andrewmilton

[andrewmilton]

Cyprus

What's the Greek word for 'xenophobia', because I think that's what Amigo encountered from the grumpy lady at the immigration desk at Larnaca airport? She certainly put the "cross" into "cross-examination", especially over the fact that - against my advice - he didn't have an onward flight booked from Cyprus. She used her discretion to give him only three weeks in Cyprus, rather than the usual 90 days. Treatment to which I can look forward if the UK leaves the EU.

We got the bus into the centre of Larnaca and got lost following the directions to the apartment and Amigo's habit of asking passers-by and being sent from pillar to post. Apart from that, I quite enjoyed our few days in Larnaca. Nice to walk along the beaches and the yacht marina. And a good day trip to Nicosia, which is the only divided capital city now that Jerusalem and Berlin have left the league. The Cyprus Museum was full of wonderful archaeology. Amigo insisted on going to the border crossing, where I resisted the temptation to leave him behind and disappear into the North.

After that, a few days in Paphos, where the goddess Aphrodite emerged from the foaming sea, when the Titan Cronus slew his father Uranus and threw his genitals into the sea. Nowadays, though, the beaches have won EU cleanliness awards. Paphos has a rather more interesting sea-front than Larnaca and some spectacular Graeco-Roman mosaics in the Archaeological Park, plus a Byzantine church next to the pillar where St Paul was said to have been flogged. The weather was pretty good, despite the BBC’s constantly predicting rain. Beware of Britons and their weather forecasts!

While travelling in Ukraine and the Middle East, I was struck by how few Britons I met. Perhaps they are all in Cyprus, the place was full of them. Unlike some places, the locals seemed to like the British as well as the money they spend. Lots of pubs and restaurants catering to the tastes of the British abroad. I just wish I could have been part of it, from time to time. But Amigo was in lock-down mode. We stayed in the apartment until we ate lunch there. We ventured out in the afternoon, for the beach and/or food shopping but back before sunset for home-cooked dinner. We never ate or drank in a restaurant or bar, so please don't ask me what Cypriot or Anglo-Cypriot food is like. I will remind myself in London.

Luckily, the wifi in the apartment is quite good and you can get Cypriot TV. So why need to actually speak to anyone when travelling abroad?,

[andrewmilton]

[andrewmilton]

Israel

It's an expensive country full of crazy people, with crazy neighbours, reliant on a single crazy ally.

But that's enough about South Korea.

Crossing the border from Aqaba in Jordan was surprisingly easy. We had to wait while a red-faced (I didn't see his neck) guy with a US diplomatic passport was embroiled in some undisclosable difficulty with the Jordanian border guards, but our exit was easy enough. We didn't pay the exit fee which I was expecting. They seemed happy to see us go. That is often the case.

We schlepped our copious luggage along the road towards the Israeli checkpoint, where a friendly young man waved us to the security check, and even helped us with our bags. As usual, Amigo was targeted for the full baggage search but it passed off peacefully enough as they bemusedly went through the contents of his mobile kitchen. A fairly long wait on the passport control line but they seemed happy eventually to let us into the Promised Land.

For the first time in ages, no haggling over the taxi fare to our hostel in Eilat: it was on the meter. Eilat was also a bit of a change from what we had become used to. A bustling, modern tourist resort where everything was born free but was everywhere in shiny chains: MacDonalds, Starbucks, Zara etc etc. And also iDigital, the Israeli version of an Apple Store, owned by the son of a former prime minister. It was there that we took advantage of Eilat's VAT-exempt status to buy a iPad Pro each. And I splashed out on a new mobile phone because I couldn't get an Israeli SIM card to work in the Samsung Galaxy J5 which I had bought in London.

Eilat was a great place to spend a few days by the beach, especially when most things closed for our first experience of an Israeli Shabbat. The weather had changed, and was now pleasantly warm. So much so, that even I was able to go swimming in the clear water. It wasn't too much to do in the way of sightseeing, but that was actually quite a welcome break from the previous months.

