Day5

Day 5: Peter and his Felucca named Relax.

I slept very well and surprisingly was feeling wide-awake at 7.a.m. without having to rely on Mickey Mouse or the local Muezzin call to prayer to bring me back to life.
The combination of the bug spray and my own sheet seemed to have done the trick as I didn't have any more bites this morning, and I even noticed the cream I had bought to put on the bites already seemed to be working well, as I noticed a few of them had gone down quite a bit.

There was still no hot water coming out of the shower, but I didn't care, I felt good and got straight under the cool stream of water without even flinching.

Aswan was a nice place to be walking around first thing in the morning; it was now 7.45 as I headed away from the main station area towards the Nile. Not the most difficult place to find your way around, Aswan has only three major roads that run North to South from one end to the other, interspersed with countless small side streets that lay along them.

I turned left, heading East along the corniche when I reached the Nile itself. I wanted to go to the Thomas Cook office to change some money, but it was shut, then again it was only just before 8 a.m. and I was the only tourist about. All the other visitors to Aswan were more than likely still tucked up in their beds, in plush air conditioned rooms in one of the many fancy hotels that lined the main road running parallel with the Nile. These top end hotels offering the better off tourist some great views of the West bank and the river from their bedroom balconies.

I wanted to get across to the West bank and planned to catch the local ferry across. It was easy enough to find the ferry as you could quite easily make out the landing stage at the Nubian village across on Elephantine island the other side of the river.   And of course it was full of local people making it stand out even more as it approached Aswan here on the East bank.

I stood there waiting for it to arrive. "Where are you going to?" asked the dark skinned man in the pristine white galabiyyas (robe) who had suddenly appeared as if by magic.
"I'm waiting for the ferry so that I can go over to the west bank," I told him.
"You are just going to the West bank, not Elephantine Island, or Kitcheners island" he replied.
"Maybe later, but first I want to go to the West bank"
"I can take you on my Felucca, show you all the islands and many things for only twenty pounds"
I could cross over on the ferry for only one pound, but then again twenty pounds is only three English pounds, so I thought it was a good deal and readily agreed to let him take me on his small sailing boat.
They say no trip to the Nile is complete without at least one boat ride on a felucca, so here was mine, but most people take this ride at sunset for the added affect.

Feluccas are the old wooden boats with large sails that have been used on the Nile for as long as anyone can remember, they are still very common, but are now used mostly for the tourists benefit. Boats are handed down from Father to son along with the skills required to sail one at its optimum, with the sometimes very little breeze available.
They just don't have the same charm when the boatman uses his Yamaha outboard motor to manoeuvre them along.

My boatman this morning, who I am going to call Peter, which I don't think was his name and have only decided to use this as I can't for the life of me remember his real name. So for the purpose this is near enough.

What I do remember was him saying that he was not a Coptic Christian, but was named after some saint or other! Perhaps his parents were inspired by the sight of the large Coptic Cathedral that stands on the bank of the Nile in Aswan. Peter was a Nubian Egyptian, a people who are distinctive by their darker skin and being in general, slightly taller than the average Egyptian in the north. Nubians are the people of the south who make the cross over between the more usual dark olive Egyptian complexion and that of the African black skin.

These proud people originate from the lands of Lower Nubia and have now settled in the main around Aswan and all points south towards the Sudan. Their lands were affected by the building of the huge Aswan Dam in the early 1900's, and again in the 1930's when the gradually rising water level of the Nile had risen to such a significant height their lands became flooded. This was a major disaster, which at the time virtually wiped out all of the Nubian villages in the lower Nubian region.

The Egyptian government realising it had a major problem had to relocate over 50,000 of the remaining Nubians in the early 60's, they were moved to purpose built villages in the area of Kom Ombo some 50 km to the south of Aswan.
Peter the boatman was a descendant of the original Nubians who first relocated and settled in one of the earliest Nubian villages in the Aswan area, situated just across the water on Elephantine Island.

