The moment we had all been waiting for had finally arrived on the 29th March for 2006 Total Solar Eclipse in the Al Salloum desert. This was the main reason I had booked this trip.
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We got to the Stanley Bridge around 5:10 p.m., just as the sun began to set over Alexandria. The bridge, with its elegant arches and four distinctive towers built in an Islamic style, is a modern icon of the city. We pulled over for a quick photo shoot, but getting a good shot was a challenge. The bridge was buzzing with activity—cars whizzing by and people taking evening strolls—making it a lively but tricky backdrop.
Despite the crowds, the view from the bridge was stunning. It stretches 400 meters over the Mediterranean, offering a sweeping panorama of the coastline. Built to help alleviate traffic and expand the beachside area, the bridge’s architecture perfectly complements the nearby Al Montazah royal palace. It’s a true blend of history and modern engineering, a landmark that beautifully captures Alexandria’s unique spirit.
After the quick photo stop at the bridge we settled back into the bus, heading west toward the Egyptian border – Al Salloum.
Night in a Bus before 2006 Total Solar Eclipse in the desert
Around 9:00 p.m., 3.5 hours later, we finally arrived in Marsa Matrouh, a bustling city and the capital of the Matrouh Governorate. With a population of over 240,000, it’s a popular summer destination for Egyptians, famous for its pristine, white-sand beaches and calm, turquoise waters. We didn’t get off the bus, as dinner was served in paper boxes. Our journey was far from over; this night was to be spent on the bus as we headed toward Al Saloum.
Marsa Matrouh has a rich history, dating back to ancient times. It was a major grain port under the Romans and a key military base during World War II, a fact highlighted by the Rommel Cave Museum, which was once the headquarters of the famous “Desert Fox,” General Rommel. Today, the city’s main industries are tourism and agriculture, with a focus on crops like olives and figs.
Traveling at night in Egypt can be a bit different. Typically, a convoy is used for safety, but tonight, for some reason, we were going without one. It was a clear sign that our adventure was taking us off the well-worn path.
Finally, after some stops for the drivers to rest and another 2-3 hours driving, the journey brought us to Al Salloum desert in a very early morning.
In the pre-dawn hush, we arrived at the edge of the Al Salloum desert. The sky was just beginning to bleed from indigo to a soft, ethereal rose, but the silence was broken by the low hum of military patrols. Guards, their uniforms crisp against the stark landscape, patrolled the dusty road, a checkpoint between the world we knew and the vast, unknown expanse ahead.
To pass, we had to pay a toll—a mandatory offering of about 50 EGP, or roughly £7 at the time. In exchange, they handed us a small, flimsy ticket, a physical token of our permission to enter. I tucked it away for safekeeping, a souvenir of this surreal experience, but it was soon lost to the chaos of our travels. A shame, really; I’d hoped to upload a photo of it here one day.
Thinking back on that day, I can’t help but draw a comparison to the impending 2027 eclipse. The path of totality will sweep across Egypt, passing near Luxor. I have no doubt that a similar scene will unfold—the same checkpoints charting for the entrance, the same crowds, and the same sense of quiet anticipation under the watchful eye of the authorities.
What made our arrival even more surreal was the sight that greeted us. The last significant rainfall in this parched region had been an entire year ago, yet here we were, staring at glistening puddles scattered across the sand—the unexpected gift of a rare, nocturnal downpour. To find water in the desert felt like an omen of incredible luck.
But as the sun began its slow ascent, a new reality set in. The sky, which moments before had promised a perfect spectacle, began to fill with a thick, murky haze and a rising fog. It billowed off the hot desert floor like a phantom, obscuring the horizon. A deep worry settled over us; the very atmosphere that had gifted us with water now threatened to steal the one thing we had traveled all this way to see. The promise of a perfect eclipse felt like it was slipping away into the gray mist.
The eclipse had drawn a diverse crowd of skygazers, from seasoned professional astronomers to passionate hobbyists. A quiet, focused energy filled the air as tripods were carefully positioned and cameras were mounted, each one fitted with a special thin film filter. This isn’t just a precaution; it’s an absolute necessity. Attempting to photograph the sun, even during a partial eclipse, without a proper filter will instantly damage your camera’s sensor and can cause severe eye injury if you’re looking through the viewfinder.
These filters, which can be purchased pre-made from brands like Celestron or custom-built using materials like Baader solar film, are designed to block almost all of the sun’s intense light and harmful ultraviolet and infrared radiation. This allows you to safely capture images of the sun’s disk and the moon’s gradual transit across it.
If you’re an amateur astronomer, you have a few options. You can buy the filter material and make your own filter for a camera or a pair of glasses, which is a popular and cost-effective method. Alternatively, you can buy a ready-made adjustable filter, which might offer more convenience and an exact fit for your specific camera or telescope.
