Dahab

The land of endless summer-lazy days spent on a picture-perfect palm beach, the red Saudi Arabian hills glimpsed through a haze of sweet smoke. The collective inertia of a community of dope-anaesthetized young bohemians has a way of sucking in the weary traveler. Those who plan on spending one day stay three, others find a week-long visit stretching to a month, or six. The simple daily routine involves combinations of eating, playing backgammon, and sleeping, with sporadic episodes of swimming, camel-riding, or safari. The beauty of such a schedule is it can be repeated limitlessly with no complications-save, perhaps, the nagging awareness that one’s pocketbook is being eroded at the rate of US$10 every day. Not to mention one’s brain.

What could cast a pall on such a carefree existence? Could it be that this edifice of inactivity stands on a rotten foundation-garbage, to be exact? The sybaritic foreign residents of Dahab lie prone like so much Bedouin blanket ballast, somehow managing to turn a blind eye to the trash that collects literally everywhere around them. Visitors viewing the scene with unclouded eyes may find it painful to see a place of such crystalline natural beauty being soiled by excessive tourist traffic and a lack of both principles and facilities to deal with it. Turn your gaze beneath the waves via snorkel or scuba mask for grander sights.