Egypt - Pathos

Ah Egypt. I'd been dreaming of this place since a picture book of ancient history was first pressed into my hands. The monumental, towering temples, the claustrophobic mausoleums and sanctuaries, the colossal figures floating amongst the desert's undulating, sandy waves were visions carved into my mind like the cartouches on the massive, granite and alabaster stones. I wanted it all - the heat of the desert, the cool of the Nile, the magnificent constructions of nature and ancient man coexisting in exotic harmony. Could anything stand up to those expectations? Despite all my problems here, Egypt comes damned close.

Getting here was a ordeal in and of itself. We had planned on taking the fast ferry from Aqaba to Nuweiba - a supposedly hassle-free customs procedure on the Jordanian side followed by a speedy, relaxing hour sail across the Red Sea. The reality could not be any more different. Tom and I dived into the ticket purchasing office of ABMaritime, the ship's operators, and were immediately assaulted by the smells, the sounds, of a chaotic, unwashed mob. It was, as Tom put it, like a video game - at every step you had to dodge crowds of people, jump over puddles of water, duck past hanging electrical wires, deal with distractions, and find poorly marked queues... all to get the proper stamps to board the ship. One of the craziest moments occurred when an anxious father raced down the hall way I was in, trying to find a doctor for his sick daughter. Predictably, the only one on-site was out. As such, I decided to step in, seeing as how it was going to be me or no one. Tom valiantly continued solo, as I obtained a fragmented history, and conducted a physical exam.

We were finished all of the paperwork by 11:30 -ostensibly a half-hour late, given our prior research, but Tyson, who had been melting under the middle eastern sun, watching our bikes in the queue of vehicles waiting to get on the ferry, assured us that no ferry had arrived. And so, we waited. And waited. And waited. The hours ticked by, and still no sign of an impending departure. As the hours ticked by, the crowd became increasingly restless, and every now and then, someone would charge the gate. By 5:00 pm, we stated to get antsy ourselves, and decided to rush the gate as well, since our previous experience with middle eastern queues suggested that this might well be the only way to get aboard. Alas, we were turned away, and sent back into the queue (albeit the front of it). About 1o minutes later, someone with a walkie-talkie directed us to the gate once more, and we started towards them, the rest of the queue following behind us. There was some more confusion, and we thought we were going to be refused entry a second time, but finally, the guards relented, and let us (and only us} pass. In the brief moment the gates were open to let us through, the seething crowd boiled over. First one man, then another, and then yet another broke through the cordon of police and made a run for it. All around us, people stared yelling -the police at the stowaways, the stowaways at the police, the crowd at everyone. The police gave chase... batons were raised, then brought down hard... and we were rushed away from the scene - around a corner, past some parked buses, onto the pier, and towards the ferry, which lay docked at the end of the pier, it's ramp raised like the drawbridge of a castle under siege. Apparently, this was the last line of defense against the unwanted passenger. As we approached it was lowered, and we rode up only to be stopped just in front of the deck. Passports and documents were presented, and suddenly, there was chaos once more. "In or out" we were told, and I gunned my bike up the last few feet and onto the ship. Behind me, the guards frantically raised the ramp - apparently, the castle was under siege. We parked our bikes, made our way upstairs to the main deck, and got our first bit of food since breakfast that morning.

And then we waited. And waited. At some point during this interminable waiting, chaos ensued once more as the hordes of passengers assaulted the ship. It was like they were fleeing a warzone, and we were on the last ship out. The crowds with thick and teeming, noisy and obviously irate. At this point, the ship's captain found us, and directed us upstairs to the first class deck - apparently, there wasn't going to be much room to go around.


And then we waited... again. It wasn't until 8:00 pm that the ship finally started to move... and let me tell you, the cruise was far more than an hour. Had we somehow stumbled onto the slow ferry instead of the fast? In truth, the Saturday ferry had been cancelled, and as there was no Sunday ferry, there was a 2 day backlog on the ferry service to Nuweiba. Some people had camped out for days to be on this boat. Oh well, at least we were finally en route.

We arrived in Egypt some time around 11:00 pm, and began what proved to be the most time consuming, inefficient, and generally painful customs process one could possibly imagine. There was not a single computer on site, and everything was noted on pieces of paper of varying sizes and colours - we had to hold on to these all important scraps without losing a single one, and ferry them from one incomprehensible agent to the next... a manila file folder was generously provided for that purpose. Assisting us in this herculean task was an officer of the tourist police - he guided us from one booth to the next, deliberated with the agents, translated, and told us what we needed to do. The whole process was just dragging on and on... and then another hitch. As it turns out, the ABMaritime officer in Aqaba who filled out our papers had spelt my name wrong on a form (not hard to do in English, nevermind Arabic}, and nothing could be done until this error was fixed. And so the officer and I traipsed out of the customs zone, through the city, and into the Nuweiba offices to sort the matter out. Of course, the ABMaritime officials hemmed and hawed, refusing to reopen their records. Words (and cigarettes} were exchanged, and then, miraculously, we had our papers. Back we went to the customs buildings, and after a few more payments, we were done. It was now 2:00 am, and the whole, terrible process had cost us greatly. In Aqaba, the damage was some $1301 USD... in Egypt, it was more like $200. My reserves had been well and truly tapped.

