Greetings All,

Back in 2005, I moved from Tunisia to Egypt. Those of you who read of my exploits in Sfax (See Sfaxian Tales), will know I was stuck on a project for BG, offshore the Tunisian coast. It was fun whilst it lasted, but eventually came to an end. My reward or possibly punishment; I wasn’t too sure which at the time, was to be moved onto Cairo. And so was born the Cairo Gazette.

For the first few months, I was based in the Sofitel on the Corniche, overlooking the river Nile. Cairo was something of a culture shock, even after Tunisia. Life was similar, but there was so much more of it. Sfax was a relatively small quiet place. Cairo most certainly wasn’t.

After a month or so, Wifey joined me for a week. Her job was to help look for a house and sort out schooling for the offspring. We were still living in N. Wales, but had decided that, rather than me rotating in and out every other month, the family would move full time to Egypt.

North Wales to Egypt. What could possibly go wrong?

Over the next few weeks, dear reader, I want to share our exploits with you as we adjust to life in Egypt. To start, let’s pick up the story as I prepare to move out of the hotel and into the new house.

June 2005

I’m in the desert. The Western Desert to be exact. Not far from the Qattara Depression and a few hundred km’s south of El Alamein. Its hot. Actually, its very hot, but then I suppose that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise.

This is my first site visit to look around some of the oil site assets I’m going to be responsible for rehabilitating. This week the desert and next week the Gulf of Suez. It’s an interesting sort of life.

Wifey flew home yesterday after 10 days of house hunting and school selection. I think she enjoyed it. In fact, I’m sure she had an absolute ball. The grin started when she got off the aeroplane and didn’t stop until she climbed back on yesterday. I think she is going to like Cairo.

She did a good job too, having selected the school and the house and even having gained a smattering of Scarabic.

Scarabic

Yes, Scarabic. A cross between Scottish and Arabic that is surprisingly effective. Especially when accompanied by a broad smile. You can use Scarabic to mispronounce and generally murder the language and people just smile back and feed you coffee to shut you up. This made her very happy. Actually, she did very well and was confidently ordering coffee, tea, silver jewellery, pictures, dresses, more dresses, shirts, did I mention dresses? All kinds of stuff and all with complete aplomb!

Her visit seemed to fly by. After breakfast, I would leave her to her own devices, whilst I went to the office to figure out what I am here to do. Its slow progress. True, I now have a desk, a chair, a phone, no PC, but a user account and a slightly better idea of what it is I’m here to do.

On the social side, we had a ball. I finally got around to visiting the pyramids at Giza, we tried a great seafood restaurant near the hotel, bought out an entire furniture shop, ( or so it seemed), went to the Egyptian museum and I was given a jelly belly as a present by my driver, Khaled.

The Great Pyramids of Giza

The pyramids were cool. Very big and very pyramiddy. We opted to go around them on horseback, avoiding the crowds and because, well, we like riding.

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I have to say, some of the horses we were offered were in very poor shape. We refused to go with several touts as the poor animals were in shocking condition. They were emaciated and looked good for nothing but the knackers yard. Eventually, we found some animals that looked better cared for. Still not what we are used to in the UK, but we paid an extra donation to buy some food for the worst looking examples.

I suppose we have to realise that there is none of the sentimentality associated with animals that you get in the UK, in places like this. Animals are here to work and if they can’t work then they are good for nothing except, perhaps, lunch. Even so, we were quite shocked by the condition of some. Our protests genuinely seemed to confuse the guys. On the ride out we passed the sorry remains of several poor animals who hadn’t survived the journey and I suspect that many more will go this way. o

It’s been years since I last rode properly, but, being a bloke I couldn’t admit that. So, as far as the bloke in charge was concerned, I may have been born in the saddle. Once we were in the desert proper behind the pyramids, he asked me if I fancied a gallop? Before I could say, “not on your nelly mate”, he had slapped the horse’s rump and we were off. Emaciated it might have been, but it was also very willing and kicked off at a tremendous pace This wasn’t helped by ‘Mohamed’ Piggot racing alongside me screaming like a thing possessed. 

I have to admit it was quite exhilarating once I regained my balance. Starting and stopping were the tricky parts. I was all over the place. Certainly less than the competent rider I was supposed to be. Despite my lack of elegance, I managed to stay on and avoid the many rocks strewn about. Of course, having failed to kill either me or the poor horse on this occasion, the gauntlet was down.

Each time I thought I was safe, there’s be a whoop and off we’d gallop again. Wifey had the great good sense to stay well out of all this and walked along quite sedately going, “oooh” and “aaahh” at the pyramids. I don’t think I so much as glanced at the flaming things being rather preoccupied with self preservation.

