, one car stopped with a very young guide that I had met a couple of times in the village. The people in the car saw how tired we were and one woman said “We just can’t leave them here, they must come with us.” So, Hayley and I climbed up on top of the car on the roof racks and sat on the top as we were driven around. They were going to another part in the desert so we were dumped in the middle of nowhere. I got my sense of direction and figured that the camp was straight but we were told to wait for the rest of the group. We sat in the middle of the desert writing names and making hand turkeys, until the rest of the group finally arrived. We walked a total of 10 hours that day and when I got back to the camp, I could feel the relief radiating off of my legs when I sat down. Maybe next time I go hiking in the desert, I won’t go for so long.

I don’t want to leave in a month. Climbing up to Burdah really made me realized that I consider this place home, the kids my brothers and sisters, the drivers my buds, and the desert my home. I miss some things about the United States, but I am just not ready to head back into western life. I love the person I am here. I don’t have corrupted opinions of people because maybe they don’t wear the right clothes or say the right things like what happens to you when you are in high school. I feel alive and free, like the whole world is open to me to explore. I love how I talk without saying “like” every 5 seconds, how I smile all the time, and I don’t feel nervous to laugh when something is funny. I am happy that my mom took me out of high school because I saw that I was going down the wrong path of extreme teenager. Yikes! I love this Bailey Theado, and I hope she stays with me when I return to the states.

Some may call me crazy

Jebel Musa was a powerful experience that I will never forget. There is a presence on that mountain that cannot be explained. A force that rackets your soul and makes your head spin, and your heart heavy. For the past year I have been going through a spiritual crisis, not knowing if there is a God, or who is right. I have been praying to the universe because thats what I believe connects us all. I was having a hard time believing, but I had peace in my mind because I trusted that the universe would provide me with the answers when I needed it. I got one of those answers on the mountain.
We were hiking up with our Bedouin guide Sobe and a huge group of people from Dahab. There are little shops every kilometer that sell snacks and drinks, and our group would stop at each one. My mom and I were searching for the quiet so we would go in front of or behind the group. We had stopped at one kiosk and my mom and I had walked a little bit ahead, my mom had turned back to ask our guide a question and I kept walking a little. I stopped and I looked up. Immediately, my heart felt like a rock that was sinking my chest in, while my head was in the clouds. The moon was full and lit up all the surrounding mountains, but Jebel Musa remained a powerful black silhouetted. I stopped and stared for about a minute in the quiet and felt a tear slide down my cheek. A man at the bottom of the mountain was saying that people come, they pray, they cry, then they leave. I was laughing at them in my mind and didn't want to be one of these babbling brooks, crying over a mountain. I felt my eyes tear up and one drop run down my cheek. I had been irritated the entire way we had climbed, why was I crying all of a sudden? I let go of my body and all feeling. Then my conscious just said to me, ( I actually ended up saying this out loud) "Everybody needs a God. No matter how strong you think you are, you need it." I had regained my mind and gave myself a very strange look, and felt very strange. Why had this idea popped into my head just then as I looked up at this huge black silhouette. I felt small, but powerful, alone and weak at the same time. After much speculation, I bet that I had been given one answer, that everyone needs a God. That does not mean that I am saying everyone should be Christian, I am just saying that everyone needs the comfort of a God. It may not even be that, because I don't even quite understand it. It was an incredible experience to just feel weak all of a sudden and have an idea pop into my head that "Everyone needs a God." Some may call me crazy, but it is my experience. The feeling of not being in my body, my heart like an anchor in my chest as my head floated up to the stars.

I always laugh at the people that think they talk to God and are spoken back to, but something talked to me that night. I had been irritated by the Americans screaming at the top of their lungs the Indiana Jones theme, and the Spanish guy going on 5 min rants that sounded like " dadadadal dkfjaldkjfajdhfkl ajhdfkaljdhfakdjhwueakda;dlkfjadlskfja;ldjfaldksjf....", but during that one second something strange happened. I didn't feel it when I was on top of the mountain or when I was climbing down, but just at that one moment with the glorious full moon lighting my face as the mountain where Moses received the 10 commandments towered over me, I think I felt God.