Exhausted and hungry, we rode out of the port, and found ourselves a nice beachside resort to crash at for the night - it was the only one still open at 2:30 am. For some reason we ordered dinner, then passed right out.

The next day, I woke early and buzzed into town to see if I could find a diveshop that could sell me a new drybag and/or sandals. No luck. However, as I drove back to our resort along the highway, I witnessed one of the most sublime sights I have ever seen. Before me, a herd of camels was crossing the roadway. I pulled over to watch the incredible sight, cursing myself for not having brought my camera. They looked so noble and stately as they sauntered across. With each long-legged step, they would sway like velvet-clad models on a catwalk, their necks held high in the cool, sea air. I was mesmerized. And then, as they crossed onto the soft sands lining the roadway, they broke into a trot, and were off. What a sight, and what a privilege. I took off myself, and made it back to the resort in time for a quick dip in the Red Sea before we hit the road once again.

The Sinai desert was breathtaking. The sandy coastal plain was narrow, framed on one side by the turquoise-tinged azure blue of the Red Sea, beyond which the shores of Saudi Arabia beckoned, and on the other by a rocky mountain range. After a while, the coastal plain was crowded out,and we were in the hills,dipping and rising through crags and cracks, panoramic vistas opening and closing before us. We passed quiet coves and ruined castles, ducking for a time into a brilliant canyon painted in crimson, gold, and ebony. We stopped to take a few requisite pictures of wheelies, and after a brief detour during which Tyson's odometer turned past 40,000 kms, we struck inland towards Cairo.

Away from the bright blue of the coast, finally we were enveloped by the desert - enfolded on all sides by the wavy dunes and craggy rocks of the Sinai. I was exhilarated. This was everything I had dreamed of a desert to be-wide, broad, and bright. I loved the play of light on the sand, and the myriad of colours the desert displayed as the day grew long. I drove on, speachless, as we neared the Suez Canal. Here was the geographic divide between Africa and Asia - today we would cross over into a new continent.

Tyson was dead set on seeing ships ply the Suez Canal, and we diverted into the city of Suez to do just that. He had heard that since the desert encroaches upon the canal so closely, they seemingly float on seas of sand. I had my doubts the city would be the best place to see such a site, but we gamely followed - after all, the canal was a great work of nature defying human ingenuity with incalculable political and economic importance. We arrived, snapped some shots, and were off, having seen no ships at all. Ah well...

The drive to Cairo was manic. I was leading now, and it seemed that with each passing mile, the drivers became more and more insane. For one, it quickly became apparent that lights were for sporadic use only. Pitch black trucks would crawl in the passing lane, darkened vehicles would switch lanes with no apparent warning, and speeding cars would float up invisibly behind me, only to switch on their high powered beams at the last second, coupled wit a simultaneous lean on the horn. Once in Cairo, any and all semblance of order dissolved completely. Here, anarchy reigned, and the only rules to right of way were a) size matters, and b) the strength of many. traffic lights meant nothing, and I couldn't tell you what the many traffic cops we saw were there to do. We filtered like mad, weaving in and out of the mostly stalled traffic amid a cacophony of horns, yells and brake squeals. Soon, I actually started to enjoy it - this experience took every ounce of concentration - my whole body felt alive and attuned to the sights, sounds, and sensations of driving in Cairo traffic.

When we reached our hotel - Hotel Luna - I was invigorated, but a long day stretched ahead of me - tomorrow, my mission was to find replacements for all my lost gear, while Tom hunted down the much-coveted Sudanese Visa, and Tyson found us knobbies for the abundance of off-road riding which awaited us in Sudan and beyond. I crashed, eagerly anticipating a day in the manic streets of Cairo.

The next day, we decided to send our clothes off for laundry. Indeed, it had been almost a week since our last laundry day, and we were all running out of clean clothes to wear. Moreover, the heat of the desert was doing a number on our jackets - they were caked with grime mixed with sweat, and were starting to smell a bit ripe. With great smugness, I removed the pads from my jacket - I had forgotten to remove them in Istanbul, and was right pleased with myself for remembering this detail now - and handed my clothes over to the receptionist. Then, I went to the hotel's internet terminals to hunt down sports/camping stores in Cairo. A few hours later, I had a suitably impressive list, and prepared to venture out into the light of day. At the last moment, I decided to pick up my ATM card, in case I needed some extra cash. Now, where did I put it?

