Thursday:
Sadly the flight to Athens was over an hour late leaving Heathrow, which meant that it was after sunset when we finally got a metro, and dark when we reached the City centre. This meant that the Sights were viewed against their backdrop of artificial light and the acropolis from afar. But it was a balmy relaxing evening and we strolled around the old town enjoying Hadrian's arch, the roman forum, the old market and the glorious sight that is the acropolis. We took a stroll up over the hill, which was walked on by Plato & Socrates 2500 years ago and wandered past the very spot where modern democracy was established. Sadly my dad seemed more interested in finding out if the local Rolex dealer could detect the fake timepiece he sported, before insisting that McDonald's was the correct place to Satisfy his hunger. It's a mistake to argue with my dad when he decides where & what he wants to eat!
Friday:
Misfortune again visited us with Olympic airlines, as once again the flight was over an hour late. So now we arrived in Cairo at the wrong side of 3:00am. Tired & looking to get to our hotel we were of course greeted by a hoard of eager & pushy taxi drivers. I agreed a slightly expensive but reasonable fee of E£120 (about £12). By the time we reached the cab I was informed that the driver needed a E£10 tip, after putting the bags into the car, the organiser needed a E£10 tip, finally on arriving at the hotel a porter grabbed our bags, insisting on carrying them about 50 yards to our room and, of course, required a E£10 tip. So just to get to our room we had to pay a succession of small levys. Thankfully, exhausted and dirty, it was all over. The hotel was classy, the setting heavenly and the room a sanctuary of calm. We both slipped to slumber quickly, and, after a good rest rose around 10:00 to wash, change and make it just in time for breakfast.
After breakfast my attempt to acquire a taxi to take us the half mile or so to the pyramids was frustrated by our concierge instead arranging a full tour. It all seemed reasonable enough at about £10 for the two of us. Besides trying to get any idea across to a guy that doesn't speak perfect English was very difficult, but when I have my dad chipping in with random requests, asking fairly ridiculous questions and insisting I tell him the full plan despite the fact that I was clearly actively engaged in arranging it at that precise moment, it's close to impossible.
Khalid, our driver appeared to transport us for a three hour tour. In ten minutes we were at the entrance to the pyramids where he informed us that he had an excellent camel tour for us to take, and because we were his 'friend, my friend' we could have it for only £20 each. Okay, so I had always planned for a camel trip, so we said yes. The camel kneels down and you climb onto a fairly unsteady box, propped over its hump. Then it rises about 8 foot on its rear lugs hurtling you forward and offering you an insight as to why the box has a wooden handle at the front. Next the animal kicks up aggressively from the front, now delivering an explanation of the reason for the matching handle at the rear. In fact this second movement, in throwing you now backward with equal force, introduces the small of your back to the handle and decisively so.
Anyway we proceeded across the desert and the unsteady nature of the mounting was amplified by the wild lurching movement as the camel takes each step. I was convinced that at any moment I may loose my grip and be flung several feet to the ground. My father was having an even worse experience. With no sun cream and no hat he was already troubled by the ferocious desert sun but now his troubles were compounded by the swaying of his voluminous belly from side to side with each camel stride. His attempts to get our guide to provide a hat were greeted with warm assurances of 'yes my friend, yes my friend, immediately' but without anything appearing for over an hour until he virtually refused to continue. Now they sprung to action and produced a white head cloth with accompanying band. Picture the scene, a headdress of a sheikh, a Celtic shirt, and being flung around and bounced vigorously by his camel; less than perfect for him but outstandingly hilarious for me.
The pyramids are superb, the scale of construction is truly amazing and although I had expected to be disappointed, I certainly wasn't. We ended our trip, with a glass of juice and then proceeded to a papyrus shop and an aromatherapy store (all recommended by Khalid, and all obviously offering him commission) before returning to the hotel.
After a wash and checkout, Khalid drove us to the bus station promising that on our return he would look after my father well. Looking after him 'well', it emerged, entailed taking him to belly dancing, which I'm sure was Khalid's way of saying he wanted to go to belly dancing and hoped my dad would pay. Fortunately, we were just in time for a bus, which turned out to be a luxury coach. The bus departed a not unreasonable ten minutes late and we settled down for the journey to the red sea. Well I say we settled down, actually, I settled but my dad's rear was throbbing from his camel ride!
