Egypt, Day 5: Temple Tours

We left the hotel in the still darkness of the half-morning. Getting a taxi, we lugged our baggage to the train station, where we faced another confusing round of "Where do we go?" We had been told upon arrival at Aswan that we were to buy tickets on the train the following day; getting on, we chose our seats and sat down. Other people, however, came along a few minutes later and showed us their tickets; we had to find new seats. We settled in, the train grumbled to a start, and in due time the conductor in his faded uniform came along to take our money. He was confused at our lack of tickets, until we finally made him understand that we were going to Luxor - the only place, it seems, for which you buy your tickets on the train. We paid, my friend settled in to nap, and I settled in to enjoy the scenery.

It was difficult to tell on what continent or country I was: there were palms, and desert, and little villages, men on small motorbikes with huge sheaves of greens. At times it seemed like India, sometimes like the African plains, at times like Egypt always appears to one's mind. I was most fascinated by the tiny towns, all in poverty - all without Christ. It made me wonder.....

We arrived at Luxor after several false starts: although there were town names on the various station stops, we couldn't always see them from our windows. The men in the car had pity on us, continually telling us, "Not Luxor." Finally, however, it was Luxor - and we disembarked....

.....to chaos.

I was in my djelbaab and hijab, carrying only my backpack. My friend, however, looked distinctly American - from her features to her dress to the large pink duffle bag she was lugging. I was able to maneuver through the touts fairly successfully, getting hardly a second glance. She, however, was accosted and nearly held hostage by the men trying to get us to their hotels. They followed her, thrusting their cards in front of her, bragging about the hot water, the TV, the wifi, the beds. We pushed our way towards the ticket office, where we needed to buy our tickets for the following journey. I went to the sleeper-train window, while B. tried to figure out which window she needed to buy regular tickets for the following morning. Followed by a persistent tout, she finally got to the correct window, only to be told that she needed to buy tickets onboard the following morning. I came over to join her and the tout.

Incidentally, the hotel he was pushing was our second choice; were there no rooms at our first choice or if it turned out to be undesirable, we would try the other. We tried to placate the tout, and had nearly succeeded when we were joined by another insistent tout. They fed off each other, terrified now that they would lose two customers. We tried to escape; laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, I merely picked a side of the train station and started walking towards it. They followed us, backing us into a corner between the depot and the row of stores beside it. We finally got out of the corner and walked towards the main street, still followed by them. Reaching the intersection, we placated one by telling him that we promised to come see his hotel if our first one didn't work out; the second kept at us, until we finally ducked into the nearest restaurant. After lunch (babaghanoug for me!), we saw the second tout waiting for us.

"You said you would come see the hotel after you ate," he said.

Although we had never said that (we had said, "We are going to eat now and after lunch, we might come try to find the hotel"), I decided the best way to get rid of him would be to walk by the hotel and say no - it was on the way to where we wanted to go.

Carrying our bags through the street, we stopped by where the hotel was. Seeing it, we told him, "Oh, no, thank you. It's not in a good location." He pulled out another flyer - "Here, look at this. $70USD/ night, very good location. I can show you." Telling him no, firmly, and walking away finally got rid of him.

All that remained now was to find our hotel. Walking along the street, we were confident we could find it, since it was on my map. With all our bags, however, it was slow going, and my friend convinced me to hail a taxi.

Having not seen any metered taxis, we hailed a "private taxi" (one with no meter, with a baggage rack on top, with blue and white body parts, and often with shaggy carpet covering the dash). Just as the taxi pulled over, a motorike pulled up beside us.

"Are you looking for Bob Marley House?" the guy on the bike asked.

I looked at B. She looked at me. "Yes, we are."

"Okay. Here, hop on my cycle."

Our baggage, however, prevented this; getting in the taxi, we followed the man on the motorbike and found ourselves at our hotel: Bob Marley House.

We put our things in our room, went down and had some tea.

We got another taxi and made it to Luxor temple, fending off touts along the way.

We saw the temple. It was big. It was impressive. But, somehow, much less impressive than my imagination had made it in the magazines and books I had read as a child.

After Luxor temple, we got a caleche to Karnak temple. The driver was an old, fat man who did not want to believe us when we told him that we just wanted the ride going to the temple and not back.

Again, it was another temple. Big, impressive, and full of hieroglyphics.

Not yet finished with ruined things, we tried to find the mseum. It was, however, unfortunately closed.

After avoiding lots of insistent shebaab - really, the best way to get a girl to say hello to her is *not* to skid your motorbike inches from her and say, "I'm lonely" - we ducked into a restaurant we had read about. Another delicious meal of babaghanoug for me in lovely surroundings, and we decided some relaxing was in order. So, we found ourselves in a boat, floating on the Nile. It was decorated in the most amusing pink squares and decorations that may or may not have been relics from 1980. We sat and had some lovely drinks - mine was fresh guava juice - and relaxed, discussing our pity for the rich people on the Nile cruise boats passing us; clearly, they could not be having nearly as much fun as we were, avoiding shebaab, exploring temples alone, and finding hole in the wall restaurants.

Finally, it was time to go back to the hotel - being all of 8 pm. We found a taxi, but couldn't find the hotel. After a bit of driving, we finally got back to the correct street. The taxi driver offered us his card and services the following day; deciding that he had been nice and polite, I took the card and arranged to meet him the following day to get driven around the town and taken across to the opposite bank to see Valley of the Kings.