A long day on the way to Cairo

Travelling is definitely not always fun. And it can get you into some pretty stressful situations. Something every traveller experiences at some stage, one day or the other. We experience it in Egypt, on our way from Luxor to Cairo. ´We´ is me and Suzanna, one of my best friends. It is not the first time we are travelling together, but so far our trip through Israel and Egypt has been anything but stressless. It starts a few weeks earlier, when we are being dropped from our taxi at the porch of the Old City of Jerusalem at 4 a.m. Didn’t they always say that a good start is half the gain? So what about a bad start? In our case it didn’t predict much good. Murphy’s law- that states that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong- is not a law for nothing.

OK, maybe it was a bit naive to think we would be taken all the way to the hostel in the Old City that night. After all it was a taxi with only Jewish people in it. To be exact with a look-a-like of Anne Frank, a lady that spent more than a year of the Second World War in a concentration camp in Krakau and a Chassid man. Of which the Chassid, the Hebrew word for an orthodox Jew, is not allowed to sit next to women. Especially not next to women that are not Chassid. And so the whole taxi needs to be re-shuffled in order for us to all sit down and leave the airport in the first place. By the time we are in Jerusalem, we are all tired and just want to go to sleep. But since the taxi driver is Jewish and we decided to sleep in the cheapest hostel possible, located in the Arab part of the Old City, the taxi can only go as far as the gateway of the city wall. From which you can enter the Old City.

It does mean though that we still have to walk a far bit to get to our hostel. Besides the fact that we don’t have a clear map of the Old City, nor a map with the exact location of our hostel, entering the Old City for the first time is quite an experience. Especially in the middle of the night, when the little alleys are looking dodgy and the atmosphere is right-out spooky. Except for a number of creepy looking men, there is nobody to ask the way to our hostel. Overcome by fear, out of the blue Suzanna freaks out, throws herself on the ground and shouts out loud and clear that who ever wants to attack her, should just do so right now. Even if there would be anybody with such thoughts around, luckily the people that see the spectacle happening are too flabbergasted to actually do something with the message. Instead she swaps her shorts for long trousers and feels a little bit better afterwards. We put on our sunglasses to make ourselves feel more self-confident, get up and walk as fast as we can to the nearest hostel we notice and spend the night there in a room that is way beyond budget. Sometimes a good feeling doesn’t come cheap.

Maybe this should have been a sign. For sure this was not a nice start of our trip. But doesn’t another saying say that you need to go through the bitter to get to the sweet? OK, I guess I don’t believe in sayings anymore. Sometimes things are just not meant to be a certain way. I won’t tell you all the things that didn’t go like we planned that trip. You wouldn’t be finished reading by tomorrow if I did. Instead I want to take you to a day two weeks later. We have travelled from Israel to Egypt, just visited Luxor and have decided to go back to Cairo where we were before. In theory a nine hour trip by train, along the Nile River. It seems idyllic. Which in a way it is, I guess.

For the first time we see women out in the open, something that is quite rare in the Middle East and only happens when you are on transport. Women in Egypt are staying at home as much as possible, something that the Koran asks from them. The public domain is traditionally seen as the male domain, the woman owns the private area. ´Hijab´, the word for the long dress that women wear in public, literally means ´curtain´ in Arab. It symbolises the separation between in and outside the house. The woman is considered responsible for the sexual self-control of man and the social moral, and so it is not done for women to come in public areas. No wonder they look down on western women like us, that don’t wear a hijab and that are on the street almost constantly... This all means you will hardly ever spot a woman on the street, chit chatting with another woman. Imagine chatting with a man! Which all makes it very hard for travellers like us to ´just´ meet and talk to local women.



But not today. The train is full of families and so full of women. Of which there are a few that are curious enough to constantly look at us. They are giggling a little bit, probably since we look funny and different then they do. Most probably the women are more curious than jealous, something I always thought being an arrogant westerner. On the contrary; they are probably even looking down on us becáuse we look like westerners. After all, there is a huge difference between being modern and being western. Modernisation is seen as a positive phenomenon and has to do with improvement in terms of health care and technology. Westernisation has a negative meaning though, originating from the time that a lot of countries were colonised by western countries. It is usually associated with commerce, mass media, alcohol or drug abuse or sexual liberties. No wonder that these people would look down on us. Even though we try to dress modestly, refrain from smoking outside and obviously are just interested in having a conversation.

