Public transport from isolated diving camps in the desert of southern Egypt is understandably pretty scarce. So all things considered, I think we did pretty well to get to Luxor at all. The story goes like this:
10pm Tuesday - get in clapped out old ute with old guy who speaks Arabic (and incidentally is overweight, smelly, burps and spits a lot). Drive to nearest town to wait for 10.30pm public bus to Edfu.
10.45pm Tuesday - keep waiting. Try to ignore phlegm being spat out window every five minutes. Smile and nod in reply to incomprehensible questions in arabic.
11.30pm Tuesday - bus comes. Put backpacks on. Take backpacks off again. We're not allowed to ride the public bus to Edfu. Tourists have to take a transfer to Safaga, and then a military armed convoy to Luxor. Too bad that it takes an extra six hours (think going Wellington to New Plymouth via Gisbourne). Thank goodness for our spitting ute driver who shouted at the bus driver and made him take us (I think he wanted to go home to bed and be rid of these silly divers who couldn't even speak arabic).
11.45pm Tuesday - board bus. Drive down middle of road with no lights on. Wake whole bus as the three bus drivers have shouting match over whether to keep these damn tourists on their bus.
12.30am Wednesday - decide to keep damn tourists and charge them double for their tickets.
1.30am Wednesday - James fast asleep. Catherine looking at imposing moonlit sand dunes out window, listening to Egyptian radio and breathing second hand Egyptian smoke.
2.25am Wednesday - cover white face with scarf as we pass through police check. Try to look Egyptian.
4.00am Wednesday - arrive in middle of nowhere. Thrown off bus. Surrounded by confused locals. Accept offer of "taxi" to "hotel" for "thirteen" egyptian pounds. Get in rusty, falling apart ute with a piece of wire holding the door almost in place.
4.15am Wednesday - keep breathing as mentally unstable fifteen year old floors it and "taxi" threatens to fall apart over the river Nile. Arrive at "hotel" and pay thirty pounds to our crazy taxi driver.
4.30am Wednesday - accept room for $7.50 NZ (3 quid). Reach new lows in standard of accommodation. Thank Kathmandu for our trusty sleep sacks and try to ignore the brown and grey stained sheets. Turn fan up high so noise drowns out sound of creepy crawlies scurrying round the room.
5.30am Wednesday - call to prayer. Loudspeaker just beside our window. Reach for earplugs.
6am Wednesday - sunrise. Wish there were curtains. Put t-shirt over eyes to block sun.
7.30am Wednesday - go to toilet. Return to room to brace myself and mentally prepare for going to the toilet. Take a deep breath.
7.32am Wednesday - stop breathing. Try to ignore human turd on floor beside toilet. Try to ignore rat poo in shower. Keep still to avoid urine on floor seeping up the soles of my shoes. Pee carefully to avoid splashback from someone else's gastro problems.
7.33am Wednesday - start breathing. Disinfect self with multiple baby wipes and hand sanitiser. Attempt to repress memory.
8.45am Wednesday - eat muesli bar that was too gross to eat in France, but seems delicious now in it's hygenically sealed plastic wrapper.
9.25am Wednesday - nice guy who actually lives in this hotel (it's very hard to understand) drives us to train station and helps us get a ticket. There are no tickets. So he waits with us.
9.30am Wednesday - board train with nice guy who gets us a seat despite lack of tickets. He won't even take a tip for his help, he just says he's so sorry about the crazy taxi driver from last night who ripped us off (by a whole $4.50 NZ). What a sweetie!
10am Wednesday - watch daily life along Nile valley. Buy a ticket on the train.
11am Wednesday - arrive in Luxor! Made it!
Oh, and while we were in Luxor, we went to the Valley of the Kings and saw heiroglyphic paintings in King Ramses' tomb that were 7,000 years old, and Queen Hatchepsout's temple, and the Colossus of Memnon - but it's all about the journey and not the destination, right?!
