I’m pretty sure it’s Thursday today. That means we leave Egypt tomorrow for Jordan. I can say we’ll be leaving relatively unscathed in a global political sense but drilling down, there has been a couple of tweaks health wise. Overall we’ve managed a resounding pass considering this place’s reputation but no perfect score unfortunately. Last Saturday I was what an old boss used to call half f…d and let go. 14 hours sleep fixed that. Today the child bride got a fit of the vapours which is what I understand ladies get in these hot climates if their corsets are too tight or something. The CB had ditched the corset for today but was still wearing her wobbly boots.

The temple of Philae on an island in Lake Nasser is dedicated to Isis the goddess of healing (amongst other things) ironically enough considering the CB’s fainting spell. Incidentally, this is the largest man-made lake in the world and sits behind the High Aswan Dam. The temple has accommodated religious activities from the Pharaonic era, the Greek era, the Roman era and the era of Christianity so there’s quite a celestial turf warfare going on there. So when the CB went all glassy eyed, started shaking and sliding down the wall we were leaning against I didn’t know if she needed a chocolatier or an exorcist. After a sugar hit, a wet hanky round the neck and 15 minutes of vigorous hat waiving to keep the temple air moving around her and the spirits at bay, she began to function again. So an easy afternoon today and we’ll skip the boat ride which’ll show us stuff we’ve already seen from the land.

Tomorrow’s another 4.00am start. For God’s sake, we’re supposed to be on vacation and these things are meant to be relaxing. This one’s been in the vein of “if it’s Thursday, this must be Belgium” as we charge from one temple to the next like a rampaging Alexander the Great. His generals poisoned him because he wanted to carry on conquering, whereas they wanted to smell the roses or whatever was growing in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, after a decade long rape and pillage tour of the middle east. So our tour guide had better tap the brakes occasionally.

It’s now tomorrow and we have seen our last Egyptian temple or temples actually. The two at Abu Simbel down near the Sudanese border are basically a “get a load of this” to travellers from the south who may not be conversant with the Egyptians’ ability to build humongous edifices, the message being, “If we can do that to a mountain, it doesn’t bear thinking about what we can do to you if you step out of line. And by the way, do you want to buy this worthless trinket for only $1.”

Three flights later we are in the departure area of Cairo Airport. Back when I was travelling every month it was very unusual for me to travel on an airline I hadn’t experienced before apart from one of the occasional pop-ups that did the Kaohsiung/Taipei run in Taiwan. There were numerous airlines doing that then, in anticipation of being able to expand across the strait to service big brother. So much for that and probably most of them no longer exist. I’m referring to Egypt Air here. I never had a reason to come to Egypt previously so never travelled on their airline. I’ve now done four flights with them with one more, to Amman later today. Hopefully the admin isn’t a reflection of the other important stuff vis-a-vis airlines. We flew from Abu Simbel to Aswan then on to Cairo today. Same plane and flight number with a short stop in Aswan. But we were given different boarding passes for each leg so despite staying on the plane, our seats changed. What a cluster f…k. Forty people.all trying to move one row back or across. It was like a geriatric game of Twister – not a pretty sight.

The pace up until yesterday was relentless. To achieve what has to be achieved in the time allotted means all timepieces need to be synchronised, all loins should be girded and all starters should be on the grid with engines gurgling and there is no allowance for oversleeping (day 1 in Cairo), taking 1 hour camel rides when the window is half an hour (also day 1 in Cairo), lingering and adjusting for far too long over each photo (ongoing), just generally being really slack at time management (ongoing) and getting lost (day 3). Lost time cannot be made up when itineraries are to be slavishly followed. It just extends the day so on all of our heads be it.

The day we flew to Luxor started with a 4.00am wake-up call (shudder), a painfree traverse of Cairo Airport’s multiple security checks (you have to keep reminding yourself where you are) until we got to the gate. Then a full airbus A330 had to put its collective hand luggage through one secuity screening machine. A thoroughly modern airport with thoroughly India 1980’s procedures. This was followed by a one hour, ontime flight thankfully. Then the waiting began.