In spite of knowing this, we try to integrate with them. And spend the first hours waiting on the train station and the hours after that in the train trying to talk to them. Which they obviously find very interesting. Luckily their men are sitting a bit further away, so that we can talk without being frowned upon. One of the ladies, called Fatima, is very modern and emancipated. With a head scarf that is too small to fit her hear, lipstick on, trendy shoes underneath her hijab, she almost looks as if she desires (and tries to obtain) a western lifestyle. We try –with hand and feet, since the women here don’t speak English and we don’t speak Arab- to find out things about their lives. And talk about their family, their children, life in general. It seems to be a good day.

Until the train suddenly stands still, and does not move for the hours to come. The temperature rises, conversations change from being happy and positive to complaining and exhausted. It is not until four hours later that the train starts riding again. By then it is 3 p.m. and the temperature is almost 45 degrees Celsius. I am sweaty, dehydrated and not so in for talking anymore. The rest of the trip, another five hours, the only noise in the cabin I hear is from babies crying, the wheels that peep and the chickens that feel like they have had enough sitting in their little cages without food nor water. Just like all the people in the train, I guess. Luckily I am not the only one who is not in for talking anymore.

The real distress does not really start until we finally reach the train station of Cairo, though. It is 8 p.m. and dark outside. We say goodbye to the ladies, take our bags and follow the crowd to the exit of the station. Where it seems to be one big chaos, with hundreds of people trying to find their way home. And not nearly enough taxis to accomplish this. Why is it exactly today that the metro is not running? Bad luck never comes alone. We wait for more than an hour to get a taxi, without success. By that time the crowd has disappeared, the station is almost empty and starts to feel a little dodgy. But there is still no taxi that wants to take us to the centre of town. The next day we hear it is because we are westerners and taxi drivers just do not want to be associated with westerners. Whatever the reason is, after one hour of waiting we feel so tired and frustrated, that any taxi would be satisfying. No matter what the car or driver look like, no matter if he drives like a lunatic - like so many taxis here in Cairo.

When eventually a taxi driver stops in front of us, and with a grunge accepts our taxi ride to the Sun Hotel, we almost jump into the air of happiness and relief. Finally! It is only when he starts driving that we start to have doubts about this ride. Even though we have had some scary rides before, this driver beats them all big time. Like most of the cars in Cairo, he has no side mirrors. Which means that overtaking another car goes by honking the horn. And since every car does it like this, traffic in Cairo is one big chaos of honking horns and bypassing cars that actually have no idea what they are doing when they overtake another car. Everything is about being lucky, or at least not being unlucky. Since our taxi is driving like as if he is in the Formula One, and seems to be clueless about all the traffic around him, I suggest to Suzanna we put up our legs. So that in case of an accident, in case of a car slamming into our side door, at least we still have our legs. The first few minutes she laughs about my suggestion. But after a few lunatic actions of our taxi driver, she follows my example and holds up her legs.

It is only five minutes later when we enter a huge five lane crossroads. Something like the Champs Elysees in Paris, but than Egyptian style, meaning more chaotic and much older cars –all without side mirrors. We enter the cross roads while the traffic light says orange. Once we pass, the traffic lights have been on red for a while. At the same moment a little minibus, full of patients of a mental institute in the east of Cairo, is passing a green traffic light on the other side. This cannot be true! It is. We run in at each other and meet in the middle of the crossroads, with a huge bang. All of a sudden the leg-thing was not that unrealistic. Before we recover from the big clash and look around us, we see that our driver has got out of the car. The driver of the minibus has done the same and by the time we look out of the window they are fighting in the middle of the crossroads. And the patients of the mental institute have got out of the minibus as well, surrounding our taxi to see what strange people are sitting inside. They like what they see. Or find us at least extremely fascinating. We find it scary. Here we are, two twenty year old girls from Holland, travelling in the Middle East for the first time, in the middle of a huge five lane crossroads in Cairo. Surrounded by mental patients, with traffic coming from all sides. If we don’t go to the side quickly, we even might get into another accident! But our drivers are not busy with the fact that their cars are in the middle of the Egyptian Champs Elysees at all. They are busy with quarrelling and discussing whose fault it was to run each other in the first place.

