12 February Egypt

A Day that officially counted as one destination – Saint Catherine monastery

We hired a driver for the entire day, which in theory suggested freedom, flexibility, and perhaps a spontaneous detour or two. In practice, it meant we were going to exactly one place, very thoroughly. The destination was Saint Catherine’s Monastery, the oldest continuously inhabited monastery in the world, set deep in the Sinai mountains near Saint Catherine. The road there was lined with police checkpoints, each one politely serious, and with stretches of asphalt so empty they felt temporarily forgotten. The sun did its job with admirable consistency.

Our driver spoke very little English, which was fine because he had instructions and we had a translation app. Between the two, nothing essential was lost, except perhaps nuance. We arrived with about two hours to spare before closing, which felt like good timing in a place where time itself seems to have taken a vow of stability. The monastery was quiet, almost suspiciously so. There were only a few visitors, and the silence inside the thick stone walls carried weight.

The only persistent disruption came from children outside, small and agile, who treated our bags as an open invitation to an economic discussion. We declined, repeatedly and politely, and eventually escaped inside. There, among icons and ancient calm, we met a German man who spends two months here every year on what he described as a “break.” He guided us through the monastery shop with the ease of someone who knows exactly where the good things are and has long stopped being impressed by them.

Since it was only midday, we thought we could extend the outing. Perhaps a remote village, a lesser-known valley. This was when we learned that our definition of “a full day” and the Egyptian operational definition were not aligned. The excursion, it turned out, covered the monastery. Everything else required negotiation, recalculation, and additional enthusiasm on both sides. The numbers never made emotional sense, the negotiation expired naturally, and we settled on walking instead.

That turned out to be the better decision. The surrounding valley unfolded quietly: layered mountains, clean lines, muted colors, and a sense that nothing here needed improvement. We walked without purpose, which felt appropriate.

Back in Dahab, the weather shifted. It was the first rainy day of the trip. At first gentle, then serious, the rain darkened the sea and intensified the colors until everything looked briefly overqualified for the moment. We stayed inside, watched from the window, and let the day end without further plans. Sometimes the best conclusion is simply staying put, listening to rain hit the surface of the Red Sea, and agreeing that this, too, counts as progress.

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