Peter's first job was to get the felucca to move off from the East bank, which he did very skilfully by using a pair of hand made oars in order to row the boat out into open water. Here was where we sat for a little while waiting for a breeze to catch the large sail.
It was a very mild morning with very little wind, I had not even noticed a breeze of any kind while walking along the riverbank, but we eventually caught the slightest breeze that was just enough to get us moving. We sailed off gracefully heading slowly towards Kitcheners Island, situated to the west behind Elephantine midway across the river.

Kitcheners Island is so called after the famous Lord Horatio Kitcheners, who in the 1890's was the commander of the Egyptian army and Consul General to Egypt. This small island that I would say measures about half a kilometre by two hundred metres was given to Kitchener by the Egyptian government in the 1890's in recognition of his services.   Kitchener who loved all things to do with horticulture turned it into a splendid botanical garden, not only planting the species native to Egypt, but also importing trees and plants of every description from India, Africa and the Far East.

Peter dropped me at one end of the island, and then made his way to the other end to wait for me. We reckoned on no more than about 45 minutes as I'm not that much of a flower man, but can appreciate natural beauty in small doses.
After paying the nominal entrance fee and walking up a flight of steps, the first thing I noticed was there were more wild cats roaming around than flowers in bloom. The whole island was overrun with cats of every size, shape and colour.   I don't know who introduced the cats to the island, but it was obvious that they could not get off it as it was surrounded by water, unless of course they caught the ferry!
A lot of the cats were normal enough looking, but there were quite a few with that distinct Egyptian long face and pointed ears look! Cat's being cats meant there was a hell of a lot a cross breeds here.

About ten or so were sat at the top of the steps around a little water fountain; they sat waiting patiently for the tourist boats to come ashore in the hope of being fed some scraps. Some were only kittens that could have been no more than a few weeks old.

The Island had one main path running down the centre with smaller paths running along each side. I think maybe because it was the end of November there were not too many flowers in bloom, and quite a few of those there were looked like they were dying off. The paths were tree lined with various shrubs and flowers that all had a plaque giving the proper Latin names, but this did not mean much to me, as I could hardly pronounce any of them. That Latin, it all sounds Greek to me!
Why do they do that with flowers, insects and wildlife? Why can't they give these things a simpler sounding name, so you can at least stand half a chance of remembering the names?

Followed every step of the way by the islands feline population, I walked from one end to the other, taking some pictures and stopping now and then when something else took my interest, but still it only took me fifteen minutes to reach the other end. Here was a small café and gift shop selling the same stuff you could buy in the souks, but at twice the price.

Peter was waiting for me, and didn't seem the slightest bit surprised I had seen all I wanted to see in just fifteen minutes. I dare say had it been later in the day I would have been a little stressed out, so probably would have taken this as an opportunity to stay longer and chill out for a while. But it was still early and I had a lot of things to do and see, so I pressed on, like the proverbial tourist on speed.
As we pulled away from the island a young boy, who could have been aged no more than six or seven came paddling towards us in a home made canoe? boat? Or whatever it was, it actually looked like an upturned wooden box.
He gave a quick look in our felucca but did not bother with me; instead he paddled furiously to catch up with a small ferry just leaving the jetty laden with tourists. The boy grabbed hold of the ferry and allowed himself to be pulled along, all the time singing to the tourists in the hope of some baksheesh.
Apparently these children have taught themselves to sing in a few different languages, so are always able to give the tourists a song they know. I would have given him some money if only for his daring and endeavour.

We sailed away making the most of the slight wind that was now blowing favourably for us, a short hop found us landing on the West bank of the Nile, from here I intended to walk a short way into the desert to visit the ruined monastery of St Simeon.

There were quite a few camels and their owners hanging around on this little stretch, they station themselves here in order to offer rides into the desert and St Siemeons monastery. It is also possible to ride a camel at least two thirds of the way towards the high cliffs that are dotted with tombs of the Nobles dating back to the old and middle kingdoms of Egypt. While not being as significant as the tombs of the Pharaos, these tombs are historically important as the final resting places for some very important people, such as those who were Governors and leaders of armies thousands of years ago.