Dining in Dahab

They waited calmly for their food to arrive as their stomachs began to turn concave and any sight of food lifted their hopes, but then quickly smashed it into the ground, because they knew it was not theirs. They felt the cool sea breeze brush their skin as they turned to look at the calm waters of the Red Sea. The sun was just high enough to reflect dancing flashes of light on the little waves. The two of them pictured in their minds the wonderful life that was held just below the surface of this large calm pool of water. All of a sudden, they were interrupted by the clinking of plates and three men approached them, with plates in their arms and some carried tea and condiments. They placed a feast before them. One man laid down two large white plates filled with tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, eggs, French fries, falafel, oranges, and a steaming dish of fooul. They began to grab their forks, but they were stopped as another man came and placed two large glasses of mint tea and a little pot of sugar. They resumed their fork collecting and were interrupted once more by a man who brought little dishes filled with hummus, babaganous, cucumber dip, a plate of 3 different kinds of bread, and one plate with ketchup, hot sauce and more napkins. By this time the two were speechless, but they managed to spit out a “shukran,” and the waiters seemed pleased at their shock and they walked away. One of them started on the foou,l which had the right consistency of beans mixed in with tomatoes, spices, and fresh garlic. The other started by cutting her falafel and dipped each piece in the wonderful dips. They both stirred sugar into their tea and kicked back, this is the life, they thought. The ocean, the mountains, the great place to stay, and the amazing food, was just the kind of relaxation they were looking for. Whew! It was not like the typical beach towns in the United States, with hoards of people, bright lights, and everything else horrible about the shores. (Cringe) They were having the most amazing breakfast of their lives, looking over the Red Sea, which is one of the best places for diving, and occasionally glancing up at the staggering rock mountains where Moses talked to god. It is a special place. Once their bellies were filled up to the brim they relaxed and chatted about what they may do for the rest of the day. They drew a blank except for going snorkeling. They left a tip of 5 EGP (1$) and paid a whopping 20 EGP (4$) for their meal. The both thought, “I sure could get used to this,” and headed to the sea.

an addition to the last blog

I remember one time Tom, my mom, and I were walking to go get a drink (I got strawberry juice which was really good, but Tom said it tasted like cold liquid jam. Yummy!) We said something rather quickly and to me and my mom it sounded like this, “jkwkjdbeuwwoepaldsdjkbalsdiwue;awoeraohsdlkhapqeuhanvnbm,bkajhdlbafhaleure?” My mom and I turned to each other and asked if the other actually understood what he just said. I have the same problem with Abbie (New Zealand) and Sara (Australia) back in Wadi Rum. One day, Abbie quoted a man who said that “England and America are divided by a common language,” which I believe is completely true at times. Well we are staying/stayed (because I am already back in Wadi Rum) at Bish Bishi, which is a really sweet little hotel. Our room was 25 EGP ($5 USD), not too bad eh? Dahab is fantastic and I am a little nervous to write about how amazing it is because I don’t want so many people rushing to Egypt and staying there, because it starts to feel like your own after a while. Boy oh Boy do I miss it, and will be back time after time.

The Bus Ride

Have you ever been confined to a seat for 18 hours? Well, let me tell you it is not fun at all. (Acutally as I write this I'm getting a marraige proposal from a 19 year old. I've only had a couple, but this one is looking good. I've got half a million red camels which he has to go to Iraq for, (differnt than normal ones) and houses all of Egypt, and it will be honemoon all the time. haha)

Anyways, we took a bus from Luxor to Dahab, and it was the longest trip ever. We left at 5 in the afternoon and arrived at 11 the next day. Our bus was a lot nicer than the other buses we have taken. This one had new seats, and air conditioning, and it was clean. The only problem with the seats was that they were covered in plastic, every 5 seconds you would have to skooch up to keep from sliding down. We had some interesting travelers on our bus. The first was a really nice Russian man who looked really Russian. We had met him in Luxor at the bus counter and I did not need to ask him where he was from because he looked like Vladamir Putin. There were also two girls on our bus from Nevada who were studying in Torino (they were on vacation). I was not happy by the way they dressed. (Gosh I'm really going to sound like an old lady) One girl was wearing a small tight tye-dye tank top and then with a slit in the tank top that went right down to her clevage. First, If she were in the states I would tell her to put some clothes on, but she was in a muslim country! Tank tops are a no no in anywhere but the beach, but she had a cut in her shirt to make it go lower! (Some people don't reasearch before the come on vacation I think). I felt offended, and ashamed that I came from the same country, because that is another example of an Ugly American. We did have another really nice guy on our bus from England. His name is Tom. (Hi Tom, I bet your reading this) It has been funny to hear the English accent and the fact that we can't understand each other sometimes.