So, being ill then...

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We both knew that on a long trip like this we would both get ill at some point, but it's still been both miserable and frustrating. Up until this point, we'd both only had the ol' traveller's diarrhoea, unpleasant but not a major problem. We have been stuck in Luxor for several days because of some random bug.

Here goes. We were in the Valley of Kings having stopped under the main shade for the midday heat. I was feeling hot, my head was a little achy and I was aware I had been a bit dehydrated. On the other hand, in the Valley of Kings (which I wouldn't be surprised to find out is one of the hottest places on earth) it was fairly unsurprising. We'd decided to try a walk recommended in the Lonely Planet guide and I spent a reasonable length of time dithering because we didn't have as much water as I thought was ideal and because at the start of the walk there was now a big sign up saying, "Climbing the mountains is strictly forbidden" and with a guard post built right next to it I thought I might be pushing my luck even though we'd seen several Egyptians up there earlier in the day completely disregarding this. Eventually we decided to loop back a bit to avoid the guardpost, and climb up the hill.

Big mistake. As we climbed I found myself getting more and more exhausted, absolutely shattered in fact, and started to get reasonably worried when I realised my head and heart were pounding, my chest hurt and I'd managed to drink a litre of water in about five minutes. I dithered at the top - Owen had had his heart set on the walk and the view was fantastic - but then I realised no, I really did feel too awful and staggered back down. We ended up getting the first taxi back barely haggling, so bad a state was I in. I got home deeply worried, chest pain being a bad sign especially in a family prone to heart conditions, but it began to become clear that night that rather than suffering dehydration and angina what I had in fact been suffering was some sort of bug. I ended up with all the fluey symptoms except the sniffles, sneezing etc, such as aching muscles, sore skin (you know, when your hair follicles are painful to touch), lack of thermal homeostasis (shivering one minute, too hot the next) and chronic knocked-for-six exhaustion. I ended up with a fever which reached a high of over 39 degrees. I haven't been that ill - what Owen's mum refers to as "million pounds on the lawn" ill (being so ill you couldn't manage going downstairs to pick up a million pounds sitting in a briefcase on your front lawn) and I refer to as "mad-axe murderer" ill (being so ill you couldn't manage to run away from a frothing axe wielding mad axe murderer coming to get you) since I had the flu, the proper flu, when I was about 13. So not good. We went to the international hospital (there are no GP's or clinics) and the language barrier even there was a problem, but he took my blood pressure (110 over 70) and checked my heart and chest which were fine (thank heavens) and having spotted my sore throat and checked my tonsils prescribed antibiotics. Worse, just as I started to recover Owen came down with it, and it was really quite upsetting, he started off by shivering and then his poor body was piping hot, so much so I joked he'd turned into a small nuclear furnace, and he was writhing and feeling awful just as much as I had been. I suggested going back to the hospital or reusing the prescription but he refused (it being a matter of honour to him to avoid using medicines other than painkillers, and those sparingly). He also had a fever which climbed nearly as high as mine and it too broke during the night in the sudden-sweat sort of way. Since then we've both been quite exhausted. Owen suggested I might be anaemic but the pinch test came out fine (in fact better than I've had it in years) so I can only assume the pains were a combination of muscle cramps and me horribly overdoing it while in the early stages of ill. At any rate, we're nearly back to normal now but we've both been frustrated and disappointed. We did go out for Eid el-Fitr but only the second night, the first night the muezzin started singing Allah's praises at midnight or maybe just after (first sighting of new moon?) and carried on for an hour, which at first was beautiful and ethereal but after a while, and I mean no offense by this, we were both (still ill) just like, "Please, please let that be the last "Alu Akbar". Oh no, there he goes again." The second we went to an ahwa Owen had apparently long been promising a visit to to a waiter, it was good to talk with the guy (whose name was Mohammed but who had given himself an anglicised nickname of "Jack"). Topics included ages (although I was guessed at 28, Owen apparently appears much older to the average Egyptian because he has a beard and usually only elders of at least sixty have a beard, they guessed him at 40!) and slightly surprisingly where to get hash - well, we had said we were staying in the "Bob Marley" hotel, Owen does still have the student look and we were clearly enjoying our sheesha with tufa (water pipe with apple tobacco - very smooth and very relaxing!). It was a definite no though - not least because the penalty for drug crimes in Egypt can go as high as the death penalty. There was street music outside and so on, it was busy and bustling and people seemed very happy. Afterwards we went to a nearby fastfood restaurant for fiteer (Egyptian pizza), spaghetti and aubergine salad, of which the garlicky salad was definitely the winner, and got sweet pastries, and went home. The next day we went back out to the West Bank, we went to the Temple of Merenptah andd then the Ramesseum. The Ramesseum was absolutely fantastic (and in my personal opinion better than Karnak because of the still-present roof and it being in much better state of repair, the lotus-pillars were exquisite) and Owen settled down to sketch, but in the heat of the day I started to feel a bit seedy again and Owen started feeling exhausted, nauseous and sick, surprising both myself and the pleasantly-friendly idling attendant hoping for more baksheesh when he suddenly announced mid-sketch that he wanted to go back to the hotel. He was so self-evidently ill in fact that the attendant showed us a quick way out without even asking for baksheesh and we got back to the hotel and crashed. I think we're finally over it now and we plan to go back out for a good day's sightseeing tomorrow but we've both been knocked for six.

Probably because of this we've both been starting to feel quite homesick too. I'm reminded of White Fang's "unduly long summer" and both of us have been craving dew in the morning, darkening grey skies, mist in the air and on your breath, rain, cobwebs traced in intricate droplets, apples and horse and sweet chestnuts and fallen leaves, dark evenings and all the precious other beauties of England we had been so callously taking for granted. Porridge, looming firework nights, trees twisting under the burden of withering leaves, all of it, so beautiful and so very, very precious. Plus, in England, they do illness properly there, and I could have been having mugs of hot lemsips and soup and quirreling down into a duvet on a cold dark morning. After all, being ill in September when it's been cold and drizzly and the school plague-trade has just started makes a lot more sense than being ill when it's still 35 in the shade at noon and there's nary a cloud in the sky.

Somehow I feel diddled out of my rightful drizzle.

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