Egypt

We had heard a great deal about Egyptian borders. They were reputed to be highly bureaucratic, chaotic and above all corrupt so we were unsure as to what we should expect and quite nervous as we waved goodbye to Ayad.

Our first impressions weren’t good. As soon as we were clear of the Libyan border it was carnage. People pushing and jostling, stacks of luggage, piles of rubbish and everyone seemed to be shouting. It was very intimidating, and this was only no man’s land, the short road between the border posts.

We were soon pulled over by a man asking for our passports. He was not wearing a uniform so it was only the gun on his hip that marked him as an official. Without thinking we passed them to him and he walked away before we had our seatbelts undone. Fortunately he returned after a few minutes with another official and started to ask us questions, solemnly writing the answers down on a scrap of paper. Once this procedure was completed he returned our passports and waved us through a gate.

Our pleasure at this apparent efficiency was short lived, as we realised this was only a preliminary stage and the border post actually started another few hundred yards away. The first stage was passport control, and the queues were enormous.

There was only one thing to do, so I left Claire with the car and entered the fray with our passports. Once again there were people shoving, jostling and shouting, trying to get ahead in the queue without someone noticing. A few people asked me where I came from but most were only interested in getting through as quickly as possible.

Suddenly someone grabbed my arm, he was trying to pull me out of the crowd and asking for my passport. I held onto them this time as he pulled me over to a desk, shoved some people to one side and handed me some entry forms and a pen. Once I had filled them in he took the pen back and laboriously wrote down my details on a scrap of paper. He then took me to the front of the queue, handed the passports to the official and hurried away before I could thank him.

Once the passport formalities were complete we had to get the car into the country. This process was fantastically complicated but as we entered the customs hall it degenerated into farce.

The cars ahead of us were being searched and bales of clothes were being confiscated, but when the customs officer was distracted people were shoving the confiscated goods back in their car. It was all very good-natured and when they got caught they would get told off, hang their heads and hand the contraband back. In the meantime someone else would be taking advantage of the distraction and refilling their car.

After our brief search we were waved over to another office for the paperwork to begin. First the chassis and engine numbers were compared with those on the Carnet de Passages; this was done by rubbing a piece of paper over the numbers with a pencil. These scraps of paper were stuck to a form, which was then stamped. I had to take this form with my documents to another office. This involved yet another push through a crowd, this one exiting the customs hall. Once in the hall I was directed to an unmarked door that led to a corridor where the next section of the epic was played out.

At last, at the end of the corridor, I had found the man who would actually stamp my carnet. But first I needed to pay (at another office) 1002 Egyptian pounds for the various bits and pieces I would be getting. Fortunately the bank was in the same building behind another unmarked, and unlocked, door. Even more fortunately they took travelers cheques.

Once I had the receipt (now filed with my other pieces of paper in a manila folder) I was sent with a lackey and the folder to the traffic police office. Once again this involved fighting our way out of the customs building. In the police office I got some photocopies and had one of the pieces of paper countersigned and stamped. I was then taken to another office for a piece of paper (possibly a temporary insurance certificate) before returning to three different desks in the police office for more photocopies, another piece of paper, a car registration card and my Egyptian number plates.

The police kept some of the bits of paper in another folder and the rest were returned with me to the carnet man. Unfortunately it turned out I needed another copy of one of the pieces of paper, so I had to endure yet another trip to the police office.

So after three or four hours, 1002 EP in official costs and 120 EP in baksheesh we were in Egypt.

Our first night was spent at Marsa Matrouh, a holiday destination on the north coast for Egyptians. As it was winter the place was quiet and we settled on a hotel from the guidebook. We had been without beer for over 2 weeks and were discussing an “Ice Cold near Alex” en route. No luck though as the purchase of a beer required our passports, which were now with the hotel reception for the police check.

We reached Cairo the following day aiming for the Selma Motel, known on the overland trail as “Cairo camping”. We had the GPS coordinates and knew it had a view of the pyramids. It was only after we had fought our way into central Giza and were passing the pyramids that we realised the view might not be that good – the GPS said we were still 5km away. So we battled our way back out of the city centre and eventually ended up on the ring road.

