Cameldonkeyboat

19 January 2013

Camel taxis. Not awesome for pyramid travel

Salaam, and welcome to Egypt.

We left behind the Russian winter and headed south to the warmer climes (well for the northern hemisphere or this time of the year) to North Africa, or the Middle East, depending on your geographical or political leanings.

The journey started in Dubai, where we had to spend an overnight in a hotel, which was pleasant because it was free, courtesy of the airline. The smell of piss that reeked from the closet was also added at no additional charge, so we felt very lucky, unlike those other guests at the hotel, who actually used the closet to hang their clothes.

We swore we awoke barely a minute after setting the alarm, and headed off from the pissy closet room to breakfast and then back to the behemoth that is Dubai airport.  Within the four billion gates that exist at this airport, we found ours, and Lauren, a friend of ours that was joining us, and very surprisingly to Kylie, her sister Nicky, who appeared out of the duty free shops to say hello, surprise the bejesus out of Kylie, and also join us in Egypt. To underestimate the look on Kylie’s face when she saw her sister would be criminal. It was a golden moment that wont be forgotten. On the plane, and four hours later, we would be in Cairo.

The directors were way off in their funny picture instructions

Cairo will never win many awards, unless there is a title of Worlds noisiest and not so pretty city up for grabs, then it is a decent chance. It’s a mish mash of cars, most of them broken, and ugly buildings, all glued together with the constant deluge of noise, be it car horn, trader or call to prayer. Don’t let anyone tell you that soccer is the national sport here; its throwing trash into the creeks that seems to be the competitive jaunt around here. But it has some of the worlds friendliest people, with a smile is genuine and warm. The Egyptians are a people who welcome you to their land with a firm handshake and a slap on the back. They will put in that extra effort to ensure the shawerma they dish up to you is the best shawerma of the day. The delicious tea, steaming hot and inviting in the most traditional way, will be the best one you ever taste, simply because, they care about you. And they welcome you.

Egypt has copped a hammering lately, unfairly, in the press, mostly guilty by association with neighbouring Arab lands resulting from the Arab Springs of the last few years. Unfortunately the worlds press can only show images of the very minor protests in Tahrir Square, and refuse to show the every day scenes of happiness that is the Egyptian way, and the welcoming one gets when in these parts. They also will not show the empty tourist sights and vacant hotel rooms, the deserted vessels that ply the Nile, or struggling families who rely on tourism as the main source of income and bread. Its time that the media and people associated with them of other lands take a long hard look at themselves before they ruin any more countries due to their inaccurate and biased reporting, focusing on nothing but needlessness. Everything is fine and good. (That’s not to say that the people here fear for their children’s future, but they are confident enough that the overwhelming majority of people will overcome the crooked “elections” that have taken place and re-revolution will begin in earnest soon.)

In desperation, Michael Jackson took the nose from the pyramid

The camels pyramid impersonation was almost spot on

For this part of our journey, we are jumping on a tour with ten other people, all

Australians coincidentally, for a 15 day tour of Egypt. Starting in Cairo, we visited the obligatory pyramids, which contrary to popular belief are not the highlight of Egypt. True, they are pointy and look amazing and you wonder just how the hell all this came about, and if this was the only thing you saw in Egypt you would be amazed, but they are not as breathtaking as some make them out to be. Often they are ruined by the amount of rubbish that flails through the site. You could be staring into the horizon admiring the Great Pyramid when a plastic bag attacks your skull, suffocating your face. As you struggle for survival and the nearest first aid station, you trip over a crumpled coke can and discarded pizza box from the fast food chain that overlooks the Sphinx, being licked clean by a mangy dog. But if you can ignore all of this, it’s still a pretty impressive place to be fascinated. And then there are the camel touts, offering a ride around the monuments with a free whiff of camel shit every fifty metres. But it’s not all lost. We took the opportunity to walk inside the Great Pyramid and inspect some ancient tombs, and we also got up close and friendly with the Giant Cat, the Sphinx, and theorized on how exactly she lost her nose. Some say Napoleon and his bunch of Frenchies shot it off one day while others theorise that a bunch of locals blew it off during one drunken night on BC wine thousands of years ago.

The tourists were pretty proud of their attempt to build their own pyramid

After avoiding the touts selling useless curios of soapstone Pharaohs and bottles of sand, we headed back into Cairo and spend then next two days enjoying the people, saying hello to just about everyone, eating delicious Arabic food, smoking shisha pipes in the magnificent Khan el Khaleli night markets, drinking tea, refusing visits to “authentic” gift shops, and bartering with taxi drivers.

