Aswan, Abu Simbel, Kom Ombo, Edfu
Day 296:
I was pretty sure that it would be a beautiful early morning in the city of Aswan, but I did not really care to see it. The huge comfortable bed captivated my attention to two hours after sunrise and then I got fantastically stuck in the brilliant hot shower of the Hathor Hotel. We eventually arrived at the restaurant for our “Compulsory Continal” breakfast as signposted by the hotel. The breakfast consisted of one boiled egg, one triangle of soft cheese, one 15ml container of butter, one mountain of bread and a choice between builder’s tea and instant coffee. It was clear that our days of fabulous Fuul and proper Ghawa were long gone!
Nothing much was going to happen that day as we knew that there was no way that Maggie’s barge was due to arrive before the day after. The only appointment we had was to phone our friendly fixer, MR. Khamal that evening so our plans and movements became in tune with the time that we had. After the disgusting mix of seeds and impurities they called coffee we decided to take to the streets in search of the good stuff. The previous evening we had spotted a coffee shop on the Nile and decided to venture in that direction.
The coffee shop owner seemed really pleased to see us and Catt and I promptly ordered a couple of glasses of the good stuff. It dawned on me that neither one of us bothered to establish the price and we had already learnt that Egypt that was a formidable mistake, so I hurried into the shop and asked. £5 the man said and after establishing that he was talking about the Egyptian ones and not sterling we decided that the price sounded fair and sat down again. The glasses arrived and I was immediately impressed! The brew still had the sediment floating all around the glass and we had to wait for that to settle before taking our first sips. It was grand! It was the kind of coffee we had been accustomed to in Sudan and definitely strong enough to kick start the day.
When the ritual of caffeine was completed we asked the owner of the shop to point us in the direction of the closest Souk (market). He was a little unspecific, but we kind of gathered that we had to walk downstream for about five minutes and then turn inland. Along the river we offered an array of services we did not want and the same offerings from every person who forced himself into our paths. Little did they know that we had already endured months and months of Africa’s finest con men and women.
The Souk, as we found it ran about a hundred meters inland from the road we started on and covered the total length of the town of Aswan… or so it seemed. We staggered into an absolute nightmare of bustling tourist hell where disrespectful woman wore skimpy clothing and greasy Egyptian men perved at their hearts content. It was impossible to walk past a single little stall selling exactly the same crap as the thousand other stores without getting hassled and I honestly could not wait to escape the ridiculousness of it all. I was fast on my way to reaching the end of my patience with Mr “Come see in my shop my fiend” when we saw a familiar face. It was John, the cyclist we had met on the boat from Sudan. He had clearly made some friends and was sitting at a dirty little alley side coffee shop with two local lads in their mid twenties. They invited us to join them and after establishing the price for the man’s coffee (We learn fast) we sat down for a brew. It was E£3 a cup instead of the E£5 we had paid earlier.
The false sense of security from sitting with two locals got shattered like the thin ice the two perverts were walking on within seconds of sitting down. They were openly trying to proposition Catt while she was sitting right next to me, but she handled them like a pro. They cleverly waited until we had our coffee before starting their disgusting games and I was fairly certain that they were just out to get a reaction. The reaction they got though was nothing like what they hoped for I’m sure. Little Mr. smallest penis in the world quickly recoiled when I told him that I had to sexually approve him in the most horrible homosexual way he had ever heard off before Catt would even consider him. I told him that we did that often and were yet to meet a snotty youngster with inadequate tackle that would satisfy us. Furthermore I told him that before he could even get a consideration he had to drop his pants so that we could examine him for suitability. He excused himself and ran like the coward he was and I have to admit that even I started enjoying the game. All his friend wanted was a kiss and we fixed a price of $20 000 for a peck on the cheek. He asked Catt if she was mad, but she expertly answered that she was perfectly sane, just expensive and not into inexperienced little snot nosed boys. He excused himself and left our table. The coffee shop owner was amused and John was impressed.
Running the gauntlet of cheating savage racist pigs became a lot more fun after that. We would ask prices of things and laugh out loud at the proposals. I would blow kisses at every man who had a comment towards Catt and she would point at their crotches and laugh until they walked off. We quickly learned that we had been transported right back to the hell that was Ethiopia and that we would have to fight for every fair price we would ever get. To be fair, we did manage to invest in some vegetables at a fair price and as rewards for that we told the owner of the store that we would be back once we had our car. He obviously liked that idea.
In the early evening, after our third attempts of the day, we found the Duty Free shop open and bought some fine French red wine and a few beers. We had planned to watch the sunset from the roof top pool terrace of our hotel, but by the time we reached it the sun was long gone, the Felucca’s had their sails down and the lights were illuminating the tombs of the nobles on the opposite bank of the Nile. We did find Andrew and Lucy there and we did manage to share a drink or two before braving the market again in search of food. We have adopted a principal of not doing business with anyone who tried to blatantly rip us of with their introductory price. We also used to explain why we did not spend any money with them which often resulted in me using the word “racist”. We saw this as part of educating the natives. However… that night in that market searching for dinner we all but exhausted our options with that principal. We had asked every café owner for a price for something simple and every single one of them, without fail tried to charge us at least five times what the item was worth and we knew it. Eventually we ended up in the Egyptian version of local fast food. At least they had a published menu with prices and although I was certain we were paying a premium for the right to read they could not change the price at the last minute because of the colour of our skins…. What’s that called again?