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We did pause for a couple of photo opportunities on a hill, a mile or so behind the pyramids. They really are quite spectacular. It’s amazing to think these things were built when the average Briton was running around naked, painting himself blue and wondering how best to balance one stone on top of another one. That said, things have regressed in Egypt. Based on the building work I have seen around town, I doubt they could repeat the feat today. I now subscribe to the “it was aliens” theory.

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The Egyptian Museum in Cairo

The Egyptian Museum was great. Very Egyptian and not just because it’s full of old pharoic stuff, but because of the seemingly complete lack of organisation. There is stuff everywhere. Sarcophagi, actual mummy’s. Tutankhamun’s treasures, including his squidgy bits in a jar. ( This led to a bit of a philosophical debate over the morals of basically desecrating someone’s grave and sticking them in a glass case for people to gawp at.) Click HERE to check it out

After a couple of hours, it did get a bit samey, even if in a fascinating kind of style. But as I was now in excruciating back pain from my horsey ordeal, I had had enough. And that’s my excuse. So the only decent thing to do was to find a bar and have a few purely medicinal beers.

Our driver had waxed lyrical about how wonderful the Egyptian museum is and how it was possible to spend days in there. So, being terribly British and not wanting to offend him, we sneaked out a side door and sloped off to a nearby hotel for a drink. We then sneaked back and pretended to emerge where he was waiting a couple of hours later. The things you do.

Actually on that subject, whilst in the museum, we came across a very confusing exhibit of mummified animals. All the cases had signs in Arabic, but no English translation. Seeing our confusion, a kind and obviously knowledgeable gentleman came to our aid and for the next 30 minutes explained everything in minute detail. At least I think he did. He couldn’t speak a word of English, or at least chose not to. We simply nodded and smiled as he spoke and gesticulated at the items within the cases. As soon as it seemed polite to do so, we bunged him a large tip, shook his hand and escaped.

The Fish Market

I mentioned a great sea-food restaurant we visited. Well, its called the Fish Market and it’s on the banks of the Nile near the  – surprise surprise – Fish Market. We ate heaps. Calamari, huge shrimp, red snapper, mullet, threadfin, heaps and heaps. All cooked to your specification, all served with various types of fresh bread and washed down with fresh fruit juice and cool water.

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Of course, it was all delicious and very cheap. Better yet was the cabaret. Only a few yards away, well within the range of a carefully aimed pitta bread, was a private jetty. On the jetty were a bunch of guys clay pigeon shooting. No kidding, sandwiched within 10 yards of two separate restaurants, a group of guys were firing 12 bores shotguns out, over the Nile. I wanted to have a go but they wouldn’t let me. It’s for military personnel only, apparently.

They were crap shots too, I could have looked really good. I like Clay Pigeon shooting and, if I say so myself, am quite good at it. There were a lot of Feluhkas, little boats taking tourists on sailing trips, passing underneath the firing range. This didn’t seem to make any difference. The shooters carried on regardless. The boats must have been getting peppered with stray shot. I didn’t notice the passengers wearing hard hats or flak jackets, but, well, it all adds to the excitement I suppose.

On the shopping front, having chosen a house, the contract for which I signed yesterday, Wifey discovered a wonderful little furniture shop. Having discovered it, she bought it. Honestly, I’m going to be working for the next 5 years to pay for the furniture. It is very nice and it is all made from hardwood and it is all hand made to order. The 17 beds, 25 side tables, 22′ dining table with 112 chairs, 5 three-piece suites, 19 coffee tables, 100 or so wardrobes and various sideboards plus other little pieces should be ready by Christmas 2006. Of course, I may be exaggerating ever so slightly.

The Fashion Statement

And finally to the Jelly-belly. Well, I can’t spell the actual word. It’s something like “jellebiya” and refers to the long robe-like thing that the guys tend to wear out here. I now have a long white one, courtesy of Khalad, my driver. It’s very cool in a temperature sense and extremely comfortable. Sadly, given the cultural differences between me and the average Egyptian, I feel a complete plonker in it. But as it was a gift, I was obliged to try it on and pose for a photo.

I’ll say one thing, I now understand the concern ladies have about visible panty line. Also, rather like wearing a kilt, the question seems to be what does one wear with regard to underwear, as your pants are clearly on display. Not that I have any intention of ever wearing it in public. Mind you, with a nice pair of slingbacks who knows.

And on that slightly alarming note, I bid you all a fond farewell until next time.

Graham

(If you want to try riding around the pyramids, I would suggest avoiding the touts that grab you at Giza. There are some reputable firms that care for their animals and through which you can book in advance. Try here.)