Egyptians smoke too. It seems that there isn’t a single local who doesn’t smoke. In cars, streets, restaurants, cafes, homes, temples, boats, ATM queues, pyramids and their wedding, Egyptians smoke. At about $1.50 a pack, its hardly budget busting either. I assume that Egyptian parents proudest moment is the day their loved one takes their first puff. Presumably, this is at the age of four. Even the donkeys and camels relax with a durry while awaiting their next load assignment.

Smoky creche, Egyptian style

The Cake Shop product placement was even tacky on the Nile

The chef would soon find out how durable plastic was in fire

“Baksheesh” is a common word in Egypt. Its essentially a tip, but its not one that is paid at the end of a nice meal for good service, for example. Egyptians apply it to anything, even on top of tips for good service. It is common for them to ask for baksheesh even when responding to your request for directions when you are lost, or even more simply, the time. Generally, any request for information from and Egyptian will result in a request for money. In fact, don’t be surprised if the hotel receptionist asks for a little bonus when you ask him for the key to your room. Even the cops and temple guards don’t pass up on the opportunity. You can always get that photo of a mummy or artefact where photography is previously banned providing you have just the right amount of baksheesh for the boys in dark Egyptian blue. But we enjoyed the banter and were even more amused watching the unlearned or uninitiated faces of surprise when they thought that piss in the toilet would be free.

The new craze, mixing cars and yachts.

The desert in winter is cold. Who would have thought! We spent two nights in the Western Desert, experiencing the Bedouin way of life, traditionally nomadic. The chaos of Cairo appeared in the rear view mirrors of the 4x4 Land cruisers, as we travelled towards the sandy expanses. For miles and miles we travelled along dusty, barren roads and along golden highways where briefly a mirage would appear to spark some interest. Eventually, we would arrive into an Oasis, a small town and hub of life in the parched countryside. The White Desert was our first port of call, an interesting place where enigmatic white chalky rock formations would appear out of nowhere, totally alien to the otherwise typically commercial desert environment. The locals love the rocks, and have even given their favourites names such as “The Mushroom” and “The Chicken”. To us, they were rocks.

Lauren was as less interested in dancing than the Bedouin was

The pole dancing nightclub employed female bouncers

We spent our first night camping under the most brilliant canvas, snug in our sleeping bags against the bitter cold of a winter’s desert night. Before that though, we enjoyed superb Bedouin hospitality, with typical meals cooked over the campfire, while laughing with the locals as they cackled themselves at our efforts in belly dancing and playing the local instruments of bongos and a harp that sounded like the strangling of a cat.

The destructive camel removed all street signs on a drunken binge

The amorous camel. Very annoying.

The stubborn camel would not budge

Out of batteries, the call to prayer was left to the camels.

Cute and humpy

The second day was quite eventful, with the obligatory sand-boarding experience down some steep dunes and the resulting pain from tumbles and sand in orifice moments. Our Bedouin team bashed the 4x4’s through more sandy terrain and took us to another outpost where this time we bedded down for two nights under the cover of a roof, a permanent Bedouin camp Oasis in the middle of Egypt somewhere. From here we took to the camels, which transported us lazily across an area of desert to more rocks and another spectacular sunset that one feels quite privileged to be a part of. The ride didn’t go quite well for Nicky, who was ceremonially dumped from the humped beast at the start of the journey and her camera came off second best in that battle too. Kylie’s placid ship of the sea that she was riding did her best to meander along peacefully but she was being constantly followed by a brutish male, the only one in a harem of many fine, err …camels, and was quite intent on making the most of the animals limited breeding season.

Baksheesh! Baksheesh! Baksheesh!

Sand. Sandy.

Confused by the language difficulties for directions, the camels dropped the tourists on the side of the dune.

The fourth and final night in the desert was back under another spectacular starry sky, one that puts faith and confidence in the beauty of this world, all alone for miles. Another example of the warm hospitality the Bedouins are famous for, and another freezing night the desert is also famous for in wintertime. With biting winds icing the stubble on my face and penetrating the insufficient warmth of our sleeping bags, we longed for Europe and her balmy minus fifteen-degree days.

One, two, three, everybody jump! Oh Mohammed, too soon!

The broken down 4WD meant new ways of crossing the desert

The sand was so hot that the camel was burnt into a plastic bag

The magician pussycat did all sorts of body tricks

White desert Mexican waves. Odd

Going to the bathroom while camping in these parts is all about the hole in the ground and setting fire to the evidence, and finding a fresh spot. Kylie, who constructed a brick toilet on one of its dunes, made the camp we stayed in famous. Future tour groups will look back on this marvel of mankind like in the same awe that they look upon the tombs and temples of the ancient Pharaohs. It was splendid, with a solid wall, compact dirt hole, stick bog roll holder and cigarette lighter at the ready for a seamless flushing experience, all while maintaining dignity and privacy while cherishing the time on the throne.