The answer hit me like a ton of bricks - the inside pocket of my riding jacket. It was in my "secret wallet" - the one that held my driver's license and a few larger American bills. I had been so pleased with my having remembered the pads my secret wallet was completely overlooked... heck, I had forgotten to empty my breast pockets of the bits of paper that had been accumulating there over the past few days. I had never had a secret wallet before this trip - Tyson had convinced my of it's utility sometime ago, in Turkey, but I wasn't used to having to remember it. In any case, the time called for action, not stupefaction. I approached the desk, and had them call up to the laundry room - it wasn't in my jacket. I asked to be shown myself (it's easily missed) - still nothing. I scoured the laundry room (it may have been dropped, or throw out) - more nothing. The laundry-room workers looked on, alternately amused and angry, until I had had enough. All of the pockets of y jacket were turned out, and it was obvious to me that someone had taken my wallet - likely for the $60 USD it contained. Actually, I didn't give a damn about that - the ATM card was all that mattered. But alas, it was gone. I left the hotel to go on my hunt, cursing my stupidity at losing the most important card in my financial armamentarium. I'll never lose it indeed.

My mission in the city of Cairo was only partially successful. I managed to find a good, cheap pair of sandals (Timberlands) and swimshorts, but drybags and gloves were a bust. Instead, I picked up a cheap knock-off diesel bag that looked pretty reflective ("should serve me well amongst the crazy drivers of Sudan and Ethiopia") and had enough pockets that I was certain not to lose anything ever again. Waterproof it was not, but I had spent an entire evening a few nights back duct-taping the thing to submission - I hoped that would be enough. I got back to the hotel quite late to hear that both Tyson and Tom had been successful in their missions as well - we went out to catch a late dinner, and they went off to do some picture uploading. I must admit, I was slightly annoyed - I had wanted to get up early, and hit the pyramids of Giza for a few hours before heading off to the pyramids at Saqqara, but reluctantly agreed at a 9:00 wake-up. Heck, I was so far behind in my own log at the time that I tought I could maybe get a post or two in myself. I got to bed at 4:00, and went to sleep excited at tomorrow's incredible itinerary - Giza by noon, entry into the Great Pyramid at 1:00, riding around the pyramids of Saqqara (which include the bend pyramid and the step pyramid of Dzozer [the first true pyramid]) between 2:00 and 5:00... followed by a ride along the Nile to Bani Suwaif. It was going to be a great and wonderful day were my last thoughts as I fell asleep. Little did I know that my trials until now were mere child's play compared to what was in store for me.

I woke at 9:00 on the button, and started getting my things together. We packed up and were out before 10:30 - almost record time for us. I was happy as we joined the sparse, early morning Cairo traffic, and drove towards Giza. Soon, the traffic began to increase, and within an hour we were filtering again. Tyson was way ahead of us, and since we couldn't see him by the side of the road, we pressed on to the Great Pyramid, which loomed above the encroaching city like the mountain it was. We expected to find Tyson waiting for us there... wrong. We waited at the main entrance... still no Tyson after 15 minutes. Suddenly, the text messages arrived in a volley. "waiting by the side of the road..." "where are you..." "going back to the last place I saw you..." "I've gone back quite a ways, and still no sign of you..." and so on. We sent off our own messages, and settled in. Almost an hour passed before Tyson arrived - it was now just past noon. Still on schedule, but time was a-wasting.

We got our tickets and rode up onto Giza Plateau. The Pyramids were magnificent, I thought. I had been led to believe that they were a let-down, especially because of their location (basically in a park in the centre of a sprawling city), but I thought them all the more majestic. Here was the indomitable ego of mankind projected 5000 years beyond his time in the shape of a mountain, forged over 80 years by hundreds of hands... in communication with the insatiable needs of one of the worlds mega-cities, growing, teeming, roiling across the supposedly inhospitable desert. Man-made mountains standing up to the onslaught of wind, weather, time, and man. I loved it.

As soon as we arrived, we hunted for a place to park our bikes, and get them in a picture with the colossal structures. One slender gentleman, clad in traditional Arab garb, made his way towards us, and helpfully directed us to a suitable spot. We took some pictures, Tom rode around a bit, and we brought our bikes to rest in the designated spots. I got there first, and waited for the cinematograpy to end. Tom and Tyson exchanged a few words with the man, came over, and dismounted their bikes. The man, who introduced himself as Emad, began taking us around the site - I assumed that Tyson and Tom had settled on hiring a guide. That was fine by me, I was just happy to be here. We were shown one of the Queens' funerary chambers, got a quick tour of the slaves' tombs, and were offered a camel ride. Tom seemed skeptical, but Tyson and I were game, and so we agreed. The price quoted was 180 Egyptian pounds - some $36 USD. Why we agreed to this price I have no idea - Emad just seemed so friendly and honest, insisting it was the student rate, and a big discount from the going rate. In addition, he impressed upon us that only camels and horses were allowed into the desert on the Pyramids' eastern edge, and we had really wanted to ride our bikes out there for the "Ewen and Charlie shot". Oh well, they had paid thousands for the privelege, and we were no actors, so camels would have to do. Only days later did I discover that the suggested rate was more like 30 Egyptian pounds - we had overpaid by 5 times. In addition, the benchmark by which all other services would be measured had now been set, and we were none the wiser.

