We woke up the next morning to our first proper look at the legendary Siwa. The sun was already bright in the clear blue sky, warming the clay plaster of the hotel’s ensuite rooms, which were spread out in little one-storey clusters, in the typical architecture of the region.
A long pool of shallow water with various bridges crossing it flowed through the centre of the whole site like the central nervous system of some desert creature. Water connecting everything.
Bricked walkways zigzag all over, flanked by irrigated flower beds. It was a tired place, old, but well maintained. The staff were attentive and friendly. There was a definite relaxed Ramadan vibe in the air.
That was something I noticed almost immediately in Siwa. People don’t look at you like they do in other parts of Egypt. They certainly don’t harass you to buy their things or services. They don’t stare. You are just another person living your life. They don’t expect a tip. They don’t expect anything from you except decency and honesty. It was enormously refreshing and endearing.
Mum and I got up quickly to go to breakfast before the restaurant closed. We had slept like the dead the night before. Perhaps the adrenaline come down from the near-death experience had knocked us out or perhaps it was the healing magic of Siwa doing its work. But first we wanted to have a quick look at the hot spring that was advertised (by a charmingly painted wooden sign) to be further along passed the restaurant area.
We hurried along passed a dodgy looking pool that needed a clean and there he was. Not the green slimy hot spring advertised as such a delight (I wouldn’t even put my feet in that) but the mountain standing stately behind it.
It looked a bit like the rock formations you find in the Grand Canyon, or somewhere like that. Layers of flat, table-top surfaces in a deceptive shape, with multiple peek slabs. It was a darker colour than the sand that surrounds us like a frozen sea. Almost orange.
I saw it and instantly knew I had to climb that mountain. There was something there for me to find. I could feel it calling to me.
This mountain is not anything special to look at but to me it was breath-taking. There was something about its energy that was simply mesmerizing and I knew it was calling me. This was why I was here.
“I have to climb that mountain!” I said to my mum breathlessly, my hands clasped in front of me.
“Without me!” she said, “I will leave that one to you and Hakim.”
Breakfast was the usual affair. A small plate of sliced cucumber and tomatoes. A plate of cheese and something that looked suspiciously like radioactive spam. A basket of flat bread, tahini and an omelette each. This place even had an espresso machine. You had to pay extra for it but the coffee was so much better than the Nescafe crap Egypt seems to be addicted to. I have to admit, I’m also not a fan of Turkish coffees. I like the spices but it’s the texture of it, the bittiness, I don’t like.
Now, real, thick coffee from an espresso machine or stovetop espresso pot. Mm mm, yum.
Or maybe they think Nescafe is what foreigners drink and they want to keep the tourists happy. They are very hospitable that way, the Egyptians. They want you to be happy.
“Rami, thank you so much for looking after us so well,” I said to Rami, our server, after breakfast.
I was grateful because he had stayed up late the night before waiting for us to arrive so he could serve us dinner. Nothing was impossible for Rami.
Looking around, it seemed we were the only people staying here. So far, we had only seen workers and cats, one of which, a young ginger tomcat, adopted us and on whom I bestowed the name Nefertum – or Nefertum-tum, when I wanted to be extra affectionate.
“It is my great pleasure to serve you,” he replied beaming.
I think I may have made two friends.
Khalid, our local driver was waiting for us outside in his van. Apparently, this is one of the better vehicles in town which is not saying much judging by the number of rust holes. I like it immediately. Although I would have been happy on one of the carts being pulled by a donkey or horse.
Often driven by children, they are still a common mode of transportation around Siwa. Skilfully weaving their way through the traffic of a variety of vehicle types most of which were in some form of advanced decay.
There is so much water in Siwa, Khalid explained to Hakim in Arabic who then translated for us, as we drove through town towards the Insta-famous salt pools.
“You just have to dig a little bit and water will gush up 20 metres in the air for some time before settling again.”
There are two main areas of lakes. One to the east, on the outskirts of the greenbelt going into the desert. This is where you can find large concentrations of salt deposits left over from an ancient sea.
This region of the desert is in a depression and its actually below current sea level. Millions of years ago this whole area was, in fact, under the sea. Fossilized whale bones tell the tale of a diminishing ocean until what was left would have been, essentially, a giant salt pond, turned to dust.
The water in the lakes and pools today is exceptionally salty and exceptionally good for you. The minerals left over from this ancient ocean are pure and untouched. In our mineral depleted modern world it’s no wonder that whispers about Siwa’s healing benefits are beginning to grow.
To the west, on the other side of town, you find the other lake. They call it a lake but it is saltier than the regular sea and I would say that it’s more like a sea in the process of being born.
Certainly, it’s growing. The excess water from people’s wells gets pumped into the lake. But with the growing population and everyone wanting their own well, the amount of excess water is growing too.
“He says Siwa is full of water. More and more water is coming out every day,” explains Hakim as we drove across the shallow waters towards the turquoise salt pools.