From where we landed it was no more than a fifteen-minute walk to the Monastery remains. I climbed a stony sand road of sorts to be greeted by one of the most spectacular views I have ever seen. In the distance was the ruined monastery of St Siemeon, surrounded by mile after mile of bright orange and barley coloured sand and large rocky cliffs off to the right. All these elements looked just right in terms of how you would imagine the make up of this unforgiving looking desert. What ever made St Siemeon want to build a monastery in this barren desert location is beyond me, but then again monks are strange people, It's true, what's all that self-flagellation about?
Truly this was quite breathtaking on first sight, the kind of view that makes you think wow! Straight away you want to become the next Lawrence of Arabia. I was really impressed by the sight and wanted to run back down the hill and get myself a camel, then just take off into the wilderness.

Things must have changed a little since the Lonely Planet guide book was printed, as in the book it states entry into the monastery is twelve pounds, but believe or not, it was actually free!
I was not surprisingly the only person there, apart from that is; the three bored looking men who were sat in the shade by the entrance. I can only assume they were guides waiting for a rush of tourists, it was after all still early in the morning. They asked if I wanted a guide to accompany me, but I told them I was only going to take a quick look around, and did not really need them to explain any more than I already knew. I knew absolutely nothing and had to read the guidebook as I went round.
The monastery had been here for a long time and was after all in ruins, so I could read the history relating to it at anytime.

When the Monastery was originally built it looked more like a fort, rather than a religious sanctuary for monks, of which there was around three hundred at any one time. The complex also had rooms that housed pilgrims who would stop there on their way to Mecca. So you see, they even had a bingo hall in them days!

Some eight hundred and fifty years after Salah al Din destroyed the monastery the stone and mud brick carcass remains, still standing proudly and defiantly in the unforgiving desert. From a distance it all looks to be still very well intact, with it's perimeter walls standing some eight to ten metres high. But once inside of the complex ruins it's a different story, as one gets to see the real extent of the destruction that took place.
Historical ruins are sometimes hard to visualise in their original state, but here it was quite easy to get a good picture in your minds eye as to how it must have looked all those centuries ago.

I spent the best part of an hour looking around, climbing the ramparts that still remained and exploring the few rooms and courtyards still in one piece.

As I left a small group of tourists were making their way towards the monastery, and just like me they had decided to walk rather than take the expected and rather clichéd' easy option and ride up on a camel.
Rather than head straight back to Peter and the boat I made my way towards the Mausoleum of the Aga Khan, situated a little way further past the path back down.
This Mausoleum made of sandstone and granite and topped with a dome was created on the instruction of his wife soon after he died in 1957, she had wanted this to be his final resting place as he so loved to spend time in Aswan during the winter months. From where the Mausoleum stands high on the hill here on the West Bank it affords wonderful views of Aswan town across the Nile.

The original sarcophagus made from marble and inscribed with text from the Koran was made not only to accommodate the then leader of the Ismaili sect of Islam, but also his wife Begum who was also interred within it when she died in 2000.
So the legend goes, Begum had visited the Mausoleum every day since her husband's death in 1957, and on every visit she would place a single rose on the sarcophagus. The Mausoleum was once, but is no longer open to visitors, which is a bit of a shame as it would have been nice to look around this building dedicated not only to the great man's life, but also as a testament to his wife's devotion for him.

I had enjoyed the solitude afforded me here on the West Bank; it was really refreshing to be able to walk around without anybody else being near, or some hawker trying to sell me something.
This was soon to be remedied, just by my felucca was a man selling some cotton shirts, to who I don't know as this was definitely not the most lucrative spot in Aswan.
I liked the shirts and after some serious haggling I got one for 25 pounds, which I thought was a fair enough price. Back on the boat I asked Peter what he thought of the shirt, he asked how much I had paid for it, I told him, he smiled and started laughing, "What are you laughing at?" I asked him. Then he told me they were only 10 to 15 pounds in the market! He soon stopped laughing when I told him I was taking the difference out of what I was originally going to give him.
I then started to laugh and the smile returned to his face as he got the joke, we laughed together.

