If you are interested in largely empty dramatic scenery, ghouls and legends, exotic people and strange animals and want to visit a land few Americans have ever seen, come with me along the Trail of Food through the Painted Canyon to a land of bleeding rocks, all in the southern mountains of the Sinai Peninsula.

This story combines my favorite routes into one trail, a road of drama. It starts on the Gulf of Aquaba south of fabled Taba in the region of Gebel Barka, a mountain famed for its evil spirits! It then proceeds generally west through waste lands to the Monastery of Saint Catherine's, then to the land where rocks bleed, finally to Abu Zaneima on the Gulf of Suez where once Bedouins defeated a British force.

First, some rules. Not only is this tough terrain demanding close attention to water rationing, proper clothing etc., it is also a place of war. The Sinai has been fought over more times than any other desert. It owns some of the largest mine fields in the world, great seas of explosives that move in living sand, ready for the unready. For these reasons, you will need permits from the Egyptian Army and Ministry of Tourism, must be expert at reading maps, and should bring a medical practitioner along. Do all of that and plan this trip like the most important expedition of your life, and you will have the time of your life.

Our trek begins 20K north of Port Nuweiba on the Gulf of Aquaba at a beach adjoining a new hotel called Sally Land. It is being built by a native of Chicago and an Egyptian with the help of Bedouin labor, and promises to offer western style food, hygiene and comfort for about $20 a night. If you stay there, however, watch out for the sharks. I have flown over the shore by helicopter and have seen many schools of the beasts in feeding frenzies. Also watch out for the human sharks. Bedouins sporting robes, moustaches and flashing teeth straight of Lawrence of Arabia will offer to take you anywhere, for a price. They speak German, Hebrew and English and often charge much too much. Let the hotel suggest a guide. They have a special relationship with the local Tarrabin tribe.

On this expedition, after meeting your chief guide and approving the camels you will use for riding and carrying our load, it is common practise to also choose a goat to be sacrificed for luck in traditional Tarrabin Bedouin style. If you ever go on an expedition with me, you must know in advance that I am death to goats. Once in the northern highlands of Ethiopia back in the late 60's, for example, I was sitting in a bar minding my own business when in walked a kid with about twenty small goats. A local girl I dated asked me which I liked. Not wanting to be impolite, I pointed to the cutest in the bunch. What I didn't know was that the poor thing was to be sacrificed for Sunday dinner! Well, the same thing will happen to you on this little venture.

On my first such expedition, the guide brought over several beautiful little goats about an hour before sunset. I saw what was coming and again pointed to the cutest in the bunch. The guide wanted to let the thing walk with us through the mountains. We would then eat it mid way. Well, as I explained to the Bedouins who promptly started laughing uncontrollably, I couldn't eat something I had a relationship with, so right in front me without much more delay the throat was slit and the kid skinned and then grilled over a nearby fire on the beach. The only spice was its own blood!

It was a barbaric but traditional way to start an expedition. Our stomachs full, we then lay on the sands and watched the ships go by on their way to the terminals at Aquaba and Eilat, the slowing dying fire and the armies of lights in the sky above who unhindered by pollution occasionally fired a brilliant shooting star our direction. We were all anxious to begin the hike. Friends who had never seen a dead animal except at Safeway had just entered another era where food walked. In a few hours we would go where cars feared to walk, where the main course might be the unwary. But the surf's pounding of the shore soothed us to a gentle sleep.

At sunup on such trips, the secret is broil fresh fish from the gulf and made coffee. Then I generally drive south along the shore to a point just north of Wadi Malha where I meet the passenger camels and others that arrived in the night that will carry food and supplies. Actually, even the camels that will carry us will also carry a large of load. There will be much screaming and protesting. Though a wonderful pack animal, camels never like to work, so they complain. But the biggest complainers of all will be the babies. There always is at least one brought along for training. I remember one three year old naga (female) who only had to carry two water jugs. To listen to her, you might have thought we were sadists.

Despite her pleas, we made our way through Wadi Malha into the hinterland until we came to a break in the road. From this point the expedition will go on foot while the camels proceed up a mountain pass. The foot path is too narrow and difficult for the beasts. Several hours later you will reach a beautiful little well named Bir el Gidda, where you can dip your feet in the water, rest and ate dates right off the ground.

From there, you proceed to a deep, unnamed sandstone canyon of incredible beauty in Wadi Ferrier which you should reach about 4pm. This is where you will make your first encampment. Except for the first 30 minutes, where the camels broke for high ground, your entire day will have consisted of walking! That's another good reason to think of good clothes. Make sure your boots are very comfortable. There are few western style roads where I expedition. Also, dress warmly in the evening. I can remember one trip in August when the day was as hot as breakfast's frying pan. We would have slept like babies that night, we were so tired, but a chill wind swept from the gulf through the canyon like an Irish banshee until we saw the sun.