The small hostel was okay, and most staff were friendly, except that Amigo managed to fall foul of the chatelaine who ran the place and took exception to how he was using the kitchen. So it was good to go next to go to the anonymity and professionalism of the massive Abraham Hostel in Jerusalem. The bus passed by Masada and the Dead Sea. I had intended to visit, but decided it was enough to see how impressive they were from a distance.

The hostel was to the west of the old city of Jerusalem, and our first experience of an area mainly inhabited by visibly Orthodox Israeli Jews. We stumbled across their massive and wondrous food market, where Amigo was in paradise among the hummus etc.

We got a taster of the Old City on a Sandeman ’free' walking tour which started at the Jaffa Gate. We didn't actually go inside buildings, but we saw the key points: the Wailing Wall, the Dome on the Rock, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre et cetera. There seemed to be invisible lines between the Muslim and Jewish quarters which only tourists seemed able to cross.

The next day, we struck out on our own, halting at the Garden of Gethsamane before ascending the summit of the Mount of Olives from where there was a spectacular panorama of the Temple Mount and in between the road along which a certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho (but not us: I'd decided to keep Amigo away from the West Bank and the Elephant in the Room).

The rest of our time in Jerusalem was spent avoiding Vice-President Pence who seemed to be officially visiting everywhere we wanted to go. So we had to pick our days to avoid him at the superb Israel Museum near the Knesset and the sombre Holocaust memorial at Vad Yashem. We narrowly avoided him at the Wailing Wall. I hope he didn't try to use the women-only entrance like Amigo. We pressed on to visit the impressive archaeological excavations on the other side of the city at the foot of the Temple Mount.

By train to stay three nights with my FB friend Ruth and her husband Danny in a town to the north of Tel Aviv. They looked after us wonderfully well, including a day trip to a 19th Century Rothschild-sponsored Jewish settlement at Zichron Yaakov and its Mozart festival at the Elma Arts Complex (a hotel in arts centre or an arts centre in a hotel?).

Thence to the Abraham Hostel in Tel Aviv. The hostel had a similar youthful vibe as its sister in Jerusalem but the city was very different, hedonistic and unencumbered by the weight of history and overt religiosity. I was going to add more modern but some of the Bauhaus architecture is beginning to show its age. We managed a day in the ancient port of Jaffa but seemed to spend most of our time on the glorious beaches. Luckily for me, but not for Amigo, out of season swimming was prohibited. Didn't stop the surfers having a good time though. All of this was overseen by the US Embassy which was waiting for the political tide to wash it up in Jerusalem.

Because we were so impressed with the Abraham hostels so far, we decided to go with the flow and take the chain's door-to-door shuttle bus and book ourselves into its third hostel in Nazareth. Door-to-door proved something of a misnomer as we dragged Amigo's excess baggage up the narrow streets to what proved to be a characterful old house of the Ottoman period and nothing like its buzzing sibling hostels. It turned out that the fine house had fallen into disrepair after its long-lived last occupant died and had been bought up and renovated as a hostel by a group of Israelis before they moved onto further ventures in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. The place employed Arab staff and promoted Arab culture, e.g. through Arabic classes and an Arab music evening.

Nazareth itself was something of a disappointment outside competing Orthodox and Catholic Churches on rival sites of the Annunciation to the Virgin Mary. A modern city sprawled over too-steep hills with no great charm. And, it seemed, expensive, even by Israeli standards. It wasn't even a particularly good base to explore in the footsteps of Christ unless you literally wanted to do this on the Jesus trail from Nazareth to Galilee. All the hostel offered was a twice weekly tour of Galilee and the Golan Heights, but it was quite expensive and involved a 7am departure, so we gave it a miss and get to the Sea of Galilee (which we had previously seen from Jordan) by public transport. Getting to Tiberias by bus was a bit of a nightmare, but it was pleasant enough walking around and spotting the fishers of fish on the water.