Fortunately it was elevated so we caught sight of a German “rolling hotel”, basically a coach towing a trailer with 30 sleeping pods. They’re bright orange, so they’re hard to miss. We now had an idea of what to expect as it was in a field in the centre of a residential area. We pulled off the main road and followed our noses with the GPS to help.

Once we were there we also found a Dutch couple, Eric and Danielle, with their 30-year-old ex-army Series 3 landy. They had disguised its origins rather well by painting it pale green and cream and sticking plastic flowers to the windows. We spent the rest of the day chatting to them, particularly as they are keen divers and had come from Dahab on the Red Sea.

The following day we decided to take a taxi into the city centre rather than packing up the tent and driving ourselves so we wandered out of the campsite to flag one down. The first one we found spoke absolutely no English, so at first it was hard to negotiate a rate and then it proved almost as tricky to get rid of him. Luckily the next driver spoke pretty good English, so we arranged to hire him for the day and leapt in. We soon realised Alfifi spoke enough to deal with fares and point out the sights and little else. He also had an entertaining habit of using the horn as a form of punctuation. Even when parked he would lean forwards, pause and give a short toot before continuing his broken English.

We had a short list of important tasks to do before we could start sight seeing, and the first of these was to get hold of some money. There are ATMs throughout Egypt so getting local currency was easy, getting some dollars proved a little more tricky but the Thomas Cook office gave us a cash advance on a credit card. We were solvent again, and shouldn’t struggle as we did in Libya again.

From there we had to find a landy dealer as KT was still running a bit hot. We thought this was due to the viscous coupling not keeping the fan running properly. After asking around Alfifi had the name of the main dealer and a vague idea of where the shop was. In the meantime we had managed to find a street full of garages and after asking around we were taken by one of the mechanics on a swift march across town to a parts shop.

The shop was run by a wizened old man with glasses perched on the end of his nose who was sat drinking tea with a friend. Once his friend had translated our request, the shopkeeper muttered to himself before rummaging around under his counter and reappearing with a Landrover parts catalogue. Unfortunately it was about 40 years old and in spite of his reassurances to the contrary, no use at all.

So we returned empty handed, and a little later than anticipated to Alfifi who was pacing around, anxious that his fare had absconded.

We had a peaceful evening as the rolling hotel had left surprisingly quietly early that morning and Eric and Danielle had set off for the Western Desert. We didn’t realise quite how early we went to bed until the next morning as another car had arrived in the night. Apparently they had arrived at 8.30!

The new car was a red Nissan Patrol with enormous tyres on chrome rims driven by Darren and Inika. As they explained, the chrome might seem over the top but they had used the car for their wedding before setting off in it on their (extended) honeymoon. We got chatting to them, only stopping when we realised Alfifi was due any minute and we hadn’t washed or eaten anything.

The Cairo Museum was extremely busy. The queues started at the security checks, and then there was a queue for tickets, and another for the camera deposit before we were finally allowed in. Once inside the crowds were oppressive, we had definitely been spoilt in Libya. We retreated to a quiet corner and planned our visit.

It was clear that the guidebook had been written by an Egyptology nut. There were pages and pages on the museum, and the book recommended spending two days there. Needless to say we were less keen, so we went through the highlights list and decided we could cope with the ten rooms suggested.

All in all it was mostly impressive, but we were happy to be out in two hours. We had saved the Tutankhamun exhibit until last as it was the most crowded and even after seeing so many pictures of the death mask it was still pretty spectacular. There is an additional charge to get into the mummies room, which is not worth paying for the actual exhibit, but because of the charge it is the least crowded part and the room is kept very cool which is a welcome relief.

    Cairo Bazaar

After a quick lunch in the museum café we went to the bazaar where Claire tried and failed to buy a popper to repair her shirt as the man selling them refused to split a box of 100. From there we went to the Coptic Christian area, which appeared to be a building site and was so different to the guidebook description we weren’t sure we were in the right place.

