Mel Gibson would love Dahab!

They arrive at the dorm late at night. Unpacking. Very slowly, carefully and extremely “considerately”. Whispering. Crackling. I fall asleep three times and it feels like hours. Then a hard-shell trolley crashes down onto the tiles from the top bunk bed. I have déjà vu.

No nation in the world can get me as considerate and high on the hog as the Chinese when clearing the dorm at night. Each sock is individually wrapped in a crackle bag. The check-up in the morning says: just missed. The Japanese are also considerate night workers. The wind stops for three days. I take care of the golive from Hambuger-Fischwerker.de.

Dahab 24/25

After work, I push my mountain bike up the hill in a wadi near the Bedouin hill in the north of Dahab in the blistering midday heat. Again, there is plastic rubbish everywhere. I get on my bike and ride downhill back to the sea. But a shard punctures my tyre after just a few metres. Eureka! Finally something other than plastic rubbish. I push the bike five kilometres to the hire shop. He mends it.

A few days ago, “Into The Wild” was on. Nobody understood the film. We visitors from Cairo and around the world come here to Dahab. We bring with us the desire to “have more” and the greed for things. Dahab’s Bedouins take it over. They buy a lot and think little. Just like everyone else here.

Everything you no longer need is thrown on the ground on the spot. On the beach there is a work of art made from over 8,000 collected butts. Bedouins were nomads, and they always left something behind. That was their culture for thousands of years. But goat dung was good for something. Plastic is good for nothing. We are responsible for the rubbish here.

A beach barbecue leads past a burning rubbish dump behind the Ecotel (sic!) to another littered beach. So there are two options for beach barbecues: on a rubbish dump (Lagoona Peninsula) or on a rubbish dump with a burning rubbish dump behind it. I hate Fridays for future. They have set environmental protection back decades. But I hate what I see here every day even more. We’re shitting all over the planet.

The bloody full moon rises awe-inspiringly behind the Gulf of Aqaba and over Saudi Arabia. Under it, we’re all just playing Mad Max. Mel Gibson would have loved Dahab! No backdrops are needed – everything looks so perfectly end-time. Another fag flies onto the beach. An Egyptian shouts “Thank you for being so good.” in a nasty tone of voice as I at least collect our own rubbish. Fuck you! Don’t look up! The next morning, my T-shirt stinks of burnt plastic.

On the way home in the jeep, a young driver goes through his Sturm und Drang phase. Car racing in the best Mad Max style. At one point, I touch the bonnet of the guy in pursuit just for fun. Shortly afterwards, he touches our bumper. The boy goes full throttle. His serpentine lines are more the result of what must be about five hours behind the wheel than alcohol consumption. I try to understand the lack of driving experience of 15-year-olds. Everyone has to learn to drive. I don’t think there are any driving schools here in Dahab.

When the boy starts talking on the phone at 80 kilometres per hour without lights at night, the serpentine lines finally get smaller. I relax and almost fall out of the back of the jeep when he drives off a bit violently. He says goodbye in front of the hostel with squealing tyres. Mel Gibson would be so proud of him. The barking of the dogs traces his trail through the night…