From the skyscrapers of the Upper East Side of Manhattan to a mud hut set against the timeless sands of Egypt, Racing the Setting Sun is the tale of a woman who finds the courage to leave an unhappy marriage. In Egypt, the author discovers the beauty of a land of which she always dreamed and an awakened sexuality with Salah, her young guide. The author calls the primitive village on the Nile from which the guide hails, home. There she finds a deep-rooted love for his family. She experiences the often disturbing treatment of women in another culture. An astonishing story of magic and beauty, Racing the Setting Sun speaks to two hemispheres, to all women and all men. I lived high up in the mountains near the Pharonic noble tombs, with a people whose lives had not changed in eons. I felt I was living a page out of the Bible; homes lacked running water, and donkeys had to haul the precious cargo up from the distant wells of the Nile delta to dry, parched mountains the color of ripe wheat. Yet even the primitive living conditions did not deter me. Because of Sallah, the young man I met, I shared in the villagers' joys, sorrows and traditions-from the celebration of life and their strange birthing methods, to their unusual marriage customs and the male sexual ritual afterwards. I replaced a modern life filled with material trappings and a painful marriage of thirty-four years with a life filled with love and awakening. Each day was a gift, filled with wonderment and awe. I slept on a roof blanketed by tender love and a brilliant night sky, and filled with the sounds of goats munching on sugar cane. I experienced passion for the first time in a dark, forbidden cave amidst mummified bones of the past. And I made love in the wind, as rippled desert sands swirled toward the ancient Pyramids that rose skyward. I was the only female living in the village who was free to be mobile; my Egyptian counterparts lived in a constrained world where many women were forbidden to leave the confines of their homes only if completely covered and accompanied by a male relation. When I asked Salah if they resented me, his response was, "No, you special, like movie they see on television." It rained only once or twice a year, which could be dangerous for mud dwellings, especially if the rain lasted several hours. Once during an unexpected storm, the rain turned to hail, and I heard loud wailing in the distance. I ran to Salah and called out, "Why are the women screaming and pounding the earth?" "They think they all die." "From what?" "Ice fall from heaven...sign from God we all die." I grabbed his shoulders, my voice stern. "Hail is just frozen raindrops. I've seen it often in America." Salah sent runners to the nearby villagers to explain what it was, and more importantly, that they would not perish. Yet when the water level started to rise, we all had to work feverishly to prevent the foundations of our homes from collapsing. Soaked frozen and exhausted at the end of the day, I got down on my hands and knees to thank the Creator for sparing our lives and our village. For my heart was filled to the brim with love-the love of a remarkable young man, wise beyond his years, who felt he had difficulty expressing his feelings and emotions adequately for me at times because of a language barrier, but his beautiful words spoke volumes. He often said " I not know words in English to tell you my heart." But the first time I set a simple table for us with candles, his expressive dark eyes fixed on the glowing light and, as the wax slowly trickled down the candles in droplets, Salah simply expressed, "We both cry tears of love" But most of all, Salah unexpectedly was the catalyst for finally giving me the courage to leave an unhappy marriage, and reclaim my life and find happiness. During my stay there I was challenged in many ways I never expected. In the middle of a parched desert, I found an oasis of the heart.