27 November to 3 December

Leaving the White Desert, Hamada had recommended I go to Cairo to catch the night train to Luxor, although Giza, the other option, was an hour closer. The driver was a kind man who spoke English fairly well–and far better than I spoke Arabic with only a few expressions I’d managed to learn– and didn’t seem to mind. His daughter of seven or eight, who he’d brought along, and showed considerable tenderness towards, quietly looked out the window or chatted softly with her father to pass the four-hour drive. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail (she was too young to wear the hijab), wore a shirt with pink flowers, pink pants, and would have fit in anywhere back home as she munched on some potato chips and oranges.

We left the quiet of the desert long behind and once again we were moving very slowly amongst the throngs of varied vehicles. I watched the chaotic life of Cairo from the relative quiet of the car’s interior. The driver dropped me off near the main train station–cars were not allowed to pull up directly for security reasons– and after some wandering back and forth found, with the help of a local, the proper ticket window, where the seller told me “There is no train from Cairo to Luxor tonight. It leaves from Giza and you will have to go there.” I can’t say I was pleased. Fortunately it was only 4:30 pm and the train left in three hours. And so I took the metro a few stations–in the women only car–and found a cafe at the station, again with the help of locals, where I could wait a couple of hours. I sat at a table by a window with a view of the tracks and other travelers. The local trains were packed to capacity. The cafe would fill and empty with mostly large groups of Chinese tourists towing huge suitcases and wearing fashionable attire. Their Egyptian guides had mastered their tongue and took drink orders for them as they waited for their trains.

I still had a few hours for my train to arrive and ordered a tea from the young waiter who displayed a winning smile. He was particularly friendly and on several occasions offered to teach me some expressions in Arabic. Wishing to return the favor, I asked him, using Google Translate, if there was anything he wished to say in English.  I was surprised when he wanted to ask me if I was married. And if I could help him with a visa.

The “luxury” night train was available for tourists at the exorbitant price of $110. Locals pay far less. The narrow compartment and bed, small sink, and shared toilet in the hall provided little “luxury”. It did however give me an opportunity to save a day and not spend 10+ hours on the day train .

I arrived at the Luxor train station at 4am weary from little sleep.  Few people got off the train with me. Most tourist groups stayed on to Aswan, arriving at a reasonable hour, and visited Luxor later. The station was nearly empty, but a young man approached me. He offered me a taxi ride and said he would give me a “good price.” I hadn’t made any reservations, but had a hotel in mind. Too tired to bother seeing exactly where the hotel was I was happy to get there and agreed on 50 Egyptian pounds, about $2.80. The young man was very polite, and helped me with my bag. I would find out later the usual price was 20 to 30 Egyptian pounds. However, I considered my money well spent.

There would be many times throughout my stay in Egypt when I thought of the following: Shortly after September 11, 2001, I went to Times Square in NYC. I do not recall why. Although living in Manhattan at the time, I’d rarely go there, finding the crowds tiresome, unless I had to. But this time Times Square was eerily quiet. Tourists had cancelled their travel plans and the feeling of being abandoned by the world added to my sorrow. Although it took the city years to heal, tourists came back relatively quickly. And I never minded the crowds in Times Square after that. Tourism is crucial to Egypt’s economy and has been profoundly affected for many years by terrorist attacks and the 2011 revolution. People here were doing their best to get by, and it took little sacrifice on my behalf to lend a hand.

The East Bank of Luxor is where one will find Karnak, the Luxor Temple, a bustling town and the majority of tourists and hotels, including the swank Winter Palace, that many say has seen better times, but my walk through the gardens and a visit inside still impressed me. I opted to stay on the quieter West Bank.

