With slow steps, I leave the hotel grounds. East of the Sahl Hashish Road, mostly to the Red Sea lie behind this surreal tourist ghetto. In the approximately thirty years since the development of infrastructure vacation here small paradises created where before was nothing but desert sand. But there are artificial worlds, the All-inclusive guest needs to worry about anything and finds around the clock all: food in many varieties and locations, drinks, fresh water pools, deck chairs, to the show and the Egyptian Folklore evening . Exposed: the land itself has not experienced it so. No one can smell the heat of the desert, feeling the crunch of the fine dust between your teeth or feel the dry wind in their hair.
So I leave the hotel through the secured entrance. Under the voucher, we should not be venture alone in the southwest of the country, the danger of kidnapping in the desert was great. I assume the Southwest does not begin just southwest of the road, and trot off.
shows as opposed to the revamped hotel complexes the opposite side of the road a sad picture: unfinished infrastructure and enormous amounts of waste. The invention of plastic bags and PET bottles is not only beneficial: the stuff is piling up everywhere hangs in the palm trees or fences, is in corners and whirled around by the wind. Opposite the hotel, I see the simple dwellings of the locals: some neat houses, some mud huts or tin shacks, sometimes even body-in-space covered with carpets and used as living space.
transverse end of such a system I to the south, leave the road and walk again ... on sand. Just a few feet, then the body will again the familiar turn: a cautious, tentative walk through this huge sand box, which opens to the west and run somewhere in the Sudan or Libyan desert would. The ground is firm and is, very few. Initially, cross bike and camel tracks, including dogs paw prints are visible. Then they will be less, and finally the floor is intact, as if there never a man had come through. I'm back angekommen.
Die Sonne brennt auch am Nachmittag heiss; es ist sicher 35 Grad. Ich greife in den Sand; unter der oberen, fest verbackenen Schicht ist er lose, rötlich und fein, durchsetzt mit gröberen Steinchen. Die Luft flirrt in der trockenen Hitze, und mein Blick geht in die endlose Weite. Distanzen sind schwer auszumachen; das Gelände ist weitgehend flach, bis auf gelegentliche Hügelchen. Ich renne wieder los, mal hierhin in ein Seitental, mal dorthin in ein anderes, und freue mich wie ein Kind. Das ist wieder die Landschaft wie vor genau einem halben Jahr in Marokko - es fehlen bloss der schwere Rucksack und der Zeitdruck. Doch ich fühle mich zuhause. Die schwarzen Steine, die gelegentlich den Boden überziehen, haben the same smooth, hard, black surface. Shaken some of them in hand, they clink as well as the others, which lie thousands of miles further west in solitude.
After some time - I have not measured, it is important out here, but it might take even longer - I empty the rest of the lukewarm water in the neck and turn back to the art world on the other side. Dusty, sweaty and happy I pass through the security entrance to the hotel. Amidst the well-fed, tanned people who just between the pool deck and bar Who commute to get to me - more than before - a stranger before, and look forward to my next run ... in the desert.
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