I set off alone to climb Mount Sinai in the middle of the night, stopping and starting along the way. From one in the morning until I reached the final shop, it was already 4a.m. Egyptian men selling blankets kept drifting over like shadows, their voices just as weightless: “It’s colder at the top, rent a blanket…”
I had already prepared two hundred Egyptian pounds for this moment, but when I actually arrived, I realized it wasn’t cold for me at all. I can’t say the cold here is merely a fabricated concept, but I do find that I almost always hold opinions opposite to those in travel guides. During the climb I wore only a T-shirt and a plaid jacket. The socks I put on to keep mosquitoes away made the soles of my feet feel hot, but I was too busy looking up at the stars to bother stopping and taking them off.
My sandals slapped against the stones—pa-ta, pa-ta. Oh, the sandals, always the sandals. They stared at my feet.
“You came up wearing these? How?”
Two Egyptian men looked down in amazement.
“Why not?” I laughed back.
I can’t find any shoes more comfortable than these. I hate wearing socks. Here, I want to solemnly declare to my mom: If I climb snowy mountains, I will never wear sandals again.
Coming alone from Sharm El-Sheikh, I carried only a few bottles of water and my camera, afraid I’d be thirsty—yet I didn’t drink a single sip. I thought I would only take a few landscape shots, but my camera was passed to strangers again and again. A Taiwanese girl took my camera and photographed me enthusiastically, the shutter clicking in rhythm with her exclamations of delight. I thought she was just generously providing emotional encouragement, until I saw the photos of my hair lifted by the wind.
I couldn’t tell how much I love those photos. Even the strawberry socks on my feet started to look adorable to me. When traveling alone, I am always deeply grateful for moments like these.
I thought of a selfie I took two years ago on the hill behind my host’s house in Morocco.(By the way Hassan if you’re reading this, I miss you guys.) The feeling of sand being blown into the seams of my shoes was exactly the same. Once again, I was certain of it—I belong to the desert.