One of the “guides” at the Karnak temple, as I wandered off to some of the less visited corners, said he had something to show me. (Locals, like this man, would point things out to tourists with the hopes of earning tips. Some truly had valuable knowledge to share, others less so.) He brought me to an engraving of a woman offering her breast to her infant reminiscent of hundreds of paintings I’d seen of Madonna and child. The resemblance was striking. It was also fascinating to learn how the ancient Egyptian priests were inextricably tied to the power of the Pharaoh similar to the church’s role in legitimizing the king.

The Coptic(which means Egyptian) Christians have been here since the dawn of their religion–very few Jews remain–but the Muezzins call to prayer five times a day is a notable reminder that Egypt’s population is predominately Muslim.

I was encouraged to begin my visit to the Luxor Temple at dusk. Seeing the night begin and the lights fall on this ancient structure was a highlight.

Each day in Luxor was a discovery. Learning about the dynasties, gods, and history, and visiting many of the tombs and temples was at times overwhelming but, always fascinating. Getting to be alone in King Tutankhamun’s tomb was an unexpected treat.

There was time too to wander down quiet lanes, sail in a felucca at sunset, take an early morning hot air balloon ride, visit a school, and enjoy the welcome of locals.

Several times I decided to trust a local upon his word regarding a taxi, carriage, and ferry ride. I was never disappointed.

It was a treat to visit extraordinary sites and engage in wonderful activities but, encountering the locals was another highlight.

Luxor fed my senses and heart. I was sorry to leave, but had booked a boat trip down the nile to Aswan.

24 November to 27 November

Images of the White Desert, of which I knew nothing, came to my attention while looking for destinations in Egypt. The desertscape was hauntingly beautiful and unlike anything I’d seen. When I looked into visiting the area I saw strict “Do Not Travel” warnings had been issued by the U.S. Gov’t. However, I’ve learned to weigh such warnings carefully. If I listened to all of them, I’d have been tempted to never leave home, which would have been problematic, since my hometown of NYC has received its share of travel advisories too.

I contacted a company, with glowing reviews, that arranges overnight camping trips in the desert. I was pleased to speak with the owner, Hamada, and learn that he himself takes the tourists on the trips, with a driver. We spoke at length and feeling assured I booked two nights with a possible third in the White Desert. The first night would be with another couple and the remaining night(s) I would be alone with Hamada and the driver, primarily to hike.

It was arranged that I would be picked up at 7 am and driven to the Bahariya Oasis, four hours from Cairo, a Bedouin settlement and the hometown of Hamada.  The driver was courteous, quite handsome, and spoke little English. I got into the back seat of the Land Rover as he carefully navigated the crazy Cairo traffic. After leaving the city, the road straightened and became monotonous except for road construction sites and occasional shops/cafes where men gathered to drink tea. There were few communities. Trucks transporting produce, particularly tomatoes, and livestock made up most of the traffic. I stretched out on the seat and closed my eyes.

We stopped at a service station. Several Land Rovers, like ours, with tourists pulled up. The tourists came from Asia and Europe. We shared some travel tales and were soon back in our own vehicles. It was unclear if we would see each other again.

It would be another long stretch of barren sand before we arrived at the Bahariya Oasis. The monochrome brown landscape was suddenly enlivened with green. We pulled off the major two-lane highway onto a dirt road lined with simple, unadorned one-story white brick and cement homes. The street, sparsely populated, was dusty. Donkey carts and motorcycles were the main means of transportation. Shops were few and goods were limited, but there was no shortage of fresh produce in the area– the green I’d seen on arrival was acres of date, orange, mango, and olive trees.

Women walked, with infants in tow, wearing black burkas. The children old enough to entertain themselves looked well and happy.

As my driver pulled into a driveway Hamada, who had waited at the oasis, was there to welcome me. He wore the traditional Bedouin attire of robe and headscarf. 

We walked over to an outdoor cafe with cushioned seats and carpet on the floor. I took off my shoes and was soon seated next to the young couple I would be spending the first night with. Although they were both born in Southeast Asia, they now lived in NYC. We hit it off immediately. The wife had come up with the idea of camping in the desert. The husband confessed his initial and ongoing concerns. I’d thought it was because of the travel warnings, but he was far more preoccupied with the lack of any bathroom facilities.

