Kite flying in the Petrified Forest

It was a bright sunny autumn day in 2005, with excellent visibility. Perfect wind conditions for flying, all we needed was a large open ground. Armed with more than a hundred home made kites, a convoy of cars and vans and SUVs set off for the 'petrified forest.'

Our guide, Bharat had explicitly mentioned in his directions, "if you're driving on the MUNEEB bridge from GIZA don't exit anywhere till you join the ring road then carry on till you see signs for AIN SUKHNA."

The road went along Carrefour, it became narrower further down, and went from tar to gravel and then continued or almost ended in a ditch of murky water. Enduring it a bit longer we soon came across an open space marked by a concrete gateway and a dusty signboard that said Petrified Forest.

A guard might or might not be there but in any case however tempting it is, please make sure you don't leave with one of those petrified wood pieces in your pocket as a souvenir. They were strewn all across this vast desert land in plenty.

Back in India, kite flying is a serious 'sport' that involves more sinister plotting than coating spools with glass powders, and the resulting outcome is more serious than bleeding hands and torn kites, I know that.

But in the Petrified Forest, it was different. Excellent visibility, an almost even ground, no sign of human inhabitation, not even a tree stump to blame and the right nip in the air for an occasional swig. Spools were unreeled, children were handed threads while fathers devised ways to knot the kite.

Soon the sky was speckled with color, tailed kites, flagged kites, shiny ones and some with creative shapes. With a tug here and a pull there, some just rocketed into space while others dwindled like dry leaves back unto earth. The art of kite flying demands more than a sharp eye. It is knowing when to let go and when to hold on to. Even when all seem so perfect your kite can take a nose dive if you leave it untended for a moment.

By noon, spirits were lifting, the reins of kite flying were happily handed over to children while parents took on more administrative roles. Grandfathers held their own conferences over the why's and why-nots of kite flying.

Lunch was a gourmet affair, thanks to the womenfolk. Picnic boxes and hot flasks of tea were laid out on an open porch that served as an excellent out door picnic table. Steamed rice cakes with spicy coconut dips, cottage cheese balls and bread, even the fried dumplings were glazed to a perfect golden brown. Tired from all the walking, searching for disappeared kites, it was a hungry lot that came to lunch.

By late afternoon, as we packed up to leave, there was one question that kept repeating in my mind, why was it ever called Petrified Forest ?!!

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