Rosarium Angela Ciampagna 2015

At 18, I went to Egypt for the first time with my mom.
On the way from the airport to the hotel, I thought: What am I doing here in this wasteland?
Sand, gravel, a rock, more sand and gravel, a rock. I was already bored at the sight.

We were there for a week, and when I got home, I realized how much the desert had captivated me, the light, the tranquility, the scents.

Thus began 4 years during which I flew to Egypt every holiday week whenever I could afford it - I was practically craving it.
Of course, I fell in love too... as it often goes.

Sayed was significantly older than me, spoke perfect German with an Austrian accent, and was a tour guide. He mainly led excursions that took tourists, riding on dromedaries, to (of course, prepared) Bedouin camps.
There, we ate, admired the starry sky, and sometimes even spent the night.
I was always there, of course - I could never get enough of the atmosphere.

Once, he took two weeks off, and we went on a real road trip, visiting friends, family, going to the pyramids, in Alexandria, he told stories, explained things, I listened, marveled, and wanted to see everything - but mainly we were outside, on the move, “hiking” from one tourist Bedouin camp to the next, just us, the hot days, the mild starry nights.

I can't express the magic I was caught in, how free I felt, how much one with everything.
Never before had I felt this way, and never again after.

Of course, we always had plenty of water with us, but when we were in one of the camps, we drank tea.
I still don’t know what kind of tea it was (maybe mugwort?), but that scent was for me the epitome of those evenings when it slowly got cooler, the light faded, and you heard nothing but the soft voices and the bubbling of the tea water, smelled nothing but the delicate fragrance rising from the pot - dusty, slightly minty, woody, herbal, mild, a bit bitter.

At some point, I knew I couldn't endure this holiday relationship long-term. I started a terrible argument during the vacation, behaved horrendously towards Sayed.

When he took me to the airport (he was so sad... and so was I...) he handed me a large bag as a farewell, well wrapped and tied. I didn’t want to show any weakness, stuffed it unnoticed into my suitcase, and simply flew home.

Back home, I opened the bag - my tea.
He had given me my tea.
I buried my nose in it, took a deep breath, and suddenly I was back there, in my beloved wasteland, Sayed beside me and the stars above me.
Only then could I cry.

The tea that “Rosarium” reminds me of so much, I kept for years. I only rarely made myself a cup. Most of the time, I just sniffed it and dreamed myself back.

I never heard from Sayed again.
And in the 16 years that have passed since then, I have never been back to Egypt.