That evening we were having a long chat with Darren and Inika when a large campervan arrived and were directed to park next to us. It seemed a bit close, but our English reserve would have prevented us pointing out the expanse of campsite that was available if Darren (a Zambian) and Inika (an Aussie) hadn’t pushed us. Poor Jean-Louis had just done a ten hour drive with his wife and three kids and really didn’t need any more hassle but after a beer he was much more relaxed.

We used Alfifi again the next day to go to the pyramids. He went down in our estimations when he took us to a horse stable belonging to his friend. Partly because they tried to overcharge us – asking 80EP each, but mainly because the horses were extremely skinny while the owner was fat. We decide then that we would walk and once we were actually at the pyramids we found people with good horses who wanted 5EP for a ride. Once we had persuaded them we really weren’t interested we had a very peaceful time.

After a bit of searching we found the main dealer, but they were shut for Eid, the feast to celebrate the end of Ramadan. They wouldn’t be open for another three days, and we heard later from John and Helen that they were utterly useless anyway. So we decided to head for what would turn out to be the highlight of our trip to Cairo. We went to the Carrefour supermarket.

It was lovely. Carrefour is a French chain, and there was everything you’d expect barring bacon and wine. We took Alfifi for (we think) his first KFC and then we shopped. When we finished we realised we had spent considerably more time there than we had in the museum. But after 4 weeks on the road it was fantastic.

We set off early the next day for Dahab, as we had to take it slow due to KT running hot. We still arrived after dark, having crossed the Sinai desert at sunset, and were lucky to find not only that the hotel we had chosen had a room free but they could also fit us in for an advanced diving course too.

And then we chilled. We spent the next week diving, eating too much and doing the odd bit of maintenance, a service and fixing the puncture that the tyre shop had failed to sort out in the UK.

    Dahab

The dives ranged from mellow reef dives to a 30m deep drift dive along an 800m wall that was so good we did it twice. The highlight though was a trip to the Thistlegorm, a WW2 ship that had sunk in 30m of water. It involved a 3-hour boat trip from Sharm el Sheikh just down the coast. We arrived early enough to fit in a curry and a few beers watching the Russian and other tourists parading down the strip. It was quite different to Dahab and very entertaining.

The first dive was a 30m deep circuit of the wreck in calm conditions and near perfect visibility that gave us an idea of the layout before we went inside on the second dive. We went into the holds where there are trucks, jeeps and motorbikes. It was absolutely amazing. And to top it all, by the time we exited the wreck the current had picked up. So we drifted the length of the ship from bow to stern, skimming over the deck, avoiding masts and lifeboat gantries as they appeared out of the murk.

    Us in an air pocket at 30m

On the return trip to Sharm we had another dive on a reef with moray eels, a huge napoleon fish and, surreally, the wreck of a ship that had been carrying basins and lavatories.

We had already found out that our car was too tall for the ferry from Sharm to Hurghada so we knew we had a big drive the next day. First we picked up a DHL package from the UK (thanks Alan) containing a new viscous coupling and spent the night in a deserted camping spot in the Ras Mohammed national park.

    Ras Mohammed National Park

We woke early and Claire had a quick snorkel with the rays in the picture perfect water while I fitted the new part and then we set off for the long haul to Hurghada via Suez. After tentatively pushing KT over 50mph we found that the overheating was cured so we made the trip in a steady 10 hours.

We knew that the road south from Hurghada was considered to be risky for tourists and that we would be expected to travel in a convoy. So we deliberately arrived at the first checkpoint when we knew there wasn’t one going. This caused a great deal of umming and ahing amongst the police. After 20 minutes I wandered over to the police hut to see what was happening, there was an important looking policeman clutching our passports and having an involved conversation on the phone. After a few more minutes I was called into the hut where, after shaking my hand, the policeman told me that we would be allowed to go alone. “But” he said, “it is a dangerous road, many turns. Drive carefully.”

So off we went, making very good progress along the good quality, well signed road. Until about halfway to Qena when we arrived at another checkpoint. This caused even more consternation than at the first one. There were police everywhere on their radios trying to find out how we came to be there on our own. Eventually, they decided it was safe so we were allowed to continue, arriving at Qena by late morning.