When we sat down I noticed that we had lost Andrew and Lucy. I walked back outside and walked around but could not find them. We had our dinner which was mediocre at best and started back to the hotel shortly after. Halfway there we found our friends and swopped stories of the dinner experience. They had had to fight about price and product and even the change they received and were still hungry, so I was pretty glad we managed what we did. We stopped at the last little food asking for a sandwich and got quoted the usual ridiculous price a second before I exploded. I looked the owner in the eye and asked him how he thought the world would react if I charged him more for food in my country because of the colour if his skin, but he obviously did not give a shit. I tried to imagine what would happen in the UK or South Africa if someone dared to charge an Egyptian more for something. It would probably result in a war as it had a few times in history.
In the relative safety of our roof top pool deck we sank another beer or two over home made sandwiches before going to bed dead tired from fighting for one of the most basic human rights… to be treated fairly and equally.
Day 297:
It was time to be re-united with Maggie and I was quite excited to get out of bed early. I trotted through the hot shower and shovelled the simple breakfast into my mouth and by 8:00 I was ready to go. I phoned Mr. Khamal, our trusty fixer and asked what time he would pick me up from the hotel. “Ah… no barge today….” Came the reply. That wasn’t part of my universal plan, but apparently the barge that Maggie was on had engine trouble and was still at Abu Simbel, some 200km away from Aswan. Khamal ensured me that he had it all under control though and asked me to phone him that evening to get an update.
That was it then… no possibility of getting the car and nothing planned for the day. Everything slowed down dramatically. Andrew and Lucy had left on a bus to Abu Simbel and had we known that the car would not be there that day we would have joined them. It was too late for us though and there was nothing to do but take a deep breath and relax.
We did go into the market again and Catt actually managed to successfully purchase some clothes she wanted. We found a small supermarket with published prices as well. It was all in Arabic, we knew had made a study of the numbers and knew what they were. Their prices were fair and they did not try and cheat us, so we made a point of thanking them for their honesty with a promise to support them every day. We started by buying bread for lunch and filled it with the cheese and tomatoes we had back at the hotel.
The afternoon lazed by with us abusing the hotel’s almost free and fabulously fast wifi internet. We went for a walk in the late afternoon and found a coffee shop that did not try and rip us off, so stayed for a hot drink. By then we knew exactly how much things were supposed to cost, but still found dealing with the locals incredibly challenging. The biggest problem was that they seemed to work in shifts. You would find a decent soul in the hordes of barbarians and establish a fair price for something with a promise to return. When you did return at a later time or the next day though, that person would be MIA and you’d need to start from scratch again. So, in the same spirit we thanked the guy for charging us the local price for a brew, which was E£ 2 a coffee, and greeted him with: “We’ll see you tomorrow”.
As the sun was setting we grabbed a camera and took to the market again. The light was fantastic and the place alive with scurrying tourists and cheating “businessmen”. We took some photos there without getting into trouble and manage to survive the walk with our sense of humour in tack. Every person who tried to hinder my progress got a lecture on Umpalumpas and where chocolate really came from. I insisted on their attention until I had finished my story and before long the rumour had spread through the market: Don’t speak to that guy, his not right in the head… I had them exactly where I wanted them. We walked past a stadium sized building referred to as the “Coptic Church” at the time of day the skies represented a brilliant royal blue and the sun was just behind the horizon. I balanced my camera on a dustbin and opened the shutter for 30 seconds at a time to get the desired affect and smiled at the irony of the possible commercial value of an image taken from a dustbin. I would have preferred to use my very nice, sturdy and shiny Manfrotto tripod, but that was in Maggie, somewhere on Lake Nasser.
When it was dark and getting cold we decided to spoil ourselves to a restaurant dinner. We picked one of the only two restaurants who actual served wine and was seated at a romantic table on a barge on the river. It was very posh indeed, but we felt we deserved it. I felt deprived of meat so ordered a mixed grill, which was very good indeed. We drank a bottle of local red wine which not bad at all and actually made it back to the hotel and the peace and quiet of our room by 22:00. We were slowly starting to understand the rules of engagement of the country we were in.
Day 298:
The alarm woke us around 7:30, which was early considering that the sun only came up then. We did the necessary, had our breakfast and got picked up by Khamal at 9:00 as promised. Before saying hello he told me that it was not a good idea for Catt to go to the port with us as the men there were utter pigs. I could not imagine that they were worse than the market scum, but decided to heed his warning anyway. Catt was far less impressed about being excluded because of her gender than I had been about being ripped off because of my skin colour. I had to smile at the perceived normality of discrimination in that country though.
With Catt walking back up the stairs of the hotel with her tail between her legs, fuming at the injustice of it all, Khamal and I drove off. Instead of driving straight to the port we stopped in a dusty alley in the city and he explained that we had to give the Customs man a lift to work. I thought that was pretty clever of us, as he was the person who had to do my paperwork. He predictably made us wait half an hour and as he climbed into the passenger seat in front (I was banished to the back) he lit his first cigarette using Khamal’s car lighter. Khamal was not a smoker. We stopped at a roadside café where Khamal bought breakfast for himself and his guest and while he was making the purchase, Mr Customs rummaged in his ashtray, picking out the E£1 coins and pocketing them. It took every millimetre of my self control not to say anything. He then ordered us to a halt by another shop and used the stolen booty to buy another pack of cigarettes, lighting another one instantly.