The bus journey continued our succession of problematic travels. Firstly we had only pulled out of the station and closed our eyes when were tortured by an ungodly, and close to deafening, wailing. This apparently passed as entertainment and apparently (but I remain unconvinced) passed as singing. Throughout the journey which would proceed into the night, the high pitched screeching would accompany us. We made reasonable time and it looked like we may actually arrive in Hurghada before dark. Just as I was thinking this, the bus was stopped at a police checkpoint. They came on, checked each Egyptian's ID, had a debate, took some off the bus, had a debate, put them on, took some more off, had a debate, and so on, as we watched other buses pull up and away in a matter of minutes. Eventually after about an hour we continued, I think, with two less passengers. This process was repeated at, at least, two further checkpoints. Ultimately our five hour journey took about 8 hours; we arrived close to 11:00pm and drained from the pounding of the road on our butts and the pounding of the Islamic music on our ears.
We agreed a fee for a taxi to the Sea Horse hotel. The drive would be about ten minutes, we were informed. We must have visited about seven different hotels and taken three quarters of an hour before our comedian drivers finally managed to stumble on the correct place. I think the shameless dolts were genuinely disappointed when I didn't give them a tip.
Saturday:
The day started fairly well although a little chaotic as I tried to arrange booking out while my father insisted on knowing where breakfast was half way through, then managed to get his bag put in storage by someone who didn't give him a ticket but did promptly disappear. Booking was a typically laborious task. I asked for the bill, the clerk and porter had a debate. I gave them money, the clerk and porter had a debate. At this point my dad started his interjections and of course, the clerk and porter had a debate, this time disappearing to continue the debate elsewhere. Finally I succeeded in storing the bags and grabbing an egg roll but not in paying for the room. Egyptian's do not focus well, are easily distracted and can not do anything without a group discussion. It wasn't just the two guys. There was some fat old Muslim lady who frequently popped up, just when you thought you had the guys concentrating, shouted a burst of Arabic, mumbled a few similar words to me and then scuttled of just as the guys did likewise. All went in different directions and all progress was lost until their return, when it would all start again.
Eventually with an offer to pay later secured, we caught the complimentary bus to the dive school. Being German run, the dive school was efficient, and, thankfully, organised. After being fitted with gear, we embarked on a comfortable small yaught into the Red Sea gulf. After an hour we weighed anchor, were briefed, and suited up. On the steps down to the boat's jump point at the rear, dad slipped, fell squarely on his ass and tore a small cut into his foot. Within three foot of the sea, his dive was cancelled. I was still allowed to proceed and after jumping in descended to the bottom to do some dive checks, which had been deemed necessary as it, was two years since my last dive. Sadly as I reached the bottom my mask started to leak water, my mouth started to take water in and the salty particles started to hit my lungs, causing me to cough and hyperventilate. Trust me, hyperventilating is not the desired state when you are 12m below the sea! I managed, badly, to perform the checks but on removing my mouthpiece and replacing it I took in a huge gulp of water, felt sick, couldn't breathe and signalled I wanted to surface.
Thankfully my instructor misinterpreted this and instead lifted me to move off around the reef. After I started moving the problems, though persistent, abated considerably. The reef was fantastic, certainly less varied than Australia but equally beautiful. Here though there were much larger Scholl's of fish and indeed some much larger fish. There were very large silver snapper, perhaps two feet or longer. Small yellow fast swimming fish, rays, tuna and the magnificent and decidedly appropriately named trumpet fish. The water was consistent in warmth, and lovely.
We surfaced for an amazing lunch of spaghetti Bolognese, fried chicken, pita, salad and chips, all cooked on board. I had expected only sandwiches. After lunch my dad was allowed to dive. This time I was a little more comfortable and could explore more readily but we were slow as my dad could not use his injured foot and had to be towed round by the instructor. But diving isn't about speed and I got a proper chance to look at all these wonderful things.
On returning to shore, then the hotel, I sent dad to the restaurant, giving me peace to pay the bill and retrieve the passports. Our taxi called on time to get us to the bus station for our 7:30pm departure. The bus centre was a chaotic shambles; no information and no one spoke more than five consecutive English words. Dust hung in the air seemingly suspended on the bus fumes; hundreds of people wandered aimlessly, all shouted at each other, even when they were only few feet apart. The ubiquitous bombardment of Islamic music continued, as did the hassling to sell tacky and poor quality souvenirs. By 8:30pm we were still sat on a dusty concrete step as the pantomime played out around us. Eventually close to 9:00pm the bus arrived.