I'd have liked to explore further in the footsteps of the Nazarene but Amigo was keen to press on so, on Ruth's advice, we went to Haifa, which, as promised, had a pleasantly relaxed vibe where the Jewish and Arab communities seemed to get on ok. It was really worth the stress of getting to the Carmel Heights by bus and seeing the view of the famous Baha'i gardens and the town and sea beyond. We walked down and visited the German Colony, where the swastika fluttered in the 1930's.

We got a convenient train from Haifa to Ben Gurion airport which was, alas, not entirely hassle free. We managed to get on the plane and are now in Cyprus. But that's another story.

[andrewmilton]

Jordan

Compared with Egypt, Jordan was a breath of fresh air. Too fresh sometimes, as we were to find in Petra. Much less pressured.

The airport at Amman was modern and well-designed (by Norman Foster?) and entering the country was relatively hassle-free and even welcoming. Fairly straightforward getting the shuttle to the Northern bus terminal and thence a taxi to the Farah Hotel in the middle of the downtown, a place run by a genial patriarch.

The next day we polished off the compulsory sightseeing in Amman by climbing up to the Citadel where we were welcomed by the remains of and the views from the old Decapolis city of Philadelphia, before slaloming down to an impressive but heavily restored Roman theatre. And that was that. We could spend the rest of our time in Amman just chilling, without any pressure to do sightseeing or fend off attentions from what Amigo calls 'decoy men'. Although or because Amman didn't have much history, it was a good place to pass the time doing nothing very much.

We did, however, do a day tour northwards. We set off in two cars: Amigo with a chatty Australian and flegmatique Belgian in one, and two Milanese and me in the other. The first stop was Umm Qais, the ancient Decapolis city of Gadera, and the scene of the Biblical miracle of the Gaderene Swine:

"And when he came to the other side, to the country of the Gadarenes, two demon-possessed men met him, coming out of the tombs, so fierce that no one could pass that way. And behold, they cried out, ‘What have you to do with us, O Son of God? Have you come here to torment us before the time?’ Now a herd of many swine was feeding at some distance from them. And the demons begged him, ‘If you cast us out, send us away into the herd of swine’. And he said to them, ‘Go.’ So they came out and went into the swine; and behold, the whole herd rushed down the steep bank into the sea, and perished in the waters." Matthew 8:28-32

Our demons having been undisturbed (ablative absolute?), we admired the panorama. Directly in front of us was the massive bulk of the Golan Heights, louring over the Sea of Galilee (where my namesake went fishing) and Nazareth to our left. To the right, were those parts of the Golan Heights still held by an uncannily peaceful Syria. The guide tried to persuade us that we could also see Lebanon in the far distance, but I wasn't convinced. But impressive, nonetheless.

Gardara itself was mainly remarkable for the black basalt from which its theatre and other public buildings (including a splendid Nymphaeum) were constructed. And we were told that Roman-era pedestrians were forbidden from walking on those parts of the main road where the paving was at diagonals to the kerb. They could only cross at the equivalent of zebra crossings. Never too old to learn.

Next step was the anti-Crusader castle of Aljoun, built by one of Saladin's generals (and nephew) at the end of what the Christians call the 12th Century. It was subsequently destroyed by Amigo's Mongolian ancestors in 1260, only to be almost immediately rebuilt by the Mamluks (Google them, a don't have all day!). What remains is quite spectacular and a kiddie's delight to explore. It was surrounded in dense fog when we arrived, which detracted from the views but insinuated an air of mystery.

Somewhere around this time, my car lost an Italian and gained an Amigo. The other car became a transport of delight for the Australian and Belgian.

