Growing up in Israel, in the Seventies, the Sinai peninsula was the final frontier: A recently (following 1967's six day war) annexed piece of wilderness, much bigger than the whole state of Israel, sparsely populated with hospitable Bedouin nomads. And the main attraction: beautiful sandy beaches along a beautiful temperate gulf, with the most beautiful reefs and fishes and scores of beautiful topless sun worshippers.

We would go there whenever we could get away, and hitch a ride on a truck or with some tourists, stake our claim to a clump of palm trees in the oasis of Nuweiba or Dahab, and stay there for as long as we could, off and on for the whole summer.

Snorkeling anywhere in the Red Sea was (and still is) an amazing experience: A dreamlike seascape, amazing variety of colors and shapes of a great diversity of plant and animal life. The narrow gulf was almost always calm, and the water was always worm and hospitable. Even the occasional sharks hardly ever attacked, having such an easy life feeding on the multitude of fish.

In 1980, just before the Sinai was returned to Egypt, following the peace treaty, I went on a final diving safari with my brother Yoram who had just finished his open-water scuba course. The experience was so remarkable, so intense, that we promised ourselves we would go back there again and again.

For all kinds of reasons I never returned, and kept finding reasons why not to go. I was afraid of disappointment. But this summer my wife, Elite, managed to talk me into going to Sinai again. She was thinking of the mountains, but I had visions of the reef. So we managed to clear a week in June, packed our 3 kids in our "Tender"- no vans or 4WD's are allowed into Egypt, and headed south.

Getting into Sinai through the Egyptian border was a surreal experience. We had to get Egyptian license plates for the car, but the official who had to stamp the papers was nowhere to be found. An hour later when he finally got back, all he said was "Hot, hot" and made fanning motions with his hand. This felt right: We were back in Sinai, and we had to switch our clocks to "Bedouin time".

Driving along the coast was discomforting: We remembered pristine beaches of white sand, and what we saw were back to back ugly looking resorts. Five star hotels, no star shacks for rent, building sites, some huge building being constructed out of red brick. But as we drove on those eyesores dwindled, and we could see larger stretches of what we had come for: Virgin beaches.

We decided to spend the first day at Ras a' shitan, "Devils head", where we knew we could find a small but great Diving center. We rented what is known as a "Khusha", a simple reed hut covered with palm leaves, and went off to spend the rest of the day snorkeling. It felt almost like the old days. The next morning we went over to the diving center: Adam, our 13-year-old son was ready for his first Scuba dive. While we were both doing the "men's thing" the rest of the family was snorkeling around the reef and trying to follow us, some 10 meters below.

The dive was pleasant and Adam was thrilled, but I was somewhat disappointed: the reef seemed dull and subdued, as if covered with a fine film of dust, or was it my memory? So we asked the diving guides what was the best reef in Sinai- and the unanimous answer was "RAS Abu galum" ("Head of camel grass" was the only translation I could get), 50 Km South of Nuweiba. When we said that's where we were heading they said we were crazy:

The "good" road - a dirt road along the shore from Nuweiba, was blocked by some Egyptian army installations, and the only way we could get there was on camel back or by jeep from the Bedouin town of Beer Zrer, off the Nuweiba - Dahab road. But we were feeling young again, and nothing could stop us. Well, only our car over heating in the middle of nowhere, with treacherous soft dirt roads going uphill and night falling quickly. By the time we felt the scent of salt water (That night was particularly dark, we couldn't see beyond our headlights) it was getting quite late. When we finally hit the water's edge we where surprised to see no signs of life whatsoever, in any direction. My educated guess was south. So we started making our way along the beach, straining our eyes to see any lights ahead. When we were almost ready to give up and camp in the middle of nowhere, we suddenly caught a glimpse of light ahead. Rushing to it we came upon a Bedouin Khusha, with 3 men sitting around a small fire. It seemed as if they were waiting only for us- they welcomed us with hot, spicy tea, and offered us the use of a nearby Khusha. This was beginning to feel like the old days once again.

I was awakened by flies early next morning. Crawling out I could see the deep blue color of the sea, marking the deep fall only a few meters off the coast, beyond the dark reef. And looking south I could see a few more Bedouin huts in the distance. There was a steady breeze so I decided to fly one of the kites I keep in the car for such occasions. The moment I got the kite up I was amazed to see a dark figure in the hazy distance, racing towards me. When it got closer I realized it was a bare-foot Bedouin child, some three years old, running on the sharp pebbles and pointing towards the kite. My kids heard his laughter and came out to play with him. But Mussa, as we learnt his name was, seemed more interested in the kite.

We spent most of the day snorkeling- the reef was truly amazing. The Bedouin women came around, trying to sell some beads to my wife and to my daughter, Avigail. The men offered to catch some grouper and cook us lunch. This was perhaps the best fish I had ever had, roasted on an open fire, with delicious sticky white rice. Mussa stayed with us for lunch. It seemed like he was looked upon with some contempt by the women, and I suspect he is the child of a low ranking mother. He seemed much darker in complexion than the other children.

That afternoon we headed north, back to Nuweiba, but this time we drove along the coast. We were stopped by the army twice, and both times the soldiers seemed surprised to see us, and checked our passports thoroughly - as if trying to understand how we got there.

Nuweiba was once a beautiful, semi wild oasis, with two Bedouin tribes- the Muzeina and the Tarabin- sharing its bounty. Coming in from the south we saw a new, ugly, overpopulated and garbage covered slum. Some parts of Nuweiba have become dense tourist traps, but most of it looks like a shantytown in hell.

We decided to spend our last night in comparable luxury: we checked into "Aqua Sun"- a resort favorite with Israelis. We had a spacious, air conditioned suite right on the beach, with a real (!) flushing toilet and our own private shower.

We spent the last day snorkeling around the beautifully diverse reef, and headed back home later that afternoon. Leaving the Egyptian border behind we all vowed to come back in winter, and maybe this time spend some time in the mountains.

Ilan Bernet is a video producer and educator in Tel Aviv, and hangs around in the excellent company of the internet listserv for Media 100 video editors. Last summer he and his brother Yoram and Get Lost editor Leslie Strom went sailing on Seattle's Elliot Bay on the hottest day of the year, leaving Ilan with an indelible impression of how cold water can be.