Cairo, Egypt - The land of the Pharaohs

The agenda for our first day was quite hectic. In the morning we'd visit the Pyramids, then over lunctime, we'd wander around the Antiquities Museum. For the remainder of the afternoon, we'd take a trip to the Citadel of Saladin. A lot to see in one go, but with only two full days in the Egyptian capital, we had little time for dallying.

Our hotel, the Sheraton Towers, looked plush from the outside and even better from the inside. Porters hurried across the marble-floored lobby whilst businessmen in traditional dishdashes sat hovered over laptops, all under the gaze of a grand chandelier. Our room was a bit of a let down though. The passage of time hadn't been kind to the curtians and wallpaper. But the view from the balcony made up for this. At whatever time of the day we cared to look down, there was always a snarl of traffic at the roundabout, all beeping, all angry. Welcome to Cairo.

Sunday was a warm, hazy day. “I wonder how long it'll be before we're suckered for cash?” I said, sipping my coffee in a hotel cafe. Angela pondered this. After all, we’d braved the hordes in Delhi, and delved headlong into the markets of Bangkok. In Cambodia, we’d been hounded around the temples by persistent children, and in the souks of Marrakech, we'd done battle with the infamous touts. “We'll be fine,” said Angela. “We've just got to be firm.”

As promised, our driver picked us up at 10am and we were soon on our way. Excited at the prospect of seeing one of the Wonders of the World, we hit the main roads and were soon caught up in the insanity. Often a vehicle in front would come to a standstill causing an immediate traffic jam. Shrill beeping and angry hand gestures would ensue before mad-cap swerving got everything moving again.

Scam No 1 occurred just a few minutes later. It involved the old papyrus ruse, and it came from an unlikely source - our driver. As we turned onto a mian road he suddenly spoke up. “If you like,” he said, testing the water. “I can take you to a very special museum. It is dedicated to papyrus. Perhaps I take you there now? It is free to enter?”

From his mirror I could tell he looked hopeful. Getting a couple of unsuspecting tourists into a dodgy papyrus shop would earn him an extra few quid. They'd even give him a drink. But unfortunately for him, we’d read up on this very scam just before we'd left the UK. “No thanks,” I said. “Just the pyramids please.” The man nodded and said no more about it.

After thirty minutes our driver pointed to the left. Rising over the roofs of a set of shops was the top third of a mighty pyramid. I'd always known the Pyramids of Giza were on the edge of the city and not in the middle of the desert, but to see one sprout up from the madness of downtown Cairo was still a shock to behold.

Our driver negotiated a side street with careful skill, eventually arriving at a small square dominated by trinket shops. Dotted around the edge were camels and horses and a couple of donkeys, looking forlorn and depressed, as they tend to do so easily. A man approached the car and our driver spoke to him in thick Arabic. After a few seconds the driver addressed us. “This man will take you around Pyramids. Please follow him. I wait here.”

As we climbed out, a boy leading a flock of goats wandered past and I couldn’t help but stare. The new man saw my look and explained a little about them. “These animals are for sale,” he told me. “And a good one will cost one thousand Egyptian Pounds (£120). You want to buy?”

“Would you prefer camel or horse?” the man suddenly said, throwing me off track. I’d expected to be walking around the Pyramids seated upon some Beast of the Desert. But it appeared walking wasn't an option. To me, neither choices seemed good, but surprisingly Angela looked excited. Hedging my bets, I asked which was more comfortable, and after looking me up and down, he said he’d get two horses.

Two horses? Why would we need two horses for our chariot? Surely we weren't that heavy? But then to my utter dismay it became clear why two horses were needed. One each. As I contemplated riding on a horse for the first time in twenty years, a couple of saddles were brought in from around a corner, and before I knew it, both Angela and I were mounted atop our mighty steeds. The lack of helmets or jodhpurs soon became a secondary concern as we trotted off along a dusty street. Just keeping upright on the damn things was hard enough “Follow me,” said our guide, riding adeptly on a horse of his own. “And do not worry, I look after you. And maybe later we make horse go very fast! You will enjoy, I promise.”

While I got used to my horse we were led towards a back entrance to the Pyramid complex. It was well away from the usual tourist entry and it was here that we encountered Scam No 2, a more elaborate ruse this time. This one involved the headdress touts. These were individuals with folds of cloth laid over their arms who prayed upon the unwary. Their method was simple. Spying an approaching tourist, they would wander over and begin folding the cloth into an Arab-style headdress. Without any preamble they would then place the impromptu headdress over the tourist’s head and secure it in place with a strip of rubber. Then they would demand money. Like the papyrus scam, we were aware of this little sideline too, and so when a gentleman with a fold of cloth over his arm approached, I waved him away immediately. Be gone, rapscallion!