"Where would you like to go now?" Peter asked. "I think I would like to go back to the East bank and into Aswan town as i'm thirst and I want to get some tea" I replied.
This was not a good idea for Peter, as it meant he would be losing money as we had agreed I would pay him more the longer I stayed with him.   "No need to go to Aswan for tea, I have tea here on the boat" he said.
I looked around, this was a small boat so there was going to be no galley, there was no flask anywhere apparent, and "so how are we going to have tea I asked"

With this Peter asked me to take control of the tiller! Now this was going to be a good little aside that I could bore people shitless with by dropping it into a conversation, claiming to have done something that not many others had. I could even visualise myself saying it.
"Oh by the way did I ever tell you about the time I sailed a felucca down the Nile?"
Of course I wouldn't mention that I was only in control for about five minutes and that I wasn't very good at steering the craft, which for some reason did not respond to my efforts that well.

It's a good job there were no other boats in the near vicinity, or I could have had another little story to tell. Oh by the way, did I ever tell you about the time I made a Nubian man cry when I sunk his felucca on the Nile!"
While I was playing the demanding part of an intrepid sailor, Peter went to a little cupboard underneath the forward seating area and fished out a vintage primus stove, a small saucepan and bottle of water. Within five minutes I was drinking a glass of piping hot fresh black tea, as I lounged on a felucca, sailing happily in the bright winter sunshine across the Nile.   What could be better?

During the Pharonic age the principles of taxation were no different than those of today, the more wealth you had the more you paid. Tax was collected from the Fellaheen farmers and merchants simply according to how high the water level on the Nile rose.
This was measured by the Nileometer, a graduated column of stone that had measurements marked in cubits, one cubit was roughly equal to a man's forearm. If the recorded measurement went high this would indicate that the floodwaters would be plenty, and therefore meant plenty of water to irrigate the crops, and hopefully would result in a plentiful harvest. The bigger the harvest the more tax you paid.

Peter pointed out this Nileometer as we passed close by on our way around Elephantine Island to see the rock face that is supposed to resemble a herd of elephants, which surprisingly was not how the island came to be so named.

The island was once used as a trading post, mainly in Elephant ivory traded by the Nubian people who would bring the tusks from all over Egypt and from other parts of Africa. This of course was a long time ago, as there are no elephants to be found in this part of Africa, in fact they have been extinct in Egypt since around 2600 BC. If you want to see an elephant in Egypt today you would have to visit the Cairo zoo.
While the rock face could be said to look like Elephants, I really had to use my imagination and look long and hard to pick out the detail. Mind you having said that, I'm one of those people who can never pick out the detail in those magic eye puzzles that were all the rage a few years ago.

I don't like sailing as a rule, I've even been known to feel seasick in a bath before now, but I really was enjoying this relaxed sail around the small islands here on the Nile. But unfortunately time waits for no man and I had things to do and see. Peter would have sailed up and down the river all day, because while I was on the boat he was earning money. Money was something I did not have too much off at the moment, well not Egyptian money anyway. With Thomas cook being closed earlier I had not changed up anything today, and only had twenty or thirty Egyptian pounds to my name.

When peter dropped me off I told him that I would have to pay him in US dollars, he did not seem to keen on this idea to start with, that is until I told him that what I was giving him was worth approx fifty Egyptian pounds!
He was now a happy little felucca sailor; so much so, that he insisted on kissing both my cheeks and embracing me with a big manly hug as a thank you! A little surprised by this sudden bout of affection from a man I hardly knew, and feeling slightly embarrassed by this over friendly gesture I quickly looked around to make sure no one was watching. I shook his hand in my more formal gesture for saying goodbye, and made my way up a flight of stone steps towards the Nubian village of Koti there on Elephantine Island.
Peter was still smiling and waving goodbye to me from his boat when I had reached the top. He was a nice man who I believe was genuinely sincere.