We arrived at the port gates at 9:45. I was told to wait outside the gates as Khamal and his “friend” drove on. A grumpy policeman demanded to see my passport and I resisted the urge to ask him for identification first. He inspected it and refused to believe that someone with a white skin was from South Africa. Uneducated idiot! I was not allowed to sit on the grass area in the morning sun either. Apparently that was reserved for men in uniform. There were about seven or eight guys looking worse than the dirty dozen with obvious lack in discipline and respect sprawled out on the lawn. I sat on an ice cold concrete bench in the windy shade waiting for my fixer to return.
At 10:45 Khamal collected me from my perch. It took a while to get my frozen legs moving again. I got a little security ticket, which I had to pay E£10 for and as I walked towards the gate the same policeman from earlier demanded to see my passport. Once again I resisted a comment. I was joined by the friendly Egyptian guy we met on the ferry who was also waiting for his car. He paid for his ticket and as we walked through the gate his phone rang. He was visibly upset and when he finished the call he told me that the barge was not in port. He had some argument with Khamal and then just walked off towards a waiting taxi. I was a little confused, but Khamal told me that I had some paperwork to do, so I followed him inside.
At 11:05 I was asked to sit down in MR. Custom’s office. I was one of five men in a three by two meter, windowless, concrete cell and the only none smoker. I did smoke for 15 years, so it was not fair to be hypocritical about the habit. However these guys had zero regard for anyone but themselves. One guy offered me a cigarette and was almost upset when I declined. I knew I was not going to like that game! They proceeded in ignoring me like the health warning on their packs of smokes and had a fat conversation about nothing in particular.
At 11:55 I was handed a single piece of paper to fill in. It was a declaration that I understood that I would be liable for import duties of the car should I abandon it in Egypt for any reason. I thought that was what my very expensive 200% Carnet was for, but did not say anything. It took me one and a half minutes to complete and I handed it back to MR Customs, who ignored me and lit another cigarette.
At 12:30 Khamal sprang into action and told me that the barge had not arrived. It wasn’t really that surprising so I asked Mr. Customs if I should return the next day. He was totally uncommitted and lit another cigarette. The one thing he did say was that he only worked until 14:00, but offered no other information. So there I was, getting my lifespan shortened dramatically by the second hand smoke of the only person who could grant Maggie access into Egypt. He was also someone who was a blatant thief and a lazy basterd who only worked from 10:00 to 14:00 and I was in no position to “educate” him. I started understanding why people avoided Egypt.
At 13:00 I had taken about as much as I could. I got up and pulled my chair outside of his office. He followed me outside, breathing his fucking smoke all over me and asked what the matter was. I briefly considered lying, but decided to go with the truth instead. I told him, as politely as I possibly could, that there were a whole bunch of things I wanted to do and see in Egypt. I told him that I intended on spending a small fortune in his country, but because I did not have my car yet and was unlikely to get it that day my time was running out and I was losing interest as I was not feeling welcome at all. I gave him my infamous “ambassador” speech that worked so incredibly well at the Ethiopia/Sudan border just for good measure. I don’t think anyone had ever said anything like that to him before as it was like flicking a switch. He immediately took it upon himself to discuss my problem with immigration to try and get an extension to my visa which would allow him to grant me longer on the import permit for Maggie. That way, he explained, I could take my time exploring his wonderful Egypt and spend all the money I wanted to.
At 13:45 he told me that I was not going to be able to get my car that day. He did however establish that I could get a visa extension at the immigration office in Aswan and told Khamal to drive me straight there instead of dropping him off at home. So we left the port at 13:50. He even managed to knock of early and I had to quietly admit that I was impressed with is skill for receiving a salary for sitting in a cell smoking for a few hours a day.
The immigration office was only one block away from the hotel. I was a little pissed that no one had explained that little gem to me the day before… when I had nothing to do… but was still pleased with the proposed solution. Khamal led me upstairs and entered into deep conversation and heated discussion with the immigration official. I did not need to understand the words to know that I was not going to walk out of there with anything I wanted. It took ten minutes for Khamal to give up though. On the street I told him that I would walk back to the hotel. I said that I was pissed off and needed to vent, but also that I understood that he had tried to help me. I could not help telling the customs official that his so called immigration officer at the port obviously did not know the regulations of his chosen profession.
At 15:00 Khamal phoned me to tell me that the barge was in port and that he would pick me up at 8:30 the next morning. I took two deep breaths and told Catt the whole story. She was less amused than I was. Her day consisted of haggling in the market for things she wanted to buy and she admitted to being exhausted from it. She did however discover a cosy local restaurant which we went to for dinner. The place was small and dirty, but the bombastic owner was lots of fun and the prices were printed on the menu. We managed a wholesome meal without arguments or negotiations and found ourselves back at the hotel even earlier than the previous evening. It did not take long to fall asleep.
Day 299:
I got up dreading the day that lay ahead of me. I was still frustrated form the day before and did not like the prospect of needing to deal with the thieving customs guy. I picked at the breakfast trying to think of something to cheer me up and help with the façade of false friendliness I would obviously need. Catt gave me a big hug and handed me the IPod as I walked to the street. Khamal was there at the perfect time and he seemed to have a new lease on life, instantly making me smile. He confidently proclaimed that I would be back for lunch, but I wasn’t holding my breath on that one.