“But it look good for photo!” he said, attempting to get the thing close to my head. I gave him my best Clint Eastwood stare and rode on, leaving him with the dust from my horse's hooves. Further along, I noticed a family of five, all wearing headdresses. Dad looked glum.

Once through the opening, we were handed over to a large fat man in a long white robe. “Welcome!” he boomed as he led my horse away from the entrance. As quick as a flash a bottle of Fanta appeared in my hands, my digits accepting it in almost a reflex action. I told the man I didn't want it but he waved me away. “Is hot today. Drink! Is good to drink on hot day!” Behind me, Angela had also been passed a bottle and I began to think that maybe the drinks were part of the deal. After all, our original guide was nowhere to be seen. Maybe the tour of the Pyramids was to be undertaken by a series of guides: one to get us to the entrance, another to lead us around, and maybe a third to take us back to the car? With the hot sun overhead, I took a slurp just as the fat man wandered back over. “Okay,” he said. “You give money now for drinks.”

Scam No 3 had been an expert con job. Shaking my head, I couldn’t believe we’d fallen into his trap so easily, I reluctantly gave the man a small amount of change. Our horseback guide soon appeared and warned us not to listen to anyone but him. “They will always want money,” he said. Onwards we trotted into the sand of the Sahara.

Despite the rip-off touts, the horse ride around the Pyramids turned out to be great fun. And even though I found sitting on a saddle fairly uncomfortable, I still managed to keep upright, even after a fairly speedy cantor across the rubble infested sand. Very quickly, the three Great Pyramids loomed up over a rise of hills and were every bit as spectacular as we had expected. We’d also chosen a good time to visit because we had the place to ourselves. Most tourists, we learned, arrived either around eight in the morning or else after sunset. Our guide led us to a ledge overlooking the Pyramids. From there we could even make out the Sphinx.

Angela asked the man how long he’d been riding. “About 15 years,” the man said. “Half my life. And I can ride any horse. Egyptian, Spanish, even Arabian.” Later, he told us he had two wives. “I have two womem,” he told us with a grin. “One for money, the other for honey!”

Up close, the pyramids looked like a pile of rubble. It was only from a distance that they took on their more majestic form. Nevertheless, we spent a good while wandering around before moving on to see the Sphinx. I was shocked to learn that the face of the Sphinx, even as recognisable as it was, had actually been used as target practice by soldiers in the 14th century. The Turks blew off its beard and the French shot away the nose.

Quite close to the Sphinx was a car park full of coaches. Each of them spilled out tourists who were being herded en-mass towards the great monument. Then they were cajoled back into their air-conditioned coaches for the short drive up to the pyramids themselves. All very quick, clean and neat, but certainly not as much fun as riding around by horseback. By the end of the jaunt, I was actually quite confident on the horse even though the next day my thighs would be hurting like hell.

Back in the square, we were not surprised to find our guide was in need of money, or backsheesh as it was known. It grated me actually; we'd already paid up front but were now expected to part with even more cash. Feeling bitter, I handed the guide a five dollar bill. He took it without any word of thank or a smile. When he’d pocketed it, he said, “What about your woman? She give money too?” I shook my head and walked off to find our car.

The Egyptian Antiquities Museum was founded in 1835 as a way of curbing the looting of Pyramids. Around almost every corner of the vast building was a feast for the eyes. Golden chariots, Tutankhamen's golden burial mask, regal-looking thrones and so much more. The whole place reeked of Ancient Egypt. But what I’d read was also correct. The layout seemed haphazard with seemingly little though for the placement of artifacts.

Even worse, we discovered, was that many of the displays had no information. We could have been staring at the burial shroud of an ancient Pharaoh or maybe the rag from an old palace hag, we simply couldn’t tell. And another niggling problem was the lack of sign posts. For people with guides, of course, this was not a problem, but we ended up wandering almost aimlessly. By chance we across the Royal Mummy's Hall. For 100 Egyptian Pounds each (£12) we were allowed access to a small room filled with actual mummies. Some of them looked like something out of a horror film, about to come alive and stalk the corridors in search of meat. Almost all were covered from the neck downwards in some sort of burial shroud, but the heads and necks, and often hands, were visible inside the glass units. We wandered around the whole macabre room eying the grisly remains of former pharaohs.

Our third stop involved a hectic drive through the clogged up streets of Cairo. The Citadel of Saladin, located in the old part of town, was constructed in the 12th century. At that time it comprised of walls, watchtowers and gates. By the 14th century the great Mohammed Ali Mosque had been added, at it was at this very building where Angela and I now stood.

Two of its minarets were huge, towering high above the multi-domed roof. After removing our shoes, we entered the cavernous interior, regarding the huge carpet littered with people either praying or sat in circles with their tour guides. Outisde, the view from the citadel walls were equally impressive, showcasing a horizon of mosques and ancient buildings. As if on cue, the Muslim call to prayer began and for a brief while, Cairo was truly magical.