The final visit of the day was to the old city of Jaresh (Roman: Gerasa, another city of the Decapolis (see comment on Mamluks, above)). I was unprepared for how huge the site was, used as I was to titchy little places like Londinium. From the entrance at the ornate arch of Hadrian, past the massive Hippodrome (no, Amigo, not hippos, horses! Hippopotamus means 'river horse’ in Greek..oh, never mind, it doesn't matter, not important!) to the strangely oval-shaped forum, this had been a seriously opulent metropolis, which supported an impressive array of temples etc. Wish we had had longer. Actually, we could have had longer, as we waited by the car for the last Italian to return 30 minutes later. Something else for which Amigo has never forgiven me.

On 1 January, I didn't wake up saying White Rabbits. Big mistake.

The hostel organised a car to take our Italian, Amigo and me on the scenic route to Petra, on 3 January. We stopped at Mount Nebo, from where Moses/Musa got his view of the Promised Land but couldn't get through border controls. The site is managed by Franciscan monks and includes a Byzantine church (don't ask, it’s complicated) with some pretty decent mosaics. The view was epical. The River Jordan ran from right to left into the Dead Sea. Directly ahead, you can see where a certain man might go down from Jerusalem to Jericho (couldn't resist reciting a parable I'd learned in Greek at school). Again, it all seemed very peaceful.

We then drove to Madaba, famous for its production of mosaics. Amigo was happy visiting St George's Church with its famous mosaic of the Holy Land; less happy to visit a shop where they were selling the things (although I was happy to learn a few tips about mosaic production).

At Karak, we exchanged our elderly but spry Palestinian taxi driver for a younger Jordanian one. We walked to the famous Crusader castle. Built in 1142. Captured by Saladin in 1183, after a mighty siege. Knocked about a bit thereafter by earthquakes etc, but still impressive. Had a hoot exploring the place. 1.50 dinars for two people to use the toilet. Negotiated down to one. Approx £1

And so to Wadi Musa, the doorkeeper of Petra, via a big new mosque featuring Saddam Hussein. Stopped at a checkpoint by charmless monoglot soldier. Passports taken. Luggage searched. All because our Italian fellow traveller looked like an Arab. Or so our driver said.

Awful start in Wadi Musa. Valentine Inn reception unfriendly. Wanted to charge us 5 dinars extra if we wanted heating in our room. Amigo later got into an argument because the room didn't have the promised bathtub. I left him to it, only to be caught in a power cut. Amigo had to fight for a place in the kitchen to cook. Not so much the doorkeeper of Petra, as its Cerberus.

Cheered up the next day when our hotel shuttle bus took us to Petra. Having been stung at the Pyramids, we turned down all offers of animal transportation. Walked through the gorge to be confronted by the famous Treasury and various mountebanks. Paid due reverence to the scene and turned right into the main valley and a bitterly cold wind, for which I was under-dressed. Persuaded Amigo to keep to the easily accessible sites (the 'High Place of Sacrifice' seemed especially unnviting), and leave the rest to the next day. Was happy to pay a dinar for a coffee and a chat with some Bedouin over their hospitable brazier.

Apart from that multidirectional wind, it was great to explore the temples and tombs of that rose-red city. Peculiarities included a small Greek-style theatre inside a massive temple complex. Lunched under a bridge, like trolls. Wandered about a bit more. Then home earlier than expected.

The next day, I had to deliver on my promise. At least I came dressed for the wind. So it rained as well. As we headed up to the royal tombs to the right of the main valley, a gust of wind whipped off part of the roof of a Bedouin shelter. A wooden plank hit my on my backpack. More surprised than hurt.

I delayed as much as possible the big challenge: the slog up to St Catherine's Monastery. The guidebook said it was a 40 minute walk. The purveyors of donkey rides claimed it was an hour. They weren't far off. Mercifully, the rain and the wind held off. I hated the climb. But pleased that I had lost enough weight since last year to make it feasible. And the views as we ascended were gratifying.

"Hidden high in the hills, the Monastery is one of the legendary monuments of Petra. Similar in design to the Treasury but far bigger (50m wide and 45m high), it was built in the 3rd century BC as a Nabataean tomb. It derives its name from the crosses carved on the inside walls, suggestive of its use as a church in Byzantine times." Lonely Planet Guide.