We took the familiar route to the port, first picking up Hesham, the Egyptian car owner and then Mr. Customs. While Khamal went to ring the doorbell of the customs guy Hesham made no secret of his feelings towards the officials at that port. He accurately described them as “little fucking wannabe policemen” who just wanted to flex their muscles to force authority onto those who had more material things that they had. I was surprised at his passion for his explanation but in no way doubted his conclusions.
It was 9:45 by the time we had managed to get the customs guy in the car, stopped for his free breakfast and cigarettes bought with the money he stole from the ashtray. I did notice that the ashtray had been restocked though. Our permits were waiting for us at the gate and after paying another E£10 for the pleasure, Hesham and I walked the half a kilometre to the customs building while Khamal chaffered the wanker. As we got close to the building a lively man urged us to make haste and remove our cars from the barge. I had to laugh out loud. I had waited patiently for days for him to arrive and suddenly he was rushing me? I wasn’t having any of it. I walked at the same speed as my new Egyptian friend who told them all to piss off. We chatted about photography and the desert. We got to the barge and made them reorganize a large part of it before starting our engines. I drove off first and parked on the dock, waiting form Hesham. Some guy came to shout at me, but I simply closed the window and waved him away. I was starting to fully understand how the country worked and was not about to get bullied by anyone!
When we parked outside the customs building I suspected the worse. I was prepared though. I walked to the cell from the day before and arrived just as Mr Customs was locking his door. He had been there for half an hour, so I suspected it was time for a tea break or something. He told me to sit in his office and wait for him, so I did. I pushed play on the IPod and sank into a comfortable “elbowing” position next to his desk. I knew that the port was about to turn manic as the barge and the ferry was leaving back to Sudan that day. I knew that there would be an influx of 65 cyclists and ten cars that day, not even counting the trucks and cargo that was carried by hand. I know that no one could get to the barge before I moved my car and I was not about to do that until my paperwork was done. I had all the time in the world!
Mr Customs returned about half an hour later and suddenly started moving at the speed of light compared to the previous day. He was obviously near blind as he had to hold all paperwork about a centimetre from his nose to be able to read it. He managed to fill everything in, stamp the Carnet and even get Khamal to pay my fees while I sat on my lazy arse listening to some Beethoven. Just as I though I was done and free to go though he asked to inspect the car. I led him outside and showed him Maggie, who was caked in dust as I had planned it. He was uninterested in getting too close with his clean office clothing on. He had a look inside and asked me to unlock a padlock. It was one of seven around the car so I took a pre planned five minutes to find the right key. The compartment had books in and he seemed disappointed. He made me unlock the Pelican case, which took me another five minutes in key searching. He was too short to see inside and wanted to climb onto my packing system to reach. I told him that it would not support his weight and asked that he walked to the passenger side and get onto the seat, with his knees only if he wanted to see. I had parked Maggie with her nose right up to a metal fence, the tail over a muddy puddle and the passenger side ten centimetres away from a bus, so he lost interest. His revenge was to make me get one of our SCUBA bags out and unzip it and my revenge was to tell him to find a ladder when he wanted to see what was on the roof. The game lasted only five minutes and I won 100 to 0. I was free to move out of the customs area.
Khamal came by and explained the procedure. He had to drive back to Aswan to get local number plates, insurance and an Egyptian driver’s licence. He told me that it would take an hour and asked if I would prefer waiting there or go with him. I preferred to return to Beethoven I told him and took position on a park bench in the warm morning sun. I chatted to some travellers who were on their way to Sudan at some point and even managed to negotiate a decent price for a cup of coffee. It was about an hour and three minutes later when Khamal arrived back, paperwork and number plates in hand. I was almost home free!
He told me that I was free to leave, but I insisted on waiting for him and driving out the gate with him behind me. I fitted the number plates while he concluded his business inside the compound and when he was ready we drove towards the final gate. The police stopped me there and no less than five of them descended upon me. The started opening doors and was about to start giving me a hard time when Khamal jumped into action again. He was fuming! He shouted and screamed at them and told them to leave me alone and obviously did it well enough so that they listened. All I did was listen to Beethoven and smile politely until I was waved though. On the outside he told me that they were just after a bribe and he was tired of their bull shit. We concluded our business by me paying Khamal his fee. He asked for $30, so I paid him $40. Judging by the difference between the way I was treated, the speed at which I sailed though the process and the stories I had heard about that ordeal he was worth ten times that!
I parked Maggie right in front of the hotel at 13:15 and could not actually believe that it was all over. I walked upstairs with a spring in my step and when I reached the room Catt’s expression fell. “Not again” she said and almost didn’t believe me what I told her that the car was parked downstairs. We celebrated by buying some fresh bread for the supermarket that charged fair prices and spending the rest of the afternoon by the pool watching the world go about its daily business far below on the streets and the river.
That evening we met up with Andrew and Lucy again. They told us about their experiences at Abu Simbel and shared valuable lessons they had learnt. It was pretty nice to get some advice from others for a change. We shared a meal at the nice little cosy restaurant that Catt had discovered a day or two before. As per usual the food was plentiful and very tasty indeed. The prices were fair and the owner/waiter friendly as a button. We feasted on local food and chatted about days gone by and without exception was missing the friendliness, fair play and honesty of Sudan an incredible amount!