The camel ride itself was actually quite a lot of fun. The so-called "taxi of the desert" was a bit painful on the bottom, due to its lurching gait, but the height, and the precarious perch, in these surroundings guaranteed a uniquely unforgettable experience. We trotted out to into the desert - Emad seemed to be shelling out quite a bit of coin to various tourist police officers scattered about the site. It looked like the "donkey and camel monopoly" required constant intervention to protect. We reached a panoramic viewpoint, and pictures were taken - some silly, some sublime - and it was back on the camels. By now, my backside was starting to chafe, but there was one more site to visit - the Isis Papyrus Museum. Whatever. We arrived, dismounted, and went inside. The place was rather small, and the walls were posted with half-rate papyrus paintings. Yawn. We were offered a drink (on threat of our host lopping his head off), shown how papyrus was made, and toured around the shop, our guide explaining several of the scrolls to us as we passed. And poorly I might add - I had had some exposure to ancient Egyptian mythology, and this guy was pathetic. I milled about trying to look as bored as possible, and noticed Tyson and Tom doing the same. We decided to leave, and were getting ready to go, when round 2 began. At this point, another, older fellow, apparently the manager of the joint, came down the stairs and invited us to sit wit him for a while. Tom and I looked at each other exasperatedly, and Tyson just looked pissed. He was just getting out his books to show us the reams of satisfied customers from every corner of the world... the echelons of satisfied companies for whom he has sourced papyrus and perfume in the past, when Tyson snapped. We were out of there in a flash, the managers protestations fading into the background.

On the way back to our bikes, we passed the Sphynx,which was actually quite small and unimpressive relative to my imaginings. At the bikes, we paid for the ride, and started planning our next step. We ad wanted to ride around Saqqara on our bikes, ut it was now fast approacing 3:00 - we likely would not get there until 3:30 or 4:00. Emad, wo had overheard us talking of the site before, insisted the entry gate closed by 3:00, and that, with him as a guide, we could get in through the backroads and stay as long as we wanted. After the Papyrus Museum, I was somewhat skeptical, but Saqqara was calling too strongly. Plus, Tyson seemed equally enraptured by the idea of riding our bikes around ancient stone monoliths - the deal was sealed when we got the price down from 300 ep each to 250. And then... another hitch. Emad wanted to bring one of the camel handlers along - Salouma, the handler with whom I had ridden, and whom I had repaid with my bottle of SPF 30 sunscreen (for all you dermatologists and dermatologist wanaees out there). Apparently, I was the designated driver for this kid - I guess he wanted me to return the favour. Remebering my experiences in Wadi Rum, I had serious misgivings, but Emad and Salouma assured me that he would dismount once we hit the desert. I had tem repea this 3 times, just to be sure. It didn't do much good.

We tore off from the pyramids, me with a passenger for only the second time, ever. We drove down back city roads and dirt paths, finally reaching a streatch of sandy ground. Salouma, contrary to what we had agreed, stayed on the bike as I skimmed along its surface. In front of me, Tyson almost bailed in a patch of deep sand - I stopped te bike, told Salouma to get off or I was going back, and forged over it. Having made it across without issue,I was quite pleased with myself when Salouma got back on the bike. We took off after the others along a sandy it of road. In front of me, Tyson careened in the sand again, but pulled through - I was not so fortunate. The bike slid out in the deep ruts, and dropped on its side, dumping Salouma and me unceremoniously to the ground. I quickly got back up, and with Salouma pushing, powered the ike through. Back on he got, and we caught up wit the others on a bit of road as it curved through the sand. Ahead of me, Tom was just starting his approach on a particularly steep hill of sand and garbage - this was apparently the backroad to Saqqara Emad had been tellin us about. He tore off at a good pace, and blasted his way up the hill, Emad standing on teh crest jesticulating madly. Tom almost made it, and with Emad's help, powered the ike over the last little bit. Then came Tyson. He got a running start, revved his engine, made for the hill... and stalled half way up, his back tire spraying sand to the four corners of the earth. After a few attempts, he got off, and managed to half push, half power the bike up the rest of the way, with Emad and Salouma pushing.