The next morning, don't be surprised if your guides ask to listen to your radio so they could hear the international news. Though people of the desert, the Bedouins are often remarkably conversant about current events. Indeed, a Tarrabin Bedouin I once met at a coffee shop in Naqb on the drive down from the Mediterranean coast was so a'current, he knew about the falling prices of the Cairo Aida performances and wondered if I was going!

The Camels will be more traditional. After the news, they will slowly meander in, sometimes lame from the difficult climb, and ask for their bags of corn. While they eat, the bedu load them up with saddles and gear. Not exactly fair! One can hardly protest with a face full of corn, can one? You will notice they don't drink water. Indeed, they probably won't drink at all on the trip. Camels only need 3 to 4 litres of water per day, which they store in advance. By contrast, each of you will drank well over five gallons in the first few days, if you are wise, and you will still be dehydrated!

The following day you mostly walk SW along Wadi Ferrer until we reach the fabled Painted Canyon, whose entrance's beauty is rivalled only that of Petra in Jordan. This where we pitch camp for the second night. Watch for gazelle between Bir Gidar and the Painted Canyon region, what the Bedouin call Tatel. These small creatures can be found if you are quiet by watching for their tiny footprints in the sand or the unmistakable spoor made up of small round pellets. The wetness of the pellet will tell you how old the track is.

The sun is a killer in the Sinai, and so a hat is a must. I wear a wide brimmed bush hat from South Africa; but even that won't shield you from the glare of the rocks and sand that flashes up to your face. To protect you, if the guides are doing their job right, you will be taken from shadow to shadow. This is critical to survival because the hike is tiring, and though you will from time to time ride your camel, you don't want to over tire them. In addition, you don't want to lie on hot rocks. They will suck the water right out of your body. Lie only in the shade. Maybe one of the two foot long lizards that inhabit the region will stand guard over you while you sleep! Don't worry, they only eat small animals and plants.

The canyon you end up in is a massive sand stone bowl whose walls rise like tongues of orange colored flames to the sky. Truly magnificent. On one trip there in 1987 I collected canisters of eight different shades of colored sand at that spot and a nurse and later girl friend of mine made a beautiful drawing of a camel much in the manner of the Navaho. This place inspires that sort of imagination. The painted Canyon is a winding ribbon of color full of cul de sacs and little bird holes, strange granite boulders that pop out of nowhere, and little lizards. But the beauty is in the sandstone, patterned into great surrealistic paintings of red, yellow, blue and orange. You will love it.

There are dangers. Rocks can fall from the heights. Rain does fall on rare occasion, and when it does the canyon fills with water rapidly and will kill. A wadi up north once filled with water and wiped out an entire Egyptian outpost with one mighty violent rush while I lived in the desert. The same wave smashed tourist buses on their way to Nuweiba. And there are giant fleas as well, though they usually inhabit low areas and can be seen.

The following morning I suggest going back into the painted canyon for another look and then proceeding on after breakfast. From here, you can make your final sleeping spot, on a wash of rocks not far from the coast, and end your trip or continue on with me. Essentially, you have made a large U and it was at the bottom of that U that I first heard about the Ghouls, a legend that would drive me further instead of ending my journey. The story was told by a roaring fire just after the Bedouins had danced for us. We were between cliffs so tall they blocked out the night sky. The fire made giant shadows of Bedouins against the canyon walls, and then they told us about the ghouls!

During the time of our interviewee's grandfather the peninsula was suffering from a severe drought. In order for the people in Nuweiba to eat, they had to go west to the British in Suez for food, and that sometimes meant passing Gebel Barka, where the Cave of the Ghouls was. On top of the mountain lived a family of ghouls who were in the habit of eating passers-by. Well, one night five men went to Suez via the mountain and one was left behind only to be found by a beautiful lady ghoul who gave him a choice: "sex or be eaten." As the Bedouin put it, "the man did what a man has to do." A year later the lady saw the man again and informed him he had a daughter, whom he then took into his home.

All was well until years later when the father passed a desecrated grave. The girl's new husband knew of her history and after being told of the incident, followed his wife one night to a grave where she ate another dead person. He was horrified of course. What to do? Well, he had recently purchased 500 kilograms of food, so while she slept on the floor, he tipped the goods over and she was killed! It was billed as an accident.

The ghoul and her husband had children and they have had children as well, known today as El Gouwela (1), but we were told they are good people and not ghouls any longer. We were also told that the cave of ghouls still exists up a very difficult path up Gebel Barka. Like many fairy tales, it might be partly true. According to written records of the time, when the event took place, a drought in the Sinai was so severe the locals often were forced to eat the undigested leavings in camel dung.

If this legend inspires you, travel north along the coast road. Because of that, I went by camel to the cave and its neighbor the Well of Ghouls the following month. They are just north of the Wadi Watir, the great canyon leading to the port of Nuweiba. Unfortuently, thanks to rains, the path to the cave is no longer useable. It can only be entered from above by rappelling from a higher cliff. Since I was without ropes that day, I peered in with a strong camera lens from a cliffside ledge. There appears to be two entrances to more internal caves. My plan is to return with the right gear. Legend has it the caves burrow deep into the mountain and inside will be found treasure from the plundered victims of the ghouls. More likely, there will simply be a lot of bones.

