In Luxor it's not possible to go far without hearing the shouts of the horse and carriage drivers hustling for a ride, or seeing overburdened donkeys pulling carts piled sky-high with everything from sacks of grain to gas cannisters. Away from the antiquities trail, Luxor is still a working farming community and families rely on their animals to make a living. Some of these animals are in poor condition, overworked, over-loaded and underfed. Animal Care Eqypt (ACE) is there to make a difference. We were shown around by Jan from Coventry, who's worked as a volunteer at ACE for eight years. 'I came on holiday with a friend', she explained. 'I could've turned round and gone right back - I thought men in skirts, what is this place'? And then she met one of those men, ... read more

'No hassle here my friend'. And so it starts. If Luxor had a sound-track it would be 'Money, money, money'. It's said with charm and delivered with a smile, but hear anything too often and it begins to grate. The concept of baksheesh can be hard to take. 'Something for me, for help', wheedled the young man at the visitors center in the Valley of the Kings. This is 'baksheesh' in it's purest form - a bit extra, a tip - and it's often expected for nothing. The young man had simply turned on the information film. Agree a price with a boatman, or a taxi driver, and they still ask for a 'present'. One caleche driver (coachman) asked for baksheesh 'for the horse'. Kids run up to us in the street and before they had ... read more

'Oh, you're not in a hurry', the old man remarked, when we'd told him which company we'd bought the bus ticket from. 'This bus is very old, you'll arrive at midnight - if at all'. 'Inshallah' I replied, and he laughed. Minutes later, we realised he might be right. The bus was fraying at the edges. Our seat moved forwards, even when the bus didn't, and the windows were cracked and ill-fitting. But we figured we'd just ride it out, see what happened. Bunking down in my seat, trying to avoid the draft playing around my legs, my spirits soared as we zig-zagged through a gorge - wild, inhospitable and stoney. We stopped to let five old women board, one holding the edge of her emerald-green headscarf in her teeth, pulling it across her face, hiding ... read more

Never has a square been more inappropriately named. It's not even a square. Djemaa el-Fna translates roughly as 'Assembly of the Dead' but this place is larger than life, organised bedlam, the beating heart of Marrakesh. On the square, the action starts early and winds up to a night-time theatre spectacle with a cast of thousands. Also known simply as 'La Place,' Djemaa el-Fna was laid out as a parade ground by the Amoravids in front of their royal fortress. When the succeeding Almohad's built a new palace to the south, the open ground passed to the public and became what it is today - a place for gathering, eating, trading, entertainment. The name refers to it's former role as a venue for executions, when severed heads were pickled and put on spikes for public display. ... read more

What folk fit on a motorbike (or a cycle or a tuk-tuk) in South East Asia is nobody's business! Health and Safety - they've never heard of it. It's one of the reasons why I love it here so much - a triumph of improvisation and innovation, a kind of 'can do' spirit, and an abundance of 'joie de vivre'. The tide of cyclists, motorbikes and scooters is overwhelming, darting around cars, weaving amongst pedestrians and hand-cart pushers, it's a continuous flow, never stopping, a sometimes slightly slower stream of mayhem. Families of four squash onto motorbikes, tiny babies cradled in arms, toddlers standing gripping dad's shoulders, or mum's hands clasped loosely around a child's waist. They wobble, but never falter. Men and women leave markets, shopping piled high on cross-bars and fenders. Bunches of flapping, ... read more