The next morning we jumped in one of Cairo's most common feature - the black and white taxi. The one we chose, like the vast majority, was a small elderly Fiat which had seen better days. The dashboard was basic, but had the added bonus of a bunch of loose wires. Some sort of ancient meter, which clearly hadn't worked for at least a decade, hung just below the dash, and the name emblazoned upon it summed things up nicely. Hovel, it read.

Inside, the scent of petrol hung in the air, and we were not surprised to an absence of seatbelts missing. Our driver, a middle-aged man wearing a faded grey suit, was one of those special breed who liked nothing better than shouting, swearing and raising his fist at any driver foolish enough to get in his way. He seemed to get particularly angry with pedestrians. Guttural Arabic was yelled to any man, woman or child who dared to cross his path. The way he swerved around people was like something out of a cartoon.

Twenty minutes later we were dropped outside the Khan El-Khalili Bazaar. Used since 1392, the market was full of tiny stores selling clothes, perfumes, oils, spices and rabbits. The latter were available to buy with chickens and ducks. We wandered the alleyways for a good hour before calling it a day. We jumped in another taxi to the Grand Hyatt.

On the fortieth floor was a revolving restaurant. Being midday meant the restaurant was closed, but the bar was open. “This is great,” I said. “Just look at that view!” In the distance, just beyond the skyscrapers and dwellings of Cairo, the Pyramids could easily be seen, and unbelievably, we had the whole place to ourselves. I ordered a Stella Lager, the local brew, and for the next thirty minutes, we enjoyed views spanning the whole city.

Our hotel was on the other side of the Nile, but with a bridge just down the street, we decided to walk. On the way we experienced many Leer People. These are men aged thirteen and upwards. They can be loitering outside shops or standing against walls. Sometimes they can be sitting on a passing bus or be slumped in the back of a taxi. Quite often they are stood in groups, but can be passing with their wives, it does not matter, but each of them has one thing in common, they leer. They do this without any thought for the subject of their leering. And Angela was that person. Some men looked at her with such lustful leers that it became quite scary. Groups of teenage boys would leer at her with undisguised glee, looking her up and down with lascivious grins. And in the traffic jam spanning the Nile virtually every man leered with obvious interest.

At many road junctions in Cairo, policeman stand in small three-windowed booths. One of these booths housed a policeman who turned out to be the King of the Leermen. Spying our approach, the man shifted position to his side window so he could leer at Angela with his full undisguised joy. As we passed the front of his booth, he moved once again to spy upon Angela. His look was full of lust and it was a good job I could only see him from the waist upwards. As we passed the booth, the randy copper made full use of his third window. A true king among kings!

Later we took a felucca along the Nile. For a whole hour we had the boat to ourselves, and the voyage turned out to be remarkably serene, the only sound being the wind on the sail. The man in charge was a skilled mariner, manipulating the single sail with precision and skill. We headed back to the hotel after a fun packed day.

The next morning we caught a taxi back to the airport. It was the same driver as the previous day because we’d already booked him. So dilapidated was his taxi that the hotel security would not allow him to enter the hotel grounds. It was only after some furious waving on his part to attract our attention that he was finally allowed access. As he trundled up in his banger, other taxi drivers began to laugh. Some stared at us, obviously wondering why we’d chosen such a decrepit mode of transport. As our man stepped out, one of the hotel porters clapped him on the back, as if to say, how the hell did you manage to secure this fare? Feeling slightly self conscious, we climbed into the cramped Fiat and set off.

The forty minute journey to the airport was as thrilling as being on a rollercoaster. Without seatbelts we were tossed this way and that as the madman jerked his car around to avoid collision after collision. There was a fair amount of shake fisting and yelling too, which only added to the excitement, and when it started raining, the adrenalin rush was notched up another step. For a start his windscreen wipers didn't work, even after some furious prodding and yelling. Driving with a rain-filled windscreen must have been tricky, but thankfully we arrived outside the terminal safe and sound. As Angela released her grip on the side of the seats, she let out a sigh of relief. But then we hit the final snag of the journey: the back doors wouldn’t open. The driver had managed to get out and was now frantically pulling on Angela’s door.

“Because of rain!” he yelled through a tiny gap in the window. He huffed and puffed and pulled even more. We sat, trapped in a taxi, contemplating our fate. But then the man came up with another plan of attack and came around to my side of the car and yanked hard. It worked. We were free to catch our flight to Oman.

Strengths:
-The Pyramids
-The Museum, despite its randomness
-The smells of spices around the markets
-Beautiful mosques with towering minarets
-A relaxing sail down the Nile in a Felucca
-A ride in a black and white taxi

Weaknesses:
-The traffic, fumes & beeping!
-Everyone wanting your cash for doing nothing
-The excessive price of Internet access in the hotels (our charged £9 per hour!)
-The leering men that lurk everywhere

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