So we lingered, took photos, took photos for other people, commiserated with American women who survived the ascent by donkey and was dreading the descent.

"you’re better off walking coming down as the donkeys travel fast and the way is steep and slippery, making for an uncomfortable and at times dangerous journey for both you and your mount." Lonely Planet Guide. I kept that from her.

We ate our picnic in a suspiciously smelly tomb with a view (note to self: next time, eat the picnic before climbing up the mountain). Amigo helped me with the more scary parts of the way down. And thence to the hotel.

The hotel advertised a 5 dinar bus to Aqaba. So up early the next day to be taken to the bus station only to find the bus was going nowhere because there were no other passengers crazy enough to brave the dense fog. Just as we were contemplating spending another night in Wadi Musa, the bus driver offered to take us to Aqaba for 35 dinars for two. We accepted. An eerie ride through a hidden desert. The fog finally cleared and we fell upon Aqaba in sunshine to an imagined soundtrack from Lawrence of Arabia.

It's been good in Aqaba, taking a break from sightseeing and getting therapy from the beach and from Carrefour, as we steel ourselves for the crossing into Israel. We have seen the Promised Land. But are we going to make, like Aaron? Or fail. Like Moses.

[andrewmilton]

[andrewmilton]

[andrewmilton]

Never coming back to Egypt again?

This is a bit of a rant. Please feel free to skip it.

Luckily, we got to the airport in good time. We were to need it. Didn't begin well when security decided to go through one of the bags which Amigo had packed, and surlily waved us through, only for Amigo to be hauled over for extra questioning by the police. One particularly nasty piece of work was going through the money which Amigo was carrying and then demanded his passport and then placed both out of view. Amigo did not react well to this, and after a while, neither did I. We were then surrounded by police who demanded to see Amigo's passport. I was pointing at the nasty piece of work saying that he had stolen it, but he just blanked me. I took photos on my iPad but they spotted me and made me delete them. Confrontation continued for a while, and suddenly the passport and (most of?) the money appeared. They finally let us go, unimpressed by Amigo's threats never to come to Egypt again.

There was a long queue at the Royal Jordanian Airlines check-in desk. When we finally reached the official, she demanded to see our outward air ticket from Jordan. It didn't seem to help when we said we didn't have one, as were planning to go to Jerusalem by bus. She held as at the desk while she made phone calls. I looked around. If they were going to insist on an outward ticket, there was nowhere where we could by one and it wasn't obvious that there was public internet either. In the end, she relented and gave us our boarding passes.

We had to go through another scan for our carry on baggage and that resulted in their confiscating Amigo's four socket extension lead. I had to put my hand over Amigo's mouth and pull him away.

We boarded the flight, leaving a military dictatorship to arrive in a constitutional monarchy. Surely things are going to get better.

Egypt is in a bit of a bind. Terrorism is driving tourists away in droves. But the unreconstructed and heavy-handed security apparatus will drive them away just as much when it is turned on the visitors as well as ordinary Egyptians. The results can be seen in Hurghada, a resort town of enormous capacity, which is rattling with emptiness. Especially now that Amigo will never return.

[andrewmilton]

Upper Egypt

Upper Egypt, and a parting before the Red Sea

For some reason, it wasn't possible for me to book on the Egyptian Railways website tickets on the same overnight train that Amigo and I took from Cairo to Luxor, so I booked him a seat on the train that left half an hour later. The idea was for us to wait for him at the Luxor railway station before proceeding to the Happy Lands hostel where we had booked accommodation for a few days. However, our train was two hours late and we weren't sure whether Cliff's train was similarly delayed or had overtaken us. Amigo and I tarried at the station before deciding to schlepp our luggage to the hostel. As soon as we checked in, the manager told us that our American was on his way from the station by taxi. Panic over. Turned out that his train had been even more delayed than ours.