The town itself seemed prosperous, and no one paid any attention to us as we drove through until the checkpoint where we could either turn towards Luxor or make a slight detour via Dendara. There again we were held up briefly while everyone did their inefficient best to protect us. Once again we were allowed to continue, so when yet another policeman tried to stop us we were getting a little tired of the interruptions. It turned out he was only trying to point out the turning we were about to miss.

As we walked towards the entrance of Dendara we were greeted by a group of policeman who asked if we were the people in the Landrover, wished us a pleasant visit and told us that the convoy to Luxor would be leaving at three.

        Dendera

The temple itself is huge and was deserted apart from the police guards. One of these was assigned to the roof and took great pleasure in pointing out the fertility symbols, asking Claire what the various parts of anatomy were in English. I was very disappointed when she wimped out when he pointed between a larger than life pair of thighs asking what was there. Claire’s reply was “Womb”. He continued in a similar vein, asking me via sign language if Claire was good in bed, and how many times I had managed (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) “It” in one night. He seemed very pleased to tell us his best was 4 times.

As we tried to escape he insisted I take a photo of him and Claire. As they stood side by side he put a big smile on his face and one hand on her bum. Claire was less than amused.

    The offending policeman

We had a few hours to kill before we could leave in the convoy, so we decided to go into the town for lunch. Bizarrely we weren’t allowed, as it was apparently too dangerous. We tried to point out that we had come through on our way to the temple, but to no avail.

The café at the temple was extremely limited, so we ordered omelets and prepared for a long wait. Before the food arrived one of the police came over and old us we could go. They seemed quite happy to wait for us to eat but we rushed our surprisingly good eggs before trooping off to his office to find out where the convoy was. It turned out that once again we were to be allowed to travel alone.

It was slightly irritating then to find that we reached the first checkpoint before the message had got through. It was only a short delay though as we could clearly hear the word “Landrover” through the static on the radio. Each checkpoint was the same, we would stop, there would be some shouting to and fro, we would hear “Landrover” shouted from the back of the office and then we would be allowed through.

It was only another hour or so before we reached Luxor, pulling into the campsite behind an overland truck to find John and Helen’s landy, a Landcruiser belonging to Loek, a retired Dutchman, and the French family we met in Cairo. There was also a newish BMW bike parked in the corner, we met Martin the “dirty Czech biker” that evening.

Over the next couple of days we visited the temples at Karnak and Luxor, wandered around the valleys of the Kings and Queens, and generally got thoroughly bored of old stuff. The pick of the bunch was the temple of Medinat Habu with its colourful painting and well preserved hieroglyphics.

Karnak

    Luxor Temple

    Valley of the Kings

        Temple of Hatshepsut

        Medinat Habu Temple

We also got to know Loek and Martin and caught up with John and Helen who had gone to Hurghada for some diving, as their power steering pump had packed up in a dramatic way when the pulley sheared off. Eric and Danielle turned up, as did a group of four Swedes who are driving to Mozambique to help in various aid projects.

When the time came for us to head to Aswan we were quite a group with only John and Helen staying back, still waiting for their pump. We decided to travel in one of the convoys, as we didn’t think we’d be able to escape. So we all trooped down to the meeting place (forming a nice soft target as we did). Once there we were put in line with various tourist minibuses before setting off. Traveling through Luxor was great, there were no hold ups as the police blocked the traffic and we were waved through the checkpoints. Once clear of the town though we had decided to travel at the pace of the slowest car, the Series landy, so we were traveling at a perfectly respectable 50mph. This wasn’t good enough for the minibus drivers who barged and overtook their way forward until there was a queue of 8 tailgating the lead policecar. We decided that any terrorist only needed to scare a donkey into the path of the lead car to have an effect similar to a well-timed bomb.

    Convoy!

We left them to it but caught them up an hour into the journey at the rest stop where the tourists on the minibuses were shepherded into a café cum souvenir shop. We continued after a half hour break, briefly collecting an Austrian VW campervan and arriving in Aswan after another couple of hours. The police escort left us at the outskirts of Aswan, but Loek knows the town quite well having made the trip three times before.

