Mount Sinai

I went to climb Mount Sinai two weeks ago. On the way there, my party of thirteen stopped in nearby Dahab, a low-key beach resort town on the Red Sea. We spent the day swimming in the clear blue sea, sleeping in the sun, and sipping drinks on the beach. I decided I could use a tan and foolishly declined to apply sunscreen before falling asleep. That turned out to be a poor choice.

In the late afternoon, before leaving for the mountain, I went with three other guys to ride all-terrain vehicles in the desert. Riding an ATV is probably the most fun thing I’ve ever done (if you don’t know what one looks like, go here: http://www.dandydirtbikes.com.au/images/uploads/300%20atv.jpg). As soon as I got going, thoughts of everything manly drifted unbidden to the forefront of my mind. Halo music played in my head. I saw myself cruising the Tatooine desert in a landspeeder. I heard Doc Brown’s line from Back to the Future: “Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads!” I highly recommend this experience to anyone who hasn’t tried it already.

After dinner that evening, our intrepid band departed for Mount Sinai, two hours away by bus. Our plan was to start climbing at around 2:30 a.m. in order to make the sunrise at 5:30. The mountain trail was packed with other climbers and camels making the ascent. Although I had been looking forward to this experience for months, I ended up staying back to make sure the slowest member of our group made it up. The slow pace of ascent, frequent stops, my excessive sun exposure earlier in the day, and lack of sleep wore on me as the night dragged by.

By the time I made it to the top, the sun was almost up. I didn’t care. I was dizzy, nauseous, dehydrated, and exhausted. The seventy-five percent of my skin surface that was sunburned was chafing like no one’s business. As I stumbled up onto the large plateau just below the peak, someone called to me. I turned and saw several of my comrades sitting in a large tent drinking tea. They were hiding from the bitter cold while they awaited sunrise. I staggered into the tent and collapsed on a bench, where I passed out. I slept through the sunrise and didn’t wake up until my party was beginning the descent. Everyone wanted to get down out of the cold. I groggily lurched after them, moving in an awkward, bow-legged manner that minimized the friction between my legs and my jeans. I gradually woke up more as we went, and I finally began to enjoy the descent.

As we approached the base of the mountain and St. Catherine’s monastery at the bottom (reportedly home to the burning bush of biblical legend), we came out of the mountain’s shadow into a long stretch of unshaded mountainside. Partly to minimize sun exposure, but mostly because I was finally in the mood for some fun, I surged ahead of the group and bounded down the mountain, leaping from rock to rock like a lanky, bright red billy goat.

I spent the week after we returned from the mountain trying to recover from sunburn, as did many other members of the party. I had no moisturizing lotion of any kind, although Mike generously provided me with a 2 ounce bottle of aloe vera that worked wonders while it lasted. I limped to a nearby supermarket and tried to find more. I saw nothing useful. I finally stumbled across a bottle of Dove “Calming Night.” It was labeled primarily in Dutch, so I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. The English description read like this:

“The smoothing, soothing blend of Dove with ¼ moisturizing cream renews the skin’s lost moisture, and a sensuous fragrance of Sandalwood calms a tired soul. Use nightly.”

I bought it. I returned to my room and smeared a large handful on my leg, then began rubbing it in. The “lotion” started to lather. Huh. I typed the Dutch description into Google translator. It wasn’t lotion. It was body wash. Interesting. I left it on my leg.

After a week or so, I began a full body peel. Taking showers became interesting, as the running water would pool in pockets of loose skin, making it seem as if my entire body was covered in massive bubbling boils or pulsating slugs. Occasionally, the flow would enter a rip in my loose, molting skin and exit through another a few inches below, creating writhing rivers beneath the surface of my torso. As would be expected, everyone I talked to was delighted to hear about these developments. I won't even tell you about what happened to my legs when I worked out in the gym.