Lounge lizards

It's cold. The sky is grey - it looks like snow and there's no bus. However, there are other punters hanging around, so we are not alone. Erzurum is beyond description. Well, no, actually it looks kind of scaggy right now - reminds me of Halifax - but the snow definitely is an improvement. Our bus, or should I say charabanc, arrives but the driver's in no hurry and we depart 45 minutes late. The road is terrible - when it's not covered in ice it's covered in large potholes - and we plod through the mist towards Dogubeyazit. Gayle points things out to me through the window but all I can see is white. I think she's hallucinating.

We arrive in the small town of Agri mid-afternoon where most people get off. The remaining six of us are then "sold on" to a minibus driver. I feel like a sheep off to the abbatoir. We wait awhile for the minibus to fill up. It's snowing. Now there's a problem because there are too many people trying to get aboard. Another minibus arrives and half the passengers jump ship. Fares have to be refunded, seats swapped, baggage unloaded. Then all of a sudden we're off, ploughing steadily down the middle of the main road. We arrive in Dogu in the dark but we have been here before in September and know where our hotel is. It is colder than Erzurum. Happy Valentines.........

The Hotel Tahran is not a classy place, but it's home for a couple of nights, and the central heating is on and the plumbing, though odd, still functions. The upstairs lounge with great views of Mount Ararat is out of action because it's too cold, so all the guests congregate in the foyer lounge. It is cluttered with matching black vinyl suites covered in red velour cushions and smoked-glass tables. The large TV, which has no off switch, forms a centrepiece on a chipboard shelving unit. There's an 80's theme going on here. One perk is free internet, provided you can get the hotel urchin off the games. A cuff to the ear usually does the trick. From here I can survey the men lounging around. Some of them are fixtures with their favourite seats. There's the old fella in black cap and matching moustache. The young English teacher from Hatay who is living here because the friends with whom he shared a house last year have left. There's the Man Who Looks Like Death who sits playing poker on his mobile phone and lighting long cigarettes that he only half smokes - leaving the remaining six inches to burn away, forming a permanent blue haze around him. He looks from behind as if he might spontaneously combust. From the front he's just plain scary, especially when he coughs. His face should be the government health warning on every packet of cigarettes. There's also the man with Trophy ears who looks like he might work here, but as he actually does nothing it's hard to tell. There are no women in the foyer, apart from Gayle. We have seen some coming and going but they look quite respectable so we know it's not one of those hotels. It is toasty warm.

The streets of Dogu are covered in packed snow and black ice. We shuffle around in our down jackets like overweight penguins. Change some money for Iranian rials - a wodge of dirty torn notes that bulge obscenely in our pockets. We waddle past the army barracks and out of town for photos of the surrounding snowy mountains - they look much more dramatic than in September. Tomorrow we cross the border into Iran. I buy a beer to celebrate. Even after a year it is still exciting to be crossing another border.

Once more, with feeling

It's been over a year since we left Blighty and the time has taken its toll. Our boots are starting to fall apart, and Gayle is in need of new trousers. Before we left Cairo she kitted herself out for travel in Iran - long baggy shirt and headscarf. We spent a long time canvassing hijab styles in Cairo too. There is a mind-boggling variety. I am glad it's not for me - I couldn't handle the pins. As it is, Gayle is considering the Benazir Bhutto style. The headscarf debate continues to rage here in Turkey. Our friends Pam and Joe, who we're staying with again, think it's a political smokescreen for other signicant constitutional changes. Currently there is a headscarf ban at school, university and in public office. This stems from Ataturk's original desire to keep the state secular - a desire that is still supported by the military and many Turks. So it has symbolic significance even though there are actually more pressing problems to deal with.

Our own pressing problems have been resolved successfully. First we collected our Iranian visas without hitch. Then Gayle, and eventually me, both bought new walking boots. It feels like a huge expense, but our boots wouldn't have lasted much longer. We also have withdrawn a large amount of cash in Euros and dollars for use in Iran and Central Asia, since we cannot use ATMs in Iran. Carrying wads of dosh is slightly nerve-wracking. We also have picked up a guidebook to China and thanks Isabell for posting the Central Asia one to Pam and Joe. Istanbul seems quiet at this time of year compared to our last visit in November - there are even less fishermen on the Galata Bridge. It's a strange but rather pleasant feeling wandering the streets of a familiar city, not worrying about getting lost. It's almost relaxing.