After half an hour three suitcases appeared on the baggage carousel. Those who triumphantly claimed them were immediately brought crashing back to earth when they realised they had to wait for the rest of us. This continued for another half hour or so as the occasional bag appeared. I assumed the worse. Maybe one of the baggage handlers was asleep and the other one’s wheelbarrow was broken. Or maybe they were only releasing bags after rifling through our undies looking for hidden jewels as has been customary here for thousands of years. Eventually the rest of our luggage came cascading out presumably when the futility of trying to open our bags became obvious. If only the Pharaoh’s tombs had the same locks as the modern suitcase, countless  treasures would be intact.

Getting out of the airport carpark meant battling four lanes of traffic for one security lane. A big lumbering bus doesn’t lose its place in the queue easily so after another half hour crawl we were on our way. It was now over eight hours since we’d dragged ourselves out of bed in Cairo and there was still a tourist itinerary to complete. A few hours at Karnak, the biggest temple complex in the world was followed by checking in to our Nile cruise boat then a traipse round Luxor temple then back to Karnak for the light and sound show before getting back to the boat for dinner at about 10.00pm. The previous day in Cairo was the same. It’s fair to say we are not the fittest bunch of safari campers so it’s also fair to say the gathering this morning for another temple visit resembled the aftermath of Rourke’s Drift.

Most of the people we have got to know on this trip are keen travellers like the CB and I so are determined to battle the fatigue and the heat to take in the wonders of ancient Egypt – that’s why we came here after all, although for those who struggle walking up stairs, let alone in and out of underground tombs, you have to wonder. There has however been one activity which got zero takers. An early morning (bloody 5.00am again) ballon ride over the Valley of Kings and the much smaller (I have no comment) Valley of Queens was given an almighty swerve when our guide pointed out that of the five companies offering this service, the one they used was the one that has yet to lose a passenger overboard. You’d have to assume the odds are shortening.

This is one example of conformity. In many other fields of human activity we are annoyingly consistent. So despite the guides telling us to sit in different places on the bus each day there are some who don’t with one pair always snagging the seats immediately behind the central stairwell. I think she sleeps there. At the meal tables on our Nile cruise ship, the Royal Lotus, people sit at the same table in the same seats for breakfast lunch and dinner. Except me who moves around, much to the CB’s occasional chagrin. Bugger the cliques which are beginning to form like our version of Mean Girls. No, that’s unfair but it was the most apt simile I could think of. As The Cars used to sing, “Shake it up”.

Mike Tyson, that great American philosopher once opined “everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth”. The CB and I had a plan to see everything possible in this fascinating place. We were fully stocked with appropriate medicinal provisions and know the ropes as far as what to eat and drink. What we and everyone else cannot plan for is the rather important need to breathe. Not sure if the air was the problem but on Saturday I was punched in the face by something that emptied my energy banks and every void in my body. As I have mentioned previously in similar circumstances, I probably dropped a couple of hat sizes when that trapdoor opened, nearly turning me inside out. So we missed out on the Coptic churches but made it to the Pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx. 14 hours of sleep later I was back on my game.

Any thought that the tourist trade was going to suffer because of the war next door was swiftly allayed once we hit the first tourist traps. We are everywhere and it seems the majority of us speak Spanish. Spanish pushing and shouting is going some way to off-setting the seven century occupation of Spain by North African muslims.

Our tourist group did not wait long to implement a tradition which is now five days old. Someone always has to be late. After wandering around the Stepped Pyramid the CB and I climbed on to what looked like a full bus (it wasn’t) and someone pointed out playfully (I think) that we were last (we weren’t), to which I replied that I thought it was our turn. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem – c’est la vie, right. But as I shall explain in #6, there are implications.

Pyramids took around 20 years to build 4000 years ago with the most primitive of tools but a large lick of ingenuity. Had they been building them in Victoria today I’m sure the Victorian Government and the CFMMEU would have managed to stretch it out to 25 with the most sophisticated technology available and the ingenuity of one of those large blocks of stone. And the taxpayer would foot the bill. The Queensland Government would have announced with great fanfare the construction of the biggest Pyramid in the world, only for the benefit of Queenslanders and then forgotten about it two years later, having built nothing.