And now, my turn. I looked at the hill with skepticism. Both Tom and Tyson had basically destroyed the est approach - all the traction-providing garbage had been cleared, and the sand well and truly churned. I just didn't think it was possible to power through a dune like that - not with a fully loaded mule, at any rate. Nonetheless, I gave it a shot. I took a long approach, slammed the bike into second, and gunned it up the hill. As predicted, my ike sank into the pool of sand churned up by my compatriots. I brought my ike back down and gave it another go - this time at an untouched, albeit steeper, approach. This time it was gravity that did me in - the approach was too steep for me to make with the speed I had aquired... and the traction was only marginally better than the previous attempt. Plus, my bike was redlining. Damn. There was no way I was getting up this one. Tom came back, took my bike, and went with Emad to find another way in.

When we were all reunited with our ikes just beyond the sea of garbage, it was time to set off once again. From here on in, it was all sand, and I thought Salouma would be walking, as per our agreement. Fat chance. He took one look at Emad, riding high on Tom's bike, and insisted on getting on. I don't know why, but I relented. After we got going, I actually found it easier than I had thought - the knobbies were really doing their thing, and the traction was surprisingly good. We were cruizing along nicely, when I saw Tom stopped on a hill in front of me. As I approached, I looked down at my temp guage - redline. Good enough place to stop, I thought. Bad move. Altough the ike cooled down nicely, I had just happened to stop in a particularly deep bit of sand. It took 3 attempts, my bike falling twice, to get my bike out of there, and even then, my ride collapsed after 10 meters as the wheels got caught up in the deep stuff. Another attempt, then another... something was wrong with my bike. Although power was eing tranfered to the rear wheel, it didn't seem its usual strength... another drop. I tried to power my ike out - no go. I tipped it over, got it out of the rut, and tried again - still nothing. In fact, it seemed as if my rear wheel wasn't spinning at all. Oh shit. I lay the bike on its side, and tried the throttle again - it didn't even move.

At this point, I was sweating like a race horse, my mouth was parched, and I was oerheating in my riding clothes. The frustration wasn't helping matters, and I knew I ad to cool down, both literally and figuratively, or I'd be toast out here. It was blisteringly hot, and my camelback was almost empty - I threw off my jacket, tossed off my helmet, and made a beeline for the shade of some nearby trees, leaving Buffy laying in the blinding sun on her side. I sat and composed myself, taking small sips of water from my camelback and controlling my breathing. Shortly, Tom appeared, and the two of us surveyed my bike. It didn't look good. I held out hope that it was the drive chain, but I feared it might be the clutch, or the gearbox. I kept thinking back to that noise I had wanted Tom to check out at the Dead Sea - I had been fairly aggressive with the clutch in our cross-european adenture, and never haing driven standard before, imagined that I might have strained it then. In fact, I was never convinced of Tom's diagnosis of the problem as a vibrating dash. In any case, we had one more chance to rule out something that serious - Emad had arrived at the scene, Salouma in tow, and assured us that a road passed near to our location - we would head there and try to bump start the bike.

Our present task was to push a fully loaded KLR650 (a good 350 lbs) across deep sand to the swatch of trees under which Tyson was luxuriating, blissfully unaware of the unfolding drama. With Tom and I at the front, steering and pulling, and Emad and Salouma in the rear, pushing, we somehow managed to cajole the east of burden to the required location. Damn was I hot, and tired. And thirsty as hell. Tyson was chilling on a blanket y a little shack under a tree, sipping on tea. I stumbled over, collapsed to the ground, and drained what remained of my camelback. After similarly draining the glass of tea that was pressed into my hand y a weathered old man, I explained the situation to Tyson. His presumptive diagnosis - a urned out clutch, a la Uwe Diemar. Hope, wich some say springs eternal, dried up. This was exactly my worst fear, and here was independant confirmation. Bullocks.

What to do now? We resolved to try one final, desperate ump start by the side of the nearby road, and if that failed, to load the ike onto a truck and bring it in to Zagomar in downtown Cairo (the same place Tyson had had our tires changed). Hopefully, they could find the parts and replace them - we certainly couldn't do it ourselves. Emad had another plan - he said that he would call a pickup truck, but tat in the meantime, we should check out te pyramids (at least the closest one or two) while we were here. Later, we could try to bump the bike, and failing that we'd load it onto the pickup, and he'd take us to a mechanic. Apparently, he knew of one in the area, and would be happy to take us there - he seemed to imply that now that misfortune had befallen us, he would move heavewn and earth to help us. Now, we were brothers in adversity - the time for business had passed. Indeed, he had helped move my bike quite a distance, and seemed to want nothing in return, insisting that the agreed-upon price coered any and all contingencies, foreseeable or no.