The Brick Shithouse, an engineering feat.

Another day, another sunrise, and another destination. After defrosting ourselves and tucking into the standard daily Egyptian breakfast of boiled eggs, triangle cheese and flat bread with fig jam, we packed the gear and headed further south to Luxor, where our Bedouin team dropped us and we parted ways. Luxor has many sights and is steeped in ancient history and tales, and we were excited to be here. First up was the Karnak Temple, a magnificent palace of the Pharaohs dating back many Dynasties of Ancient Egypt. It is simply mesmerising to stand beneath the pillars and intricate art works and hieroglyphics of ancient civilisations, dating from 2000-5000 years old. The carvings in the stone are intriguing and succulent, drawing in gasps of excitement as you discover the walls and spaces of this was thriving Theban city.

Trying to prove the Bangles theory

Pharoahzone, the next big Boyband in Egypt

The illiterate sign writer was lucky Saddam wasn't in power anymore

Luxor is also the entry location for the Valley of the Kings, and ancient cemetery of tombs and remembrance for the once mighty leaders and icons of Egypt. Buried deep into the rocks and walls of the desert outskirts, it is the place where Kings were laid to rest, including Ramses, Tutankhamen and presumable Elvis while we are at it. To get there required a swift donkey ride down the busy back streets and alleys. Unfortunately Laurens mule was a little too stubborn and placed her back on the pavement from whence she came and plodded off into the fields to chew on some more hay, leaving Lauren to hitch a ride with the guide on the bus and meet the rest of us there.

Donkey races. Popular.

The student always had an excuse for missing uni

This day was also Kylie’s 30^th birthday, and travelling through this inspiring region was a fitting way to spend with an inspiring girlfriend and person. Kylie’s donkey ride went well, and at the end of the day we crossed the Nile again to the West Bank to a local restaurant which specialised in mouth watering tagine cuisine, and we had a bit of a party with a tiny bit of whisky and the night culminated in a chocolate cake arranged at the local bakery and happy birthday songs in Arabic. It was a super end to a super day.

The clumsy Iraqi sign writer moved onto birthday greetings

Happy 30th baby.

Back in Luxor centre, we experienced what the city is also well known for, that being the Hassle capital of the Egypt. It’s simply not possible to walk a centimetre in this town without being accosted in a rather aggressive way to buy useless papyrus or Sphinx head crap made in China. I just think they need to be a tiny bit subtler in their approaches in attracting you to their businesses. And the comments from some of the local men in some parts towards women greatly contradict and embarrass the above notions of Egyptians being a welcoming people. I’m sure the rest of the country would rather the Luxor folk relaxed a little, except perhaps the people of Edfu, who along with their Luxor counterparts were just as seedy and additionally physically aggressive towards some of those on tour and others who crossed their paths. Admittedly times are tough in these parts due to the downturn in tourism and lack of income but there is no excuse for some things and its difficult to enjoy Egypt’s antiquities while these blokes are hanging about like they are.  On the lighter side, t-shirts are now being designed with an “I don’t want any of your fucking crap” logo emblazoned across the chest, ready for all to wear on the daily waltz down the souks. Perhaps this is a bit rude, so perhaps not, maybe just some business etiquette lessons in approaching the customer in a friendly way to win their business and trust. And a t-shirt.

The man was confused by the new fart smelling shisha on the need to move or to not move

Budget tours invariably mean budget hotels. We have had our share of low quality, hygiene optional pads on our trip, and Egypt was another feather in the bow of dirty rooms and questionable practices. After a few showerless days on the Nile and full of dirt to wash off in the bathroom, the hotel in Luxor we returned to was nice enough to provide pre-dirtied floors for our convenience. This added to the under carpet floor tiles that shifted downwards to the next floor when they were walked on and the pipet strength flows of lukecold water that dribbled with grace from the water pipe at irregular intervals. We thought the highlight would be the tap in a room flowing mandarin seeds but this was soon topped off by the endless, unstoppable muzak stream of Dido’s greatest hits (which I thought were a total of none) piping through the hotels speakers, slowly crumbling down the brittle walls. I-I wanna thank you, hotel.

We left Luxor for the short drive to Aswan, where after a brief afternoon back with friendly Egyptians and indulging in more five course lunch feast for the cost of half a course, we left for Abu Simbel, arguably the most impressive of Ancient Egypt’s temples. A 3am wake up call, as it is necessary to arrive by police convoy to the desert town. I’m not sure what happened to the cops, but no sooner had we started out than they quickly shot through and buses were left to their own devices. Early wake up calls were note the freshest things for us, as usually at around 4am every morning the call to prayer wails out and if you were, like us, lucky enough to have your hotel room situated within ear splitting distance of the loudspeakers, you were in for quite the alarm.