In Australia, we have a number of naturally occurring geomorphological phenomena like Ayres Rock and Mount Warning. These have been around for millions of years withstanding everything weather and climate could throw at them. But we’re not allowed to touch them. So you will excuse  my surprise when we were invited to climb on one of the seven wonders of the ancient world – the great Pyramid of Giza. We can get up close and personal with relatively recent (but ancient in civilisation terms) history but we are prevented from climbing on or up things millions of years older than the 60000 year old culture which places them off-limits. Why? Similarly, I’m yet to be locked out of a temple, cathedral or mosque because of its religious significance.

There are some iconic attractions in the world which tend to disappoint when you actually see them, like the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo which are much smaller than expected and for some, the Leaning Tower of Pisa falls into the same category. And there are others which completely overwhelm you like the Acropolis (did it for me) or the Himalayas. The Pyramids of Giza fall into the latter category and I hesitate to say the Spinx is hovering between the two categories but when placed into historical context slips into the latter.

The pyramids are stunning and would be even more stunning without all of the big-mouthed vendors trying to sell us mini-pyramids and other tat. One assured us he had a doctor brother in Brisbane and apparently this meant we deserved a bag full of free stuff…but with a small donation. This was the starting gun. We didn’t have time for the fun and games which were only just beginning so gave him his bag back and merged back into the very large crowd. An entirely different experience was had in a market later, where we got the CB’s fridge magnets. For me it’s t-shirts wherever we go; for her it’s fridge magnets. Anyway the vendor wanted 80 Egyptian pounds (about 4 Aussie dollars) for one. We bought 3 off him for 100 pounds.

I’m guessing that the richest person in this part of the world is the one who has the sun glasses franchise. There’s lots of sand obviously, and lots of sandstone, again, obviously and limestone (not so obviously). Consequently the vast majority of buildings and most of the ground replicate the colour range of the late great Richie Benaud’s jackets – white, off-white, ivory, cream, beige, tan etc. That’s one for the cricket fans. The point of this being that the glare is ubiquitous. The only respite, apart from night is the occasional patch of green which, if it’s not a football pitch is a fig orchard (if that’s the correct terminology). Grass is so rare it could be a tradeable commodity. That’s couch type grass not mary jane.

On the drive west from Alexandria out to El Alamein we passed countless well appointed holiday homes on the north i.e. sea side of the road.  Either sun-glasses-man has a lot of relatives or there is a large middle class in Cairo. On the south i.e. desert side of the road were very large palatial homes (for extended families) built by the government for Bedouins. Not sure if there’s any conclusion to be drawn from this separation so we’ll let it lie. The Bedouins must have been on walkabout and it isn’t summer so we drove past mile after mile of empty houses both sides of the road. Egypt’s lucky it doesn’t have an open border like the USA or the government would be finding people to place in those empty houses although unlike in the USA, it’s unlikely many would come from North Africa. They’re all in hotels in Manhattan.

Driving back to Cairo from El Alamein we must have taken a different and inland highway because there was no sign of life or the Mediterranean Sea or human existence for that matter and the topography was as featureless as a catwalk model’s smile. So much of this place is unlivable its amazing they’ve been able to fit over 100 million people in. I guess you do what all overpopulated parts of the world do and that is stack them on top of each other.

Which brings me to culture and how we interpret the same things differently which is the  definition of culture I guess. Someone on our trip made the point that all of the things Egypt is famous for relate to death. The explanation is that everything to do with life – houses for example – were made of things that didn’t survive the ravages of time whereas the oldest monuments to death are pushing a stony 5000 years and counting.

Speaking of death, today’s cemeteries don’t quite have the grandeur of the Valley of Kings but also aren’t quite what we in the west are used to. They don’t comprise a majority of individual plots. In Cairo (and probably elsewhere in Egypt) you don’t have a plot you have a high-walled burial enclosure. We don’t want anyone presumed dead escaping and spoiling the wake, do we? There are three sections in your enclosure; one for the men, one for the women and one for the bones. So when one section is full or you couldn’t be bothered going deeper, you shift someone from the male or female sections into the bone section. Any slim chance you thought you might have had of your fossilised remains being discovered by some robot archaeologist a million years hence, are toast. Ashes to ashes, dust dust. But in keeping with the ancient Egyptians’ providing for their dear departed’s afterlife, some of these burial enclosures come with satellite dishes.