Day 300:
There was no real great rush to get up early that morning. Tourist, and it seemed busses and taxis as well, still had to drive in convoy from Aswan to Abu Simbel. The convoy we decided to miss left Aswan at 4:00 with a plan to arrive at the great temples at 7:00. We much preferred the idea of joining the 11:00 convoy and spend the night on the other side. So we got up late, abused the wonderful shower one last time and had another basic but filling breakfast. The owner of the restaurant even gave us extra cheese and coffee that morning.
We walked to the honest supermarket and stocked up on some meat and after filling the tanks with diesel we drove to the rendezvous point. I couldn’t help but laugh at the insane lack in expense of diesel. It was E£1.10 per litre, which translated to $0.19. We filled up with 230 litres for about the price of one bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label. It was quite ridiculous! The meeting point was fairly deserted when we arrived. I was not too sure that we were at the right place, but once the Tourist Policeman wrote down our details and told us where to park we knew we were heading to our destination as planned. The half an hour that we had to wait was spent very productively by unpacking our backpacks and creati8ng some form of order inside Maggie. When we designed the packing and storage systems we intestinally made it so that everything had only one place. With the week or so travelling with two extra people and the locking away of everything for the barge trip nothing was where it was supposed to be though.
It was right on 11:00 when the first bus started its engine and pulled out of the parking lot. We were ushered into the line the traffic and told to follow them and so the precession snaked its way though town. It was quite nice to see how the police stopped other traffic to let us through which meant that we reached the dam wall, which we were not allowed to take photos of, in no time at all. We skirted the edge of the city, past the airport and headed off into the deserts of southern Egypt. Even though we were following the edge of the lake to the temples, we could never see it. It was as if it was always just out of sight, but we didn’t mind so much.
The drive was fairly tedious. The roads the great and the deserts flat and dull in the mid day sun. We were cruising at the speed limit of 90km/h to the great discomfort of the bus driver who was supposed to protect the back of the convoy. I saw him right up to the rear bumper of Maggie every once in a while and although I knew he was trying to get me to speed up I fully intended to be stubborn and not break the law. Every time he came to close for comfort I slowed down until he backed off. He never learnt of course, but it provided me with great entertainment on the three hour drive through the sand. The game continued right until 14:00 when we stopped at the temple car park. We were approached by another tourist policeman who immediately wanted to know which hotel we were staying in. I simply shook my head and told him that we did not have a hotel yet. Without any hesitation he then asked me if we wanted to sleep in the roof tent in the car park that night. It was apparently perfectly acceptable, and free, so I accepted. That worked out well I though.
We had no real interest in fighting our way though the middle of hordes of tourists brought there by herds of luxury busses that afternoon. Instead we pulled out the desert rug, our table and chairs and simply existed in the space behind the temples. We did however plan to see a light show that night, so eventually ventured into the complex around 18:00 after paying the modest entry fee.
Although we had seen the mountains from the ferry when crossing from Sudan, nothing could really prepare you for the incredible sight before us there. By the time we had walked around the reconstructed temples’ concrete mountains and saw the façade the sun had just set. There was enough light left so that we could see al the details in the monuments though. We took our position in the stands, I propped by camera on a tripod and within minutes the show started.
The technicians worked it out in a most impressive way! They used the sides of the mountains as their projector screens and started telling the story of how the UNESCO funded project dismantled and re assembled the temple in the 1960’s. They literally saw the whole thing into 10 to 40 ton blocks, moved it about 200m away and 65m higher than what it was and rebuilt it. They had to move the 3000 year old temple as the building of Lake Nasser meant the original sight would be under water. I really wondered which idiot thought that building that lake there was a good idea.
The show then told the story of Ramses II who actually liked himself so much that he built his own temple. The 30m high and 35m wide façade showed four faces of Ramses himself and the sun God Ra. We were not really allowed to get close up to the temples, but that did not take any of the impressiveness away from it either.
Next to the Ramses temple was the temple of Hathor which was also used in the show. The temple itself was much smaller, but the six ten meter high carvings over the ancient stone door was almost more impressive that the other temple. It showed Nefertari, the man’s wife and a bunch of their children and the lady of the house dressed in Hathor’s costume.
The impressive show lasted about an hour and was done with military precision. It was by far the touristiest thing we had done on our whole trip, but somehow we felt it was necessary to experience the place in that way. When the lights went dim we got up and walked off back to car, happy with the money we had spent. We pitched the tent in the freezing cold night air and did not stay outside much after dinner. It was also our very fist day in Egypt where I did not loose my temper at the ridiculous way locals tried to rip us off. I even though that perhaps it was just in Aswan that they were so blatantly racist.
Day 301:
One of Andrew and Lucy’s tips was to enter the temples as early as we could in the morning. We set an alarm for 5:45 and by 6:00 we standing right in front of the ticket office, coffee mugs in hand. We paid the normal fee after arguing that we did not want to pay for a guide that would only start work at 8:00. We lost that argument though.
Back in front of the massive structures we found a vantage point a waited for sunrise. It was not quiet by any means. In fact, there were more people there than the night before and there was simply no way to get the photos that I really wanted. That was until the sun peaked over the horizon. About three hundred tourists ran for the banister protecting them for the lake waters far below and pointed their array of cameras straight towards the vast expanse of the deserts of Sudan and where the sun was coming up. I on the other hand pointed my6 cameras the other way and could not actually believe the scene that was unfolding before my very eyes. With every minute the sun was getting higher the colours on the rocks were changing. They started with a pastel pink and turned into salmon and then finally a golden yellow before transforming into a dull grey. It took only a few minutes for the changes, but I felt incredibly privileged to be able to witness them… instead of burning my retinas staring into the sun.
