Friday, 23 February, off to Egypt. We will fly out from London Heathrow at 17.25 and arrive in what has been explained to me as ‘the filthiest city in the world’; Cairo at 20.45. I am expecting more than filth, I am expecting Cairo to be chaotic, churning the old with the new in one big messy, sensory city.
We arrived into Cairo just a little after midnight and the airport transfer that we had organized prior to leaving failed to meet us at the airport. Not ideal, but a small hurdle really and it does tend to be these experiences that generate the stories to tell friends and family on your return. This hiccup was eased by an especially friendly security guard that kindly found us a taxi. To my surprise we paid what I understand to be a standard price (unfamiliar for Adam and I as we are most often the ones getting ripped of despite our best efforts to avoid it). And other than the ominous back streets we drove down that made me somewhat nervous, and the fact that he held onto what should have been our change, we arrived safe and sound at our tour hotel. Tired and eager for food and sleep we approached the hotel reception. It may not surprise you, due to the nature of our arrival that the reception staff looked at us blankly when we explained we had organized pre-tour accommodation for the evening. It was certainly a relief that despite our lack of reservation they did not hesitate in allocating us a room for the evening.
Cairo is a rather confronting city on first meeting, seemingly more so for a woman. I do not intend for this to sound disparaging rather this was my personal observation.
To be continued...