It has been wonderful to catch up with Joe and Pam, who are teaching English here. We have been spoiled with the comforts of their home - home-cooking, washing machine, red wine, a comfortable bed with a proper pillow - and enjoy their company and insights on life here. Gayle and I are short on small talk these days - I think we ran out in Bulgaria - and it's always stimulating to meet up with other travellers and share enthusiasms. We arrived in Istanbul on Super Tuesday and got caught up in their excitement about the Democrat nominations. They had found out that the Democrats Abroad were organising a primary election in a smart hotel in downtown Istanbul on Saturday night, so we joined them. After a few nibbles and beers we ended up in conversation with some of the organisers, one of whom was married to a wealthy 'Ottoman' businessman. They invited us all to join them in the bar downstairs where they treated us to a meal. It was a funny (weird) evening. I'm sure there would be a bigger turn out at all elections if they came with free beer and nibbles. Yes, They Can!

Sadly we have to keep moving, so say goodbye to Pam & Joe and take a night train to Ankara. We want to visit the archaelogical museum, which is full of good stuff, and pop in to Ataturk's mausoleum. This sits on a grassy hill overlooking the city. The Turkish parliament is voting to change the law on headscarves today and I'm sure I can hear the old fella turning as we walk past his tomb. The city is nicer than I'd expected with lots of low-rise housing in the centre and a lot of trees, but it sprawls out over the hills endlessly. After only one night we are back on the train, this time a sleeper to Erzurum. It is the most luxurious journey we have ever taken. We have a smart cabin for two which we find ourselves almost sharing with Mohammed, who is travelling with his wife and two children next door. He is very friendly and offers us pop and bread and stays to flick through our books and look at our camera. However, he speaks no English and we speak no Turkish, so conversation is limited to the usual What is your name, Where are you going variety. Mo asks us if we are married and we lie and say yes. He seems very pleased to hear this answer, as if it is the right answer, so we don't feel bad about lying. Thankfully Mohammed remembers his other obligations and finally leaves us. We then spend a very comfortable night chugging across Anatolia and awake to a winter wonderland of snow. The brightness is incredible. The whole east of Turkey is blanketed and frozen, despite the sunshine. Erzurum almost looks pretty. Well, perhaps not. We return to the hotel we stayed in before, dump our bags and skate out the door to ,er, to...........not much happening around here.........A good time to internet then.

A bit nippy in Alex

Apparently it's Egypt's worse winter since 1964 - cold and some rain, everyone is wearing hats and scarves in the evenings. We thought we were unlucky until we checked the weather in Iran which is one country we have been avoiding over winter. The daytime temperature in Tabriz was -21C, yes minus 21C. Egypt seems balmy in comparison. There is a fresh sea breeze blowing through Alexandria while we are here - and we seek shelter in comfy trendy cafes with no smoking areas -oases in this smokers' desert. The great city founded by Alexander the Great has little to show for its historical roots, except for a modern library that recalls the once famous ancient one. The Pharos lighthouse has been washed into the sea, and the modern city offers nothing better to the tourist than a break from all the touts. Fantastic, we love it, sort of.

We head for a real oasis, Siwa, out in the Western Desert, close to the Libyan border. I tweak my back before we get on the bus for a 9 hour journey. The road heads along the dull coast and then cuts southwards through desert. At first there are rain showers and strong winds, and then sandstorms as we cross the desert. Clouds in the sky turn red with dust. The bus driver tunes the radio to Koran FM and we are serenaded with verses from the Holy Book. Gayle hates it but in this landscape I find it creates an atmosphere of wilderness and spirituality that we would otherwise fail to find while schlepping 450km in a dirty beat up old tin can on wheels. After the third hour of wailing I revise my opinion. I hate it too. When we arrive in Siwa I can hardly walk and have to spend a day in bed recovering, occasionally moaning like a muezzin. Gayle hires a bike and explores. The oasis is set in a huge depression with several springs, two lakes and a carpet of green palm groves. Here and there are clutches of buildings, some the traditional mudbrick falling into ruin and beside them newer concrete and brick houses that look incomplete. The whole place is very relaxed and moves at a slow steady pace. So we are slightly surprised to find all the hotels booked up - it is school holidays and many nationals are coming for their jollies and we have to switch rooms. The main square is full of donkey-and-carts and men and boys scooting about on motorcycles. Occasionally we see two or three women clad in grey shawls and with black veils - anonymous beings carted around or shuffling past on sandy tracks. The tourist office asks that local customs are observed - 'no public alcohol or displays of affection', although we see lots of the local men holding hands, greeting each other with kisses and hugging. Traditional double standards, I guess.