We try to warn our driver by knocking at the door, but he doesn’t seem to react. And since the patients of the mental institute are still gathered around our taxi, looking at us as if we are caged animals in the zoo, we prefer to keep our doors locked. By the time the taxi driver finally returns to reality and understands that it is a safer option to fight on the side of the road instead of on the crossroad itself, fifteen minutes have passed. We drive a small bit, and stop again at another main road. This time on the side of the road. The driver gets out and walks into the building on the right, which turns out to be a police station. We feel a lot safer.... Or not, because our driver stays away for ages and does not seem to appear anymore. He has not forgotten about us, has he? And is not going to leave us here in the car, is he? After an hour in the taxi, we are considering to get out of the taxi and find a new ride home. But the road seems huge and there are no traffic lights around us; not exactly the best place to be looking for a new taxi ride. Especially considering the fact that Egyptian taxi drivers don’t seem to be too fond of taking westerners with them. And we don’t exactly want to be picked up by the wrong type of guy this late at night on this dark road either.

After another fifteen minutes of waiting though, we consider it has been enough. This taxi driver is never going to come back in the next couple of hours. And after our fourteen hour train ride, an hour of waiting for a taxi, and another 1.5 hours of waiting since the moment our taxi ran into the minivan, it has been enough. We are exhausted, stressed out and don’t want to be in any car, or any other type of transport anymore for today. Just as we try to open the door, we realize it does not open. We are locked up by the taxi driver. He probably was smart enough to realise that if he didn’t, his prey would be gone by the time he returned from the police. And so we áre locked like birds in a cage and we will háve to wait until our taxi driver is back. Which feels even worse than standing on the street looking for a dodgy taxi. Especially now that we have decided we cannot stand any minute longer in this car.

Thank God the taxi driver hasn’t forgotten about us after all. Half an hour later he comes out of the police station, still with an angry look on his face. As if it was the minibus that smashed him while having a red traffic light, instead of the other way around. We don’t say anything, we just want to get out of here and get to our hostel as soon as possible. We only ask one favour: we don’t want our doors to be locked. Luckily he opens our doors, and starts driving after that. Only five minutes after we finally start driving again –happy that at least the motor of the car still seems to be working- the taxi driver stops again, though. In a small, dark and very dodgy street. The first few seconds we think there is something wrong with the car after all. But that’s not it. He turns around with a strange look on his face, and proposes us two things. Either we pay him ten times the amount we promised him before, or he is going to drop us here right now, in this dodgy street.

He must be joking! But no, he is not. He wants ten times the amount we agreed upon, probably to start paying the reparation of his car. It only takes one look around us to realise we don’t have a choice. If we get out of the car here, we will be robbed or raped within a few minutes in the best case scenario. This is not the place to be for two girls alone late at night. In spite of the fact I cannot stand this taxi driver any longer, it is frustrating to realise that our life is in his hands. And so we accept his offer, although we are boiling inside with anger and frustration. Luckily though, there has been quite some inflation in Egypt the last couple of years. And so the majority of all banknotes in Egypt is very, véry small banknotes. And luckily we have a lot of that type of banknotes with us. So that by the time we finally arrive at the Sun Hotel, we only give him a whole hand of notes and get out of the car as soon as possible. Thank God our doors are not locked anymore. Before he has counted his notes and realises that we only paid him the fare we originally agreed upon, we have run off. Sometimes you need to have your principles, even though ten times the amount is still not a whole lot of money.

The first public place we encounter while being on the run is the Pizza Hut. And gladly go in. We almost feel like criminals being on the hunt, afraid for the taxi driver to come up to us. But he does not, and we have a great American, western pizza in stead. Full of everything that is unhealthy in life. But who cares, after a day like this you deserve a nice, juicy and very unhealthy pizza. And I’m loving it.