Thus, we went off to explore the nearby pyramid, led by the weathered old man - the "guardian" of these pyramids. He took us around the site, explained (through Salouma) the markings, and the nature of te stones, and led us to the top. We surveyed the surrounding desert, which streatched off into the horizon speckled with man-made mountains. What a site! We were traipsing over the ancient tombstone of a god-king and here the horizon was filled with them! I was awestruck.

We made our way back to the ikes, had another tea, and set to pushing my bike to te road. This time, it was me, Emad, Salouma, and the guardian, straining to get the bike up precipitous, sandy inclines, and down steep, rut-filled slopes. What a job. Soon we were sweating and straining with the effort, the salt stinging my eyes. Nonetheless, we finally got the ike out, and slumped to the ground by the side of the road.

It wasn't long before the pickup truck got there - in fact, it seemed to appear almost immediately. As such, we never did get our bump-start, whatever good it would have done. We decided to go with Emad's mechanic since he was closer, and could at least tell us what had to be done. Thus, the bike was loaded onto the flatbed (for the first time) and we were off. We arrived in Gaza city, and I was struck by the similarity with India - 3-wheeled rickshaws plied the roads, and narrow, garbage-strewn alleys separated dilapidated concrete houses. Businesses were run from any manner of roadside structure, and animals (dogs, cats, cows, camels, chickens, and sheep) wandered aimlessly, and seemingly wild, along the busy thoroughfares.

The motorcycle shop was just one such an estalishment, in a small, three-walled structure nestled between two similar such buildings. The man came out and we explained the problem. He took te oil cap off and sniffed inside - that was enough for him. Through Emad, he conveyed that I had "caused a fire in my engine" by "giving benzine while open clutch and no walk bike". That's a pretty accurate description of how to burn a clutch. Also through Emad, he said he could fix it, tough it would require some time to find clutch friction plates of appropriate quality. He guessed the cost for the plates, labour, and oil to be 700 ep - about $140. I figured that to be aout rigt, based on the cost of our previous day's tire change, the fact that we had only seen one large bore engine in the entire middle east so far, and the fact that KLRs aren't sold outside of North America - high quality friction plates for a relatively rare (here anyways) japanese bike of greater than 500 ccs seemed a bit of a tall order to me. He would start looking for it immediately, and would have the part by 11:00 or 12:00 pm, Ish'n allah.

There was not muc to be done for it, and we resigned ourselves for a bit of a wait. Emat generously offered his place to us, promising a shower, dinner, and a place to sleep. We were amazed at his hospitality. All the while, he insisted we were his brothers - that he was inviting us into his home, and that we were to consider oursleves his honoured guests. After our experiences in Syria and Turkey, we were inclined to be trusting, and readily followed him to his home. There, we dined on camel meat, an oily spinach sauce, tahini, eggplant, rice and pide - easily the est food I'd had in Egypt yet. The shower was refresing, and invigourating - as night fell, we were happily seated on his couch, stuffed full and scrubbed free of the days grime and sweat, watching Emad as he played with his young 3 1/2 year old son, Karim. It was a touching scene, for he obviously loved his son greatly (though his daughter didn't seem to comand the same attention). As we sipped on tea, Emad offered us another surprise - late-night camel and horse ride through the desert to watch the pyramid Sound and Light show from te top of a nearby sand dune. Our eyes lit up. Coul he really e so hospitable? He would have no dissent, and pretty soon, we were brought downstairs to our waiting rides - 2 camels, and 2 horses.

Rock/Paper/Scissors relegated me to the camel, and at first, I was delighted - it appeared that I would be in the driver's seat, a far more comfortable place than riding in the back. Alas, as we left the city and reached the desert, the handler climbed up the camel's neck like a possum, and usurped my spot. Damn. Without my riding pants, tis ride was quickly starting to chafe, and I looke enviously at Tom and Tyson as they rode their horses proudly. Once in the desert, Emad let Tyson and Tom fly, and they galloped off towards the campfires in the distance. As for me, I found myself being treated as well - Emad told my handler to get down and pass me the reigns - I was now in charge. The experience of driving a camel is like no other I have ever had - I have ridden horses before, but camels were something else entirely. They litteraly towered over their distant cousins, and their trot, though slower than that of a horse, felt comfortably solid on the soft desert ground. Muscles tensed and relaxed under my legs, and I kicked my charge into a run. Magical! We raced across the desert at a cool 30 kph - top speed, I beleive - but it felt so much faster up there, on the ack of thius elegant, striding creature.

After too short a ride, we reached the campfires, were given a bedouin tea, and settled in to watch the light show on the pyramids. They looked so magical at night - black monoliths jutting out of a black inlet, surrounded on 3 sides by the twinkling lights of Cairo. Their blackness was deep and all encompassing - they dominated the landscape like no other structure I have seen before. And then the light show started - they were lit up in blues, greens, yellows, reds and purples in turn - a wonderous sight. We snapped pictures by the dozens, and then... it was time to go.