After lunch we loaded our bags into two different 4×4’s and set off into the desert. My initial driver was already on his way back to Cairo.

I was in the 4×4 with Hamada, the driver, and Sliwah the cook/entertainer. We drove to a recently built highway that lacked any curves. Sand had blown and sometimes covered half the roadway. However, with virtually no traffic it made little difference. 

Soon we were visiting the aptly named Black Desert and Crystal Mountain.  Each offered a unique display of the desert’s beauty. And then we arrived at the extraordinary White Desert. It seemed as if we’d left the warm climate behind. The desert was covered in white chalk that looked like snow.  It was decorated with forms carved from wind and sand over the ages.

It was here on this magical terrain where we set up camp for the night. We opted to forego tents and sleep under the open sky. While dinner was prepared for us, the couple and I edged away from the small camp to take in the blanket of stars and blackness of our surroundings. We stood in silence while a timelessness filled the air. The warmth from the day was fading and a fire was built. As we came close to warm ourselves a bright red orb ascended in the distance. The full moon rose along its path. The reflected light upon the white sand brought day to our night.

The seven of us enjoyed our dinner around the fire. Warm and sated, the music began. Sliwah led the songs, punctuating the rhythms with a handheld drum. The couple and I quickly learned the choruses, despite having no idea what we were singing. The music, our voices and laughter were the only sounds for miles. And the only visitor was a desert fox encouraged by the dinner scraps purposely left nearby.

When we were ready for bed, mattresses were placed on a carpeted area with sheets stationed vertically to block the wind. The couple and I, under piles of warm woolen blankets snuggled into our sleeping bags.

The following morning the husband claimed that he hadn’t slept well. His wife and I, who had been kept up part of the night from his snoring, assured him that he had slept much better than he thought. Still wearing our clothes from the day before we took water from a large container to wash our faces and brush our teeth. The temperature rose with the sun.

I was soon saying goodbye to the couple, who were heading back to Cairo for a flight, Sliwah, and one of the drivers. Hamad and I set off on foot with plans of meeting up with Assad, the other driver, for lunch.

During our walk we would encounter no one. Besides the sturdy brush, there was little sign of any other life at all. The terrain was easier to walk on than I’d imagined. The sand was not deep and the surface was sometimes rocky.Once again the desert offered its unique beauty.

That night there would be no singing, nor visits from a desert fox. But the stars, rising moon, and sleeping close to a fire for warmth provided ancient splendor.

By day three, we were returning to civilization. I was reluctant to do so.

Hamada proposed a soak in a natural hot spring and suggested I wear a bikini–which I don’t own.

19 November to 24 November

I wasn’t thrilled about my 2 am arrival time at the Cairo airport, but my Airbnb host, Sara, assured me an Uber to her apartment would be fine. However, in the wee hours, traveling for the first time in Egypt, to an area and apartment I did not know, I prefered a secure arrangement.

I’d canceled my original plans to go to Egypt, just after the overthrow of President Mubarak in 2011. I’d regretted it ever since. But even as the stability of the country improved, images of aggressive touts and persistent hassling remained in my mind. Other countries for my travels consistently got top priority.

And then I decided to go, rather spontaneously, from Crete. It was so close, and a friend of friend had just gone and raved about it. I actually knew very little about the country and spent a few days reading various websites and formulating a general itinerary. I would start in Cairo, spend a few nights in the White Desert, then go to Luxor, Aswan, Abu Simbel, and elsewhere given the time. Tourists are limited to a thirty-day Visa–I am not sure why. I would think lengthier trips would be encouraged.

