2006 Egypt

4 January 2007, Thursday; Golden Sun Hotel, Hurghada, LE100

We were up early to get our 06h00 train to Qena, anticipating a long, slow day to Hurghada.

We left our cheapest hotel yet and strolled the few hundred metres to the railway station where we had time for a cup of tea before boarding.

We have learned to read Arabic numerals and it is fun to identify these on our tickets and seats – though English is widely written and spoken.

We travelled second class to Qena (LE40). The seats comfortable enough, the floor considerably dirtier than in first.

The Egyptians are a nation of litterbugs. Everyone simply drops trash where they stand or sit. Or chuck their chip packets, etc, out of the taxi or bus window into the endless desert. Not sure how one changes this mindset. If parents do it, kids will too. We’re facing the same problems with the black kids at our local school in Florida.

At Luxor Charl jumped off the train (which departed unannounced on time) and stocked up on egg rolls, which we enjoyed, in addition to the biscuits we bought (our third lot) from “our” bakery just off the Aswan souq, despite the faint aroma of urine wafting through the carriage.

A young woman was seated opposite us – bescarved. When Charl moved to another seat, she asked me if I had any water – she had spilled something on her black dress (under which I could see jeans and green socks).

Later, when we were unsuccessfully getting information from the conductor about what time we would arrive in Qena (without announcements it can be a little nerve-wracking trying to identify one’s station) she took the opportunity to initiate a halting interaction. Telling us she was studying economics at Qena and wanted to open an internet café or dress shop on completion of her studies. She then asked for my mobile number and photo! We exchanged email addresses and she gave me a photo of herself. Strange and somehow sad.

Anyway, she was also getting off at Qena, so we had no problems.

We ascertained that there was “no train” to Safaga – our preferred mode of transport. There is a railway line, so presumably there is a train. Not sure if this runs seldom or is not intended for foreigners. Either way we had to revert to Plan B.

Immediately outside the station door we were accosted by a taxi driver who agreed to take us to the bus station for LE5. We were pleasantly surprised to be getting a “local” price, and were even more pleased when the station (for minibuses) did not prove to be just across the road. When we came to pay, however, the bugger wanted LE5 each! We put our (communal) foot down.

We soon found a minibus to Hurghada (Al-Ghardaka in Arabic) and Charl entered negotiations with someone sitting in the “driver’s seat” who turned out to be a passenger – he is still functioning on right-hand drive! At first the young man said LE100 for both, but when I made to walk off, dropped to LE50 for both ie LE25 each. We saw much later at paying time that everyone else was billed LE13. Virtually nothing either way, in fact, for a 2.5 hour journey. The young man explained that the minibus was not actually for foreigners and insisted on checking our visas before closing the deal. Charl got us settled and then stood outside smoking with his new friend having a stilted conversation about Bafana Bafana and shopping in Qena. (We have criss-crossed Egypt on Genoeb Afrika, Bafana Bafana and Nelson Mandela.)

And soon we were off on yet another hair-raising drive through the desert – the Arabian / Eastern Desert as opposed to the Libyan / Western Desert. The driver obviously knows the road and his vehicle well. But pushed both to the absolute limits on a road containing way too many curves for comfort. Driving almost as often on the left as right (“straightening” the road), overtaking into oncoming traffic, waving at friends approaching at speed from the opposite direction, putting his seatbelt on at the few army posts we encountered (during which exercise he was driving one-handed). His vehicle was checked only once we had turned the corner north at Safaga to Hurghada. And then it was the papers of the locals that were checked while we were totally ignored – except for a brief “hello” at the end of the process. For all the army’s politeness, the tension is palpable as papers are checked, and the relief afterwards equally so.

Here is what Charl was told about conscription in Egypt: If you complete school, you serve one year; if you do some schooling, you serve two years; if you do no school, you serve three years. If you are the only son, a stint in the army is not obligatory. If you have not served by age 30 ie you avoid conscription, and are caught, you are fined LE30,000.

The government is obviously trying to do something about the crazy driving – so perhaps the stats are worse than is evidenced. On some of the curves between the double white line they have left a long hole to discourage drivers from crossing the double white line. (Our driver simply overtook just before the double white line and drove on the left until it ended and he could safely move over.) And in Hurghada we saw a sign proclaiming “Abiding to traffic regulations is a measure to our civilisation”.

We travelled through some stunning barren mountains darker than the desert sands from which they emerged (and saw three camels) and, after we turned north, between them and the Red Sea. All jagged peaks and tumbled jumbled hills rising from the desert floor. All loose stones and a look of instability. Quite impressive and lovely. (There are bunkers here facing the sea.)

We were in Hurghada by 14h00 – making for an easy day’s travel. We local taxied and walked to the Golden Sun Hotel. A young teen was responsible for touting for passengers, letting them on and off and taking their money. We had been offered help on the street when we had been trying to figure out where we were, and had been told then that the minibus taxi should cost LE1 each. So when the young man said the price was “3, 3”, I said “no, 1, 1” and he said “OK”.

Hurghada is a tourist destination for both locals and foreigners. A sprawl of built and partially-built three-storey buildings. With a cinema and bowls and American fast-food outlets. Not particularly attractive except for the blue Red Sea and the jagged peaks yonder – and the buzz. Clearly wealthier than other places we have been, with nice clothing and jewellery stores, a mix of souvenir places, the inevitable kebab and fuul and grilled chicken joints.

We spent some of our afternoon tracking down tickets for the ferry to Sharm el-Sheikh – not in the least difficult as everyone in town, including our hotel, offers them, but we wanted to compare prices.

We lunched on our reliable staple of chicken, rice, salad and veg; strolled down to the harbour to photograph the boats; and back to our room with its grubby carpet and strange bathroom. The loo is so close to the wall that one’s knees almost touch it; you have to squeeze past the basin to slide onto the loo; and the shower is one foot wide – and narrower where the tap is.

When we called from Aswan to reserve a room, we were told it was LE180 per night; when we arrived it was LE100 per night! Like our Aswan hotel, it was more expensive by phone!