Vibrant, yet muted is the way I would describe not only the colours of the buildings, but also the way of life here in the village, which was made up of concrete and mud brick traditional Nubian style houses packed tightly into dusty little narrow lanes.
I walked around with my camera tucked away into my rucksack trying to be as discreet as possible, because this village was a living place and not really a tourist attraction, you feel a little paranoid feeling that you are intruding in some way. The villagers used to the odd tourist roaming around were going about their everyday lives, I would imagine just as they had been doing ever since the place was first inhabited. It was clear to me that not much had changed over the years here on Elephantine Island.
Washing was hung from rope strung up between the houses; children were playing barefoot in the unpaved and stony alleys, with chickens and goats fighting over any morsel of food to be found.
The women of the village were mostly dressed in the traditional black robes which covered their bodies from head to foot, the only part visible were the eyes, protruding from the letter box slits in the head coverings they wore.
There were very few men to be seen anywhere in the village. It was just another working day to these people and most of the men in this village were out earning a living of sorts from the river, be that through taking tourists on felucca rides, fishing, or simply conveying goods backwards and forwards from the East to West bank, and who know perhaps even further along the Nile.

There is a lot to be said for simplicity, or should I say living the simplistic life as we know, or imagine it to be. Whether or not these Nubian villagers are happy living this perceived simplistic life is debateable, but everyone I met was smiling and genuinely seemed content with their lot. The other side to this argument is of course that you can't miss what you've never had, so really you don't know any different.
Where as us so called well off tourists have left our safe little insignificant life and nice homes, with all the luxury items we take for granted for just a couple of weeks. So we look at this kind of life wearing the blinkers that only allow us to see what we want to see, without taking in the whole picture. I for one know that no matter how nice it might seem to be able to live a simple life, without the trappings and stress that go with life in the fast lane, I would soon get bored and start to look further afield.
But then you have to think about why I would want to look further afield, is that because I know and have experienced what is further afield?

There were a few interesting looking buildings that begged to be explored, but of course I couldn't just walk in and start looking around, much as I would have loved to. Another thing that really caught my eye and made me stop to take a picture, was a mud and tin can wall standing five or six feet tall, quite a resourceful way of using rubbish I though, although I don't know how long it will stand for. A little way down from this wall was a woman mixing up some earth and water to make a mortar for another wall she was working on. She was obviously prepared for the odd tourist walking by as she ushered me to the front of her house, here she had a few odds and ends that I suppose you could call souvenirs. I told her I didn't want anything, but I would like to take a picture of her. She agreed to the picture just as soon as I had agreed to her fee!

Although the village was not that big I soon managed to get myself lost in the maze of tight little alleyways, that snaked back and fort in no logical kind of grid, but this was no big deal, it was all part of the adventure as I saw it.
Knowing that I only had to walk a couple of hundred yards in any direction before I would come to the shoreline, I just walked and watched from a distance trying not to appear intrusive. The children while being friendly, were a little shy and nothing like the in your face kids in Aswan town. These kids smiled and waved from a distance a little unsure of me, and probably wondered why I would want to be walking around their village.

A young man asked if I was lost, "Not really, but I suppose I could do with directions to the ferry" I told him. "No problem, just follow me" he said, and I did, quite glad that I had, as I think I would never have gone in the direction we did, through what appeared to me to be a mud brick maze.

The ferry was just arriving as I reached the landing stage. Ferry is a bit of a grand sounding name that conjures up the thought of a large boat with seating and covered in with windows e.t.c., this ferry was no more than a large wooden rowing boat with an outboard motor attached. I imagined the old man who spent his day running back and forth from the east to west banks on a journey of about five minutes, must surely have been going out of his mind with boredom.
He was a happy looking soul who knew everyone on board, apart from me that is, I was the stand out tourist. The official fare for locals is 25 piastres (3p), tourists pay one Egyptian pound (14p), but to be honest the only person I saw pay anything was me, maybe everyone else were season ticket holders.

