I did the ferry crossing starting from Nouweiba and this was my experience:
We were based in Dahab (one hour south of Nouweiba) for 5 days and tried to organise the tickets from there. Getting information was almost impossible. The Meridien where we were staying said they have no agency for selling tickets and suggested we contact a TA in Dahab town.
The AB Maritime web site says there are 2 fast ferries a day leaving Nouweiba at 11:00 and 17:00. I phoned their Nouweiba number and was told that the ferry was at 2pm. When I said “are you sure it’s 2pm?” the response “yes, 16h00”. So I said “is it 2pm or 16h00?” and the response was “yes”.
Obviously this wasn’t getting me anywhere. So through a friend I went to Embah Safari Tours & Travel, one of the oldest travel agencies in Dahab. The agent was adamant there is only one fast ferry and it leaves at 2.30pm. He quoted me USD95 per ticket – and confirmed when I asked that they were 1st class – and EGP180 for the transfer for 2 pax. I knew the latter was over the odds but the former is just USD5 more than the web site prices so I decided to go with them.
The mini bus picked us up at 10:30 from the Meridien and went via some sort of office in Dahab (really a hut outside a hotel) where our passports and documents were scrutinised. I think this has to do with control of exporting antiquities. Then we drove uneventfully to Nouweiba. Once in the massively sprawling port precinct our driver stopped at a building some way removed from the main activity and went to purchase our tickets. I had suspected this would happen and it presumably accounted at least partially for the need to leave so early. This took the better part of half an hour.
When he returned with the tickets I saw that the price printed on them was USD70 which is the price quoted online for 2nd class. So I rang the agency but the agent claimed there was only one class and the difference was the departure tax. Hmmm… suckered.
I would have been happy with a surcharge if their assistance had done anything to ameliorate the chaos that was still to come.
As it was our driver just dropped us off at a large open area next to the entrance to the port itself. Despite a very long queue of people snaking all along the perimeter wall, we were instructed to go straight to the gate and enter there. Documents were checked and we entered and were vaguely pointed in a direction (straight ahead). There was a trailer with some luggage on it but no indication that we should drop ours off so we hung on to it. After walking some way in the open we had no idea where we were headed. A kindly soul having his lunch on a bench indicated we should go left. This brought us to a building with a very large empty hall apart from several booths at the end. Enquiries confirmed that this was indeed the departure area.
Having filled in our forms we went through immigration and once on the far side were in another vast, grim hall reminiscent of film sets of poor refugees being deported from a hostile country. This hall was filled with wooden slatted benches and hordes of people. There seemed to be vaguely discernable areas of seating but no indication in English of what they signified. We sat down and settled into our books awaiting our fate with Zen-like forbearance. At this stage we were the only non-Arabs around. At regular intervals a vociferous young man would roam around vending hot tea and there was also a snack bar with a small selection of non-perishable items. And a cell phone shop. The toilets were not quite as vile as one might have expected.
At various intervals there would be much shouting and jostling and part of the crowd would be lined up against a wall preparing to leave via one of the doors. It was all very raucous and surly with people being treated like so many cattle. Later on the officials also started regularly chasing people away from some of the benches in our vicinity. We, however, were left alone and whenever I approached an official or was approached by one, they were very much more civil towards me than they were to their fellow Arabs.
At some stage I was told that we would leave at 3pm. I began to deduce that our boat would indeed most likely leave at 16h00 and not 2pm or 2.30pm as variously claimed. At about 3pm we were told to go to the exit where we boarded a bus. The handful of Europeans who had gathered by now was sent out first. We were still dragging our luggage but the driver did not deign to open the luggage stowage or even the rear door at this stage. Maybe they didn’t function: the bus was such an old wreck it was a miracle it made the few hundred metres to the boat. Once the Europeans were on board the bus was filled to the gills with some of the locals travelling with women in their party.
At the dockside once again the whiteys got to board first. The apartheid was beginning to be very embarrassing but I saw no signs of resentment from the locals. We left our luggage in the cargo area as we boarded and made our way upstairs. In contrast to everything we had experienced that day the cabin was quite nice (as can be seen on the web site). We were asked to sit on the port side and were settled in when a steward came and started inviting various people to follow him to the 1st class cabin. Eventually we too got the nod and were soon ensconced in the rather more luxurious seating in the more exclusive cabin upstairs. From our new seats we could watch as the massive slow ferry sailed out crammed with people on the decks.
Sure enough at 4pm the engines started thrumming and soon we too slid out of the harbour – 4½ hours after arriving in Nouweiba! There were snack bars where beverages and snacks were available for sale. After awhile we were told to go to the lower cabin for immigration formalities. By this stage the lower cabin was packed with every available seat taken. (This presumably explains our elevation to the upper cabin: with seats in demand those who paid the high, “foreigner” prices were upgraded. Presumably too the higher price explained our VIP treatment throughout the journey.)
We queued at a booth where passports were examined. Those who would be getting visas on arrival (including Americans and Canadians) had to relinquish their passports and these were returned to them at the immigration desk in Aqaba. To my surprise and delight I was told South Africans do not need a visa and my passport was stamped and given back to me at once. (As an aside I cannot tell you all how satisfying this was – even though visas in Aqaba are free. S Africans need a visa for just about anywhere in the world and it is the bane of my life having to go through all the rigmarole and expense and watching my passport fill up long before it expires. To finally find a place where we get singled out for preferential treatment was wonderfully cheering.
)
The trip took quite a bit longer than the scheduled 1 hour (though we did pass the slow ferry en route) and docking added another 10 minutes. Then the 1st class coterie was herded though the folks in steerage (who were obviously under strict instructions not to move) and into a rear room. There ensued a chaotic process of calling out of various Arabic names and identification of a handful of people that took another 15 minutes. (The amount of confusion made it really hard to believe that those involved had ever done this before.) Thereafter we the chosen people were allowed to go down, collect our stuff and disembark.
On the pier we waited for a bus that came 5 minutes later and took us to the immigration offices. While the others waited for their passports to be processed we S Africans revelled in being able to change some money and go straight to customs, have our luggage scanned and be first out for the taxi touts waiting to take us into town.
With the numerous points at which one has to wait for things to happen, the disembarkation must have added at least another 45 minutes to our travelling time. Having stopped at Avis to pick up our car (also none too quickly) I was astounded to realise that we arrived at our hotel at after 9pm (including the hour lost in the time zone change).
After the long, dirty, confusing and tiring day it felt really good to be swaddled in the sophisticated luxury of the Aqaba Kempinski.
Would I do it again? Preferably not.
It’s not that it’s dangerous or particularly difficult. It is just incredibly tedious and uncomfortable until you are on board. And you need a very high tolerance for bureaucratic incompetence to cope. We survived it with our good humour in tact largely because I had been forewarned by the various blogs and trip reports on the net.
It could have been made a lot easier if I had managed to find an agency that bought tickets beforehand and delivered us to the ship just in time for boarding. (That would have allowed us to leave Dahab at 2 instead of 10h30 and obviated the dreadful waiting room experience.) We saw one tour operator’s mini bus on the pier dropping off passengers as we were preparing to board. Obviously that is the way to do it and it wasn’t for lack of trying that I was unable to arrange it.
The alternative would have been flights from SSH to AMM or AQJ via CAI - so very expensive and probably just as time consuming. In the end it boils down to price versus comfort. The really dispiriting part is that AB Maritime has the right hardware – the boats are modern, comfortable and feel very safe – but officialdom manages to make the whole experience excruciating by virtue of chaotic passenger handling at both ends.
Hope this helps.