I met a beekeeper on the road to Khor Fakkan

He was Egyptian; he had three thousand hives back home in Egypt and over a thousand here in the Emirates.  He spoke of the hives in the mountains near Fujairah.  He spoke of honey that cost fortunes, rare, rich like toffee.  I tasted the honey he displayed on the shelves in his small, spare shop.  There were two flavours, one "summer" and one "sidr".    Bonita sat nearby, sipping Arabic coffee and tasting on dates.  She had passed by here so often and thought of me, and now here I was and she could share this place with me.


We had left Dubai late, engrossed as we were in the world of women.  We had spent the day in the Spa; manicure, pedicure, eyebrow threading, henna.  Outside the heat had become bearable and the blisters on the balls of my feet from the beach sand were beginning to heal.  We packed her car and made for the six-lane highway north to Sharja.  Then we turned into the heartland, across the vast emptiness to Al Dhaid and Fujairah, making our way to Dibba and then to Khor Fakkan for the night.

My eyes were on the high peaks far away in the distance when suddenly Bons pulled in to the right, to a small parade of shops in the middle of nowhere.  I was astonished to see a honey extractor standing out in the dust in front of the shop.  Bons hauled me out of the car excitedly and we visited two shops, close together, both selling honey.  And that is where I met the Egyptian.

She took a picture of us as we battled our way through the language barriers, to that place where beekeepers meet - talking about how we wire our frames, the global pestilence of varroa and how we treat it, and the joy of watching bees.  I never saw a single bee in the Emirates; I could not imagine where they foraged, but the Egyptian spoke of rich and verdant places in the mountains, where bees could thrive and make the best honey in the world.  There are never enough words, and always more joy than expected, no matter where we meet.

That night Bons and I sat on the beach, facing east on the Strait of Hormuz, looking out to Snoopy Island.  In the pitch darkness we reminisced and I could feel our connection return from so long, long ago, so many years and so many miles and experiences apart.   And as we talked and laughed quietly in the night, the ghostly shape of a blood-red moon rose from sea above the shoulder of the rock, and smiled on us.

I am so grateful for my friends.