When my dad had bought tickets for the first Egyptian train, he bought two, one to Aswan and one from Luxor back to Cairo once the cruise was done. We were all depressed as we left the amazing boat, which none of us would have minded if we had to spend the rest of our lives on, to the train station to board a train we already wished we were done with. We dragged ourselves into the station, on time for once, and sat down on a stone bench to wait for the train. My dad chose this time to break the news to us. He had bought 2nd class Egyptian train seats, because they were the only Egyptian (cheap) ones available. Zosia started to complain, “I hate Egyptian trains! This day couldn’t get any worse!” My mom tried to comfort her, stroking her hair and talking in a soothing voice, “It’s okay sweetie, it can’t be much worse than the last one. Wow, you really have a lot of dandruff in your hair. Have you used shampoo recently?” My mom tried to brush the “dandruff” of my sister. News flash: It wasn’t dandruff. Zosia must have picked up lice from the last train from Cairo to Aswan. The eggs take about 8 days to hatch, so she’d experienced only mild itching, and nobody had noticed, including her. My dad went off to try to find fine-toothed combs we could get them out with and the special shampoo to kill them off. 

 

A few minutes after my dad returned with anti-lice oil from the Egyptian pharmacy, and we started using the combs, a crowd of sympathetic Muslim women noticed what we were doing and started giving advice through gestures and broken English. Soon, the train pulled into the station ½ an hour late, and the first class cars rolled by, suddenly looking better. Second class was even more ramshackle and rickety than our last train, and the windows were coated in dirt. 

 

We were pulling out blankets and shirts to make another makeshift seat upholstery before we even got on the train. After a few minutes, our car jerked forward, sputtered, stopped, jerked forward again, and began to pick up speed. This time, the train didn’t give an illusion of a pleasant ride. Within seconds, people were puffing away on cigarettes at the back, and the air conditioning broke. Only 12 hours to go. 

 

The first stop we arrived at, people clambered on, more aggressively than the last train. Zosia protectively covered her armrest with both arms, but nothing worked to keep them away. One man, in red and white pants, literally lifted both of Zosia’s arms off the armrest, scooted her over, and wedged his butt (which was substantially larger than the average person’s) onto her armrest and into her face. He didn’t move until the very end of the ride. Do I remember any of this? No. As soon as we got on the train, I turned my phone on and didn’t look up from my books once the whole ride. I finished 3 ½ novels, and suffered from a severe headache and nausea after, but I didn’t have to deal with the misery of the ride! 

 

We spent two nights back in the heat and dust of Giza at the same hotel we had stayed in the first nights we were in Egypt. The following day, we headed to an Ancient Egyptian museum. There, we found that touching ancient artifacts, like we had with the giant Ramses, wasn’t out of the ordinary. Everybody was tracing hieroglyphics with their fingertips, and running their hands across ancient pottery. It was incredible to actually touch what the ancient Egyptians would have touched- you could almost feel the warmth of the hands that made it so many years ago. We joined the throngs of tourists taking pictures of Tut’s sarcophagus and ebony models of Horus, despite the clear signs with Xs across a picture of a camera. #rebels.

 

We were soon ushered out of the museum for closing time and walked back to the hotel to enjoy another rooftop sunset over the pyramids. Once it was dark, we went downstairs to pack our bags and went to sleep. As amazing as Giza had been, we couldn’t say we weren’t excited to leave the trash-strewn uneven streets running next to the pyramids. It was really, really sad to see the obvious poverty that made good people argue aggressively over the price of the smallest things. It was difficult to remember that the annoying people who would follow you for blocks trying to get you to buy their wares didn’t like haggling any more than we did. I often had to stop myself before snapping at someone desperately pushing overpriced purses and poor quality souvenirs toward me. The artifacts and ruins were beautiful, but the state of the people was not.