The Bedouin was a little afraid of what we thought of the story, but we were happy to learn it. After all, like Arabic literature, American and European literature is full of such tales, sometimes based on truth, sometimes not, always perfect for campfires. Any culture that can dream up such stores is justly proud.

During the trek, we learned a lot of other lore as well. For example, there have been persistent rumors of large cats in the region and our guides confirmed they have seen cheetahs, noting they hunt camels even today. Fifty years ago there were so many cheetah in the Sinai that the Bedouin wore their skins.

We also learned a lot about food. The Tarrabin eat lean fox meat for sick bones, feta for food and stomach sickness. They also like rabbit. When they eat rabbit, they skin and gut it like a goat, then cut the meat into pieces. Then they stuff the meat back into the skin and tie it up. A hole is dug in the sand in which is put burning wood and two stones, one under with the wood and one over. The whole thing is then covered with coal and sand and left for three to four hours. When it comes out, the meat looks like gold.

We witnessed the Tarrabin make bread every day, which was shared with the entire camp, just as we shared our food with the guides. The bread in addition to tea and tins of feta cheese is their staple diet when on such trips, that and the fruit they find on the road, which we also ate. They took wheat with live weevils and mixed it with water and salt, making a large kneaded dough, which they flattened into a thick pancake. This was placed on acacia branch ashes and ashes were then draped over the dough. The mix was cooked for five minutes on both sides and then removed. The bread was covered on both sides with black soot of course; but this was easily knocked off. We were not surprised to learn it tasted quite good. By the trip's end, we had come to greatly respect our guides and their ways.

The Tarrabin believe that the Ocean has many spirits (Jinns) and that there are spirits everywhere else but on the earth. People don't talk to the Jinn; however the Jinn can inhabit the bodies of men and given them insanity or illness. When our guide Suleiman of the Tarrabin was young, he remembered seeing a man who was crazy, so insane in fact that he ate sand. But the jinn was expelled when the man was held down on the ground and prayers said over him.

Across the peninsula on another mountain where the survivors of the caravans from Nuweiba often went on their way to the British, I was told a similar story about how a man was cured of his evil spirits by simply praying in the tomb of a Sheikh. I was introduced to that by a local Sheikh father of my desert "girl friend," a beautiful dark eyed woman who refused to wear a veil. When I told them about the ghouls, they said the legend was famous even on the western coast, where they lived; but that their legends were even greater.

The tomb, then a simple spot of stone marking nothing, lies beneath the golden gaze of the El Tih escarpment, the frightening slice of stone that splits the peninsula into north and south with wind currents that can turn a helicopter ride into a nightmare. I know. I have flown over the escarpment many times.

At the time of this legend's birth, a lone camel herdsman was tending his flock ready to sell them for his master to travellers on their way north. Then, out of the north advanced an army. The herdsman stood upon the rock and gazed at the large dust cloud of the advancing cavalry. Armies never paid for anything. What was he to do? He knelt upon the rock for an answer and prayed to Allah as the thunder of hooves began to be heard.

When he looked up after his prayer the camels were gone. In their place were white sand stone mounds - and ominously just beyond the mounds was the army, and he could see as the dust settled, their camels were tired, their mouths white with foam, the riders angry. One rider in particular was especially angry. He jumped off his camel and walked slowly to the shaking herdsman, who had by now fallen to his knees, as the other drew his broad, curved sword. "Where are the camels" he asked.

"There are no camels." replied the herdsman.

The rider removed his kerchief to reveal his face. It was that of a warrior, scarred and weather beaten -- the sort of face worn by men who wasted no time. "Where are the camels," asked the intruder again, this time bringing his sword under the other's chin.

"I prayed to Allah, and he turned them into stone."

"Blasphemer!" The intruder drew his sword into the air as if to cleave the herdsman in two!

"No! Wait" the herdsman said. "I speak the truth." he pointed to one of the mounds. "There! Strike and see my truth!"

"If you lie," the soldier snarled and then turned and with a vicious swipe struck the stone at its peak and blood rushed out. "A miracle!" he cried, and the herdsman was spared.

There is only sad part of the story. Despite his heroism, the tomb doesn't go to the herdsman, though there is a stone commemorating the event in it. The tomb is for the Sheikh who owned the camels!

The great Catholic philosopher Hans Kung once tried to prove God exists with a book. Perhaps it is because the pioneer genes are still in my blood, but I have always felt when under the stars in deserted lands like the Sinai mountains, the isolated wonder of Petra or California parks, that one need only look as far as his nose to know God has to be about; because once you get beyond the lights of civilisation, the beer cans and the houses, the TV sets, etc., and other artificiality's of man, once you have reached nature in the raw as we did in the Southern Mountains of the Sinai, you have touched the face of creation.

(1) This is only one of several ghoul stories I have heard while exploring the Peninsula. In each the children are called Gouwela, even to this day.

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