You'd think finding sand when you're at an oasis would be easy. When I am recovered, we hire bikes and head out to the Great Sand Sea - dunes that touch the edge of the settlement. After 3km my saddle comes off. So we return and I swap bikes. Then, after 5 km Gayle has a puncture. We push our bikes to a spot and then stride off towards the dunes. We are halted by an irrigation channel. We have to trudge through the sand for an hour until we finally make the dunes - just in time for sunset. They are picture perfect. It is so quiet and desolate, but stunning too, knowing they continue for miles. The days pass quickly in Siwa despite the lack of action. This is probably our favourite place in Egypt, probably due to the lack of hassle. On the Shark Scale the touts here are like dogfish.
We return to crazy Cairo on a nightbus. I needn't have worried about my back injury, as the kind man behind me supports it throughout the journey my pressing his knees into my seat. I am terribly disappointed to see that the video player has been removed from the bus. No more Egyptian comedy capers full of people shouting at each other. Back in the capital we are reminded of the pollution here - not just air but noise too - a 90db regularly reached at 7.30am, according to the local paper. We return to our favourite sandwich shop - pay at the till and then take the receipt to the queue at the counter. Sorry, did I say queue? As an Englishman I find myself going backwards in these sort of scrums - I just lack the skills and experience to wheedle myself to the front. The food is worth the fight, and the place is always packed.

The curse of Tuthmosis III

The train is already at the platform when we enter the station. A gendarme stops us to ask where we are going. "Luxor". He then directs us to a seat by a smelly toilet. We move down the train and find empty seats on the busy train near the back. Before the train leaves another policeman finds us and asks us to come with him. So we walk back the length of the train until we reach a carriage where the copper tells a man to move. We take the empty seats and the policeman sits near us. Opposite him is another policeman facing the other way. This one is accompanying a Japanese couple. We have been assigned an escort for a three hour train journey. A woman who sits facing us with her daughter and son offers us bananas, bread and cheese. We can't refuse her kindness but have nothing to offer in return.

Luxor is a bit of a crazy town. The first road we walk down is completely dug up for its whole length. This is not an uncommon sight - instead of working on short sections of a road to minimise the inconvenience, the opposite occurs. It looks like there may be three men doing the work - or are they just bored passersby staring endlessly into that trench? Our hotel manager is a smiley jokey man whom we instantly distrust simply for these traits. It rains again and the streets become an obstacle course of mud and puddles. Oh the joy.

Luxor comes from the arabic Al Uqsur which means The Palaces. It was here that the Pharoahs had their capital, Thebes, and where they built great temples for their gods. It is also where most of them were buried in decorated tombs cut out of the rock. We visit the huge temple complex of Karnak which is series of reconstructed courtyards, statues and obelisks. One large room is filled with decorated columns - incredibly impressive and perfect for hide-and-seek. The following day we cross the Nile and hire bikes to visit the Valley of the Kings. In a narrow dry valley are the tombs of many of the kings - the most famous being the last one discovered - Tutankhamun's. We skip this in favour of three others. The tomb of Tuthmosis III ("the Napoloeon of Egypt" apparently - although I wonder what ol' Boney would say about this) has difficult access through an opening cut high up a cliff and then across a deep shaft - to deter tomb robbers and people like Harrison Ford, presumably. His sarcophagus is in-situ, guarded over by a weasly old man in a grubby turban who thrusts a torch inside to illuminate the decoration and thrusts his spare hand out for some baksheesh. (There is a deep-rooted tradition for baksheesh in Egypt. On an earlier trip where we took a minibus with other tourists, the driver asked us for a tip. An old American man said "Yeah, keep your nose clean and stay out of trouble" before jumping off the bus.) We blank him and head off to the tomb of Ramses III . We enter a narrow corridor undergound and admire the scenes painted along the walls and in the alcoves. A coachload of tourists rush past and down to the end, and then double-back. It looks like they haven't seen anything - just going through the motions. We follow them to Ramses I's tomb. He's pulled the biggest crowd - a mixture of Russians and Brits on a day trip from the coast - all boob tubes, silly hats and flip-flops. What would the Pharoahs think? Groovy! judging by their outfits.