This blog is usually an irreverent snap-shot of the CB’s and my travels (and anything else I can think of). For this piece I intend shelving the irreverence because the subject matter is far too serious. On Friday we visited the El Alamein War Memorial and Cemetery. If that place doesn’t bring a tear to your eye, you’re a harder man than me, mate.

In what was probably once an inhospitable desert wasteland and now is adjacent to holiday homes and resorts and a few buildings that wouldn’t be out of place in Singapore there’s this beautifully manicured but entirely unfortunate place. It’s such a shame that these places even need to exist but they do and kudos to the Governments of Egypt and Australia and the other countries with war-dead there for the respectful upkeep. It’s the least we could do.

As I wandered around reading the occasional gravestone – there are thousands – waves of emotion swept over me. If I could digress for a second, when I write reports for my employer, certain words often remind me of songs or comedy sketches or even poems and, this will be hard to believe, quotations from Shakespeare. So I reference and link them in my reports. If anything, they give the intended audience a reason to read the report if they are not interested in the coal and iron ore markets. So I always have my music with me and on this day the most appropriate feeling was Comfortably Numb. Pink Floyd aficionados will recognise this song from The Wall, appropriately enough, in the circumstances, an album with many references to war although this particular song is about being medicated to be able to perform a concert. Notwithstanding this, there are lines in the second and fourth verses that fit the mood perfectly.

So the emotion was “coming through in waves” and you hoped for their sake, at that pivotal moment as these young men (I didn’t see any female names on the stones) slipped from one life which they had hardly sampled into the next phase of existence that, “there is no pain you are receding”. Gilmour’s soaring guitar solo in the middle of the song will forever remind me of that revered place.

The ages of the occupants ranged from 19 to 42 that I saw. One of our travel companions said she saw a 17 year old. At least the 42 year old got to live part of a life. Not so the teenagers and twenty-somethings. What a bloody waste.

They were buried in individual graves mostly but occasionally multiple graves. One I saw was the resting place of five. God knows what happened and what the aftermath looked like for those poor buggers. It doesn’ really bear thinking about other than to pay respects to those who quite literally picked up the pieces after the shelling and fighting subsided to afford these young men some semblance of a respectful laying to rest.

Winston Churchill said the allies had not won a battle prior to El Alamein and didn’t lose one after. So in a world that is fast approaching a point where we don’t deserve the freedoms these men fought for, we need to be reminded of the achievements of the VC’s, the MC’s and the DSO’s, the airmen, the infantry and the engineers, the privates, the sergeant’s and 23 year old captains. And thank them.

Some things here are not quite as they seem. The bar in this hotel is my type of authentic – wood panelling, leather chairs, red carpet, soft music and lighting and very few people. Don’t get me wrong; I love loud music but there’s a time and a place. Last night was perfect until 12 Americans turned up and immediately implemented a talking competition. Before announcing who I thought the winner was and suggesting they take a well-earned break after some intensive participation, we withdrew lest a diplomatic incident ensue.

But back to the original subject. 0n arriving in said bar and after perusing the drinks menu, I ordered two beers – a Stella for me and a Heineken for the CB. Now there’s not much slight of hand to be achieved with Heineken other than perhaps a sly spelling switch of the e and i. Notwithstanding errant typos, a Heineken is a Heineken wherever you are. But regarding Stella, those of you with even a peripheral understanding of the beer world will have noticed that there’s a word missing. Stella is in fact Stella Artois, the famous Belgian sharp, crisp, ice-cold drop which slaked many a Thursday afternoon thirst after golf until my club infamously stopped stocking it. I still haven’t forgiven them for that. This Stella’s imposter status was obvious as it approached, perched on the immaculately liveried waiter’s tray. The label was not red and white. It was yellow and blue. Gasp!! And it said “Authentic Egyptian lager”. I’d have been really peeved if it hadn’t been so good.

The CB and I have decided that sight-seeing is best done in this part of the world with a guide and security as discussed in The Dry Argument #1. We got back to the hotel this afternoon after a pretty full day and decided that rather than go for a walk and possibly risk, well, let’s leave it there, we’d observe the very popular park and square next to our hotel on one side and the ocean on another from the relative safety of the bar. As if to justify our decision, just now numerous police cars and ambulances with lights flashing and sirens blaring have edged past the hotel. Traffic moves for no one in this place. To us it looked like Armageddon. To the two guys running the bar – meh. Maybe the coppers and ambos were going home for dinner and were time constrained.