 

The night before we left, my parents had carefully researched buses to the Sinai. They decided to splurge and get one that had good reviews, not wanting a repeat of the train epidemic. We arrived at the bus stop fifteen minutes early, shocking ourselves with our on time-ness. Zosia and I stomped sullenly up the stairs to the bus, expecting a filthy interior, and almost fell over. Dejavous much? Thankfully, it was the opposite. The inside of the bus was spacious and spotless, the wide aisle clear of trash and people. We were the first ones on the bus. We were so shocked by the cleanliness and quality of the bus, we stumbled back and nearly fell, tripping over our feet in surprise. It didn’t take us long to recover though. We rushed forward and dived into our cushioned seats. Zosia and I got spots toward the middle, reclining in our incredible chairs. As we luxuriated in the non-Egyptian train feel of the bus, we took a look around our seats- and froze in a state of pure delight. Right in front of us was a TV, embedded in the seat back.

 

We played games and watched movies the entire 6 hour trip. It felt like barely half an hour. The air conditioning never broke, not a single person who hadn’t bought a seat ahead of time was on it, smoking was strictly prohibited. It was a dream come true- it felt like a limo compared to what we were expecting, just like the cruise had. It seemed bad times really did prompt good ones!¨

 

All too soon, the trip was over, and we got off the bus, complaining this time that it was over too quickly. We hopped into a taxi that drove us to our new home for the next week. It was dark by the time we arrived, but we could still see the rows and rows of perfectly trimmed bushes and flowers that crisscrossed the complex of Delta Sharm. Fanciful sculptures rose from the shadows at forks in the road, and neat one-story houses lined the streets. We even passed a huge pool, complete with two islands in the middle. 

 

All this was great, or would have been at least, if we weren’t totally lost by the time we wandered through the pool. The signs were mostly Arabic and Russian, so we had no idea which street was which and we couldn’t find the small house we hadr eserved on AirBnb. Thankfully, a guard working overtime asked the lost-looking out of place white people with their massive camping backpacks if we needed help. We managed to get fragmented directions from his broken English and were able to find our place. We hardly looked around, except to find our rooms and the kitchen and crashed after some peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. 

We all dragged ourselves out of bed by 10:00 the next day, looked around our apartment, and then decided to explore the compound to prevent a repeat of the night before. We found not one but three pools -the one we found the last night being the biggest- and immediately rushed back to the apartment to get our swim suits. We ran around the tiny islands and swam in the pool until we got bored, then made for the shore. As we pulled ourselves out of the water,  Zosia noticed something in the drain, “Is that what I think it is?” We all looked and got out of that water a little faster. There was a diaper in the drain. We called an attendant over and showed him the offensive dirty diaper. He looked at us strangely, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary and left it here. Apparently, the Delta Sharm was still Egypt, no matter the outward appearance.

After that, we all agreed we needed to wash off, but we weren’t sufficiently dirty yet. My parents had heard there was a gym on the compound, and after an hour of trying and failing to find it, we finally succeeded. It felt so, so good to finally work out in the AC after having fitness consist of walking miles every day in the desert. Exhausted and satisfied, we headed back for a hot shower and dinner, stopping only to pick up our SCUBA diving manuals. We read them as our parents went out to shop for dinner. We went to bed happy but also nervous. Tomorrow would be our first SCUBA diving class. 

We woke up at 7 am and half sleep-walked through breakfast and to the gate. We probably wouldn’t have totally woken up at all, if it weren’t for the smell. As we passed a worker watering the garden, a very, very strong scent of sewage wafted towards us, “Look! They’re watering the grass with poop water!” mysister joked. We soon realized, it actually was poop water. They apparently recycled sewage water in order to hydrate (and fertilize) the deceptively beautiful flowers. Every time we passed someone watering, the same smell came from the hoses. 

 

At last, we made it to the gate and passed the waterers. There was a van with a woman named Darya inside who asked if we were there to SCUBA dive. We hopped in and were driven to where my parents would take the 1-day refresher course, and we would take the 4 day regular open water diver course. I would be allowed to go to a depth of 18 meters, and Zosia would be trained to go to 12 (our parents were certified to go all the way to 30, but we weren’t old enough).

For the first half of the day, we were in a classroom. We watched videos on and reviewed SCUBA basics with Darya, standing up now and then to do jumping jacks “so we wouldn’t fall asleep” (the 7 am wake-up did not agree with our usual 10:00am as early schedule). 