Through the hostel, we booked a taxi and a young female guide to take us to the Land of the Dead on the West Bank the next day. We visited much the same places as I have visited a score of years ago. We started at the temple of Hatshepsut, proceeded to the Valley of the Kings and - like the glory days of Ancient Egypt - finished at Rameses III's temple at Medinet Habu. It was a fairly basic package: 20 years ago I had a better guide and more time to explore more fully. What we did see was impressive, although we only got to see three tombs (having decided against the extra money needed to call on Tutankhamun). I was happy enough showing off my knowledge of Egyptology before Amigo and our American friend. We successfully fought off the taxi driver's attempts to take us to an alabaster factory, but our guide was clearly bored and brought us home sooner than we had strictly paid for, as Cliff was quick to point out.

The next day was Karnak Temple, the largest religious site in the World (we were told). A longer walk past Luxor Temple and along the corniche than I recalled from my previous trip, and rather less importuning. The entrance to the site has been cleared of the scruffy shops that I remembered and replaced with a proper modern building and tarmaced road. And much more security. But inside, the temple was timeless in its haughty magnificence and full of surprising oasis of quiet away from secular saeculorum visitors.

Up betimes the next day to take the big taxi from our hostel to Abydos and Dendera temples. Journey delayed by the police deciding this was not a good day for letting us take the most direct route. Because of this and our tardiness in quitting the hostel, the driver insisted on strictly limited time at the temples where we left to our own devices and my memory as guidance. For example, I think we might have found Cleopatra at Dendera. Or we might not. We certainly stumbled across the famous Dendera zodiac. The quality of the carvings inside the temple at Abydos was, as I remembered it, superb.

And so, by train to Aswan and the dive of the Yassin Hotel, where you could feel the contempt in which the staff held us. Made me envious of the rich folks in the Movenpick Hotel on the iconic island of Elephantine, the ancient border of proper Egypt. We were in the middle of the souk: a mixed blessing.

The hotel staff told us that we needed to be at reception by 3am. Amigo and I reported on time, to be told the coach would arrive after 4am. Shukran very much. Cliff joined us at the revised time, as he had been instructed. A long journey through the night, the morning and the desert to the temple at Abu Simbel, which had been moved to its new location when I was at primary school (I had precociously and annoyingly to my teachers read all about it then). Again, we were put under a bit of time pressure by the driver. A path took us up past a spectacular view of Lake Nasser to a fine prospect of the temples.

In some ways, the temples were a little anti-climactic: I was expecting something a bit more overpowering and awe-inspiring. But what I saw was fine enough, until I had to make an early exit because of a contretemps about illicit photography.

Chris parted from us at Aswan because of Amigo"s behaviour towards him. We are now in a flat overlooking a swimming pool in Hurghada. It's a rather sad place, reliant on tourists who, with the exception of Russians, seem to be staying away in droves. The hotels, restaurants, shops, beaches are cavernously empty. But it's a welcome relief between sightseeing duties between the Nile Valley and Petra. One drawback is that the expensive hotels have a monopoly of access to the beaches. The other is that the weather isn't warm enough for us to miss them.

[andrewmilton]

Cairo

The hostel turned out be very central and mostly good, although you often had to negotiate worshippers on the ground floor and a hefty schlepp up to the top floor. Got a price reduction by cancelling our Internet booking. 1800 Egyptian pounds (£76) for 6 nights in the dorm for two people. Nice breakfast. Very good vibe with the other guests when we arrived. Other guests not so forthcoming when we left, including a decidedly grumpy family of Danish trolls.

Settling into the Cairo routine was stressful at first, including trying to get the SIM card to work on Amigo's mobile. On the second full day, we toured the Egyptian Museum (formerly the Cairo Museum). Really good, especially the Amarna stuff on the ground floor and the familiar treasures from Tutankhamun’s tomb on the first floor.