The preparation for the eclipse was a ritual in itself, a careful balance of patience and precision. The air was charged with a focused energy that was punctuated by the unexpected. As we prepared to capture a celestial ballet that would unfold just once in a lifetime, some people were drumming and chanting what sounded like tribal songs. It was a surreal moment, made even more so when the President of Egypt arrived in a helicopter to observe the event. It was quite a sight to see such ancient and modern elements come together for a shared celestial experience.
For those whose patience had run thin or who simply needed a break from the long wait, a large, bright blue tent stood as a cheerful oasis in the middle of the stark desert. Inside, it was a bustling haven of refreshments and snacks. It offered a welcome distraction, where you could buy a cold drink or a bag of chips and find a moment of relief from the sun and the anticipation of the coming show.
You could tell right away who the seasoned eclipse-chasers were. While some of us were fumbling with jackets and squinting at the sky, others had clearly come prepared for a proper desert viewing party. One dedicated man even carried his rigid metal chairs on their heads through the sand, planting it firmly in place as if they were setting up for a classical music concert. It was a stark reminder that this wasn’t just a quick peek at the sun; it was a long, slow celestial show, and the desert floor was not going to be a forgiving stage for anyone’s tired feet.
It wasn’t just the chairs. The true pros took their comfort to a whole new level. Some came equipped with a proper table, too—not a flimsy, foldable model, but a rigid one with a heavy wooden top. It was as if they were prepared to have a three-course meal right there in the desert, turning the celestial event into a leisurely dinner theater show. Their level of dedication was both impressive and comically over-the-top.
Illegal Migrants, Mines and Flowers
As we waited for the total solar eclipse, we were guided to a specific spot marked by a flimsy-looking yellow rope. None of us knew what it was for, but we quickly found out. It turned out to be a border marker for the border with Libya, and beyond it lay a minefield.
We were all told to stay behind the rope, but minefield was not mentioned and one of the passengers from our bus, unknowingly venture to the danger across the line to take pictures of some small desert flowers. She was quickly spotted by a guard, who yelled at him to come back. The guard then explained the danger to the woman and everyone was laughing as it all ended well.
The existence of these mines is a grim legacy of history. They were placed in the border region between Libya and Egypt during the Second World War and subsequent conflicts, including the 1977 Libyan-Egyptian War and various internal Libyan conflicts. The heavy combat in the Western Desert, particularly around El Alamein, left behind vast, uncleared minefields.
It was a stark reminder of the harsh realities of the world, even in a place that seemed so isolated and empty. Despite the warnings and danger, I still saw some people crossing the border through the super zoom of my Canon Powershot, nowadays the Canon PowerShot have even higher zoom.
Even in this seemingly barren landscape, life found a way. I spotted an ant crawling in the sand, a small sign of life in a place that seemed so inhospitable.
Total Solar Eclipse in the Desert
The partial phase of the solar eclipse began at 11:20 a.m., but my stomach had other plans. Despite the celestial spectacle unfolding before us, I found myself drawn back to the tour bus by the irresistible lure of hunger. I distinctly remember the taste of the boiled egg I ate for breakfast, a simple pleasure against the backdrop of an extraordinary event.
At the time, I was completely unaware of the many ancient superstitions surrounding solar eclipses. Had I known, I might have reconsidered my actions. It is said that eating during an eclipse is bad luck, as it brings a curse upon you. I broke this unspoken rule without a second thought, and now I can’t help but wonder if I’ve brought a curse upon myself, which you can read about in here. I saw another woman eating too!
Despite my brief detour for a snack, the moment we had all been waiting for had finally arrived. The haze that had worried us earlier miraculously began to scatter, revealing a clear, blue canvas. The sun, now high in the sky and perfectly visible, was ready for the Moon to make a move on it and cover it up.
The moon’s deliberate crawl across the sun’s disk was a captivating sight, but capturing it was a formidable challenge. As the moon slowly eclipsed the sun, both celestial bodies were in constant motion across the sky. The moon was following its orbit, and the sun was moving as the Earth rotated.
I found myself in a delicate and frustrating ballet of my own, constantly adjusting my tripod and trying to keep the camera centered on the action. Without automatic tracking, every moment was a manual correction, a subtle nudge here and a gentle shift there. It was a testament to the cosmic dance above, a constant reminder that in space, nothing ever truly holds still.
Finally, the climax arrived. At 12:38, I witnessed the first diamond ring of the eclipse—a singular, brilliant point of sunlight shining like a jewel on the dark silhouette of the moon. It was the signal I had been waiting for. I fumbled to remove the solar filter from my camera, but in my haste, I was a fraction of a second too slow. The shot I took was completely overexposed, the diamond ring a massive, blown-out blaze of white.
But it didn’t matter, because what came next was beyond words. The sky became suddenly dark and we could see the lights in the Libyan city of Umm Sa’ad to come online as if it was night.