The temperature had now risen to a very pleasant mid 70's, it was just after one in the afternoon and I had done most of what I had set out to do for the day. I still needed to change up some money and felt sure Thomas Cook's would be open, which it was.   Feeling a lot richer now with over a thousand pounds in my pocket, Egyptian pounds that is, I walked the side streets into the souks (market area).

Walking the souks can be a very pleasant way of passing in the time, especially if you are not being hassled too much by the street traders who cram into every spare inch along these side roads.
Today was that kind of day, the traders were being kept busy by the thousands of locals that were mingling around, buying in their fresh provisions for the day. And I suppose the reason they were all in the souks at this time of day was simply, that this was part of their normal life. I had only seen this souk at night, when it is taken over by large groups of tourists who come ashore of the cruise ships looking for the bargains.

On one of the intersections a large crow had gathered, or should I say had been brought to a stand by a hold up, which was being caused by a donkey. The little white donkey was pulling a large tank of oil, or some other fluid on a rickety old cart, the only problem was that the donkey was refusing to go any further.
A large group of men were trying to coax the donkey by pushing it from the rear, with the man that I assumed was the owner beating it across the back unmercifully with a stick! The donkey still stubbornly refused to move, then just collapsed onto the ground with the cart resting on top of it!
This was all quite a distressing sight for me to witness, but yet something you feel compelled to stand and watch as it unfolded. For everyone else it was simply a nuisance, they were not worried about the poor old beast of burden, they were more concerned that it was holding them up and were encouraging the donkeys owner to get it moved. The more they yelled at the man the harder he beat the donkey!

I thought the donkey was going to die and was in it's last death throws, but to my surprise it got up after a few minutes and started to walk pulling the great weight behind it! Maybe this was the proverbial stubborn mule after all. Whatever it was, I was just pleased to see it get up and save itself from any further beatings.

Back at the Rosewana hotel I felt in need of some refreshment and ordered some tea. While I sat in the shade enjoying a much-needed glass of tea Mr Farouk joined me for a chat, and a business proposition! He began showing me endless postcards that he had painted himself, they were all original with him having taken a blank card and painted it with acrylic oils.
A lot of the pictures were to me just paint daubs in vibrant colours, as I looked at each one Mr Farouk asked me what I thought of it and what I could see. I should have explained to him about me not even being able to see the magic eye pictures, so there was little chance of me being able to depict his artwork.
Being a photographer people assume that you are an artist as well, photography is a creative art form in it's own right, yet still complies to a lot of the same rules as painting in such respects as form, shape, light, texture and perspective. Simply because I am a photographer does not make me an expert on other peoples art, in fact when I was studying for my photography exams I had to research and write about some painters, but all I could really give was my opinion and facts. And this is what I say to people about art, it's simply someone else's interpretation as they see it, which also means you see it as you want to see it, you either like it or you don't, there are no hard and fast rules. That to me is art!

Anyway back to Mr Farouks postcards.
As I looked at one after another for what seemed like ages he would ask me what I could see, I would say whatever I thought and he would reply "As you like", because you see his art was just simply that, anything you wanted it to be.
While it was not all in the same genre, he did have a consistent style that definitely made his work stand out in its concept. Mr Farouk was currently working on doing up the small dining room in the hotel and was explaining to me his ideas, which was to simply make his own paper mache' tiles and paint them before putting them on the wall.
The end result was me buying ten of his postcards at one pound each, which regardless of anyone else's opinion, I quite liked them and thought it was fantastic value for a piece of original artwork.

Mr Farouk asked me if I would like to take more of his work with me back to England, his suggestion being for me to photograph them and have them made up into reprints and postcards to sell.
I had to explain to Mr Farouk that I did not have the contacts to get something like that up and running, but did promise that I would show some of his work on my web site, when I finally get around to putting it up on the net!

After another cold shower I headed back down to the Nile for the evening sunset, I was hoping to grab a decent picture of a felucca setting sail against the backdrop of a setting sun. Not much luck there with the clouds doing their bit to obscure all the best moments as a sailboat came into view. Never mind I could try again tomorrow!
Dusk soon descended leaving me without the picture I had wanted, and feeling hungry.
What was making me feel hungry, apart from the fact I had not eaten all day, was seeing the sailors on the cruise ships and boats tied up along the river putting out food and drink for themselves after observing Ramadan.

