Checked out of the Moon Valley camp today. About to walk to Dahab City to get the bus to Taba, when one of the many Bedouin taxi-drivers homed in on us, after getting wind of our departure. Our first reaction was to shun him, as we had to do several times each day to his colleagues in the trade. However, it turned out that he was asking only E£10 each for the trip, which is 110km! We used to pay that to travel from Gateway to the Polytechnic Precinct in Sunderland.
The 1½-hour taxi journey seemed a lot shorter, due to a very entertaining guy from New York. In the States he had earned $1,000 a week as a plumber in Brooklyn, but was an alcoholic and a drug addict. He told us interesting stories about his hobby, which is diving, as well as what it is like to be mugged repeatedly in New York by "fuckin' niggers". Even though he has now bought a 9mm revolver, it is only protection against a knife, he explained.
We got through the Israelis' stringent customs and into Eilat by about 12.30 and went straight to the Tourist Office to ask directions to the Kibbutz at Elot, and where the best bank for credit cards is. We walked several kilometres with our rucksacks to the kibbutz, only to be told to come back tomorrow!
When we got back to Eilat, we went to the First International Bank and I was, at last, able to get cash out on my Visa card.
With money in our pockets we were then able to book into a hostel, the Spring Hostel. After the squalor we had endured in Egypt, it seemed fantastic―very modern and immaculately clean. We were in a mixed dormitory with three double bunks. The dormitory had its own shower-room. It cost 15 shekels, but it was money well spent.
The Let's Go book recommended a pub called the Country House for good beer and food and it was only round the corner from the Spring Hostel so, after a long-awaited decent shower, we set off.
Eilat is a surprisingly touristy place; in the warmer months I expect it attracts a lot of lager-louts. It is how I imagine resorts on the Costa del Sol to be, except not quite as bad I suppose.
Although it was pleasant in a way to reach civilisation after Egypt, I have to say that Eilat is nowhere near as interesting as Cairo. Cairo may be a filthy, unhygienic, chaotic hell-hole, but it is so different from any first-world city that one is amazed all the time. For example, the ancient train and wagons crossing a busy road near the Sinai Terminal, or the people diving into the filthy bus at Abbasaya Square.
In the tourist resort tradition, the Country House is a British-run pub selling British beer and employing British people. We spoke to an Irish girl who was working there. She works seven hours a day and gets only 30 shekels for it! She said it shouldn't be hard for us to find work on a building site. She informed us that the best way to get such jobs is to wait outside the pub next door (the Peace Café) at 6.00 in the morning. Apparently it is possible to earn 8 shekels an hour this way. This sounded pretty reasonable so we decided to do just that.
After a couple of pints of bitter (3 shekels) and a vegetable chilli (5 shekels), we ventured next door to the Peace Café, largely out of curiosity as the American had said there were usually loads of fights there. Again, there were plenty of the British working class drinking there. Also there was a man lying on the floor with a blanket next to a large dog with one ear.
After drinking about half of our pints we were rather concerned to see three tough-looking men blocking the exit. All three had gun-shaped bulges in their jackets. Fortunately they were not attempting to rob the place; they were policemen.
The police demanded the one-eared dog be removed so they could bring in their hashish-sniffing Alsations and not have them distracted.
At this, the man on the floor, a "Mr Mush" from Liverpool, attempted to stand up, but failed. "It's his birthday," explained a large Brit standing by the bar. Olly and a relatively sober acquaintance of Mush carried out the dog whilst the man himself staggered round the room holding a black novel and telling the uninterested policeman that it was the Holy Bible.
While all this was going on, a guy with a beard (also British) nipped over for a chat with us and the large Brit standing by the bar. This guy was considerably more pissed than Mush, it seemed. We hadn't a clue what he was saying and at one point he actually fell over backwards.
After watching the first half-hour of a totally pathetic and obscure Vietnam film, we went back to the Country House next door. After a pint there we went back to the hostel fairly early, as we planned to get up at 5.30.
The 1½-hour taxi journey seemed a lot shorter, due to a very entertaining guy from New York. In the States he had earned $1,000 a week as a plumber in Brooklyn, but was an alcoholic and a drug addict. He told us interesting stories about his hobby, which is diving, as well as what it is like to be mugged repeatedly in New York by "fuckin' niggers". Even though he has now bought a 9mm revolver, it is only protection against a knife, he explained.
We got through the Israelis' stringent customs and into Eilat by about 12.30 and went straight to the Tourist Office to ask directions to the Kibbutz at Elot, and where the best bank for credit cards is. We walked several kilometres with our rucksacks to the kibbutz, only to be told to come back tomorrow!
When we got back to Eilat, we went to the First International Bank and I was, at last, able to get cash out on my Visa card.
With money in our pockets we were then able to book into a hostel, the Spring Hostel. After the squalor we had endured in Egypt, it seemed fantastic―very modern and immaculately clean. We were in a mixed dormitory with three double bunks. The dormitory had its own shower-room. It cost 15 shekels, but it was money well spent.
The Let's Go book recommended a pub called the Country House for good beer and food and it was only round the corner from the Spring Hostel so, after a long-awaited decent shower, we set off.
Eilat is a surprisingly touristy place; in the warmer months I expect it attracts a lot of lager-louts. It is how I imagine resorts on the Costa del Sol to be, except not quite as bad I suppose.
Although it was pleasant in a way to reach civilisation after Egypt, I have to say that Eilat is nowhere near as interesting as Cairo. Cairo may be a filthy, unhygienic, chaotic hell-hole, but it is so different from any first-world city that one is amazed all the time. For example, the ancient train and wagons crossing a busy road near the Sinai Terminal, or the people diving into the filthy bus at Abbasaya Square.
In the tourist resort tradition, the Country House is a British-run pub selling British beer and employing British people. We spoke to an Irish girl who was working there. She works seven hours a day and gets only 30 shekels for it! She said it shouldn't be hard for us to find work on a building site. She informed us that the best way to get such jobs is to wait outside the pub next door (the Peace Café) at 6.00 in the morning. Apparently it is possible to earn 8 shekels an hour this way. This sounded pretty reasonable so we decided to do just that.
After a couple of pints of bitter (3 shekels) and a vegetable chilli (5 shekels), we ventured next door to the Peace Café, largely out of curiosity as the American had said there were usually loads of fights there. Again, there were plenty of the British working class drinking there. Also there was a man lying on the floor with a blanket next to a large dog with one ear.
After drinking about half of our pints we were rather concerned to see three tough-looking men blocking the exit. All three had gun-shaped bulges in their jackets. Fortunately they were not attempting to rob the place; they were policemen.
The police demanded the one-eared dog be removed so they could bring in their hashish-sniffing Alsations and not have them distracted.
At this, the man on the floor, a "Mr Mush" from Liverpool, attempted to stand up, but failed. "It's his birthday," explained a large Brit standing by the bar. Olly and a relatively sober acquaintance of Mush carried out the dog whilst the man himself staggered round the room holding a black novel and telling the uninterested policeman that it was the Holy Bible.
While all this was going on, a guy with a beard (also British) nipped over for a chat with us and the large Brit standing by the bar. This guy was considerably more pissed than Mush, it seemed. We hadn't a clue what he was saying and at one point he actually fell over backwards.
After watching the first half-hour of a totally pathetic and obscure Vietnam film, we went back to the Country House next door. After a pint there we went back to the hostel fairly early, as we planned to get up at 5.30.
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