We are constantly trying to avoid being overcharged - it's a daily sport which we bemoan, yet we feel no guilt about using fake ISIC cards to pay to enter Egypt's sights. Everything is half price for students. We bought our cards from a shifty restaurant owner in Palmyra, Syria, who was very cloak and dagger about it all, verging on paranoid. He had a small boy in the back room doing the business on a computer. It seems like everyone we met who went there came away with one. Our small investment has finally paid dividends and enabled us to see more than we probably would have otherwise.

The next day I awake with a dodgy stomach and spend the day in close proximity to the toilet. At one point it feels like the Nile is flowing out of me. This is obviously a result of a pharaonic curse, and nothing to do with the moussaka I ate the night before. The following day I take a tablet to bung me up and we hire bikes again to visit the temple of Hatshepsut. This woman became a pharoah whilst some young whippersnapper (Tuthmosis III as it happens) came of age. Apparently her period of rule was a peaceful and prosperous time. Hmmm, may be there's a lesson to be learned here. Afterwards we visit tombs of nobles which are dotted around a village, which was built over them. Their decoration is superb - some painted, others carved in relief. The tomb guards sidle up to offer the opportunity of taking illicit photographs or to descend dark stairwells that are out of bounds. They all have bad teeth and rummy eyes. Down by the Nile the sugar cane is being harvested - lush green fields contrast sharply with the dry rocky hills and the concrete town. We take the boat back across the river one more time and catch a night bus to Cairo. I have a sore backside but not sure whether it's from two days riding a Chinese bicycle or one day sat on a toilet.

La, la, la, la, la, la means....

Our hotel's entrance is on an unsalubrious backstreet, up two flights of stairs. It is shared with the back door of a bank, the National Bank of Egypt, through which there seems to be an inordinate amount of traffic, including men with suitcases, who look like they should be hotel guests, but are probably Up To No Good. Probably symbolic of the country's economy. But our room looks out over the Nile - the best view we've had in ages and for just 7 pounds 50 a night. It is simply wonderful. The river flows down the valley majestically, a green belt through the sand that stretches all the way to the Mediterranean. In ancient times the river would flood with summer rains from further south, and replenish the soil with alluvial silt, providing the fertile ground for the world's first nation state. Nowadays the huge damn regulates the flow all year round, which means more crops can be grown, but without the natural fertiliser. The damn has also displaced the Nubian people living in Upper Egypt, as well as many ancient temples.
It appears the money was spent on rescuing the temples. We visit large temples at Abu Simbel that were carved out of the face of the cliffs beside the river. Incredibly these have been dismantled and rebuilt 65 metres higher, above the level of the huge Lake Nasser. They are imposing structures fronted by huge statues and filled with incredible carved reliefs depicting the power and the glory of Pharoah Ramses II. I am thrilled to see a whole wall showing his battle with the Hittites at Kardesh
in Syria. In Turkey we saw the peace treaty prepared afterwards between the two empires - the first in the world. The temples were built at the southern entrance to Egypt and stood as a sign to all who passed. We then visit another temple complex that was relocated from one submerged island to a higher one that was then remodelled in its original image. The size and scale of the operation is unimaginable, and the results are impressive. The temple was dedicated to Isis and was finally closed by the Byzantine emperor Justinian 250 years after the rest of the Roman Empire had converted to Christianity. Whilst other invaders perpetuated rule by Pharaonic dynasty, the Romans finally brought it to an end, after nearly 3000 years. I can't describe the wonder of the monuments or explain the feeling of being at the 'cradle of civilisation' in the Nile basin - today the country seems so distant from its rich heritage. It feels poor and neglected.