When we found the office of the Nile Navigation Company where we needed to book the ferry it was shut. So we spent the rest of the day pottering about, and booked into a hotel that was so cheap we forgave it the cockroaches.

We were all at the ferry office bright and early the following day as we had heard that it could be quite difficult to organise the trip down lake Nasser to Sudan. The Austrian camper was there, driven by Rupert with his three children Olivia (3), Fabio (5) and Yanik (7) in the back.

As it turned out our worst expectations were realised as at first Mr Saleh who deals with car transportation told us that there was only a barge with space for four cars going. As there were 5 cars (plus John and Helen, if they made it) this was no use to us. We also met Chris, an English guy who was hitching a ride in another landy who had come down o Aswan to arrange their ferry ride.

We knew there was a larger barge, but apparently that was rented out and so unavailable. We were asked to wait while Saleh tried to sort out the larger barge for us. He soon came back to say that the barge was available if we were to rent it all. We leapt (possible a bit too quickly) at the chance and arranged to come back the following day to sort out the details.

That evening we started having second thoughts about the expense of the barge. Even with 7 cars and Martin’s bike it would work out more expensive than the price we had been quoted for a ticket. In addition to this we all had to buy tickets on the passenger ferry, even the eight of us (one per vehicle) who were allowed to go on the barge with the cars.

So when the final car arrived the next morning we sent him in to try and wangle a discount. Ali went in, did his best and managed to get the price reduced to 17,500EP (about 1,700GBP). It was still expensive, but if John and Helen could make it then we had managed to arrange a discount of about 20GBP. It wasn’t very good for two mornings work for about 10 people. We still haven’t decided if Mr Saleh was helpful or obstructive, I do know we needed the relaxing felucca trip we took that afternoon.

    A Felucca

But we had still heard nothing from John and Helen and we were expected at the dock at 9.30 the next morning. Even if the part turned up they would have to fit it that evening, and get the 7am convoy to arrive at 10. It wasn’t looking promising. There was also the problem of another package that they had had sent to an agent in Aswan that needed picking up.

That afternoon we heard from them. The part had arrived! We arranged to pick up their package, and that Loek would meet them on the road into Aswan to take them to the police office to surrender their plates before showing them the way to the port. It looked like we would mange it.

The following morning went pretty much like clockwork. We arrived at the port slightly late, but no one seemed to mind. And they weren’t even bothered that the final two stragglers didn’t turn up until 11. The formalities were a bit confusing, but basically a doddle and then it was time to load he barge. The seven cars and a bike were soon in place and we said goodbye to the ten traveling by ferry and set up our various awnings, tents and chairs for the 3 day trip down the lake.

    Aswan Port

And then we waited. After an hour and a half, without any warning, the engines started and we were off, traveling at 11kph, until 8 that evening when as we were trying to moor up we found that the barge’s spotlight was broken and the front three cars had their headlights obscured. The process was completed by the light of a feeble torch.

The others on the boat: the four Swedes; Henrik, Jan, Michael and David and Loek and Martin were good company and we found plenty to do reading borrowed guidebooks and sorting out the various bits and bobs that needed doing. But by the end of the second day we were getting a little bored of being cooped up. That evening we stopped for an hours tinkering on the engine and were planning to continue through the night.

Life on board

The next morning when we were still moored up and the “tinkering” had started to sound more like “hitting with a large hammer” we all had a quick swim to wash away the grime. Then suddenly, with a cheer from the crew, the engine burst into life and we were on our way again.

Needless to say we didn’t get there that day. But at least we went past Abu Simbel, one of the temples rescued from the rising water of Lake Nasser, when it was light. We were relieved we hadn’t bothered with the 560km round trip from Aswan to see it.

    Abu Simbel

Once again we moored up that night, eventually arriving at Wadi Halfa at midday the following day. We were extremely keen to be off the boat, but felt very sorry for the others, as they had arrived two days earlier with only a small bag each.