 

At noon, we ate lunch, prepared our kits, and headed down to the dock for our first confined water dive. We inflated our BCDs (Buoyancy Control Devices), and carried our cylinders (big metal thingies that hold the air) to the edge of the water. Because of the wetsuits, overheating is a serious risk, so Darya told us to jump in the water for a second to cool off before getting into our heavy gear. We dove into the crystal clear water… and bobbed right back up. Because our wetsuits were full of air, they acted like a float and wouldn’t let us go underwater! When we tried to swim down, it was like attempting to drown yourself while wearing balloons. We gave up and relaxed on the surface, leaning back into the cool water like it was a solid bed. I think I would have fallen asleep, if Darya hadn’t asked us to come back up and get ready for the course. 

We slipped into our SCUBA kits, checked each other’s devices for malfunctions, and prepared to jump, “who’s first?” Darya asked. Zosia pushed me from behind, and I stumbled forward, accidentally volunteering myself, “Alright Kai, just hold your regulator and mask with one hand, your weight belt with the other, and take a big step into the water. Make sure your step isn’t too small, or your cylinder can hit the dock and then your head and knock you out. If your step is too small this time, I’ll push you from behind, so you clear the dock, but you have to be able to do it by yourself on the boat when I’m not with you.” Butterflies winging up a storm inside my stomach, I silently repeated everything I had learned from the book in my head as I took a big step, and fell into the water with a giant splash.

I held my breath as I dropped, not trusting the regulator to actually work. I involuntarily gasped, though, as I went under- I couldn’t help it. Brilliantly colored fish swam daringly up to me, eating the algae on the bottom of the dock. Their patterns were beautiful- one type had neon pink cheetah spots on a background of lime green on its front half, and day-glow purple, blue, and other colors striping the bottom half. Masses of bright pastel corals rose up from the sandy floor, with tiny indigo, orange and turquoise fish flitting in and out of them among the bigger fish. If this was confined water, open water must be incredible! 

 

Zosia and Darya soon joined me, and we equalized our way to the sandy bottom (only about five feet down). We practiced standard buoyancy and other basic skills before rising back up to the surface to review the day’s work in the classroom quickly. Once above water, we went over the dive and got back in the van that had taken us there that morning with our parents. We drove back to the apartment, jamming out to pop songs, courtesy of the driver, and got out our SCUBA books to study what we would be covering the next day. As soon as the dinner dishes had been washed, we stumbled into bed, exhausted, and fell asleep before our heads even hit the pillow.

For the next three days, we fell into a routine. We would wake up, meet the van at the gate, drive to the dive club, say bye to our parents, and learn about diving until lunch, after which we would get into the water. (After their one-day refresher course, my parents went out on a dive boat every day, so we wouldn’t see them until the van picked them up at their drop off point as we were going back to the complex). Sometimes, we would even do two underwater courses in one day, if we were up to it. 

 

Darya was a great teacher and made sure we understood everything from the necessary skills, like how to use the RDP table, to the not-quite-so-necessary skills, like how to “fly” underwater. When we walked up the now-familiar dock and hiked the hill to the diving center for the last time, we were sad to say goodbye to the shallow waters where we had our courses. That day, we took the final diving test, in order to get our official certifications. Darya taught us well, so we both got perfect scores on the RDP table section, and I got 48/50 on the main part. Two careless errors less and I would have gotten a perfect score… oh well. Zosia got one less wrong than me, but I still think she cheated in some way. At least we both passed- there was an adult couple ahead of us who had to retake their tests because they failed. We couldn’t keep from smiling as Darya handed back our scores- we were officially open water SCUBA divers! 

 

The next day, we got on the same bus that had been taking us to the center every day. This time though, we got off at the stop with our parents. It was our first time diving away from Darya. We got on a boat, which would take us way out into the Red Sea to get to the most scenic diving areas. It was much deeper than the confined water and short controlled open water courses we had gone through with Darya, and we were at risk of actually dying if we went totally out of control while under on bottomless ledges. Zosia and I stepped hesitantly onto the boat, and were instructed to take off our shoes. Everyone was barefoot on the boat in order to keep the floor clean. We definitely didn’t have a problem with that rule- especially Zosia, who probably would have ended up barefoot and running around in her bikini, even if it wasn’t a rule. 