A salt mining company operates on the eastern side of the east lake. They dig large holes with backhoes that rapidly fill with water. Over time, the sun evaporates the water leaving behind salt crystals which they then harvest before digging the pools deeper. The water in these pools, when they are freshly dug, is some of the clearest blue you will ever see. Especially in stark contrast to the desert surrounds and the blazing white sun.
We drive through a maze of pools, old and new, big and small. A few diggers are scattered here and there, as are a few vans with tourists but it’s wonderfully quiet. We’re lucky, apparently.
We find our spot and get out. In a pool with other people in it, so it happens. The irony doesn’t escape any of us girls, who had suggested various enticing pools that were passed by.
The ground is covered in hard salt crystals so you have to tread carefully so as not to cut yourself. It’s not too bad or uncomfortable, don’t get me wrong, just go carefully.
The water is slick and oily from all the dissolved salt. It’s so thick that you bob about like a cork. Until suddenly you bob too far and find yourself rolling onto your stomach where you proceed to wobble about in an ungainly fashion.
I kind of felt like an inflated beetle. Thrashing about like a fat cow.
To be fair that’s how I usually feel but this made it real.
I quickly realised that if I got upright, I could balance and remain upright (by far the best position to be in) by moving my legs around either like a ballerina or by engaging a cycling motion. This was revolutionary.
You have to be quite on it because the minute your attention goes and you don’t quite counterbalance enough, over you go either onto the front or back. Either way you’re back to the whole oversized, distressed beetle.
We stayed in the water for about an hour, by which point we had absorbed a suitable amount of minerals. No need to overdo it on the first day.
Hakim had also just dunked his head, on purpose, which made his eyes burn like the dickens, as my grandmother would say.
That’s the second time I’ve used that expression recently which is very strange. I wonder if she is trying to connect with me. Probably to say, "see, you are of me after all."
Apparently, dunking your head is very good for you but I’m not sure I would want to try it. It looked awful.
The sun quickly dried the water on our skin leaving a dazzling display of white crystals. We could pass for vampires from twilight, glittering in the sun. It was horrendously scratchy but we were determined to suffer for our health and absorb every bit of all those primordial minerals we could.
It occurs to me that, if the smallest things here, like minerals are some of the larger creative forces in other dimensions, we were literally floating with angels.
Not too far away you can find Cleopatra’s pool. One of the most famous and most photographed pools in Siwa.
The drive over from the salt pools takes you through the vast grove of palm and olive trees, tended by the Bedouin tribes for hundreds of years. It feels like this place exists within another dimension.
“You know, I keep thinking we are going to the sea,” said my mum as she watched the scenery through the van window.
“It reminds me so much of somewhere in the northeast of Brazil and that down one of these sandy roads through the palm trees we would come to the sea. The impression is so strong its very strange,” she finished.
“Hm, yeah, I can see the similarities. It reminds me of Brazil or the Caribbean in the old days too.”
The pool itself is a large, circular, stone structure dug down into the earth, fed by channelled springs that bubble up from below. Stone steps lead along the inside down into the water, much like the hidden pools of the temples along the Nile – except this one is circular.
I jump in. I can’t help myself. The water is gloriously inviting and I am covered in salt. Besides, there were numerous kids jumping in from the steps, so it must be acceptable behaviour.
I jumped in from the top, just to set the bar higher. I was slightly disappointed the kids didn’t accept the challenge.
The water was surprisingly warm, being ever so slightly thermal. I wasn’t expecting that. It reminded me of the Caribbean Sea in summer and instantly I felt like a mermaid come to life. I dove down to the bottom and explored the slimy depths before twirling back to the surface.
Like always I wish, when I break the surface, that I could rise out of the water some distance, held by it, before gracefully diving back in. Do you know what I mean? As I rise up the water continues holding me and almost picks me up taking me higher than the surface before coming down again. Do you have the visual?
Somehow, I feel water is holding out on me. I’m sure we used to dance in this way at some point. I’m certain it can move in ways that we are unaccustomed to. I have seen it do strange things after all. If it’s happened once, it must be able to again.
There is something very light and pure about this water. Sweet almost and I mean that not in the non-salty sense but in an affable, endearing way. Small bubbles gently breach the surface from something down below. Some sort of gas maybe.
I lament my total lack of interest in science since my GCSEs. Everything I ever learned about science has long been relegated to some distant file in a dusty backwater of my memory.
Lying in the water on my back, listening to the gurgling bubbles from below. Looking out to the palm trees ringing the pool and the blue sky above there is something very familiar about this place. It feels like something I used to get flashes of when I was younger. Usually on beaches in the Caribbean or Brazil. A distinct feeling of familiarity, like I had looked out at the view for lifetimes.
Actually, when I let my attention go fully on to the feeling, I sense that it is a rooted presence in the moment. Everything else, past and future fades away and what’s left is the mystery of the eternal now.
Comments