Walking back up into town I noticed there were many local people setting tables out in the open and getting ready to enjoy their first meal of the day. In the market area groups of traders were sitting around on carpets and blankets laid out in the dust, with small Tilly lamps providing a little light they were all ready to share their evening meal together. While Ramadan meant they starved all day, the people certainly made up for it in the evening, with the meal being a big social event.
I ate at the restaurant next to the one I'd used the night before, the meal was similar but not as good and they only had the crap beer, which I gave a miss preferring to stick to cola and a glass of tea.

Again this was a good time to be walking in the souks as people were more interested in filling their belly's rather than their pockets, although it must be said that in general the souks here in Aswan are not as much hassle, and a little more laid back than those elsewhere in Egypt.

A couple of kids approached me, they told me they were not begging or trying to sell me anything, they had been given euro coins by tourists and could not convert them into Egyptian pounds as the banks don't accept coins. They wanted me to change it for them; I thought what the hell I could always use euros when travelling around. I took the five euros and gave the smaller of the two boys a twenty-pound note; he took it but then just as quickly changed his mind saying he wanted American dollars.
What good were American dollars I said as I'd given him his own currency, which he could easily spend, and it was more than the bank exchange rate. No give me back my euros he said, I wasn't going to argue with this small child, so gave him back his coins and he thrust the note back into my hand, the two kids ran off laughing.
I knew at that moment exactly what had just taken place, I looked down at the note in my hand and sure enough it was a 50 piastres note, I had just been scammed by a six year old boy! I just had to laugh about it to myself.   It was not a great deal of money, and something I could well afford to lose, but it did make me think what scams these kids would progress to as they got older and a little more adventurous.

Finding myself down one of the small alleyways off the main souk I stopped at a little sheesha café for some tea, choosing to sit at a table outside to watch to world go by.
Sat opposite me was an old Arab man smoking contently on his Sheesha pipe; he wore the traditional robes and turban and had the obligatory grey beard to set off the look. He smiled and nodded an acknowledgement to me. I smiled back and said hello in English at first, he looked at me as if to say what are you saying? Seeing that he did not understand I said " Salaam 'alekum" meaning literally "Peace upon you", but more commonly used as a greeting the same as we would say hello.
The old man smiled and returned the greeting to me by saying " Wa 'alekum es Salam" which means "and peace upon you".

I sat there for a while checking some of the shots on my camera, then took a picture of the small shop opposite. The old man seeing me take the picture indicated that I should take his picture.
The young lad who served my tea could speak a little English and so served as the interpreter between the two of us. I found out that the old man's name was Sayeed.

I took a picture of Sayeed and showed it to him on the small LCD screen on the back of the camera. This really was a shock for him; I suppose he had never experienced a digital camera before. From then on he was my newfound friend and he insisted I sit there with him sharing a tea and smoking on his sheesha pipe it was great.
You just cannot orchestrate or buy these moments; they just happen making you feel good. One minute you are feeling a little down, lonely and alone in a strange land, and then you are befriended by a total stranger who you know wants nothing more than to be your friend.
When it was time for me to leave it felt like I was saying good by to an old friend, not someone I had only met less than an hour ago, and this was someone who I had only been able to communicate with through some sign language, and a young tea boy come interpreter.

Less than five minutes later I was again offered to sit and talk with a local, this time it was Jimmy the tailor and his son. I had stopped to look at some shirts hanging up outside a little tailors shop in the souk.
The older man sitting at the sewing machine looked up, peered over his glasses and said hello, then carried on with his sewing! I was a little taken aback, "what that's it? just hello, your not going to tell me how cheap everything is and how good your hand made your shirts are" I said laughingly at the tailor.
"Of course I am, just as soon as I finish this," he said pointing to the cloth he was sewing at the time.
We both laughed and he introduced himself as Jimmy the tailor.