The next day was the obligatory visit to the Pyramids. We teamed up with Cliff Hanger from California (not his real name). We thought we would be clever by avoiding an organised tour. Big mistake. The plan was to get the Metro to Giza and thence the bus to the Pyramids. When we arrived at Giza station, a nice gentleman with a boy in tow offered to take us to the bus stop. He engaged us in conversation and said that he was taking his son Amir to see the Pyramids for the first time. Would we like to join them? We jumped at the chance to tour the site with some locals. They seemed very specific that there was a gate for tourists and a cheaper gate for Egyptians. When we arrived at the latter, the man and his son got onto a couple of horses and directed us to a calèche (horse-drawn carriage). We had an inkling that something was wrong when the owner of the calèche demanded 900 Egyptian pounds (£38) from each of us. I thought this was a bit steep, but paid up for Amigo and me and virtually cleared my wallet of Egyptian pounds. The owner gave a strong hint that we were expected to tip the driver. Our friendly Egyptian waved us away, saying we would meet up at that spot in about an hour.

And so we set off. The driver was affable enough and gave us a rudimentary commentary, pointing out the sphinx and the principal Pyramids as the horse struggled to convey two fat Westerners and an unhappy skinny Asian around the complex. I tried to put aside the feeling that we had been scammed and to enjoy this inimitable experience. But the feeling of being an entrapped tourist re-emerged when we got to the standard viewing platform for panoramic photography and were set upon by rogues who made us pose for silly photos (see my Facebook page for examples) and then said that the £5 (UK) which I offered as baksheesh 'was nothing' and they demanded more. Our driver got my £5 back, for which I was soundly cursed.

We continued to another spot where we could take photos into the Sun of the Sphinx but at no point did we get anything like close to any of the monuments, as other tourists were doing. I felt a bit let down as we left the site and up an alleyway where the driver demanded baksheesh. I offered £20 (UK) which the driver said was not enough and demanded £50. Amigo went ballistic on my behalf and demanded he take us to the police station. The driver threw the £20 back at me and took us to the rendezvous with the the calèche owner and our Egyptian 'friend' and his 'son'. We related what the driver had done and the owner chastised him. All the while, Amigo was sounding off and this continued as the Egyptian man and his son accompanied us to the Giza Metro station. I felt so embarrassed that I acceded to the request that I hand over the £20 so that it could be given to the indigent and philoprogenitive driver. As we headed towards the station entrance, the man asked me for one last favour. Would I autograph a foreign banknote and give it to his son? Thus disappeared the £5 rescued from the rogues on the Giza panorama. And, for me, the penny finally dropped.

Because of all these carryings-on, i felt disappointed by my Giza experience but not sufficiently so to justify a return trip on a proper tour. Maybe another year? After that, I confined my sightseeing to old Islamic Cairo, seeing some historic mosques, madrassas, hammams, bazaars, cafés etc. Including:

- the first mosque which I visited, the Shi'ite Al-Hussein mosque, containing a silver shrine for the head of Hussein, grandson of the prophet Mohammed.

- Al-Azhar Mosque one of the pillars of Islamic thought and home to the world's oldest university. Unfortunately, the most historic bits were out of bounds for restoration during my visit.

-The Mosque of al-Hakim. At various times, the mosque was used as a prison for captured Franks (i.e. Latin crusaders) during the Crusades, as a stable by Saladin, as a fortress by Napoleon, and as a local school. In 1980 ACE/1401 AH, the mosque was extensively refurbished in white marble and gold trim and, unfortunately, this is of what my photos mainly were. The minarets are original though.

The Islamic bit much more pleasant than the fraught jaunt to the Pyramids . Photos on my Facebook and Instagram.

Our American friend had some unfortunate experiences with both the Wake Up Hostel (which culminated with his being beaten up by the receptionist) and with its sister hostel, the Freedom Hostel where I stayed. You'll need to send me a private message to get details.

[andrewmilton]

[andrewmilton]

[andrewmilton]

Cairo, from the Novotel roof café

[andrewmilton]

The Flight To Egypt

It wasn't that easy. Amigo decided that the cheapest way was to get a flight from Odessa to Istanbul point to point, and then get a plane to Cairo several hours later on Middle East Airlines (a Lebanese company). The catch was that we changed planes in Beirut with an 8 hour overnight stay in the airport.