The Temple of Ramses II was designed, built and rebuilt in a way tat every year, on 22 February and 22 October the first rays of the sun would light up the inside. It would creep over the mighty Nile, along the floor and eventually through the hypostyle hall, though the vestibule and finally into the inner sanctuary. There it would light up the old and weathered images of Ra-Horakhty, Ramses II and our old friend Amun. We were not so very far away from one of those dates and I could clearly see the illumination unfolding in front of us. I stood in amazement and started walking forward right up to the door where I spotted the sign saying “No photography inside temples” Mmmm, that wasn’t really part of the plan.
We finished our tour of the outside of the temples, paying attention to small icons and broken carvings and photographing them before I did the inevitable: I mounted the widest angle lens I had, selected 6 400 ISO on the mighty EOS 5D Mark II and walked in with the lens cap removed. I had a little cough that morning as well, so it wasn’t even difficult to mask the shutter noise and I clicked away without aiming. I did not have a chance to see the images as I took them, but judging by the speed of the shutter it seemed as if I had selected the right combination of settings.
The temple’s inside was astonishing! There were massive stone pillars holding up a hugely heavy stone roof and the carvings in the stone was simply unbelievable! It was so good, so well preserved and so incredible that it was almost as if it was created by modern man, as a hoax. If I had arrived there blindfolded and someone told me that I was in Vegas I would have believed them… The department of Antiquities did do a great job though. They installed an unobtrusive wooden floor with some soft lighting to illuminate the reliefs. There were hordes of people inside, but everyone moved in an obvious circle, designed by the floor makers and you never really felt cramped in the many small rock rooms. We walked around and against the stream, taking photos while coughing until the guard in plain clothes became suspicious of us. I changed CF cards in the camera and strolled out towards the exit. Right then I felt a hand on my shoulder and the man insisted on seeing the images on my camera. “Sure” I said and flicked through the array of photos I took on the outside. He almost seemed mystified when he couldn’t find a single photo taken inside and just sent me on my way with an apology.
We did the exact same trick in the temple of Hathor, but there they seemed less interested in enforcing the law. I couldn’t really understand why they did not allow photography there. I could understand that a flash would be prohibited as the light could damage the ancient artwork, but the only reason I could find for the “no photography” rule was that they wanted to sell more postcards and books.
Anyway, the Hathor temple for me was even more impressive than the Ramses one. It was much smaller and much simpler, but the carvings seemed more interesting. There were also less people in there. Catt particularly enjoyed it as Nefertari was depicted equal in size to Ramses instead of the usual knee height. She was also shown with the gods and quite equal to Ramses himself.
Our time at the temple came to an end with a massive influx of tourists. We guessed that the early morning convoy from Aswan had arrived and took that as a sign for us to get the hell out of Dodge! We muscled our way through the crowds, side stepping the Japanese hordes and finally escaped through the exit and fairly close to the toilets, which was a good thing after the half a litre of coffee I had consumed that morning. We both used the facilities and as we met on the outside a fairly aggressive man pointed at a tray with money in and tried to explain something to us. I played totally stupid and simply walked off shaking my head in disbelief. He was the care taker. He was the man who, in a typical Egyptian way, confiscated all the toilet paper and would only hand over a roll when you handed him some money. Little did he know that seasoned travellers like us had toilet paper in our pockets and that his obvious lack of work did not really convince me to give him baksheesh for not cleaning the toilets.
By the time we were ready to blow that Popsicle stand another man approached us demanding money for parking. I openly laughed at him, told him “no” and did my window up again. That seemed enough to satisfy him for some reason, so even he gave up on us and left. The convoy drove out at exactly 9:00 as scheduled and I made sure to be the first one after the lead vehicle. That way I could drive the comfortable speed I wanted and not get bugged by the rear bus driving so close to us all the time.
The drive back to Aswan was predictably boring as well. It was three hours of straight tar roads and wide open spaces. I could even see the often spoke about mirage of great pools of water in the middle of the desert. The aggressive bus driver never caught up to us and eventually we pulled into Aswan geared for the onslaught and in time for lunch. We parked Maggie on the side of Souk we knew and walked the gauntlet inside. We found a sandwich shop we had scoped out and knew the prices at and ordered one each. The man handed them over and mumbled something about E£8 each, but we knew better by then. We knew they were E£1 each and we also knew that arguing would not help us any. So I thanked him, handed over E£2 and walked off. He did not even blink, so we obviously paid the right price. Back at our honest supermarket we bought some more bread and headed out of town before our moods could darken any more.
We headed north along the Nile and arrived at the Kom Ombo temple gates by early afternoon. The town itself was small, dusty, filthy and none descries. The temple complex was a total contrast with big shiny fences, many tourist policemen and restaurants and coffee shops galore. We could not really see anywhere to stay, so asked the policeman at the gate if it was possible to camp in the car park. “Mumpkin” (Possible) came his answer, so we tucked Maggie into a corner and pitched the tent. The theory was that if they misunderstood us, they would tell us to move then, but no one came.