Jimmy told me he did not feel the need to try and sell anything to hard, he was a tailor not a salesman and he currently had enough work to keep him busy just making garments for the locals, so did not feel he needed to accost everyone who walked by. He told me that he was fifty years old and had worked in this little tailors shop since he was twelve, and that his father was the previous owner and the man who had taught him all he knew about tailoring. "Just like I am now teaching my son," he added proudly.
While we were having this conversation Jimmy the tailor had dispatched his son to the local café to get some tea. We chatted while we drunk the tea, just small talk, the usual things like where I was from, my plans while in Egypt, where I'd been and, what I had seen up to now.
I told Jimmy I thought he had a unusual name for an Arab, he laughed and explained that he was a Coptic Christian and as such his father had given him the name of James, but he preferred to be known as Jimmy because it looked good above the shop "Jimmy's Tailor shop". Before moving on I bought a shirt from Jimmy, one because I liked it, and two because Jimmy never tried to give me any hard sell in the first place.

An early night was called for, as I was conscious that I would have to be up early in the morning, or should I say the middle of the night, as the pick up was supposed to be at four a.m. This was a very early start for the long journey through the Eastern desert down to Abu Simble.
I would need to pick up some provisions as it would be a long day with very little chance of getting any food or drink before setting off. I stopped at a bakery shop to buy some pastries, fig biscuits and bottled water.
And once again I was invited to sit and take tea with the owner who was sitting outside his shop drinking coffee and smoking on a sheesha pipe. If I kept being offered tea everywhere I stopped I'd never get back to the hotel, and some much needed sleep in preparation for the early start.
I did not want to offend the man so I sat and took tea with the bakery shop owner! Half an hour later I had heard the man's life story and given him mine. What was interesting about this man was not only that he owned the shop, but also worked in local government as the shops and hotels hygiene and health officer for Aswan. Well at least his shop was never going to get any improvement order.
He was a single man aged 45 who looked about 55; he wore one of the thickest lens pair of glasses I've ever seen. After telling him that I had four sisters he became very interested, he wanted to know if any of my four sisters were single. What did he think? maybe he wanted to swap me a camel or a supply of cream cakes for one of them. "Are there no single women here in Aswan" I asked, "Yes but they are all Ugly, not beautiful like your English women" he replied.   Admittedly I had not seen many Egyptian women because of the veils they wore, but those I had seen were certainly not in the ugly class.
He just fancied white women probably, and what with the strength of the glasses he was wearing I was surprised he could see what anybody really looked like. I don't know if he was joking or not, but he made me laugh when he made this remark, I only hope by laughing out loud I didn't offend him.

Meanwhile back at the Rosewana hotel Walid the receptionist was waiting for me on my return. "Would you like some tea Maher?" he inquired as soon as I entered the hotel. "Yes OK, ill sit over there by the television" I replied. Walid sent the younger boy to make the tea and came over to where I was sitting to switch the television on. The TV was only a small black and white portable plugged into the socket by it's bare wires, but served the purpose as I only wanted to watch the news, which was a bit of a waste of time anyway as it was in French. Still I picked up on some of the stories just through the pictures.

"Would you like to watch the football?" Walid asked, ""Fine, whatever you want is Ok by me" was my reply.
This must be about the only time Egyptians get to see snow, not real snow mind you, just interference on the telly, the picture was really bad, but this did not seem to matter to Walid and the younger boy who had now returned with the tea. They sat there glued to the screen, which was showing a five a side game, so not only was it snowing in Egypt, but defying the odds by snowing indoors.

Walid wanted to talk again tonight, and boy could he talk, he asked me about everything and anything, desperate to get a grip on the world outside of Egypt.
After about an hour I was saved from having to stay there all night chatting, Mr Farouk appeared and this signalled the end of the conversation as Walid and the younger boy returned to their duties, whatever they were. I took this as an opportunity to make my escape, wishing everyone goodnight I headed for my room with the time now just after eleven p.m.
It had been a good day and I had seen and experienced a hell of a lot, but I really needed to get to bed, as I had to be back up in four hours!