I went down and inquired about breakfast, establishing that I'd be back in about fifteen minutes. I went outside and wandered about the city streets, enjoying walking through the back-alley markets filled with ancient women in their sooty abeyas, selling their snow colored pigeons for the day's dinner. I was pleasantly surprised at the utter lack of harassment; Luxor had been anything but peaceful, but in the calm of the morning in the streets where no tourists probably ever wandered, it was calm and I meandered without the constant, "Welcome! Welcome! Special price, just for you!"
I returned to the hotel and had a wonderful breakfast on the roof, overlooking a school yard, where the children were already fast at work and fast at play. (The breakfast, if you care to know, was yoghurt, bread, jam and cheese, an omelette and tea. Included in the room bill.) I sipped my "shai" listening to the contemporary American music they were playing, while in the distance the school children shouted.
Finishing breakfast and coming back out to the main street, I saw a lone woman window shopping. Knowing that I was now traveling alone - and that my jelbaab was too hot to wear all day in most places - I debated approaching her with my limited Arabic about where I could buy an abeya. Rehearsing my lines to myself, I went up to her and told her that I wanted to buy an abeya, but I didn't know where. Could she tell me the name of a street where I could find a store selling abeyas?
She stared at me. I don't think she had many American tourists approaching her, asking in broken Arabic where they might be able to purchase an abeya. I doubt it. She looked me up and down. She said something, and motioned for me to come with her. We went down a few store fronts and she pointed to a store. I smiled and thanked her, and she went on her way. I hurried back to the street where I had arranged to meet the driver from the previous night.
I saw him and got in. I had originally been planning just to use him to drive me around the city in the morning - I needed to stop at a bank - and then just over the bridge, where I could get a bike to go to Valley of the Kings. However, he made a good offer of a price that included driving me around in the morning and in the afternoon, taking me to the train. I was surprised; it was actually on par with what the guidebook said a ride should be, after one had bargained the driver down. Deciding that he was trustworthy enough - he had, after all been very good about finding our hotel the night before and not asking for extra because of the time it took, and then had quoted a fair price for the day's tour - I went ahead and agreed to having a driver for the day.
And I was glad I did. The weather was far too hot for comfort and I think I would've just laid down and died if I had to bike the few miles to get to the Valley of the Kings. Once there, I entered the site, doing my best to fend off the touts. I got my tickets, and had nearly escaped unscathed, when one of them peddling a book about the tombs attached himself to me like a leech and would not go away. I walked from the entrance quite a distance without acknowledging him, and then finally only spoke to him in Arabic. He started selling his book for 50LE and brought it down to 30. I told him no, no, and kept walking; he brought it down to 20, then to 15, saying he had change if I needed. Frustrated, I paused and was planning to offer him five. Now, I keep my change well divided upon my person; a certain amount in each of my pockets and other certain amounts in various compartments in my purse. It lessens the risks of being robbed entirely blind, and when bargaining, it's very helpful to reach into one pocket or to do a thorough "search" of your purse and only be able to come up with a 5 or 10LE note. Unfortunately, it doesn't work so well when you make a rookie mistake, like I did. Reaching into the wrong pocket, I pulled out a 20. He pounced on it eagerly, and I bought myself a guide book to the tombs for 15LE (about 3USD). He then invited me to a party that afternoon. Yeah, me and who else?
However, I absolutely loved looking at all the tomb paintings; they were absolutely gorgeous. Unfortunately, no pictures allowed.
Coming back, another boy attached himself to my side. This one, however, wasn't too bad and merely talked as we walked towards the taxi, keeping his fellow touts from harassing me, for which I was thankful.
From Valley of the Kings to Deir al-Medina; its entrance price was much cheaper, but at each of the tomb sites there was, of course, a guide whom you are expected to tip, so the entrance ticket ended up costing about the same as that to Valley of the Kings. However, the paintings in the small tombs were excellent and very well preserved. I was also very happy for the chance to practice my Arabic; one of the guides conducted his spiel in very slow FusHa for me, and combined with the images and his gestures, I was very happy to find that I could understand it all quite well.
From the tombs, I went out to explore around to the side, accidentally going up towards an archaeological excavation in progress....some shouting and pointing later, and I made my way towards the temple. There was a nice tour guide there, , and a fat old man who showed me an old cistern, but who really wanted to sell me some broken old pieces of pottery for an outrageous and exorbitant price. This time, I escaped with most of my pocket money intact.
Back to the car, and all I really wanted to do was be done with the hot and miserable town of Luxor. The car driver wanted to suggest a restaurant and take me to a bazaar....both places where, if I bought something, he would get a commission. He wasn't pushy about it, however, and I did end up eating at the restaurant....getting the cheapest item on the menu, babaghanouj, which I just happen to love.
I then walked through the town, pausing in the tourist souq, enjoying looking at a few items without the hassle that comes in the evening when all the touts and tourists are out and about. Having time to kill, I nearly walked my feet off in the town, making several circles about the Corniche and Television street. I stopped at a supermarket where they actually had a scanner and I was able to buy bottles of water for much less than the 5LE many stores try to make Westerners pay. I returned there twice in the day: to get water and then for food for supper and a snack.
Killing more time, I finally found another main street, one with more shopping as I was still trying to find a nice abeya. I went in and found a store. One of the girls attendant approached me and fixed my hijab with two of her own pins as I explained my situation. Their selection was very nice, but a little expensive. I told them my limit, however, and they did find one on the clearance rack that I could get. I tried it on, and they arranged the scarf; they did in in a way, however, that I swear made me look like the flying nun. I thanked them, gathered my things and left.
When I got downstairs, I realized that I had lost my sunglasses. I paused to search through my belongings; within a moment or two, several female shoppers had come over to inquire if they could help, what was my name, where was I from?.....I realized I had left my sunglasses in the store, ran up and got them (alhamdulillah), and then went to spend another while walking about the town, waiting for the taxi to come and take me to the train station.
Finally, I returned to the hotel, picked up my single backpack, and confused my taxi driver a bit by my abeya-ed appearance. At the train station, I looked for my platform, embarassing myself a bit by walking towards the engineering/repairing platform that just happened to have the same number as the platform I wanted. The engineers helped me find the platform I wanted, and I plunked myself down on a bence to wait in the dark evening for a seeming eternity. There were soldiers everywhere, waiting for one of the trains to come take them to their next destination. And, in accordance with the general nature of the town of Luxor, it was the first time I got the "bbsbsbsbsbbssbbssbsbssbsbsbsbs" of a cat-call. Loudly.
I was only a bit nervous about somehow missing my train. However, I felt much comforted by the presence of a group of German tourists (foreigners are the only ones allowed on the sleeper train). I went over to them and tried to have a conversation; however, they didn't speak any English (they were all elderly), and all of my German had fled my head - every time I tried to say something, I could only think of some Arabic. I was just left with "In einem bachlein helle, da schoss in fruher eil...." which I didn't think would go over too well.
The train arrived and I got to my cabin (unfolding bed!) without problem. It was now 9 in the evening - but of course they served us dinner. They did not, however, tell us that the tea was not included in the dinner but that it was extra. *Sigh* You just can't escape it.
I fell into a delicious sleep, only to be awakened at 3am by my ringing phone. I saw it was from home, and I was immediately terrified something had happened - something bad. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," Mom or Dad - I don't remember! It was 3am - said. "But you had called us earlier and said you could talk."
"Yes, I did," I groaned. "But not at 3am."
"Okay."
"Okaythanksloveyoubye."
And with that, I rolled back over and was asleep before my phone had completely turned off.
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