Independent Thought

>> Saturday, 4 April 2009

We're still in Egypt, and still on the tourist trail, but as usual on Potty Family Holidays, under our own steam.

I am simultaneously both blessed and cursed in the fact that my husband loves ‘independent’ travel. Blessed, because it means we get to do things at our own (for which - more often than not - read ‘his’) pace, and cursed because it means that we frequently step outside the comfortable numbness of package tour organisation.

When, for example, I went over our itinerary with an Egyptian friend recently, she looked at me as if we were stark raving mad. All I had done was mention that we had organised an over-night sleeper train from Giza to Luxor, and that the Boys were incredibly excited about this fact. She tried to hide it of course, but when I asked her if she had ever done the same thing herself I could tell she was biting back the words ‘Take my son on one of those death traps? Over my dead body.’

As we stood on the platform at Giza on a warm evening, and train after dilapidated train rattled through full to the brim of soldiers dimly visible through what looked like the candlelight inside, I have to say that I did begin to question the wisdom of our choice of transport...

The look of wonder and excitement on the Boys’ faces though when the sleeper train finally pulled in were enough to make me decide that we were doing the right thing. Experiences like this one - especially when you're five and three years old - don’t come along every day. The train wasn’t the smartest I’ve ever been on, sure, but it was safe, and clean enough for me to be happy to put them to sleep in the bunks. Although ‘sleep’ was not something I got much of when Boy #1 decided variously at 2 hour intervals that he wanted water, was scared (of the dark rather than anything in particular), and wanted water again, and that I was ‘it’ in dealing with these problems...

We then spent the next two days visiting Luxor’s ancient ruins and tombs, swimming in the hotel pool, and drifting along the Nile watching the sunset. We also – just in case you thought this was all as easy as falling off a log - were still outside the protective arms of any holiday company, so found ourselves haggling prices with taxi drivers, being harassed to buy tickets simply to look at a view, and refusing to stop at alabaster factories where the taxi –driver was a member of the family, and the ground outside was strewn invitingly with cigarettes and glittering stone chippings.

And if you ever find yourself in the Valley of the Kings with time to visit only 3 tombs, the only one worth bothering with is Tomb No. 47. Don’t say I never tell you anything...

And today we stepped still further outside my comfort zone. It’s common, I know, for holiday-makers in the Red Sea resorts to make day trips to Luxor to see the glories of Ancient Egypt. The thing about these journeys though is that you are cocooned in air-conditioned luxury, high up, and looking down on the countryside passing you by. If, however, your husband has organised a taxi (admittedly of the air-conditioned van type, with of course those all-important rear seat belts) to make the same 4 hour trip in the opposite direction to the next destination on your independently organised holiday, you are at ground level. In, you might almost say, the line of fire.

On the plus side you notice the incredible diversity of the crops grown in the Nile Valley, a triumph of endeavour over heat. You see the actual moment when the lush greenery of the Nile Valley gives way abruptly to the arid plains of the first real desert you've ever experienced. But you also see - and worry about - every hand-signal oncoming bus and taxi drivers give your car to let them know there is radar / police / the army around the next corner. You feel the bump of every stick of sugar cane littering the road - and there are a lot - and see every sleeping policeman in the road approaching the army road-blocks, of which there are approximately one every 10 – 20 km, often with more around large towns.

You look right into the mud huts that so many people still live in, and the contrast with your own comfortable 21st century life couldn't be clearer. You see the locals running for the mini-buses with lunchboxes in one hand and rifles slung over their other shoulder. You can hear the wailing of the girl who has clearly broken her arm in the horrific looking pile-up on the side of the road. And you want to stop and help, but not only does your taxi-driver speed up to get past the danger zone as soon as possible, but you are too worried about your sons in the back seat to risk their safety.

In short, you realise that Egypt, whether you properly understood it before you arrived or not, is not the South of France. Diluted though it might be, you are in Africa.

8 comments:

The Gossamer Woman 4 April 2009 at 17:28  

Yes, well now I worry about your safety and the wisdom of this bohemian way of traveling that your husband has organized. It's not exactly a civilized country in the general sense, is it, no matter how many nice people live there. It all sounds rather slap dash and dangerous and malicious. Exactly why did you want to go there with two little children? I wonder about the wisdom of the whole thing, while I sit here safely in my Dutch apartment.

Iota 4 April 2009 at 19:01  

Um, certainly an experience.

Good for you.

Coding Mamma (Tasha) 4 April 2009 at 20:50  

Sounds amazing! (But do take care, please.)

More than Just a Mother 5 April 2009 at 09:27  

You are braver than I. I'm coveting a week at Centreparks, where the tip about tomb 47 may well not apply.

Potty Mummy 5 April 2009 at 13:48  

Irene, don't worry, we're fine - it's just that occassionally I look at what we do on holiday and question the wisdom of some of it!

Iota, there are so many more daring things we could do, but of course with the boys in tow am adamant they're not going to happen. This is as close to the edge as I'm willing to get - and it's still around a mile away!

Tasha, whatever you do don't tell your husband any of this. He'll just use it as ammo the next time you mention you'ld like to come here - and it's worth it, believe me!

More Than, Centreparks sounds good too. And there would probably be fewer flies...

Rubberbacon 6 April 2009 at 01:47  

Wow, that was a riveting story. I've experienced similar crazy taxi drivers in mainland China but without the accidents and guns.

Mud in the City 6 April 2009 at 12:36  

It is harder to do it that way - especially with small boys - but you get sooo omuch more out of it.

Package hols can blend into one another over the years. But you won't forget this Egyptian experience.

Hope you get some relaxation though!

nappy valley girl 6 April 2009 at 23:52  

Well I think it sounds wonderful. Well done for getting out there and seeing the country properly, rather than following the middle class London crowd and doing Mark Warner or something.

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