"John!" I shouted over to him: "Are these non-smoking camels?". He grinned, shook his curly head and lit a roll-up.

Our dive-masters, seeing that the group was safely underway, whooped and spurned on their camels to join the leaders. I was convinced my mount would doze off in mid step. John's camel, trotting close behind, bumped into him more than once. Periodically, one of the kids came up and whalloped Mabu with a thin stick, presumably to keep him awake. I felt for the poor thing. It was hot and the load was heavy. Beady sweat droplets formed in a tuft of hair just behind Mabu's head. It was the first time I had seen a camel sweat

After an hour's ride we arrived at our dive-site, a bay named Gabr el Bint after the grave of a young girl. We kitted up under the scorching sun. I hesitated before removing my head-scarf, fearing that my brain might get poached. The Bedouins draped heavy cloth over wooden frames to provide shelters. The children led the camels to the beach. It could not have been the first time that the animals encountered the sea, but they bent down and sniffed the salty water hesitantly. The kids dragged the protesting beasts into the waves and splashed them to cool them down, then bullied their favourites to kneel so they could climb onto their humps and jump into the sea, shrieking with pleasure. When we emerged from our first dive, we handed them our masks and snorkles and they were off with unbounded energy while we sought shade.

We relaxed for our surface interval in the shade,chatting and sharing the buzz which always follows a dive. Wahid's group, on a shallower dive, had encountered a hawksbill turtle. My jealousy did not last too long as we boasted of sheer drops covered in spectacular coral, myriad reef-fish and tuna silhouetted against the blue deep.

The Bedouins kept to themselves in a separate camp at the back of our shelter, but they bought us strong, sweet tea and a delicious lunch of chicken and rice mixed with pasta in the manner typical for the region.

After our second dive we unkitted and piled our gear once again next to the camels which knelt in anticipation of their load; then waited in the shade while the Bedouins took over. A joint was passed around surreptitiously. I took a quick toke then it was time to go. We rode into the light of the setting sun which painted the desert red-gold. I mellowed on my swaying camel, looking out to sea, an Arabian melody playing in my head in rhythm with the camel's gait.

Information:

Dahab means "gold" in Arabic, a name which refers to the colour of its beaches. It is a small resort in the south of the Sinai peninsula, an hour's drive from the airport at Sharm-el-Sheikh. Originally a Bedouin fishing village, Dahab became a Mecca for backpackers in the seventies. The laid-back atmosphere prevails, beach-front restaurants along the "Mazbat", the main road, are kitted out with Bedouin rugs and pillows spread in the shade of date palms.

Recently, the government has targeted the town for development. Five-star hotels are being built, but it is still possible to find basic accommodation from 2$ a night.

In addition to spectacular diving, Dahab is a paradise for wind-surfers and a base for desert safaris. Divers should note that an assessment dive is required to ensure safe and environmentally responsible practice.
There are several locally owned hotels and tour operators. I do not wish to show favouritism by listing only a few; not all are represented on the web. Advise can be obtained by contacting http://www.mate-dahab.com.

Recommended:
Yes

Best Suited For: Friends
Best Time to Travel Here: Anytime