On the way back, I had the horse... and was eager to put her through her paces. She seemed more than happy to oblige, tearing off with the slightest encouragement. We galloped across the desertscape at a frantic pace, descending into a gulley - blackness surrounded by blacckness, surmounted by yet more blackness. It was brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I had the most tenuous control on my horse as we rode at speed into a void. And then, from wya behaind me, Emad called me back. Damn. I circled around and waited. When we had rejoined the group, we went back into the city, and Emad's place for the final meal of the night - a camel stew cooked on a fire for better than 2 hours. It was delicious... but for the cartilage and gristle. Full and content, we sat against the wall in our appointed bedroom... and the bomb dropped. Along the way, we passed the motorcycle repair shop - poor Buffy was up on her centerstand, her clutch housing hanging off her right side. Still no parts - we would have to wait until tomorrow evening, since Friday was a holiday, and shops wouldn't open until the afternoon. Damn. Making Aswan this week was looking increasingly unlikely.

We had assumed, perhaps naively, that all this was part and parcel of Emad's hospitality. Alas, we were mistaken. As we sat there, full to the brim on his food, in his room, our belongings strewn about, 2 of our bikes in his hallway, and one bike disemboweled at his friend's place of business, he told us the cost of our outing... 400 ep. That was a very special rate, apparently, which he was offering to us only because we were guest in his home, and brothers in adversity... thus, haggling was unnecessary. Were we OK wit this? I was stunned. I dind't expect this at all. Certianly, I had entertained notions of how much I was planning on tipping him, but I was not prepared to consider this now. Neither, it seemed were the remainder of my party. All of us, Tyson, Tom, and I, nodded dumbly. And then Emad added: "Good. 400 ep each. OK?" Huh? Where did that come from? Had we really agreed to that? Emad singled us out. "Tyson. OK?" Yep. "Tom. OK?" Yep. "Yarema. OK?" Yep. Like lambs to the slaughter.

And so the night ended, each of us struck dumb by what had just happened.

We woke at 7:00 te next day. Our plan had been to visit the Cairo museum a veritable treasure house of ancient egyptian artefacts, including the famous Tutankhamen exhibit. However, we had decided, based on the previous night's events, to take matters into our own hands. We went to an internet cafe, and began researching local dealerships perhaps we could find the part ourselves. Indeed, if the ecanic had not found the part by the end of today, we would pull the bike and have it brought to Zagomar - a place we could trust. In the meantime, as insurance, we would see about getting a set of friction plates shipped in to Cairo from Canada.

By the time we had eaten breakfast and acquired the necessary telephone numbers, it was 11:30 - we were to be picked up at 1:00 pm sharp. We headed over to the museaum for a laughably short and frantic race through its massive collections - I made a beeline for the Amarna and Tutankhamen exhibits, Tom went for Tutankhamen and royal jewels, while Tyson hit the Royal mummies. Certainly, I was not dissappointed. The Tutankhamen collection was magnificent - everything was gilded in gold. Sarcophagi, wooden beds, entire rooms... everything. The funerary mask was stunning, and downright eary - I had seen it in picture ooks and television shows countless times, yet here it was in person, the boy god-king's countenance staring back at me, glittering a golden, ethereal aura.

And then, too soon, we were waiting outside for our ride ack to Giza. After a lunch of camel with Emad, we piled back in the car to see about progress wit the bike. Still nothing - he wanted until 11 pm (again). Now Emad took on an air of righteous indignation, and we set off for another motorcycle dealer he knew - we would have 2 agents scouring the city on our behalf.

We asked to get dropped off at an internet cafe, and put our plan in motion. We bought long-distance minutes on Emad's cell phone, and stared making our calls. First was Kahuna cycle - no clutch plates in stock... Monday at the earliest. Then we called A Vicious Cycle... Bingo! they had aftermarket plates on hand, and could ship them right away! Eric, the gentleman I spoke to figures a maximum of 6 days transit time - we would have the plates in time to make next week's ferry in Aswan! I passed on my credit card info, and the deal was done!

Thus reassured, we went back to Emad's place for a nap. I wanted to go back to the internet cafe, such that I could inquire about a tracking number... Emad's friend gave me a lift. We were hunting around for another cafe, the connection being down at the firsat place, when Emad called. Motorcycle dude #2 had found a clutch plate and was making his way over to Emad's, so he could be directed to the bike, where he would see if it fit. We raced back, and let my spirits soar a bit. Finally, progress! At the bike shop, my spirits sank again - the friction plate this guy had found looked like it was salvaged from a dump. Moreover, it didn't fit properly (it was slightly too small), and he had only one wit im - he would need to find the rest. Damn! But if that was it, that was it. We set off for dinner, and planned our next move. Was it better to go for the unknown,and install these plates, or miss the ferry,delaying our trip by one week, and wait for the one's from Canada?