 

We spent the time before the first dive sipping sweet mint tea and talking to other divers. There was a Japanese couple who had a huge diving camera that had so many lenses on it, it looked like a many-eyed spider. A really funny Italian man who had excellent cannonballs instructed a Chinese woman on how to handle her camera through his broken English. There was also a super fit, super nice Greek couple who had dived all the way down to 70 meters before- I couldn’t even imagine going that deep! 

 

All too soon the boat stopped, the first dive was signaled, and the butterflies returned. We slid into our wetsuits, which Darya had packed for us in our crates, and went though standard pre-dive checks. We inflated our BCDs, took a deep breath, and took a giant step off the boat. I couldn’t believe how far down the ocean went. You couldn’t even see the bottom. There was a huge shelf of coral and fish, and then it just dropped off. Once I got over the initial shock of the fact if I started to sink I could just keep going and going, it was kind of breathtaking. 

 

The corals were much different than those in the confined water area. They were huge, rarely having been knocked off by the wind milling hands of inexperienced divers and snorkelers. They seemed to rise straight from the depths of endless blue, more vibrant than the confined water ones. Subtle yellows accompanied by vivid hues of lavender and pink spanned the wall of color in front of me. Fish of all different sizes and colors darted in and out of the lazily waving anemone – tiny fish the size of my thumbnail, to huge barracudas and rays. Even the initially terrifying abyss had beautiful shades of deep blue with sunlight slanting through it, accented by schools of silver tuna that glinted in the light.

 

We spent an hour underwater, then slowly swam to the surface from 20 meters down (I recorded it in our diving logs as 18 meters, but I may or may not have gone a little farther). Once out of the water, we were rewarded with a cup of Sprite and another mug of tea. We swapped stories of the dive with other groups until it was time to get into the water again. We went through safety protocol, jumped, and landed safely in the water- it wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as the first dive. This time, we went after a few other groups, so there were already divers in the water far below us. Bubbles from their breath rose to the surface, forming what looked like stairs leading down to the diver. Every time said diver exhaled, he was a little farther away than when he last breathed out, so instead of forming a straight line when they rose, the bubbles looked like staircases. They twisted around me, forming a palace of glass stairs. 

 

In no time, we were down with the breathing divers searching the sea for colorful life. Suddenly, Zosia’s constant flow of bubbles became ragged as she choked on something. Her regulator popped out of her mouth and started to free-flow. I swam as fast as I could to her, but by the time I reached her side she already had her regulator back in and was breathing normally. I asked her if there was a problem in SCUBA sign language. To my surprise she shook her head and signaled funny. She hadn’t been choking at all- she’d been laughing! 

 

I turned around, and almost spit out my own regulator. Spread out in front of us was a shipwreck. All that remained of the shipwreck though was its cargo- toilets! Algae-covered toilets were scattered across the sea floor among bathtubs and sinks carpeted in coral. Tiny fish swam through the bowls of the toilets, completely oblivious to what they would have been used for if the shipment had made it. In a patch of coral near one of the more intact toilets, was something even cooler though. A massive moray eel was hiding in the sand. His sleek black head with its waving crown was bigger than my own. Small sharp teeth lined his powerful jaws in jagged rows. We got a good look, and then got out of there as fast as our finned-legs could carry us. 

 

We hauled our waterlogged equipment out of the sea, clumsily rinsed and dried ourselves off, and stumbled up the stairs to collapse in the dry area on the second floor of the small boat. We had barely given in to our dive-induced exhaustion though, before somebody shouted the magic word up the stairs. Lunch! We were downstairs in a flash, loading our plates with food. The Italian man with the excellent cannonballs oversaw the lunch, making sure everyone on the boat had put the right things on top of each other, picked the right sauces, and had the perfect balance of pasta and vegetables. We enjoyed yet another mug of steaming mint tea, which Zosia made (translation: We enjoyed yet another mug of steaming mint tea, which was packed with as much sugar as possible), as we reviewed the dive and ate hungrily. 

