Originally from Bavaria — Bad Wörishofen, then Munich. Moved to Mediaș in Romania with my girlfriend Sorina. After six months there, we headed to Egypt together. Arrived in Dahab with a backpack and no plan — meant to stay two weeks. The sea was so clear, the mountains so silent, the people so warm — I never bought a return ticket. Brought her son Paul over, got married — the whole program. Spent all my money and was broke. That's when Dahab really began.
Looking for a place to stay, we wandered into the Alibaba Hotel and met Mr. Mones for the first time. Not as an employer yet — just as a host. Warm, careful, generous. The kind of person who makes a stranger feel like they were always supposed to be here. That meeting set the tone for everything else.
Soon after came Jackie at the dive shop and Klaus on his motorbike. The three of them became my closest friends here. We shared stories over tea, food in each other's kitchens, the small daily life. The community was our life — the other expats, the bedouins, the sea, the desert. Everything else followed from that.
Broke and newly married, I walked into the Alibaba Hotel and met Mr. Mones — a man I'll always be grateful for. He gave me a job: $150 a month, full-time, 8–10 hours a day, one day off. I fixed his accounting software with a simple Excel script. He loved it so much he used it for ten years — maybe still does. Then he offered me to be general manager. Thirteen rooms. That was my breakthrough — no going back to Europe broke. I'd make it right here. It was one of the best jobs I ever had. That $150 covered rent for a beautiful little flat with wood and ceramic floors — $75 a month — plus food, and even education for Paul. Paulino. My stepson, my son — I met this awesome young boy when he was 5 through his mom Sorina, who I married. We spent many years in Dahab together. What a story.
Learned to dive. Fell in love with the reef. Built a life in Al Fanar — the lighthouse end of Dahab, quieter, closer to the reef. Wrote code by day, sometimes dove the Blue Hole — but mostly just lived in Dahab. Hanging with friends, sessions under the palms, fire, drums. Living the movie The Beach. The best commute on earth was a 5-minute walk to the sea.
The Dahab bombings. April 24. Three explosions in the tourist bazaar. I survived. The town was wounded but never broken. The Bedouins, the divers, the dreamers — everyone stayed and rebuilt together.
Golden years. Pendling between Romania and Egypt. In 2008 I launched MyDays from a rooftop with a satellite dish. I remember asking Sorina — hey, do you think it's a good idea? She said sure, why not. Didn't matter — I was already done building it and nothing could hold me back. Freediving at dawn, coding at noon, Bedouin tea at dusk. Dahab taught me that you don't need much to have everything.
Left for Munich. Hardest goodbye I ever said. But also the best decision — I have freedom through my passport that most Bedouins don't have. And I remember my Bedouin friends waving, holding up a sign: "Best of luck, Chris. See you soon again." That's the thing. Go use your options. Keep us in mind. I promised I would. This page is one of my acts to prove it — not just in words. Hello world. This is Dahab.
Dahab doesn't let go. Every year I go back. Every time, it feels like coming home.
I'm thankful for all of it. All the experiences, all the people I met — the sheiks, the foreigners, the expats, the locals. That small community in a former fishing village. From palms and sand to little huts and shops, to camps and bigger hotels — creative and innocent and just beautiful. I hear it's more of a party scene now. Still — I want to meet again.