Over a dinner of Khufta and rice, salad, tahini, and pide, another wrinkle was introduced into the unfolding drama. Emad, who had been on the phone the whole time, informed us that motorcycle dude #2 now wanted 2400 ep for the crap friction plates he had found - some $480. I nearly choked on my food as I struggled to contain my indignation. This was a ridiculous price, and I made that abundantly clear. Emad explained that the dude thought he had us over a barrel, and felt he could charge whatever he wanted, but he also suggested that motorcycle dude #1 was still out looking for a set of plates. "You can wait for the mechanic, or you can give the second man an answer. Watever you want." At this point, I started getting downright suspicious. If sounded too contrived - an exhorbitant rate, a mysterious "missing" shopkeeper who may or may not be able to get the plates... it felt like Emad was on a fishing expedition to see what we would be willing to take. I asked for the phone, called A Vicious Cycle, and was relieved to talk to someone I knew was above-board. Eric was better than his word, he had shipped the parts out a few hours ago, had sent me the tracking number, and even gave me a guarenteed arrival date. I hung up happy as a clam. That's it, I said. We could see what motorcycle dude #1 comes up with, but dude #2 can go to hell. If there were no clutch plates at the shop when we got there after dinner, we would pull the bike, and get Zagomar to install the plates from Canada. Done.

With dinner done, and a plan in motion, we went with Emad to see my bike, and the shopkeeper's progress in finding a set of plates. On the way, Tyson, Tom and I areed that 1000 ep, or roughly the cost of the plates from Canada would be the maximum we would be willing to pay before pulling the bike. Miraculously, when we arrived at the shop, a set of brand-spanking-new plates was resting slung over the right footpeg - opened wrappers indicating them as being "made in Japan" littered the floor. Also miraculously, te rpice was now 1000 ep - coincidentally,the same price we had agreed to in the car. Suspicious, I asked the shopkeeper what the price was, using broken arabic and mime, but Emad, who was hovering like a hawk, interjected. "1000 or 1100, as I said". Again I tried to go directly to the source, but Emad was circling. Oh well, they did kind of have me by the balls - especially in regards to the quality of oil they could put into the bike. Also, I wasn't completely certain this was a set-up, and Emad had one more tactic - he indicated that he might pay the 300 ep from his own stash. As our stuff was still strewn about his place, and he knew te mechanic better than I, I decided that 300 was decent insurance for our security and that of our possessions, and a job well done. The mechanic would need 2 hours to do the job.

In the meantime, Emad suggested we join him at his friend's wedding. We agreed... and stepped into the rabbit hole. This waqs a wedding like no other I have ever seen - I couldn't imagine a stranger wedding if you poured vodka laced with peyote down my throat. First off, there were no women present. Apparently, they had their own party a block or so away, and would join up wit this one at some later moment. Emad justified this by indicating that they would just object to the drug use, beer, and rampant womanizing. Men were alternately smoking hookas, toting cigarettes laced with hashish,or drinking heinekens - all the while the most bizarre music I have ever heard wailed in the background. Imagine, if you will, Trent Reznor playing his rendition of a Door's song on a church organ, with Haitain drummers banging along on more drums than you can count. The "singing" amounted to various men screaming into a heavily reverbed PA- and the whole thing was just loud enough to inspire a tinge of feedack. Meanwhile, the "bellydancer" arrived to a not insignificant degree of commotion, ascended the stage, and sat down in a chair by one of the band members. She just sat there, song after song, pulling on cigarettes. If her belly was dancing, it must have been a very subtle performance. And now the piece de resistance - someone had brought a horse into the party, upon which a baby dressed in white robes was supported - both baby and animal looked hopelessly stunned. These poor creatures were led, obviously against their will, through the din and commotion of the party. The Mad Hatter had nothing on this.

We left at around 1:00 am, and made our way back to the shop. There, my bike, finally in one piece, awaited me. I couldn't contain my glee - we could set out tomorrow and still make the ferry! Thus resolved, we went back to Emad's and prepared to bed down. Suspiciously, I had to pay Emad for te bike - he said the shopkeeper was angling for more, and he had negotiated the price to the 1000 ep we had agreed on. Whatever.

Despite all these issues, we ended up paying Emad 300 ep each as a tip for his hospitality - an incredible amount in a country such as Egypt. However, we were happy - we would rise with the sun tomorrow, and set out bright and early for an epic 1000 km trek through the desert to Aswan. It finally seemed as if our luck had changed - despite all the setacks, we were still on schedule! We went to bed with those happy thoughts, lulled to sleep by thoughts of the great adventure that lay before us, in Sudan. Good-bye Egypt! I exulted.

How wrong I was.