Within moments, the totality began. The thin sliver of light vanished, and the desert sky, which had been a hazy blue, plunged into a profound twilight. The air grew cool, and a hushed awe fell over our group. In the sky where the sun had been, a magnificent, pearly-white halo—the solar corona—shimmered into view. It was a sight so breathtaking it seemed to defy physics.
Then, as my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, I saw them: two tiny pinpricks of light in the darkened sky. Close to the eclipsed sun, Venus and Mercury were both clearly visible, a rare cosmic alignment brought into view by the moon’s perfect shadow. It was a moment of pure magic, a celestial ballet that felt like a secret just for us, witnessed for a few precious minutes before the light returned.
A roar of excitement erupted from the crowd. Everyone was looking up, their heads craned toward the sky, all trying to capture the moment. People were fumbling with their cameras, trying to get the perfect shot. It’s funny to think about now, but at the time, there were no smartphones invented yet! I mean we had Nokia with camera, but the picture wouldn’t have been any good. We were all completely engrossed in the experience, lost in the celestial event happening before our eyes.
The celestial dance of a total solar eclipse is a high-speed ballet choreographed by the laws of physics. The moon moves at an incredible pace as it begins to pass in front of the sun. The moon’s average orbital speed is about 2,300 miles per hour (3,700 kilometers per hour), but its shadow on Earth’s surface moves much faster.
This is because the Earth is also rotating and the moon’s shadow is cast at an angle. As a result, the moon’s shadow races across the Earth at speeds ranging from 1,000 to over 5,000 mph (1,600 to 8,000 km/h), depending on the location. It’s this incredible speed that makes the period of totality so brief, often lasting just a few minutes in any given location
The 360-Degree Sunset Effect
As the moon’s shadow sweeps across the Earth, something magical happens at the horizon. When you’re standing in the path of totality, you are inside the deepest, darkest part of the moon’s shadow. However, just beyond the edges of that shadow, the sun is still partially visible to those observers. The light from those areas scatters through the atmosphere and creates a surreal glow that encircles you.
This is the 360-degree sunset effect (in Lithuanian “Veneros juosta”). It looks like a fiery, multi-coloured ribbon that completely rings the horizon, with hues of pink, orange, and yellow. It’s a breathtaking sight because it’s a sunset happening in every direction at once, a phenomenon that can only be witnessed during a total solar eclipse. This ghostly light is a powerful reminder that you are standing in a small circle of darkness, surrounded by the sun’s light on the other side.
Those four minutes of totality felt like an eternity. As the world was plunged into a surreal twilight, time seemed to slow down. My mind raced, contemplating what significant changes I wanted to make in my life. The air was filled with a palpable sense of wonder and possibility, and a profound silence had fallen over the crowd.
It was during this time that I remembered a conversation I had with someone on the bus. They told me about an ancient legend: if you witness a total solar eclipse, you have the power to make a significant and lasting change in your life. I held on to that thought, hoping that the universe was giving me a sign.
Then, just as quickly as it began, the moment of totality was over. A brilliant flash of light, the second diamond ring, appeared on the edge of the moon. I was ready this time, my camera poised. I managed to capture it almost perfectly, a radiant crown of light signaling the return of the sun and the end of a magical experience. Even now, almost 20 years after, whenever I think about that first experience (or any following ones), I get goosebumps.
With the celestial spectacle over, the crowd began to stir. The once-bustling observation area, filled with a shared sense of awe, slowly dispersed. People packed up their cameras and telescopes, their conversations now filled with reflections on the breathtaking event. We all started to slowly make our way to our buses and cars, carrying with us the memory of a truly unforgettable experience.
Views of Al Salloum
Finally, we were leaving the desert with yellow strings separating border and some fences and heading back to Alexandria and the first place we were approaching was Al Salloum. This small, remote city, with a population of about 18,000 people, is a far cry from the bustling metropolis of Alexandria.
Salloum is a fascinating and strategic location. It’s not only a city but also the last Egyptian port before the border with Libya, making it the closest Egyptian harbor to Europe. The town’s economy is deeply connected to the Mediterranean Sea and its traditional Bedouin culture. In fact, about 70% of the population are Bedouin, belonging to two main tribes, the Kotaan and Haboon.
Life here is simple, and the community relies on traditional activities like farming rainwater crops, raising animals like goats and camels, and some fishing. This quiet, unassuming city, with its unique blend of Bedouin and border-town life, stands as a testament to a different side of Egypt—a world away from the famous pyramids and ancient temples.
Videos from Total Solar Eclipse in Egyptian Desert in 2006
I have compiled a short videos from footages from different people in our group. It took me some effort upscaling and doing other processing with AI tools, also filtering some wind noise, but in the end reasonably watchable video. Enjoy!
I also accidentally found a video of someone else filming the event of Total Solar Eclipse in the desert and recognised some people from our group.
Useful Links
Coordinates of Path of Total Solar Eclipse in Egypt
Orthographic Map of 2006 Total Solar Eclipse
Detailed Map of 2006 Eclipse Path Through Africa