Eventful is probably the correct but understated way to describe the journey, but given the less than smooth running of our transport plans to date it was hardly a surprise. I tried to get some sleep by lying across two seats, but throughout the journey was continually jolted awake with the lurching of the bus as it hurtled at high speed, cornering too fast on the twisty desert road. I awoke at 12:30am. We had made good progress and were about half an hour from Luxor, which would leave us perhaps only an hour late. My dad was ashen faced with what pretty much is describable as fear. He explained to me the extent of the drivers over enthusiasm in making time. The tyres had been scorched on the road as the driver had approached tight bends viciously. My dad reckoned the jolts, which had interrupted my slumber, were the several occasions when the bus had actually tilted off on side before thumping back down.
This explanation was almost finished just as we heard an enormous bang followed by a successive grinding and thumping. The drive shaft had gone, we were 30 miles from the nearest city and it was almost 1:00am. The amazing thing was that about five or six of the guys got out and started to push the bus. I'm not sure if they had actually intended to push it all the way to Luxor, but within minutes a minibus appeared and we were ushered in. We drove through a checkpoint where one of the Islamic women shouted something to the guard before everyone laughed.
The young man sitting next to me, Sayed, spoke excellent English and explained that they had all claimed to be our guests. Any Egyptian can travel anywhere so long as they do so with a foreigner. The woman had shouted that despite his big gun, the guard was a little mouse because she was with a foreigner and he could do nothing. We were deposited at the bridge entrance to Luxor, another taxi took us to the hotel and despite the fact that it was the wrong branch, it was the right chain so they gave us a room. It was now 3:00am, we should have been here by 11:00pm.
On the short trip from the city bridge, Sayed explained the travel restrictions placed on Egyptians. They cannot travel freely, they can only travel between cities with a valid job or home to go to. This had been the problem the night previously. He then told me that he was engaged to a German girl though he had never met her. They were Internet lovers and he intended to travel to Frankfurt later in the year for the marriage. She seemed quite pretty from the pictures of her that he showed me. Sayed was a kung fu instructor and wanted me to explain the principles of judo, that he may incorporate it in his teaching.
Sunday:
The morning was a rare couple of hours of efficiency. This was largely due to the fact that our late arrival had left dad too tired to rise and I was able to foray for myself at this stage. I changed some money, paid for the room and got to the train station to buy the tickets for the onward travel. This all arranged I returned to breakfast with dad and set out for the west bank and the ancient tombs.
After dodging several unofficial tour touts, we arrived at the ferry, the ticket was explained kindly to us by Ali. Ali skilfully appeared from nowhere to introduce himself and help us buy tickets. Of course, firstly I already had established the method of buying a ticket and secondly, realized that we were now paying for him as well! But it was only 10p and so not worth arguing over. Ali offered a tour of the entire west bank for what approximated to £50. Had I been alone, I would have declined and either hired a bike or negotiated ad hoc arrangements with individual taxis. But my dad likes things to be organised for him and was keen. So off we went with our new friend Ali, who, like everyone else in this country completely ignored our requests and instead took us to his friend's shops in an attempt to squeeze more cash from us. Ultimately we did force him back on track but only after the now clichéd debate.
We went to the valley of kings, queens, Hapstutat's temple, the colossi of menomen and the great temple of Ramses II. We saw the burial chamber of King Tutankhamen and his original mummy. Many of the wall paintings in the other tombs were explained to us by tip-seeking locals. The tombs were impressive but the temple of Hapstutat was magnificent. This is a genuine feat of engineering. Huge and inspiring it looks over the whole valley all the way to Luxor.
On the boat home Ali explained that his quoted price had been each, not for both of us, apologising for the misunderstanding. I left my dad to explain that we weren't idiots and we knew the deal. So he accepted his £50 and we gave him a £5 tip. At £10 per hour for driving us around, a British guide wouldn't have got much more.
We relaxed by the pool, had tea & cakes, had probably our best meal so far and departed for the station. The train was only five minutes late, we had a private two-bed berth and everything was like as described in Agatha Christie novels. After being served an evening meal we went to sleep. I slept well on the nine-hour journey. I was grumpy when wakened for breakfast a full hour in advance at 5:30am but at least well rested. Sadly my father had not slept well. He once again complained the journey had thrown him around and kept him awake.