There's an interesting ethnic mix to Egypt. The country has been invaded by Libyans, Persians, Greeks, Romans and Arabs and the Egyptians have invaded northern Nubia. Is this an African country or a Middle Eastern one? Probably both. It feels more conservative than the countries we have recently passed through.

La means 'no' in arabic, but it might as well mean 'I love you' for all the effect it has on the touts in Aswan. Like mosquitoes, they are persistent, an irritating buzzing sound in the ear "Felucca ride? Taxi? Caleche? Come and look - anything you want just 5 pounds". As Gayle reminds me when I get annoyed, these guys are only trying to scratch a living from probably the largest source of income there is round here. Sometimes we have a laugh and a joke with them, and often we simply ignore them. There is a smart and clean street through the souk, but it's only full of tourist tat and tatty tourists. The real souk is a collection of sandy streets that come alive in the evening - far more interesting to us. We eat kushari - "Egyptian comfort food" as one friend describes it - a blend of pasta, rice and noodles with a tomato and chilli sauce.
The climate charts in our guidebook tell us it never rains in Aswan. One night, past midnight, we hear cars going past blaring their horns. Outside it's raining.

One-way ticket to Feluccaville

We take the "fast" ferry to the Sinai coast of Egypt. The journey is short but seems to last the whole day and we arrive in the dive resort of Dahab in the dark. Fortunately there are friends to meet us and the other two backpackers off the bus. "Welcome friend to Egypt, you want taxi? which hotel?" We are surrounded by four lads in hooded tops who herd us into a pick-up truck like sheep. "You need cheap hotel? Only 15 pounds. Come look." "Baa, baa" we bleat, as we hurtle down a road in the pitch dark. Our new friends are not as tough as they look, and drop us off where we want to go, without any further touting. So maybe Egypt is not as bad as they say.....(?)

We spend the next few days relaxing in windy Dahab. Gayle dives and I read in the sunshine whilst our Support Team at home sort out our banking problems (thank you!). It's windy every day but we have a great place to stay (German-run), and there are other travellers to swap information with. AD, who looks like Father Christmas having a well-deserved holiday, gives us the low-down on Egypt and we trade with information on Jordan and Jerusalem. He's heading to Yemen and Gayle is sorely tempted with a diversion. After five days here we realise we haven't seen a single Egyptian woman. The whole place is set up for tourists and beyond the strip of hotels, restaurants and shops there appears to be nothing but desert and the rugged dry mountains of the Sinai. It's soulless, but hassle free.

Our attempts to reach Mount Sinai are easily foiled. We say farewell and head off to catch the bus. There isn't one. "Problem", we are told. "How about tomorrow?" we ask. "Maybe. Ring first." Our friend James came through here before us and hitched for 8 hours when the bus didn't come. We head back to our hotel. After two days of no bus we decide to catch a real bus to Cairo instead. It's a weary day along bleak coastline and under the Suez before finally reaching the Big Smoke - 20 million people they reckon live here, and it looks like they are all out and about when we arrive. Here there is only one rule of the road - survival of the fittest. We are well-trained though, and think nothing of heading across a six-lane road with no break in the traffic - although preferably downstream of a local. We finally find a decent hotel but with a miserable receptionist - a tough call, the man is a git, but we are too tired to resist his charmlessness and we stay. Downown Cairo is bustling with window-shoppers, cruising the streets, admiring the displays of shoes, checked sweaters, saucy underwear, cheap watches. The pavements are crowded with street hawkers specialising in the same things - belts, ties, socks and hats. Men crowd into the cinemas to watch some "hit 'em hard, hit 'em low, shoot 'em up" shlock. There's a juice bar - fantastic.

We visit "Islamic Cairo" - the scruffy old part of the city, full of mosques and madrassas, and a large souq. We walk all day through the busy sreets, and down narrow lanes, dusty dirt roads through poor areas where we witness the only orderly queueing in the whole of Egypt - for the free bread provided by the government. The city has a shabby friendly feel about it. Our favourite place is a large 9th century mosque built with mud brick and timber - it's simple and elegant. The following day we check out the museum - passing through lots of security checks before entering the most dismal building - a 19th century warehouse of dusty pharaonic exhibits. The collection is huge, and poorly displayed, but still fascinating. The contents of Tutankhamun's tomb is the highlight - from the boomerangs to the wig boxes to the sandals to the jewellery. The head mask is an impressive solid 11kg of gold, but was he really cross-eyed?? Wonderful stuff.