 

After lunch, it was time for the third dive. We hadn’t paid for three dives (only two), so we were left on the boat while a small group of people who had paid prepared to dive. Instead, we slipped into our shorties (short wetsuits- not as warm but not as restrictive either), and got out our snorkeling gear. We jumped off the boat, feeling weirdly free in the water without our heavy equipment. We snorkeled for about five minutes, seeing several jack fish and a unicorn fish, but Zosia and I got bored quickly. We got back on the boat, wondering what to do with the time we still had left. Another tea wasn’t an option, because Zosia had used all of the sugar on the boat on the last one, so it wouldn’t taste as good. The next option was to get out the snorkel gear again and rejoin our parents. We were just about to do that, when something much more fun came up. The Italian man came running past, and leapt into the water with a perfect cannonball. What could we do but follow?

 

We splashed into the water again and again, progressively jumping off higher and higher points. Soon, we were diving from the second floor of the boat into the water far below. There was a British man who had to have been on an English dive team, because he could do a backwards flip into the water without even a splash. He tried to teach us a few tricks, but we were far from naturals. However, by the time the divers returned, we were doing flips, 360s and dives off the second floor. It must have looked really funny to the returning divers expecting a quiet boat with lackadaisical passengers on their phones or talking quietly while waiting for their return. Instead, they were greeted by two children and several adults screaming phrases in different languages at the top of their lungs as they launched themselves from the top floor into the water. 

 

Unfortunately, the good times didn’t last forever, and we were back on the boat and chugging away from the reef in no time. The return divers shared a little about what they’d seen, but by this time most of us were too tired to talk. After about half an hour, we were back at the dock we’d left that morning walking up the pier to a waiting van. We drove back to our place talking about the dives all the way. Once in the complex, my dad cooked us an amazing dinner out of a Carrefour we’d found (a European grocery store – jackpot!), which was gone within seconds. We went to bed totally exhausted and full after a week of diving, looking forward to tomorrow, which my parents had promised would be a rest day.

 

The day after the first dive was mostly uneventful. We worked out at the gym but decided to skip the pools after the diaper epidemic the first day. We walked around the complex, avoiding the foul-smelling garden watering, and meandered through the aisles of the Carrefour, preparing for an amazing spaghetti bolognaise. We enjoyed said bolognaise that night after we came back from some tennis courts we found, and stayed up late reading, despite swearing several times that day that we would get to bed early.

 

The second open water dive for me and Zosia, and our last dive before leaving Sharm, commenced at the painfully early hour of 8 AM. We rushed through breakfast and sprinted out the door, going through the same routine we’d done for the first open water dive. The first dive of the day was difficult because of a strong current, but the second dive was as smooth as the two open water dives the previous day. Over the two days of open water diving, we saw an octopus, a massive barracuda, several rays, two huge moray eels, lots of schools of enormous silver tuna and jack fish, many poisonous lion fish, a really poisonous alligator fish, a colossal school of tiny glass fish, three giant Napoleon fish, and two unicorn fish, along with hundreds of other incredible forms of underwater life you can only see when diving. It was so cool to be able to breath underwater while flying past amazing reef life. 

 

The next time we will get to go SCUBA diving will probably be in Thailand. I don’t know if anything can compare to the wonders of the Red Sea though! We left our dive center much too soon, asking a taxi to drive us two hours to the border of Israel the following morning, where we would pass into Jordan for a few days before returning to Israel. 

As my parents tried to get another taxi to take us to the Israeli border the next morning, since, predictably, the taxi we’d asked to give us a lift to Israel the night before didn’t show up, I hoped that the time in between the Sinai and Thailand would pass quickly. The thought was only reinforced when the driver, who agreed to take us, decided to change his tire with us in the  car, tilting it dangerously as we slid into each other’s laps. Little did I know what experiences I was in for before Thailand!