A TRIP TO ST. CATHERINE'S MONASTERY

One of the highlights of serving on international peacekeeping missions is often the short excursions organised to local places of interest. Besides offering an opportunity to learn more about the local culture and history, these trips provide a welcome break from the often monotonous, sometimes stressful and occasionally dangerous duties of peacekeeping service.

During the Swedish UN battalions' deployments in Gaza in the 1950s, one of these excursions regularly took the peacekeepers to St. Catherine's Monastery.

Bertil Cornelius served with the second Swedish UN battalion in Gaza in late 1957 and early 1958. In January 1958, Bertil joined one such excursion to the monastery.

The following are excerpts from his own written recollections of the trip, a journey that would prove to offer both breathtaking experiences and a little adventure.

At 3:00 a.m. on the morning of 29 January, reveille sounded for the 26 of us who were going on the "excursion". Coffee and sandwiches were served in the mess hall. By 4:00 a.m., we were ready to depart.

We travelled in two vehicles, a large Bedford lorry and a three-quarter-ton Jeep truck, which I drove myself. As I had never travelled this road before, I drove second in the convoy. I was accompanied in the cab by the battalion chaplain, Haslew, and the officer in charge of the excursion, Lieutenant Ingvar.

It was pitch-dark when we set off, and the road led straight up into the mountains. It was a good, paved road, although here and there it had been damaged by bombing and explosions. This good road continued for 110 kilometres until we reached the village of El Ter on the Gulf of Suez.

From there, for another 110 kilometres, the road ran alternately along the Gulf of Suez and through a long valley. Every now and then, we could see a ship's navigation light flashing out on the gulf.

At El Ter, the good road came to an end. For kilometres on end, we had to drive alongside the road just to make any progress at all. There were enormous holes in the road, and nothing but sand, sand and more sand. If our vehicles had not been equipped with four-wheel drive and low-range gears, we would hardly have managed to get through. (This road is the main route across Sinai to Suez and Cairo.)

The darkness certainly did not make driving any easier. Around six o'clock, it began to get light, and by then it was also time to turn onto another road leading straight into the mountains towards St. Catherine's Monastery.

The journey towards the monastery continues through a landscape that gradually changes from sand dunes to mountains, and the group passes several oases. Having served continuously for several weeks at the patrol base in Sharm el-Sheikh, Bertil had grown rather tired of the desert sand, and the greenery of the oases was a welcome sight.

Along the way, they also encounter a large number of Egyptian military lorries. One of them has driven into a ditch, and an officer has broken his leg. They attempt to help at the accident scene, but with their limited resources, there is little they can do, and the journey continues.

At half past eleven, as we rounded the corner of a rocky hill, we caught sight of the monastery. It lies deep in a valley surrounded by high mountain peaks, well protected against wind and weather, as well as uninvited visitors. From the road (the so-called road), you cannot see much because of the high walls surrounding the monastery. It is beautifully situated, and in front of it grow quite a few tall, very green trees. They resemble junipers in shape, although they are much larger.

Apparently, they had spotted us from the monastery well before our arrival, because a large crowd had gathered to welcome us. Foremost among them was Father Nikoros, who is what I would call something of a jack-of-all-trades at the monastery. Among other things, he looks after all the guests, maintains the electricity generator and conducts tours of the monastery. The ten monks who live at the monastery do not concern themselves with such work.

Once we had unloaded our belongings, we entered the monastery through a small, narrow passage and were shown to our rooms. The monastery operates a fairly substantial guesthouse for pilgrims and tourists, with around twenty furnished rooms. After washing ourselves (seven hours of driving through the desert had left a layer of sand several millimetres thick on our faces and hands), lunch was served.

The afternoon is spent touring the monastery, which is said to date back to around AD 561. The monastery contains magnificent rooms filled with extraordinary objects, each seemingly more remarkable than the last.

Even Bertil, who admits that he knows very little about "such things", is captivated by the unique mosaic in the rear section of the church. The monastery is also said to stand on the site where Moses heard the voice of God and where the burning bush once grew. Outside the chapel, a bush is displayed as the legendary burning bush, although Bertil suspects that it was planted there at a later date. Next to the chapel stands a mosque built in the eleventh century. After the tour, the group attends a church service, enjoys dinner together and, by half past seven in the evening, everyone is fast asleep.

The following day, the group sets off along a winding mountain path to the summit where Moses is said to have heard God's voice and received the Law. Their own battalion chaplain conducts a service there. After the climb to the mountaintop, it is time to begin the journey home.

Now we were travelling downhill, so we made slightly better time. After 150 kilometres, however, darkness fell. (We actually encountered a hailstorm along the way as well.)

Now I must say that I had some bad luck. Just before El Ter, after we had passed a large hole in the road, Lieutenant Ingvar said: "Well, it's a relief that we've passed the last hole. Look, just around this bend we'll be back on the tarmac." Naturally, I increased my speed a little, and there, just beyond the bend in the darkness, appeared the biggest hole of the entire journey. Straight into it we went, but with the help of four-wheel drive and low-range gears, I managed to get out again. There was quite a tremendous bang, though. I had driven no more than a couple of hundred metres when the passengers in the back of the truck began banging on the roof and shouting for me to stop. I did so and was informed that I had lost a "small box". Lieutenant Ingvar ran back a few hundred metres and shouted at me to switch off the engine.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because here's your petrol tank!"

Fortunately, we had been travelling in front, so our lorry arrived a couple of minutes later. The result was that I had to be towed for 110 kilometres with only a couple of metres of tow cable between the vehicles. We had no proper lights and poor brakes. The fact that the lorry was travelling at nearly 65 km/h certainly did not make matters any better, especially when we reached the mountains just before Sharm.

Nevertheless, we managed to get home in one piece.