Days 22 & 23. Sat 4th & Sun 5th October
Cairo revisited. Homeward bound.
The last day in Egypt. We are free to do what we want, but two optional
excursions are on offer - Saqqara and Dahshur in the morning and "Islamic
Cairo" in the afternoon. In the end I decide to do both.
The Necropolis of Saqqara is situated about 30Km south of Cairo and
is the site of the step pyramid of Zoser (Djoser). Constructed in 2650BC,
Zoser's pyramid is the oldest stone monument in the world. The architect,
Imhotep, was the first to break with the tradition of building royal tombs
as underground rooms topped with bud-brick mastaba, and started the trend
for building pyramids as burial chambers for the pharaohs.
Another 10Km south again is Dahshur, the site of a collection of pyramids
from both the Old Kingdom (4th dynasty) and Middle Kingdom (12th dynasty).
The only two Old Kingdom pyramids left standing are the Bent Pyramid and
the Red Pyramid. The Bent Pyramid was designed for the Pharaoh Sneferu,
whose architects had to change plans half way when his original steep-sided
design began to show signs of stress, and the upper half has a shallower
angle, giving the pyramid its distinctive shape. The Red Pyramid or North
Pyramid is the first pyramid that has the true pyramid shape. Having learned
from their mistakes with the Bent Pyramid, the Red Pyramid's sides are
inclined at the same gentler 43º angle as the upper section of the
Bent Pyramid, though this is shallower than the that of the Great Pyramid
of Khufu, Sneferu's successor, at Giza.
We can enter the Red Pyramid, first climbing up the side to the entrance,
and then descending backwards down a steep narrow passage into the interior.
The first chamber is lit, but then we progress, with the aid of torches,
into the inner chamber, which is unlit - this is not an excercise for the
claustrophobic. We are told by our guide that this pyramid was not used
for human burial, but only for funerary equipment, although the Lonely
Planet Guide disagrees with this, indicating that human remains, possibly
of Sneferu, were found in the burial chamber.
We have just ten minutes at the hotel between excursions, so we grab falafels
and schwamas (kebabs) at a little take-away kiosk on the outskirts of Cairo
on the way back.
I am rapidly running out of Egyptian cash, and even if there were time
to change a traveller's cheque it is Saturday and all the banks are closed.
Martin and Judy, who, fortuitously, have changed far more money than
they need, very kindly lend me 300EGP.
The "Islamic Cairo" excursion takes us to the "Citadel of Saladin",
which includes several mosques, notably the Mosque of El Nar Mohammed Ibn
Qualaun (I think I got that right) and the Mosque of Mohammed Ali (not
to be confused with the boxer!).
Once the "Islamic Cairo" tour is ended we drive to the bazaar (yes - the
Old Bazaar in Cairo!), and Nigel, Anne and I go on a shopping spree. I
buy a basalt Anubis for 120EGP, a metal plate for Mum for 100, and then
we go hunting shisha. We have both decided that we want to take home a
shisha pipe as a memento. They are on sale everywhere and, of course, to
evince the slightest interest is to be dragged into the shop and given
the full sales pitch. We eventually find a shop that appears to specialise
in sheeshas, and we settle down to some serious bargaining. Nigel and Anne
settle on a small one, I go for a slightly larger and more solid one, but
the initial price is two hundred and something, and I only have 132EGP
left. To say that you don't have enough money effectively terminates any
bargaining session - you will not get away with paying less than everything
you have. On this occasion, however, it doesn't seem unreasonable, and,
once the shopkeeper is convinced that 132EGP really is all I have, begrudgingly
accepts it (right down to the last 2 pounds). However it now turns out
that they do not have a matching mouthpiece tube (all these shishas seem
to be in kit form, and mixing and matching the various components makes
choosing even more difficult), and, an even bigger problem, the rubber
bung on the main pipe stem does not fitt into the glass water bowl. Anne
and Nigel wait patiently, which is just as well as we have missed the deadline
for the bus and I do not even have the taxi fare home. Finally a bung is
made of cotton (which I am assured is much better than the standard rubber
bung) and the pipe is packed up with all the accoutrements, including charcoal
and apple flavoured tobacco.
We grab a taxi and get back to the hotel shortly before six, just in time
to pack before going out for supper. What with my two rugs, my shisha,
plus sundry other souvenirs, not forgetting my snorkel and fins, I have
quite a problem getting eveything in. Luckily the shisha comes in its own
carrying case, a somewhat flimsy affair, but big enough to take a load
of clothes along with the pipe. I finally manage to squeeze everything
in, but it does mean I shall have to wear my walking boots all the way
home.
The "Last Supper" is at the Flying Fish Restaurant, where I treat myself
to calamares and a fish kebab. The usual thanks are paid and speeches made.
There are ten of us returning on the Olympic flight via Athens, leaving
at 02:45 - once again I regret taking the Explore recommeded flight rather
than a possibly more expensive but definitely more convenient one. We pay
a last visit to the Mocha Cafe, say fond farewells, and head off to the
airport at midnight, under the watchful eye of our old friend Saleh.
The flight home, and the three hour wait in Athens, is uneventful.
I fall fast asleep on bith legs of the flight - not even waking up for
the obligatory tray of aeroplane gloop that they insist on serving mid-flight
despite the fact that it is nowhere near any mealtime. Needless to say
the trains are in chaos in Britain - there has been a flood, a 'fatality'
(I never find out any more details), no trains have left London all day,
and Stoke, where I am supposed to change, is closed. Not even the station
staff have any idea which train is going where or when. I end up taking
a train to Stockport, another back to Wilmslow, and then a bus to Macclesfield
because Macclesfield station has still not been reopened after the track
repairs that have been going on for the last six months. I discover later
that it was due to be reopened on the previous Monday, and Nicholas Winterton
had even turned up to open it, but due, allegedly, to the platform being
the wrong size for the trains, it had been delayed another week. I finally
get home at 7:00pm having been up 36 hours. It's good to be back!
The End