So far this post has been consistent with the theme suggested by the title (in a satirical way because this is hardly dry) with the hotel bar figuring prominently, despite my pathetic attempt in the Prologue to deflect. And I just thought of the most ridiculous answer to a question I am yet to determine for that silly quiz show Jeopardy, where the answers are questions. In this case it’s “What is a Middle East pub crawl?”

Let’s change the subject….sort of. While considering things that begin with “b”, how about beds. There are 9 people on the Alexandria excursion – 4 couples and one single. Our guide went to great pains to establish who wanted a double room and who wanted a single as we approached Alexandria. This information was then conveyed to the hotel. With only 5 choices and four of them being the same, the margin for error was up there with Donald Trump losing the 2020 presidential election. So the CB and I got two single beds and Bill from Sydney did a Biden and got our double (I’m surmising) without even trying. After 19 hours of flying and two connections then a long day in the Egyptian sun, supplemented by some Egyptian wine – yes they do – which is not preserved with anti-freeze, absolutely not, we are ready for any flat surface. To sleep on. Proximity will not be an issue tonight.

As the child bride and I get closer to Cairo, the frequency of Australian accents becomes valuable currency. If this trip is to end in tears, we want to be able to spread them around rather than be the only two infidels at the riot. We have just found out there are 9 on our extra trip to Alexandria and the full complement of 40 for the rest of the trip. How’s that for steadfastness in the face of rather challenging circumstances. If we all lived in New Hampshire in the USA we’d have their state motto tatooed on our foreheads – “live free or die”.

Speaking of challenging, wifi isn’t working as I write this in our room in Alexandria’s delightfully dated Steigenberger Cecil Hotel, built in 1936 I believe. The child bride and I shall be heading to the bar shortly because it’s a dry….you know the rest. Besides, there’s bugger-all on the 83 TV channels. TV in the Steigenberger consists of the BBC, CNN, numerous channels beginning with Al, lots of European channels (excluding the UK) and a documentary showing a re-run of 1973’s Yom Kippur war with a surprise ending.

We’ve now moved onto the first day-proper of this tour of duty and have already done a few things where you stand back, take in the full majesty or significance of what’s spread out before you, and say to each other, “this is why we came here”. We did it as the sun came up over the Anapurnas in Nepal. Here it was the Catacombs of Kom El Shoqafa and/or Pompey’s Pillar, take your pick. In respect of the latter, its historical significance and its imposing presence should not be diminished by the murder there of two Jewish tourists and their guide by a terrorist policeman on Sunday, four days ago. You wouldn’t know now because we walked through the same area where this atrocity occurred. But outside, as we left in the bus, the security presence was palpable. I didn’t notice when we arrived but we were early. Maybe they only work banker’s hours.

Speaking of security, we have our own. Despite not noticing the full extent of the security presence as we arrived at the various attractions, I had noticed quite a few young, fit looking grey suited gentlemen in addition to those wearing uniforms and bullet-proof vests and carrying automatic weapons. We had one of these grey-suited gentlemen on our bus (as did others, I assume) and he accompanied us to and from and around. He had an easily identifiable bulge on his hip under his jacket also. I’m not sure if his presence makes me feel better or worse – he’ll be with us tomorrow when we go to El Alamein. Concealed carry is a controversial subject in the USA. I’m pretty okay with it here as long as the concealment is in my favour.

If we can now take this discussion in the complete opposite direction, something rather pleasant and amusing was happening to us all as we made our tortuous way through streets made by people who never in their wildest dreams imagined a full-size passenger bus. Our driver managed u turns in places where I wouldn’t drive a shopping trolley. So slow was it that we would have been able to discuss the weather (let’s keep it non-controversial, remembering where we are) with passers-by if we could wind the windows down. No, these people were all smiling at us and waving to us – kids going to school, vendors sitting outside their shops smoking durries, old blokes watching the world go by as they sat drinking coffee. How nice I thought as we all waved back. But later, in keeping with the times I thought “do they know something we don’t?” Shame, really.