everyday’s a school day

Today we mainly learnt how not to cut your own hair.

personal hygiene

Many people worry whether three boys can take care of themselves without the direction of a mother or girlfriend. More often than not their worries are based on previous experiences and a reluctance to wash their own clothes. However, fear not, throughout our journey we have been mothered, fed and watered by a number of different families and have also met a host of exceptional role models.

Take the Egyptian hotel owner for instance. Clearly worried that we would squeeze past the shower en route to the toilet he left a little hint for us. There lying in the corner of the shower tray was his hairpiece; damp, but clean. With such an incentive we couldn’t fail to clamber into the shower and rid ourselves of the sand that coats our bodies. Having been careful not to stand on the hairpiece and flatten the luscious curls of course.

danger wee

Having taken the decision to continue our journey through Africa rather than socialise with the Pakistani Taliban we have been bereft of danger. Foolishly we failed to take into account the fact that we require a diet of danger in order to generate enough vitamin C. Despite munching on several chewy vitamin tablets a day we became rather weak – the only solution; to locate danger whenever and wherever possible.

the hunt for the CV joint continues…

After developing an unnerving metallic pinging noise on full lock we decided the car might be sick. After some swift diagnosis by Matt and an Austrian chap at MTI Land Rover in Cairo it was revealed to be the CV joint – the failure of which would result in a complete loss of drive. But then, salvation, a helpful Egyptian mechanic revealed that they had the part we needed in a container at the back of the workshop. Unfortunately it was the penultimate working day before Eid and the Austrian service manager proved uncooperative, leaving us in the waiting room for over 2 hours without bothering to look for it.

So back where we started we tracked down a Land Rover parts shop in Cairo’s downtown, but after a few phone calls to various possible suppliers we again came out empty handed. Undeterred by the painful sounding noises we pushed on south to Aswan, but after an afternoon spent driving Waleed from the internet café around town to various mechanics and parts stores we have again had no luck.

Next stop Khartoum, a mere 1000km of desert tracks away. Wish us (and all fellow Land Rover drivers foolish enough to leave their vehicle unattended in the vicinity of our toolkit) luck.

scuppered again

We have found to our expense that the Egyptians are masters of the lure. They spin tails of fantastic tombs, mind blowing pyramids and engineering masterpieces only to hide the finest treasures behind a locked door.

The temple of Hatshepsut (1473 – 1458 BC) is a prime example. The photos show an almost pristine temple standing beneath formidable limestone cliffs, bathed in sunshine and frequented by a total of three tourists. We greedily chomped at the pictorial bait and parted with another large wad of creased notes. With cameras at the ready we eagerly skipped up the steps toward the spectacular temple and its awe-inspiring interior.

But once again they had us hook, line and sinker. With our heads squeezed between the rusty bars of the locked gate we failed miserably in our attempt to summon the enthusiasm to marvel at the murky outlines of the beautifully decorated pillars.

I often used to wonder how a feathered fly could repeatedly fool a fish, I am now beginning to realise it might be easier than it looks. Maybe I’ll take an Egyptian on my next fishing expedition.

guilty your honour

Being the ever conscientious son and grandson I set out across the Valley of the Kings to both experience and share the wonders which would no doubt greet my eyes. Having artfully avoided the metal detector that towered over the legions of visitors and despite the numerous ‘NO PHOTOS’ signs that cluttered the landscape I chose to take a risk.

The tomb of Ramses II lay conspicuously quiet and with Tom distracting the ticket inspector it appeared to be a perfect opportunity to record the startlingly bright wall paintings. With the flash off I felt safe enough to take a total of five photographs before turning the camera off and placing it back in my pocket.

Unfortunately the ticket inspector appeared to have been graced with the ears of a bat. Upon hearing the mechanical whir of the lens retracting he lurched around the stone coffin and gripped my arm tightly. Being caught red handed in a country where baksheesh ruled the daily lives of all meant that I was confident of repatriating myself with Matt’s camera through the power of pleading and possibly a small Egyptian note.

Regrettably I was to find that the Valley of the Kings was actually a triumph of Egyptian policing and apparently impervious to bribery. After a long conversation with the Director of Antiquities and the Chief of Security I took the hot and uncomfortable walk back to the ticket office to pay my fine.

