Mummy goes to Egypt

By Lynne Beaven

An unexpected invitation leads Lynne into another adventure.
She finds herself travelling through the hot and mysterious land of Egypt.
Little does she know that before the journey’s end, she will have fulfilled another of her ‘do before I die’ dreams.
Never would she have imagined it would happen in a Nubian village.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynne Beaven
• Release date: Mar 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9780473208608

Lynne Beaven

Lynne Beaven lives in the North Island of New Zealand with her husband, Ray. They share a sense of adventure and a love for the outdoors. Despite leaving school with grand plans to travel the world with friends, Lynne settled down with Ray to raise their four children. Thirty-five years later, she dusted off her dreams and began exploring the world - with those same friends as well as with Ray. Lynne writes her memoires to encourage others to fulfil their dreams, whatever they may be. With frugal living and a determination to achieve them, anything is possible.

Book preview

MUMMY Goes To EGYPT …

Published by Lynne Beaven at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Lynne Beaven

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

‘There comes a moment in the life of every traveller

when a terrible realisation strikes:

there are only so many journeys left.

….

From this point onwards you must make every journey count.’

David Dale – author, from ‘Essential Places’.

With gratitude to my son, Craig, and daughter-in-law, Anna,

for their united and spontaneous invitation

to join them on their trip to Egypt.

Finding the Pharaoh

Camel Train to Sleeper Train

Dogs, Dunes and Dinner Date

Craig Cuts Rhonda into Forty-two Pieces

Sailing on a Slave Ship

Henna and Horse Hair Blankets

Never Fear – Mummy’s Here

Incredible Karnak

Be Careful in Cairo

A Meeting with Moses

Pathway to Paradise

Rest, Relaxation and Volcanic Eruption

Anticipating an Ambush

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter 1: Finding the Pharaoh

‘Our trip to Spain in September isn’t going to happen,’ I lament to Craig and Anna. ‘For various reasons, two of the girls can’t make it so we’ve pulled the plug. It looks like I won’t be going anywhere this year after all.’

‘Come with us to Egypt!’ they both chirp, with eyes lit up.

The sight of their genuinely hopeful faces will remain top of the list of my favourite memories.

‘Are you sure? You don’t want Mummy tagging along,’

‘Yes, we do.’

‘Wow! OK. I’m in.’

I have them to thank now for this new experience – as a white knuckled passenger in a Cairo taxi. My driver hasn’t said a word to me since his grunt when I showed him the address of the hotel. He has plenty to say, however, to fellow drivers as they scramble for right of way.

It soon becomes obvious he hasn’t a clue where he’s going. Even though my ear is un-tuned to Egyptian, I do recognise the name of the district we are supposed to be heading for as he pulls alongside a car to ask for its whereabouts. Oh, dear, this does not bode well. Horns are tooting and angry shouts are aimed our way as he slows traffic to ‘conversation out the window’ speed.

As if the ‘normal’ traffic isn’t enough to contend with. Two lane roads become three. Four lanes become five as they make a mockery of the white lines. Any minute now will come the screeching sound of tearing metal as wing mirrors clash. Maybe not. For the first time, I notice most cars have only a short, jagged stump where the mirror used to be. The few others remaining have escaped destruction by being turned in.

How can the drivers see who’s trying to edge their way in, then? And how does anyone learn to drive in this country? I am horrified to see some drivers flaunting their accuracy skills by dangling their arm out the window!

Eventually we arrive in the right district. Now I can recognise the street name being asked about as we periodically park in the middle of a five abreast highway. It soon becomes obvious we are pointing in the wrong direction. The taxi swings violently across in front of a bus as we make the first move to cut everyone off with our right angled manoeuvre to the other side. Are they all mad?

I am the one who glances up to recognise the street which will finally lead us to Hotel Pharaoh but our troubles are not over yet. ‘No Parking’ cones in front of the hotel mean the taxi is still obstructing traffic. I can get out but it is some time before the driver can extract himself to retrieve my luggage. Other commuters protest their outrage till one of the guards outside moves the cones closer to the footpath.

One hair raising hour after leaving the airport, I check in to be shown to my room on the fifth floor. Great! This will give me opportunity to work on my level of fitness. A hip ligament injury while playing badminton a month earlier has left me recovered but not as fit as usual. Friends and family back home have heard me confidently referring to the ascent of Mt Sinai near the end of our Intrepid trip. I’m determined to make it up and down without the assistance of a mangy camel.

Making my first descent of the stairs, I am welcomed by two familiar smiling faces. Craig and Anna arrived a day earlier after flying from England where they attended a friend’s wedding.

‘How did you enjoy the drive from the airport?’ asks Craig.

No words are needed. He can read my facial distortion.

‘We’re thinking we might walk to the supermarket to stock up on snacks for tomorrow. Do you want to come?’

‘Sure. Prices will no doubt be higher at Giza tomorrow.’