Of course, we couldn't leave Cairo without visiting the pyramids at Giza, could we? No. After the crowded one hour bus journey it was a pleasure to be set free amongst the postcard and camel touts. Do we want a horse and carriage? Ha, ha, of course not. We had met one couple (street performers, juggling on a unicycle - at least that's what they said) who got suckered for a 35 quid pony ride around. Just when we think we've escaped the touts one more turbaned man approaches out of nowhere. After only 15 minutes a policeman tries to stop us wandering off - pointing at his watch telling us the site is now closed. Its only 4 o'clock so we ignore him. It is a strange feeling - visiting these monuments that are so familiar, so famous. Close up they are quite enormous impressive structures and from a distance, standing in line on a plateau above the river, they seem so dramatic and alien. The sun is setting and we wait for the light to change. The place is suddenly deserted and peaceful Finally another policeman asks us to leave - he is surprised to see us. It's after 5 and everyone, even the touts, have gone home.Later on we take the night train to Aswan in Upper Egypt. In the morning we can see lush fields and palm groves on one side of the train and barren desert on the other. Aswan feels very small-town after Cairo and quiet. Our first walk along the Nile inspires a rush of touts, like mosquitoes sensing fresh blood, offering to take us on a felucca ride. The river is full of these small sailing boats, zig-zaggin up and down the river - they are a trademark symbol of the Nile.

Indiana Jones & the busloads of tourists

News Year Eve, and we are in Madaba, Jordan. We have seen the sights and eaten our regulation houmous, fuul and falafel. The highlight is undoubtedly the mosaic floor of a Byzantine church depicting the Christian world as it was then known. Sadly not all of it survives, but bang in the middle is Jerusalem. We agree it will be the last mosaic we travel to see. Madaba is a quiet little town, with a large number of christians - indicated by the large number of beer shops. We are staying in the Pilgrim's House - which is less ascetic than it sounds - or so we thought until the heating fails to come on in the evening. There's also no hot water. But the satellite TV does work, so we can huddle around this and tune in to Al Jazeera or BBC World or God TV if we wish. The streets are empty and there's nothing else to do. Eventually we find someone who can give us a heater and we celebrate the New Year with a very long card game and a can of beer in bed. How bacchanalian. Suddenly there are fireworks and firecrackers and people in the streets, but it all dies down too quickly.

I am struggling to like Jordan. The travelling is difficult and the tourist infrastructure is geared up for coach parties or fast-spending people on short holidays who do short tours. We never pay the same price for a cup of tea. It gets to the point where we ask the price of each individual element of a meal before ordering, and even then we get overcharged. At this point we offer what we think is the correct price and the man usually shrugs and says "Fine, no problem". We take a bus to Wadi Musa with Kenny and Kingri, two Singaporean students studying at Cambridge. They have been to Iran and we ask them about the food there. "Famine" is the reply. Apparently it can be hard to find a restaurant open. Jordan starts to look opulent.

Wadi Musa is the village at the head of a dry valley that descends through the hills down to the great African/Syria divide. In these red sandstone hills were built the pre-Roman city of Petra, made famous by Harrison Ford et al. It is deservedly a UNESCO World Heritage site, with the usual tourist circus that this entails. Bus loads and bus loads. However, there are only a small number of visitors staying in Wadi Musa - goodness knows where the rest come from. We spend a couple of days wandering around the fabulous dramatic rocky dry landscape, joining the hoards at the main sites, and avoiding them on the high climbs above them all. Our favourite walk leads us down a dry canyon full of affluvial debris metres high. It finally narrows into smooth winding rock walls - giving us the sensation of being the flood waters that have shaped the route, taking 90 degree turns then twisting the opposite direction, finally falling out into a wide sun-drenched valley.
We end our days in Jordan at Aqaba, on the Red Sea, and while Gayle does a couple of dives I discover that our bank has stopped our cards. I try to earn some falafel money juggling at traffic lights, but give up after too many close shaves with bemused and beserk taxi drivers.