They had followed a treacherous mountainous route that took them through a gaping canyon with huge elephant-like boulders they had to repeatedly climb to surpass. Barefoot, Samir led them down the canyon and up a murderous incline to a narrow granite ridge along which they trekked in severe heat, exposed to the merciless Sinai sun. Not used to such extreme conditions, the intense physical effort began to take its toll on the four non-natives, and travel slowed almost to a halt with all of them needing constant shade and rest. The ridge turned to a sandy plateau with scarce bushes and palm trees situated at long intervals. The soft sinking sand made things even more difficult and the group could barely move from one fleck of shade to another. Toward dawn, with the water supply threateningly low and all of them half delirious, they reached a Bedouin encampment on a windswept rocky ravine high in the mountains with a magical clear water pool into which they collapsed to regain their senses. Samir sat on the edge of the pool pointing at them, laughing, making faces, all while explaining to the inhabitants how the group had come about.