On any other occasion the photo, which precedes one of our blog entries, would be a little more rewarding than the one you find below. But sleep easy knowing it cost a total of twenty-five English pounds in order for me to show you the general locality of the resting place of some of the most advanced beings on the planet.

two fingers to the authorities

Grandpa, this one’s for you though I’m not sure if you’ll be proud or ashamed!

Having experienced the ineptitude of the Egyptian police we diplomatically opted to vote on the support of a campaign of avoidance. The secret ballot enabled us to reassure ourselves that we remained both civilised and untainted by Egyptian corruption.

Unsurprisingly the result was unanimous. The details were hammered out during an evening summit and primarily resulted in the following resolutions:

1. Stationary police checkpoints must be flatly ignored with a wave of innocence from a ‘confused’ foreign tourist.

2. Police escorts will not be tolerated and must be lost by any means.

Our hard line stance would enable us to travel through the Nile Valley alone and unwatched; a rarity since the troubles in the late 1990’s. Thanks to the actions of the Islamic group Gama’a al-Islamiyya police take a rather heavy-handed approach to the security of tourists. This system of mandatory police escorts is extremely limiting and prevents you from venturing from the well-worn path frequented by vast numbers of tourists.

By the time we had reached Asyut, where security was reputably the strictest, we had honed our escape and evasion tactics to the dizzying heights enjoyed and championed by Tiff Needell. Unsurprisingly our carefully choreographed manoeuvres were a resounding success and enabled us to wreak havoc on our journey to Luxor.

Amazingly we managed to outrun five rather irate police escorts and escape the clutches of six stationary checkpoints. I can’t remember ever seeing that success rate featured on Police, Camera, Action!

boatmares

Will we ever escape Egypt and its many monuments?

Our trip has unfortunately coincided with Eid – a festival marked by a three-day feast – which has resulted in the cancellation of the Sudanese ferry. Worse still, the boat only makes the journey once a week and with a backlog of overlanders we may have ourselves a problem. At the last count there were 28 cars and 7 motorbikes.

If we have been successful in immobilising our fellow travellers you should be able to watch our progress as we begin to meander across Lake Nasser on Monday 7^th December. The journey will take around 72 hours so please don’t panic if you see the tracker cease emitting a signal mid voyage!

british eccentricity

The change of route left us requiring a Sudanese visa. In order to gain permission to enter their fine country we required a letter confirming our nationality from the British consulate in Cairo.

Upon surviving the drama that one expects when presented with an unforgiving turnstile we were ushered into a rather dismal reception area. I can assume our British representatives chose to import the interior from a 1990’s doctors surgery in order to make us feel at home. Amazingly they have even managed to import the institutional squeak, no doubt at great expense to the taxpayer.

It was while we were waiting for our letter that we came across Sapphire, a 26 year old from Essex with a rather bizarre predicament. Upon entering Egypt the authorities tore the Egyptian visa from her passport. Strange you may think however surely her luck would change upon exit, not so. With an expensive plane ticket clutched between her sweaty hands she arrived at the airport only to have another page torn from her passport. At this point customs officials declared her passport a fake.

One week later she is still trapped in Egypt. I should imagine she is now regretting tearing out her expired visa – cynical but most probably true.

belly full

With a little help from the Egyptian Lonely Planet we arrived outside the Soft Beach resort eager to see the much promised beachfront villas. Disappointment greeted us like an old friend as we surveyed the tightly packed garden sheds clad in the dried leaves of local palm trees.

However, it looked like our evening would be saved from the clutches of collapse in the form of a little evening entertainment. We and the other sporadically spaced guests were about to receive a master class in the art of belly dancing.

Our performer bore a striking resemblance to a slightly over-weight Mutya from the Sugarbabes – a definite plus point if your name’s Mike Robinson. Her keyboard wielding sidekick on the other hand was clearly unsatisfied with the amount of grease he was able to apply to his receding hairline and in response appeared to have smeared the remaining contents of the jar over his chest and face.

Cue a backing track, the chord function and an ungainly wobble.