Reflections on my Egyptian travels

They came at us like zombies

They came towards us like zombies drawn to fresh meat, attracted by the sound of our voices and the slamming of the car door. There must have been about 20 of them surrounding us, jostling us. “Take a camel ride”, “Horse drawn carriage, very fun!”, “Guided tour”, “Sphinx too far to walk”. Fighting our way through the melee of hustlers, we were finally able to gaze upon the magnificence of the Giza pyramids… until they were once again blocked by a grumpy looking camel and an animated driver, “Get on, get on! Cheap prices!”  Choosing to walk rather than succumb to the pressure of the camel drivers and horse drawn carriage owners, we set out, trying to make the best of the pyramids despite the constant onslaught of cat calls, invitations and warnings that it was impossible to walk to the Sphinx. Within 10 minutes we were in sight of the Sphinx and had escaped the hoards of salespeople.

Although Egypt offers fantastic attractions and a rich history, these attractions have been ruined by an overabundance of visitors and an overreliance on tourist dollars. In the week that I was there, my friend and I were approached constantly with demands for money, trinkets for sale and horse drawn carriages to ride. The persistence of these money makers and their constant haranguing made the Egyptian experience border line unpleasant. Offering to take our picture, the tourist police would then stick out his hand and demand a tip. Want a nice place to photograph the temple in Luxor? The security guard will point it out to you for a fee. Take a horse drawn carriage ride quoted at 8 pounds… only to find out that the driver expects 8 British pounds (which we did not pay, leaving him with a fistful of Egyptian pounds and his curses and threats to call the police ringing in our ears). The fear of being ripped off and our subsequent distrust of everyone around us cast a dark glow over our holiday. Greeted with a cheerful “Hello!” on the street, we would avert our eyes, lower our heads and walk quickly onwards.

While in Luxor we decided to go camel riding – an uncomfortable experience to say the least. After finally descending from the camel, we were urged to tip our guides. After being tipped individually, the guides then compared tips and came after us, complaining that one had received more than the other. A friend once told me that she paid to get up on the camel and was then forced to pay more to get down (camels are tall). Others have reported paying to get their cameras back from a man who offered to take their picture. Beware of the owner of the donkey “Ramses II” who will pick you up and force you on to Ramses’ back and then expect a large tip for his actions (although, the tale of our forced ride on Ramses II and the subsequent pictures make for a good laugh).

Atop Ramses II

All this being said, we did meet some wonderful and helpful people, yet my personal feeling in the tourist areas was that I couldn’t trust anyone. Everyone wanted something. I don’t think that I will go back to Egypt, nor will I recommend it to anyone. I loved the sights, the pyramids, the temples but I couldn’t handle the harassment. 

Kilimanjaro

Darkness surrounds me, illuminated only by a few stars and the headlamp on my head.  One foot in front of the other, I plod on, gasping for breath, yearning for a rest. A distant airplane flies overhead, I wish I were on it, travelling to golden sands and relaxation. 6 hours to go. In 6 hours I will stand atop Kilimanjaro, Africa’s tallest mountain and the highest freestanding mountain in the world. Right now, I’m pretty sure my body is giving out and I shall lie on the slopes of Kilimanjaro for eternity, commemorated only by a stone marker and tales passed on to future tourists of the Canadian who died there. We pause to rest and eat a chocolate bar for energy.  We’ve been hiking for five days but today was the most extreme: 8 hours to base camp, four hours of sleep and then off again at midnight to reach Kilimanjaro’s summit by sunrise. Chocolate consumed, we are urged to continue, to go “slowly slowly”. Darkness surrounds us; I have no idea how much further we have to go. I put my head down and resolve to make it to the top. The first lights of dawn streak across the horizon in shades of red and orange. We are almost there. One foot in front of the other we plod on. Slowly slowly. We pass other weary travelers resting along the pathway. We trudge steadily forwards. The sun is rising, it is getting lighter.  We pass the once mighty glaciers and peer in to Kilimanjaro’s crater. One foot in front of the other, onwards onwards. And suddenly we are there: Uhuru Peak, 19341 feet above sea level. Exhilaration overtakes exhaustion.  Out come the cameras, click click click. We sign the guestbook “Yes! We made it!!” and triumphantly pose beside the congratulatory sign on the summit. We share gleeful hugs. The sun fully rises, bathing us, the intrepid traveler, with its light, shining on the glaciers and giving us an unparalleled view of Tanzania, of roads, farms, villages and the neighboring Mount Meru. An immense feeling of accomplishment and pride overtakes me. More hikers are arriving, it’s time to go.  Going down is easier than going up, my sister and I leap and run down the slopes to base camp, my parents descending a little more cautiously. It’s time for a rest, some watermelon and a warm cup of hot chocolate before our final descent off Kilimanjaro. Reaching Kilimanjaro’s summit is an accomplishment to be proud of and a trip to be remembered forever.