Despite my usual solo traveling, I decided to seek the assistance of a guide/driver, at least in the beginning.
Through TripAdvisor I found a Cairo guide/Egyptologist with outstanding reviews. We spent several days making plans, which included a pick up from the airport, visiting major sites in Cairo and the Giza pyramids–although he would not drive into Manshiyat Nasar or “Garbage City.” (My interest of this impoverished community had been piqued by a documentary I’d seen years ago. The residents known as the “Zabbaleen (garbage people),” make their livings by collecting and transporting Cairo’s refuse back to their neighborhood by donkey carts and trucks, then sorting, and recycling 80 percent of it. The men, women, and children are extraordinarily efficient and nothing goes to waste. Attempts by the government to modernise the system with foreign recycling companies resulted in decreased efficiency and increased costs.)

My plans for Cairo were set. Then, two nights before my departure, my guide called to say he’d been asked to work on an archeological dig in Luxor. I was back to no airport pick-up.

I downloaded the Lonely Planet guidebook and read about a woman taxi driver, Nour–one of the very few working in this overwhelmingly male profession. I contacted her and was happy to learn she was free. We arranged for her to pick me up upon arrival.

The flight was slightly delayed and by the time I left the airport it was around 3am. I’d been up since 7am. As I left the airport building I saw a short, stout woman standing amidst a throng of men holding a sheet of paper. I approached the woman and saw my name written in pencil. Nour greeted me with a hug and said “Welcome to Egypt.” We set out for my home in Maadi, an upscale community in Cairo. Her English was better than I’d thought it would be, but at that hour I wasn’t up for much conversation.I would soon learn, the early arrival was a blessing. The streets were quiet and relatively empty.

Nour asked me several times to assist her in navigating, which surprised me. I realised later I’d failed to give her the exact address and she didn’t ask for it. Cairo is immense. We drove on and on while I used Google Map with bleary eyes to indicate the direction.

In the early hours men wearing western attire and traditional galabiya (the long robes) and women, virtually all wearing galabiyas and headscarves, stood or walked, barely visible, on the side of the dark highway in small groups or alone. I assumed they were waiting for transportation and my question for clarification was not understood. “Don’t people stand on roads in your country?” Nour asked.

The concept of road regulations in Cairo seems vague at best: drivers will not hesitate to drive their cars into oncoming traffic if it proves convenient, and consistently ignore the designated lanes.(Horns are tooted incessantly to insure that one’s location is noted.) Despite the outsider’s impression of chaos and cacophony, the system of cars, motorcycles, scooters, tuktuks, trucks, donkey carts, buses, minivans, horses, pedestrians, and pushcarts in this city of 20 million succeeds in getting goods and people from place to place.

Nour and I finally arrived in the general vicinity of the apartment, but couldn’t locate the building. We drove on wide tree-lined streets bordered with villas and high walls. I knew the neighborhood was upscale, but hadn’t expected to stay in such luxury for my five night stay. Sara, the host, had asked that I call her when I arrived outside her building. It was now 4am and she did not answer. Nour assured me she would not leave until I was safely inside my home. An Uber driver may not have been as understanding or accommodating.

Small booths with guards dotted the roads. Nour asked a man in uniform for assistance in finding the building. He asked her who she was. When she told him he asked, “You are a taxi driver? You are a woman.” and walked away. Nour translated the encounter for me and added, “I was the one with the question, not him.” I had the impression that men doubting her profession were not out of the ordinary. She joked that we could sleep in the car if need be. I tried to reach the host again. There was still no answer.

We waited some more, tried again, and finally got a response. Nour and Sara spoke at length. Finally I was standing on the doorstop of a nondescript cement structure of several stories with a broken stoop. But I was happy to be there. After paying Nour and compensating her for her time and effort we made plans to meet again and visit some places together.

Sara the host, a young, dark-haired woman, looked as if she’d been sleeping, which made sense given the hour, and explained her not answering the phone. Feeling exhausted, my patience was tested when she started then to put her laundry away, pack her things, and clean up the bathroom, as if my arrival had been completely unexpected. Then she asked, “Do you mind if I leave my cat?” My first thought, uttered aloud, was “Will I have to clean her litter box?” Apparently my response did not exhibit the enthusiasm she’d hoped for. “Never mind, I’ll take her with me!” I like cats, but I was relieved. The cat, whose name I’ve forgotten, had already scratched me when I’d gone over to say hello.

