Our six o’clock awakenings were a long lie in compared to today’s 02:40 alarm call. Now that’s what I call an early start.
With sleeping babes in arms, we boarded the bus at about 03:25 and promptly found ourselves, not for the first time, in a heated exchange with someone trying to squeeze more juice out of the lemon. Well, this lemon doesn’t like to be squeezed.
This time, it was the bus driver, who was miffed that we hadn’t bought Eloïse a ticket, but the person at the reception desk from whom we purchased our tickets, had known we were travelling with children and had said nothing about requiring a ticket for either of them.
After I suggested we strap our daughter to the roof, he became so enraged that he drove the bus back to the hotel to continue the argument there. The night receptionist came out and called his colleague who had sold us the tickets on his mobile.
The ticket salesmen informed me that Eloïse would need to have her own ticket if she was to occupy a seat on the bus. My protest that he had not informed me of this fact at the time of the sale fell on (wilfully) deaf ears.
I could have demanded my money back at this point and, whilst that might have put him on the defensive to avoid losing all commission on the sale, it could just as easily have landed the whole family on the kerb outside the hotel, as the bus sped away without us. We were all awake now, in the middle of the night, and both practically and emotionally invested in going to أبو سمب (Abu Simbel).
Instead, I offered him half of the full price that he was demanding for the third ticket and he immediately agreed.
The bus finally got on its way and we got chatting to a couple of Australians as our children went back to sleep without much effort. Apparently, they, too, had had a run in with the bus driver when they got aboard. The minibus wasn’t even full, so it wasn’t about too many bums for too few seats; it was purely an effort to manoeuvre another tourist into a corner and extract some more money from him.
After a long wait at the police escort departure point, we were finally under way to Abu Simbel, arriving there at around 07:40. It was a rather dull drive with not much to see, although we did, of course, witness sunrise, a shining white metallic disc with a clearly defined edge rising over the desert.
The hotel had packed a couple of breakfasts for us to eat on the way, which contained some items that just about met the dictionary definition of food and some that fell some way short.
We had just two hours to see the temples before needing to be back at the minibus for the return journey to Aswan. From these 120 minutes, some were lost to immediate toilet stops, nappy changes and getting the children out of their pyjamas and into their day clothes.
Yet more time was lost queuing to get inside, as virtually everyone arrives at the same time, of course. Once through the gates, however, it was only a short walk along a circular path, with Lake Nasser on our right, to get to the temples.
There were thousands of tourists already milling around, but not one family with children, never mind a small child of Lukie’s age. That’s been pretty much our experience this entire trip, actually. You see a few people with children aged 5 (or thereabouts) and up, but no-one with a toddler of Lukie’s youthful years. Fellow tourists will occasionally tell us that they made a conscious decision to leave their children at home, rather than bring them to Egypt.
That all just goes to make me feel quite proud that we’ve done this trip with our two children. They’ve survived the suffocating heat, being permanently drenched in their own sweat and in possession of an unquenchable thirst. They’ve survived roughing it in dusty blankets in the cold desert, being manhandled by all and sundry, food that is at times quite unusual to them, visits to endless boring temples and tombs, and many other not insignificant hardships, such as not being able to go to the toilet when you want to and then finding yourself in a toilet so squalid that using it is only slightly more preferable to shitting yourself. They’ve weathered it all very well, especially Eloïse, who travels better than many an adult and hasn’t yet turned five. You’ll have to pardon me if I sound smug: I’m a proud parent.
Anyway, all of the hassle aside, the temples at Abu Simbel were breathtaking, and well worth getting up at 02:40 to go and see. For me, this site was far more impressive than the Valley of the Kings in Luxor and the pyramids at Giza. I’d unreservedly declare it a highlight of the entire trip.
As it turned out, the time allotted for our visit was just enough to be comfortable. We made it back to the bus in time and without feeling rushed.
While Sarah had been in the toilet, I’d purchased some snacks for consumption on the return journey. Beware of buying in the cafeteria here, because the prices can compete with those in the West in the silliness stakes. Make sure you haggle. I forgot to, because the context of a cafeteria setting aroused my social conditioning to an expectation of fixed prices. I paid the price of being lulled, quite literally.
The minibus left Abu Simbel shortly after ten o’clock, getting back to our hotel at around 13:30. During the journey back, another argument between one of the Australians and our bus driver flared up, resulting in the Australian’s calling the bus driver a “catfish eater”. Apparently, that’s some kind of insult around these parts.
Sarah went to the room with the children, while I demanded to see the hotel manager and geared myself up for another session of heated remonstration. I’m really getting quite good at this now, as the daily assault of multiple attempts to fuck me over is providing plenty of opportunity to hone my arguing skills.
Luckily, the manager was a far more reasonable man than either his minion or the bus driver. The extra fee for Eloïse’s seat on the bus was instantly waived and a complementary lemon juice was served up. OK, it was a transparent attempt to mollify me, but I was gasping for a drink by this point.
Egypt certainly is a lot of hassle. You can probably insulate yourself from a lot of it by travelling in a tour group. Everything is laid on for you then. As you leave the cruise ship and board the bus, someone sticks a bottle of mineral water in your left hand and an entrance ticket for the sight in question in your right. When you travel independently, you have to queue for tickets and there’s at least a 50% chance that the bloke who sells you your mineral water will try to short-change you. I’ve been short-changed today at least three times that I noticed and can recall. Who knows how many people have pulled a fast one on me when I was distracted or having a dimwitted moment?
Still, as much as I occasionally envy the ease of group travel, I’d never actually opt for the pre-packaged experience. The advantage of independent travel that offsets all of the hassle is the fact that you enjoy a unique experience. You will experience things that are unique to your trip, not shared with anyone else, except your own family. And, of course, there’s infinitely more flexibility in deciding where to go, what to do and where to stay.
After lunching on kushari, we took it easy for the rest of the day. It was supposedly 43°C when we arrived back in Aswan. We went for a dip in the hotel’s swimming pool and then wandered along the corniche to buy a well-deserved ice-cream.
Dinner was followed by a caleche ride back to the hotel, leaving us thoroughly spent for the day.
Tomorrow, we check out of our hotel and enjoy one last day in Aswan. At 19:00, we’ll catch the sleeper train back to Cairo, a journey that will take somewhere between twelve and fourteen hours, depending on who you believe.