A horse called Breash

I was conned into hiring this horse by a dragoman that lived in the shadow of those pyramids you can see on the horizon, so I thought I would make use of it by riding away from Cairo toward Saqqara with the intention of visiting the stepped pyramid there. This was as far as I got, due to another con by the dragoman's son.

It was just before Christmas and the overcast sky with frequent rain was not something I expected in the Sahara. It is very strange to see the Great Pyramid, shiny with rain, rising up to the low cloud. It is not until you get about ten miles away that you understand quite how big it is. This photo was taken from about 15 miles away.

My visit to this windowless little hut built thoughtlessly next to a small and dilapidated pyramid was pre-planned by my guide, but he implied that it was a stroke of good luck to find the place, out in the middle of nowhere and full of old men brewing mint tea for us.

They put a handful of mint into a teapot, shove another handful of sugar over it, cover it with water then put the whole thing on top of a small fire in the centre of the room and let it boil for about ten minutes. If you are feeling a little ill as I was that day, the thick, sweet tea is not as bad as it sounds.

They made about five pots of the stuff - all the while chatting in Arabic - until I said I could drink no more, then they got down to the serious business of charging me for it. Egyptians are almost as inscrutable as the Chinese. They will fleece you for every penny you have, then when they realise that you are actually broke they will give you a five-course meal without question. This bit is where the traditional Arab hospitality stories come from. Egyptians are constantly trying - and failing - to be good Moslems. In the last resort they are kind and hospitable, unlike some of their brothers of the same faith.

Riding back through the intensely green patch of delta where animal feed is grown and harvested in great mounds, we came upon a group of women walking the other direction. My young guide said something to them and they said something back. I asked if the exchange had anything to do with me being his donkey. I had been in the country long enough to know that all jokes and insults directed toward tourists involve donkeys.

He said it was, but it was more than that. He asked to have sex with them all and they told him to go away and have sex with me. This being Egypt, the suggestion was a genuine one. 

Back at the Hotel Windsor I longed for a shower after an exhausting day. I got into it and turned on the water. It was freezing cold and stayed that way no matter how long it ran, so I got out and called reception.

"This is room 203."

"I know."

"There is no hot water."

"I know."

"When will there be hot water?"

"Thursday."

I gave up decided to have a cold one instead. Once completely wet I reached for the soap. There was no soap. I got out again and spoke to my friend on reception.

"This is room 203."

"I know."

"There is no soap in my shower."

"I know."

"Will you bring me some soap please?"

There was a long sigh and twenty minutes later a boy appeared at the door holding out a sliver which was the remains of a used bar from a different room. This was the hotel at which Winston Churchill stayed when in Cairo.

When I took it his hand remained outstretched. I closed the door and resumed my cold shower. I would imagine that room service has improved a little since I was there.