Mustafa

Our time skirting the Red Sea has come to an end and we are now gaining altitude. Steadily climbing away from the sea, we follow a road nestled amid dusty, corrugated mountains. I’ve been told that in previous years, this stretch has been particularly difficult due to strong headwinds. I am stationed at a refresh stop, 100km into the ride. This is where I meet Mustafa.

Mustafa is an Egyptian policeman. He and his crew sport military issued wool sweaters, long johns and a canary yellow oxford separating the two. It is hot outside. They laugh as I tug my thin undershirt and then point to their heavy garments. I am embracing each slight breeze and chance cloud that lessens the sun’s intensity—if only for a few moments. Mustafa puffs a hookah as we speak. Each inhale reddens the coals above and sends the water below into frenzy of bubbles; the glass base intensifies the sound. He exhales, sending two plumes of smoke across his think, ebony moustache.

We take a break from our gesticulating to munch typical Egyptian morsels; their favorite being foul. Don’t let the name fool you, foul is a delicious bean dish similar to unsweetened American refried beans. Served with copious amounts of vegetable oil, the dish is complemented with chili powder and other ground herbs. With a fork to further mash the beans and mix the dish, I savor each bite.

We continue to Luxor.