We entered the ancient and very impressive temple site along with a million or so other tourists. The temple’s perfect river side location meant that it was very easy to visit from the Nile and I counted 57 cruise ships docked 4 or 5 deep along the banks. They were however all on a schedule, so we just found a rock to perch on and waited for the place to quieten down a bit. In that time we red up on some history:
The Temple was apparently unique in Egypt as it had a duel dedication to the local crocodile god Sobek and Haroeris, who was Horus’ father. There were reused blocks, suggesting that the current structure was built on something even older. The main temple was apparently built by Ptolemy VI, but most of the decoration was completed by Cleopatra VII’s father, Ptolemy XII. For us the most impressive by far was that every inch of every surface seemed to be covered in carvings and hieroglyphics. I could see that a purist Egyptologist could spend a lifetime reading just that one temple’s writings. We enjoyed looking at the pretty pictures. We did establish that the temple would be lit up at night and only close at 22:00, so decided to have a chai while we waited.
We walked down the steps to the many restaurants and asked for a price at the first one. E£8 was where they started and we told them that it should be about E£1.50 for tea and E£3 for coffee they seemingly did not like us any more. That was fine, we didn’t like them ether and left, back to Maggie where we could make our own bloody tea! On the way I was called over by an old man sitting next to a woven basket. He opened the basket and showed me the inside. It was full of snakes. “Cobra” he said and pulled one of the creatures out of the basket. He waved at me to sit next to him and handle the snakes, but I was not keen! I’m not a scared man and I’ll try many things, but playing with snakes was not really one of them. I made him pose and took some pictured in the late afternoon light though. The old wrinkled face’s texture with the brilliantly white scarf and the pot black eyes of the snake next to the old mans head made for amazing photos. I made him work a little, but I did hand over some baksheesh for his efforts.
Just before the sun went down Catt and I walked back to the temple. The light sensors had just kicked in and the sky was an electric blue behind the golden yellow sand stone temple. Most of the people that were there ran off to the banister to photograph the sunset while we were still cuing to gain entrance. The ticket man remembered us, but told us that I needed a ticket for my legs, pointing at my tripod. That wasn’t really part of the plan, so I simply handed them over and told him to look after then. We walked in without my legs and could hardly believe that so many people could fit into such a small space. It was the way Catt had expected the sites in Egypt to be, but I was hoping my naivety would pay off more. We found our perch once again and waited patiently, watching the crowds move around and the light change on the stone structures. With the last bit of blue in the sky a huge group of visitors suddenly left so we sprang into action. We had identified the places and photos we still wanted to take and with the relatively quiet place we managed most of them in a very small time. When the photos started showing the sky as black instead of blue, we stopped our quest and headed back to the car for dinner.
While I was making fire in the Cobb and Catt was cutting some vegetables a group of four men approached us. The man who said we could sleep there was joined by two other uniforms and another guy who demanded money for parking. I asked the price and when he said E£2 I made sure that it would include out night’s accommodation as well. He confirmed that as long as we cleared off by 8:00 the next morning, we would only pay for one day. So I paid the man, got a receipt and suddenly we were left alone again. It was a little strange to be allowed to just pitch a tent in a car park in Egypt, but I didn’t mind too much.
While eating dinner the night suddenly turned freezing cold and once again we did not take long to ascend the ladder to our roof top palace. We even added a down sleeping bag to the mountain of bedding and fell asleep quite early, comfortably and happy with our experiences of the day.
Day 302:
The night ended u being a long and uncomfortable one. I had achy muscles, a sore throat and a high fever and the extra layer of sleeping gear did not really help me. Catt said that I had turned into a furnace of warmth halfway though the night and that she was actually quite worried about me at some stage. By the time we got out of bed at about 7:30 I was feeling rough as a goat’s knee and not really in the mood for anything.
I dosed my body with some drugs, packed away our tent and started heading off before 8:00, avoiding the parking fee of another day. It had been two days since we had a shower, so we were quite keen on finding a suitable hotel with hot shower at our next chosen destination. Our journey took us an hour further north to the town of Edfu, the location of the temple of Horus.
The town itself was nothing to write home about. It had narrow dusty and dirty streets and the usual tourist market at the ancient site. The Lying Planet talked of two possible places to stay and the first one we visited was fully booked. It took a good old drive around town, almost getting lost and never using a road that was on our GPS maps before we found the second possible place. Catt went inside to ask about prices and inspect he room while I tried my best to find a place to park. Five minutes later I parked Maggie right in front of the door and also went inside.
Reception was manned by an elderly gentleman who would hardly walk, hardly see and spoke no English at all. All he was interested in was making us sit down and wait and I was interested in was some kind of normal 1st world behaviour and a room with a hot shower. I could see that my world was not going to happen, so sat down next to Catt just in time to receive a cup of Ghawa (Coffee) The old man handed over a diary which they had used as visitors book and insisted that we read what other had said about them. It sounded fantastic, but we had still not managed to establish a price and my patience was running thin. I was ill and dirty and tired.
Another man arrived shortly though and said that he would show us two rooms: The first had a balcony overlooking the taxi rank with a tiny bathroom, but a hot shower. The second was on ground level; twice the size and I could see the familiar water heater on the wall. I checked the pressure and the toilet flush and smiled broadly. We had found the right place! Over the free coffee they handed to us we established that the rate was E£90 per night for the room, including breakfast and the visitor’s book spoke incredibly highly of this breakfast, so we decided to stay.