They are already familiar with this area of Cairo. We are soon browsing the shelves, trying to interpret what lurks beneath the packaging. Alas, Egypt is added to my list of countries who don’t stock Marmite.

Early in the evening, we meet with our Intrepid leader, an Egyptian named Amun. Say it any way you like. Everyone does and he graciously answers to all variations. Once briefed, he takes us on an orientation walk around the block, pointing out ATMs, internet cafes, supermarkets, pizza places as well as restaurants serving genuine, only found in Egypt, food.

Although the footpaths are exceptionally wide, they offer an array of obstacles from sprawling mounds of rubbish to piles of concrete rubble. For this reason, Amun leads his merry bunch along the roads which are quite narrow in this area. This proves a definite hazard when taxis juggle for competition beside the parked cars. Many of the cars parked for any length of time have covers over them to ward off the city’s dust and grime.

Our group is short of four people. Three are still returning from a day trip to Alexandria and the fourth has yet to fly in from London. Craig is already suffering from something Egyptian he ate yesterday so we seat ourselves outside a pizza place. We three are the only New Zealanders. So far there are three sisters from Australia, Rhonda, Beth and Rae, another young woman, Helen, also from Australia and Annette from Scotland.

A cheeky young Egyptian waiter amuses himself by teasing us and pretending to mix up our orders. Rhonda’s tolerance snaps briefly with a curt, ‘My still-jet-lagged head doesn’t want to play your games.’

Despite her brief show of impatience, Rhonda proves to have a wicked sense of humour. In fact, we all do and hit it off straight away. A breeze whips up around the outside tables as we wait for our meals. It’s getting dark now and the hot temperatures of the day are forgotten as some of us wish we had brought along another layer of clothing.

Craig unnerves us with a story he and Anna heard from a couple just returning from Egypt as they were getting ready to board.

‘They were browsing through a market and were offered tea by a vendor. They didn’t want to offend the guy so they accepted. After a few sips, the girl felt a bit strange so she didn’t drink any more. But her partner drank all of his and was immediately transported to a wonderful high. They managed to get back to their hotel but couldn’t do more than lie on their bed.’

The moment he finishes his story, the waiter returns for our drinks order. ‘Coke or tea?’

‘Coke!’ is the quick and unanimous response.

My Egyptian vegetable pizza is scattered with dark olives. I pay 11LE (Egyptian Pounds) which is less than 3NZD. It’s very tasty but although I ordered a small one, it is medium sized. Despite my hunger, I can only manage half. Rhonda is trying their chicken pie which doesn’t resemble the stodgy pastry we have at home. Instead it looks a pizza that’s been pumped up like a bicycle tyre.

Apart from Craig who is being very cautious with a Western style pizza, the others all bravely order a dish called koshari. It’s a mix of rice, brown lentils, and macaroni topped with fried onions and a spicy tomato sauce. Although it looks a lot like fodder they might feed to camels, the girls enjoy it immensely. Annette tops hers off with a fruit smoothie. It comes adorned round the edge of the glass with a colourful array of different fruit including a sliced length of banana.

My room mate still hasn’t arrived by the time I wearily climb the five flights of stairs to prepare for a much needed sleep. Of course the overloaded sewer systems here call for the deposit of toilet paper into an awaiting basket. I must confess to the occasional lapse in the change of direction. Habits die hard sometimes.

At last I lie between the sheets. Even though the bed is hard, it is luxurious to be in a prone position after thirty hours of travel. In my solitude, I allow myself the luxury of talking out loud.

‘I’m in Egypt … I’m in Egypt!’

It seems an incredible discovery yet the wonder of it doesn’t stop me from falling asleep almost immediately.

Suddenly I am blasted by sound. The phone is ringing in my ear and someone is knocking on the door. My roomy, Gerry, short for Geraldine, has at last arrived after a delayed flight from London. The short sleep time left, once Gerry is settled in, is spent restlessly coping with her coughing (she sleeps through it), the heat (Gerry doesn’t like air conditioning) and next door’s noisy AC unit.

Of course the periodic arrival of other late comers to the establishment is heralded by bags being banged out of the lift and trundled along the tiled corridors.

Chapter 2: Camel Train to Sleeper Train

Being a slow eater, I stumble out of bed early to make sure breakfast gets full attention. One look in Gerry’s direction tells me it will be more humane to leave her where she is. I join Beth and Rhonda to enjoy toast with a dollop of fried aubergine, bacon and potato slices. Great care is taken to sift out the green chilli pods that lurk menacingly within.

Anna arrives for breakfast with the news that Craig will not be partaking. He spent the night buffing the glaze off the floor tiles between their bed and the toilet. That must definitely destroy the novelty factor of disposing tissue into the wastepaper basket. Perhaps the surcharge when requesting a single room is money well spent if one is visiting countries with limited plumbing efficiency.

I am both excited and apprehensive about today. For years I have looked forward to riding a camel. As we all clamber into the minibus, I can’t quite shake a