We drove through endless desert with plain horizons, with no suggestion of activity of vivacity of life. Then, four hours later just as the sun breaks into the bay of Lake Nasser, you are there in front of King Ramses???? And all his might. You enter his world and his labyrinth of pillars and study and discuss the carvings and hieroglyphs. The current site was actually moved from its original site about forty years ago due to the realisation that the temples would be swallowed by the Nile, and the museum of the mammoth effort in doing this was a mind blowing experience in itself.

Outward opening windows were the bane of any pots existence

Ramses 

Back on the bus with another useless convoy, past miles and miles of queues for petrol (a daily occurrence for locals since the revolution caused fuel shortages), and back to Aswan to get our things, and hit the water.

The renowned Nile River has given life to Egypt for thousands of centuries. Its fertile banks have provided sustenance for her people and the oasis of green and blue runs from south the north through the country.

The Felucca is the traditional sailboat of the Nubian people of Egypt, those that have migrated from Africa (usually Sudan) over the centuries. Its a simple, non motorised craft, which may or may not get you anywhere depending on the wind, and the Nile is notorious for its lack of it. Not that we cared. In fact it meant that card games were successful and suits weren’t lost to the river. We were more than happy to park our arses on mattresses for four days and watch the world go by. The weather was perfect. The slightly chilly days of a North African January were sailing upstream away from us, and for the first time since leaving Brazil, we were able to saunter about in single layers. Some even decided to test out the waters and brave possible parasitical infection by taking a dip. Unsurprisingly, it was cold. Surprisingly, it’s clean. We slept on deck under that stars surrounded by the blanket walls, snug in our cocoons. We would awake to chirping spring birds giving us options of the possibility of more lazing away in the sun for the day, gently interrupted at some point in time by the need for a refreshing beer. Books were read, conversations were had, bonfires were hokey-pokeyed around on the banks; all was very pleasant, and four days later, we were quite disappointed to have to leave the boat, even though it was probably necessary to find a shower and some soap after our time living like hippies.

Felucca days

Bags would be searched on the way out for the missing head

It was back to Luxor and to the glorious self rated 3-star establishment (clearly, they overstated things a bit, although it did have a pool (too cold to swim in) with a sensational view of Luxor Temple and all the horse and carriage touts on the street below) for a change of clothes into anything in our packs that might have been semi clean. At this stage, a packet of wet wipes and a shoelace may have had to suffice as costume. We tempted fate by strolling through the souk markets, mimicked some sellers, and made our way back to the hotel, to prepare for our train journey north to Cairo. We were delayed for about five hours though, courtesy of a military train crash on the same track two days before which of course delayed things somewhat until the driver at fault bought some postcards and bookmarks off the other driver, rubbed some baksheesh and shook hands, in true Egyptian style. The train finally departed at 3am, just before morning prayers, and rustled and rocked its way into Cairo on its side some fifty thousand hours later. I swear it was soooo long. We could have stopped in Brisbane on the way to feed Kylie’s cat. It was very bumpy too. Egyptian trains are not the kind you want to be called upon the perform surgery on, such is their rattling and creakiness.

One of the highlights of Cairo, Egypt and certainly one of the world’s best museums is the Egyptian one, fittingly called the Egyptian Museum. It is chock-o-block full of stuff, of antiquities to marvel at and soak up. Tutankhamen’s tomb is a highlight for sure, as is his golden headrest and solid cold sarcophagus, which based on todays gold rates, is worth approximately $6.7 million. Most tombs found in Egypt’s sites, especially the Valley of the Kings were transported here for ones viewing pleasure, all in the one place. Add to these the dozens of mummies such as Ramses and crew; you can see why it’s a pretty impressive place. We headed to there on the Saturday, as Friday was a no go due to some fresh protests in Tahrir Square.

Saturday also saw the end of the tour, as travellers went their separate ways and our guide Mohammed, popped into see his wife and new born boy, only a day old.

So Egypt was done and dusted and locked away. Will we come back? Well, some experts believe that perhaps only 30% of the countries wealth of ancient treasures have been uncovered. Who knows what else is there and when it will appear, but its good to know that future generations will have the same opportunities we have in discovering the tombs and leading their souls around ancient lands, of glimpsing and living through the same breaths that we have, and possible newer ones, and keeping this land alive, whether they are tourists like us or Egyptians under a fair and stable government. And they should be given the opportunity to buy five postcards for one pound.

And when in Cairo, don’t forget to pop into Taza’s, the best shawerma in Cairo. Just a protesters stones throw from Tahrir Square, the owner will make you feel so welcome he will throw locals out onto the street to accommodate you.

Shukran.