The journey to Istanbul was ok, although the passport control queue was like giant constipated anaconda. We spent the afternoon in the arrivals lounge: Amigo sleeping soundly, me wandering around like an unquiet spirit. We joined another long queue to check in on our flight to Cairo. But the Man from the Middle East Airlines check-in desk, he said No! He produced a tome which said that South Koreans could only get a visa on arrival if he had a diplomatic passport. Amigo and diplomacy have never been properly introduced, so he didn't have one of those. Amigo threw a wobbly and insisted the man go away and check, which he spent a (deliberately?) unconscionable time doing. While he was doing that, Amigo and I agreed that if he couldn't go to Egypt, we would go to Beirut, from where (we assumed) we could also easily visit Israel and Jordan and eat delicious Lebanese food. But the man phoned through and said Amigo could go to Egypt after all. No apology given or requested.

We spent the night, as planned, at Beirut airport. Amigo sleeping, me occasionally dozing but mainly people watching and window shopping. They barely glanced at our passport in Cairo as they dished out 'visas on arrival' for $25 apiece.

Amigo and I share a horror of taxis so we dodged the touts and got the free shuttle from the airport to a main bus station. We finally got a bus to Tehrir Square where we did the 15 minute walk to our hostel in about 2 hours, schlepping ’our’ (80% Amigo's) excessive baggage all the way. Amigo had the idea that it was near the Al-Halal Hospital but he and the people who gave us directions there were telling porkies. When we eventually got there (schlepping along dual carriageways en route), the hostel was nowhere to be seen. Yet again we were sent from pillar to post by the various people who gave directions to get rid of Amigo as soon as possible. Eventually, one of those people turned out to work in the hostel's reception. Otherwise, we would still be wandering Cairo's streets in the dark.

The final indignity was that the hostel was on the fifth floor of a characterful but lift-less building. Apart from that, and the fact that we had to manoeuvre around Muslims at prayer, the hostel is pretty comfortable and, it would seem, very central. We'll find out how central tomorrow.

[andrewmilton]

A glimpse of the sea from Beirut airport

[andrewmilton]

Odessa/Odesa

My stay in Odessa is coming to an end. It's mostly been good. Spent a lot of time in the wonderful opera house, which I heard was the best in the World after Milan and Vienna (although Amigo prefers the acoustics in L'viv). We saw some good solid traditional productions of operas (Carmen and La Traviata) and ballets (Giselle and Don Quixote), plus concerts at the rococo Literature Museum by enthusiastic music students, some of whom were really good.

Mixed feelings about the rest of Odessa. Good to see the Potemkin Steps, although they weren't as I remember them from the film by Eisenstein (and they were certainly less crowded). There was a lot more war damage and less prosperity than L'viv so a lot of the buildings were reconstructions or went through Soviet-style rebuilding and maintenance standards. There are some gems surviving from earlier epochs although some of them are crumbling. Not as pleasant to stroll around as the centre of L'viv. Not so many good restaurants. It has a good situation on a hill overlooking the Black Sea, although the port spoils the view. But mustn't grumble. Lots of buildings have a French or Italian Mediterranean influence. And it's cheap by Western standards. Looks like it will be improved when they build a park on the slopes near the Potemkin Steps, with money from Greece (and the evidence of Greek settlement in the area is on display under a glass ceiling). It would have been nice to visit the Vorontsov Palace, but Amigo was turned away because it was now a school.

Odessa is predominantly Russian-speaking, and probably the only such city which I can visit without a visa, which adds to its interest.

Mixed experiences with accommodation. The apartment were we stayed a few nights and the Dream Hostel were pretty good. The Kosher Hostel was marred by unhelpful staff and bedbugs.

[andrewmilton]

Needs some attention.

[andrewmilton]

Pushkin was here.