By Antonio Sanchez, Compliments of www.bootsnall.com

I awoke before dawn. Looking at the other members of our group snuggled together for warmth made me feel twinges of guilt for packing my down sleeping bag. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could make out the cocoon like shapes spread out in a U shape on the deck of the felluca. Not wanting to wake anyone, I took extra care while sliding out of my sleeping bag. I slipped off the ledge of the deck and into the open galley.

The deep breathing and snores of the captain and his mate through the open door of the enclosed cabin added to the orchestra of sleeping backpackers on the four by three meter deck. I crept slowly in the dark to the bow. Being the time after moon set and before sunrise, the darkness was complete. I had difficulty finding my boots. Eleven passengers made twenty-two individual boots, and in the dark, they all seemed the same. Holding each shoe centimeters from my eyes was the only way I could determine shoe from shoe. Good night vision, probably more than the potpourri of musty boot stench, allowed me to identify my boots.

I slipped them on and stepped cautiously down the narrow plank to the shore. In the early morning desert cold, along side the Nile, I watched the stars disappear. Turning from black to dark blue, to dark red, the sky changed color and the sun warmed the earth and air around me. Still dark, but with every increasing light, the Niles's east bank revealed itself. From a tree across the great river, flocks of egrets left their roost. In search of their daily meal, they streamed forth like dandelion seeds in the wind. African Kingfishers appeared along the bank - one at first, but then nearly 15 within eyesight. Stout and nearly 15-20 centimeters long, the kingfisher hovers steadily, over an area of water, like a hummingbird tasting flower nectar. Falling straight down, it attempts to pierce its underwater prey. The kingfishers dived again and again moving slightly downriver each time, rarely successful. These must have been the lesser African Kingfisher as opposed to the Great African Kingfisher.

"ALAHHHHHHHH." Breaking the silence was an Iman's call to the morning prayer ritual. Still unaccustomed to these daily broadcasts, I listened as the metallic and rhythmic chants brought up the sun. The ship's captain stumbled off the boat in his sandals. With a rolled up bundle under one arm, he nodded a groggy good morning, and lumbered away from the boat. He unrolled his tiny carpet and proceeded with his morning prayers. Kneeling upright at first, he then fell to the ground touching his forehead to the carpet. After a short period he would rise and then again repeat the process. He spoke quietly to Allah. With the noise of Iman's prayers in the distance and the increasing light, some of my shipments stirred to life. They crawled off the boat, shivering, and wandered into the field answering nature's early morning call. My beloved disembarked as the captain headed back onto the boat. She was slightly miffed and jealous that I was already out enjoying the wonders of this experience without her. She wrapped the sleeping bag around us and we watched as life on the Nile awoke. Two four-story riverboats chugged upriver. As their noise faded into the dawn air, its wake hit the shore and our felucca. The gentle lapping and rocking woke the remainder of my shipmates. They emerged with their cameras, toothbrushes, and toilet paper and spread out in the large field. Just as the kingfishers dotted the skyline, the members of our boat dotted the shoreline starring into the sunrise. We warmed ourselves, listening to sounds unfamiliar, while marveling at the subtle color changes of the desert sands and palms. No sky scrapers, no houses, no hum of traffic or sirens, no flickering of neon lights or street lamps, no cacophony of birds and insects, only the soft lapping of water and the metallicized rhythmic chant of morning Islamic lessons. When interacting, we whispered. No one was sleeping, but we spoke in hushed tones anyway. The dark blue sky gave way to red-orange, and then yellow. All darkness dispersed, the sky became light blue. Another tour boat passed. On the top deck, many people were enjoying their personal Egyptian Nile sunrise. They waved and snapped pictures of us clutching our sleeping bags, toiletries, and cameras. The Nile was now open for business.

The sounds of pots clanking together along with faff and chatter from the boat broadcasted breakfast would soon be ready. Once up the plank, I removed my boots. I slipped passed the galley - squeezing by the captain who was already cooking. The galley was a three by one meter space that separated the deck from the cabin. While cooking, the first mate or the captain squatted on a stool over propane powered flame. To wash pots or dishes they reached over the side, and dunked the cookware in the river until all food bits were removed. No Detol or other disinfectant, just repeated dunks in the river and wiped dry with the same towel that had been used for the past few days.

The first mate removed the windbreak, a large woven cloth tapestry, from around the boat's deck. We stored our sleeping bags and blankets below and laid out the tablemat. Around the mat, sitting either cross legged or on our knees we eagerly awaited the morning bounty. A stack of Egyptian-style pancakes, bananas, fuul, marmalade, and a bucket of hot tea appeared one by one onto the tablemat. Hungrily, we pounced on the food, devouring it in minutes. The marmalade container was wiped clean with the crumbs of fuul. The banana rinds were scrapped clean with fingers and teeth. It wasn't filling, but it was enough