By 10:00 I was back in bed after my second cup of complimentary coffee. I had had a steaming hot shower and was feeling more human, but still needed sleep. Catt woke me up at 15:00. I felt a hundred times better and ready for some serious temple visiting, but was also starving. The search for food was the first priority. We drove to the waterfront, expecting to pay a premium at restaurants there, but also expecting restaurants with menus. The first place had only coffee, but offered to organise us food. We walked out and found the place they bought their food from. That guy was super keen to help us and managed to dish up and present a shish kebab on a plate without ever committing to a price. I did ask him at least eight times during his labour. He finally came out with an E£50 tag so after asking hi where he got the magnificent marijuana he obviously smoked we walked off.
By the third restaurant we entered we had still not managed to find a meal for a decent price and it was only then that I noticed that we were being followed by a kid from the fist coffee shop. He obviously told everyone to charge us more and I just lost it! Again! I stood on a street corner and shouted “what the fuck is wrong with you people?” and walked off mumbling “racist wankers” before getting into the car and driving off. We found a bread shop and change tactics again. I walked up, took 4 pieces of Aysh (Local Bread) and paid E£2, as the price should be before simply walking off. The shop owner shouted something at me but there was no conviction in his voice, so I ignored him. We got a little lost inside the local Souk on the way to the temple, but also managed to find a shop that sold charcoal. We did not have any of that precious stuff left so I had no real choice. To my utter surprise the proprietor told me a fair price, so I bought ten smalls bags. He loaded thirteen small bags into the canvas bag at the back of Maggie, smiled and sent me on my way.
We eventually found the temple car park again and stopped in a suitably isolated corner. I had only been out of the hotel for about an hour by then and already regretted it. Everything we wanted to do or see or buy in that country started with a fight and one of us getting upset and I think we had both had enough by then. While we were hiding away eating some sandwiches made from our freshly stolen bread some curio seller shouted something at Catt. She was obviously as fed up as I felt as she just laid into him. I actually felt sorry for the guy, but the end result was that we were left alone. As we walked up to the ticket office we flashed Catt’s student card and ended up paying for two students only. The ticket seller did short change us and he thought that I did not see it, but I decided to let it slide. Inside we found a coffee shop and declined their kind offer for chai at fifteen times the price of what it should have been.
The temple itself was a hell of a lot more impressive than what I thought it would be. It may have had something to do with the fact that we were the only people there. The entrance however was massive with beautiful carvings and two huge granite falcon statues. Apparently the whole temple was buried under sand and rubble up to about 200 years ago. In fact, even the dirty little town of Edfu had spread over it and was partly built over its roof. Fortunately it was excavated by Auguste Mariette in the mid 19th century. The most impressive for me was the huge halls with the 12 columns each inside them. The columns reached about 20 meters high and supported the massively heavy roof while depicting ancient scenes and hieroglyphics on them. One of the rooms leading off the Inner Hypostyle Hall was called the Laboratory. It was there that the ingredients and recipes for ancient perfumes were written on the walls and the carvings clearly showed the scientists hard at work. The only sad part was that the lights and modern security measures were really obtrusive. You never had the feeling of being on an ancient site at all. Instead it felt like an amusement park, so we didn’t stay longer than an hour.
Back at the hotel I asked the younger owner about the price for dinner. I was still hungry and in desperate need of some decent grub! I had seen a big shop full of rotisserie chickens as we drove up and they looked mouth watering! In Aswan we could buy them for about E£40 each and Edfu’s people were definitely out to rip us off even more. The hotelier on the other hand was all about fair trade. He told us that a whole chicken with salad, bread and vegetables should cost E£28 and if we gave him the money he would buy it for us. So we did and it was delicious! The chicken was tasty and juicy and I loved eating it with my hands! The salad consisted of massive tomatoes and some lettuce and onion and was both fresh and very tasty and everything else was exactly what I had hoped for. As I was licking the last of the tastiness off my fingers there was a knock on the door and the same guy who bought us our dinner walked in with two glasses of tea on a silver tray. Could that be true? Could it be possible that we had found the only decent and friendly Egyptian in the country?
With full bellies and hot tea we crawled into the hard but comfortable bed and decided to watch a movie on the computer while waiting for sleep to overwhelm us.
If I had to do it again:
Khamal was a legend with the Customs debarkle and with his own considerable weight in gold. I will definitely recommend him to everyone I speak to!
The Hathor hotel was also the right choice for us with the big rooms, comfortable beds and piping hot showers. Even the breakfast was something I started getting used to.
Driving to Abu Simbel was tedious but necessary. It was a little bizarre not be allowed to drive the other 40km on to Wadi Halfa in Sudan though. We had heard via the grapevine that the ferry owners were bribing officials not to open that road. I could see that they would. The road was brand new, beautifully smooth and just waiting to be driven on for the very first time. Bizarre! I am glad we saw the light show and I am glad we made the effort of getting up before the sun. It was busy though and definitely gave me a taste of what was to come as far as tourist sights in Egypt were concerned. I am not looking forward to that!
The other two temples were also vastly different and very impressive in their own rights. I am glad we visited them and I was pleased that we could obviously sleep in any car park by any of the temples. That made finding suitable accommodation a little easier. There is however no way of having a shower or even a wash at there places, so a cheap hotel every second or third night would be the way to go.
It has become abundantly clear that Egypt is a place where a tourist or foreigner will get ripped off with every single little thing. The only way to avoid that is to know how much something should cost, take it without asking the price and paying over the precise money. Then just walk away and even though there will be some protest behind you, ignore it and leave. It’s a horrible way to live, but they started it… Racist Fuckers!
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