The apartment was large, nicely decorated, comfortable, and quiet. Sara left and I happily got into bed. The following day Sara graciously sent me abundant information on places to visit and eat, transportation, and warm wishes for a great stay. Our hiccup was over and the awkward check-in an aberration.

Although the time difference between Greece and Egypt was only one hour, I felt jet-lagged when I awoke around 11am. I was glad I’d made no plans for the day. I took it easy and walked around the neighborhood . It was largely populated with young men and women modestly dressed with head scarves. I did not don a head scarf, but opted for lightweight and loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt and pants. I received no unwanted attention. Later, I saw a young European couple. She was wearing a sleeveless, mini-dress. The locals paid her no mind either. They were apparently accustomed to and tolerant of foreigners with different codes of attire.

The temperature was surprisingly pleasant, but the dust and pollution was oppressive. In search of a restaurant Sara had recommended, I approached an older couple walking by for directions. We started a conversation. He’d been working in the US Embassy the past three years and I asked about life in Cairo. They said, rather diplomatically, that there was both the good and the bad, but were concerned with potential health problems, particularly respiratory. I wasn’t surprised. The wife however was delighted to collect jewelry and mentioned several places for me to shop. I asked about getting around by the metro and they said they were forbidden to use it as a security measure. Their travel around Egypt was also highly restricted.

I’d made plans the following day to meet a woman guide, Manal, also listed in the Lonely Planet, to tour the Egyptian Museum. Normally I prefer visiting museums on my own, but I was pleased to have the opportunity to meet Egyptian women. I recalled my experiences in Morocco where my encounters with women were very few, outside of the hammams, because of limited access and the language barrier.

I took the metro to the center of Cairo, about an hour away. Any assistance I needed with directions was graciously addressed. It helped I already knew “yes” and “no” in Arabic. I found the people to be reserved, but kind.

The Egyptian Museum is huge and I was glad to be offered its highlights. Manal beautifully gave me insight into the complex, rich past of Egypt, its dynasties, and the glorious tombs and objects that remain. Her explanations however were repeatedly interrupted by girls from the countryside, where foreigners are rare, asking me to pose for a photograph with them. I obliged until Manal gently said we have much to see and discuss.

I spent the following days visiting some of the major sights and walking down anonymous streets. Each day offered new experiences. It was exhilarating and exhausting. Cairo seemed to be a city without end.

Some highlights:

A torrential downpour freshened the air and left a blue sky in its wake.

A short boat trip with Nour on the Nile brought me away from the brown, dusty city to verdant fields.

I learned to wear earplugs to lessen the din of traffic. And took each car ride as if I were on a flat roller coaster. It was much more pleasant to think of the drives as thrilling rather than harrowing.

I cherished the encounters with the welcoming locals. My concerns of hassling and aggression were completely unfounded.

I was crushed by the sight of homeless barefoot children in tattered clothes wandering the streets, and a young woman tucking her babe in arms next to her two other small children for the night on a busy sidewalk.

When Nour and I made our way to “Garbage City” I saw why my initial guide had refused to go. The narrow roads were unpaved, narrow, and difficult to maneuver. The smell of garbage permeated the air. Yet this was the home to a hard-working and vital community. As Nour intrepidly drove up and up through the streets to a large church carved out of stone, the Monastery of Saint Simon, locals helped us make our way through the labyrinth.

I was awed by Egypt’s past and present, and moved to tears by the sight of the pyramids and sphinx.

My senses were assaulted by the noise and smells and invigorated by the tastes and sights. I was disheartened by the poverty and enchanted by the Egyptians and their land.

This was Cairo after all.