First place was Del Al Madina and I was the only person there so I explored all these caves the workers used to live. I really lamented the fact that I didn’t go the 100m back for the torch when I had the chance. The caves just went deep into the mountain and I crawled up a few and bumped my head and stubbed a few toes before giving up. It wasn’t the bats flying past my head at all, I swear. No sir.

I went into this temple and this little kid wanted his photo so I took it and then showed him, so just to make sure it was real he squeezed my camera screen so hard it ruined my screen for a week, the little prick. I made a note to myself, No more pictures of little bastards.

A man told me not go into this one cave, so when he wasn’t looking I went to find out what he was hiding. He was hiding this deep, deep pit so I crawled onto this precarious ledge to get a better look at it. I couldn’t see the bottom so I dropped this rock down and it took quite a while to get to the bottom. This was no natural pit either, some crazy people had dug it. Crazy ancient Egyptians. Didn’t they realise how hot it was? Definitely too hot to be digging bottomless pits in the middle of the desert. I guess if they had dug it to keep the monkey butlers in there it would be ok. I instantly regretted the rock dropping and hoped any monkey butlers down there forgave me.

It soon became apparent that I wasn’t getting out of this ledge any time soon seeing as I had a bit of a blind drop and twist mixed with a reverse twirl to get off it, with the only landing from a slip being down with the now angry monkey butlers. A troubling conundrum. I was about to give up and throw myself to a quick death, instead of dying a slow painful death of thirst and hunger and heat stroke, 5 minutes later when I got off without incidence.

After getting into trouble from the man he said, “You want ancient treasure? 4000 years old”, as he showed me a bunch of small statues.

I looked at them dubiously, “How much?”

“£500”

“Oh right, for genuine ancient Egyptians statues 2cm tall?”

“Yes”

Seeing as I didn’t come down in the last shower the small shining ‘ancient’ statues didn’t tempt me.

“Water?” He asked me.

“Yes I do have some water.” And drank a little bit, I had bought a 1.5lt bottle earlier.

He said something about Ramadan.

“Pity you have Ramadan otherwise I would give you some mate.” I said to the wheezing, hot, parched old man as I walked off.

I walked off to begin the walk over the mountain mission. About 50m into the mountain I began thinking crazy thoughts like £10 isn’t that much to pay a taxi driver, cough, splutter, wheeze. It didn’t last long though seeing as I pretty much was too hot and exhausted to do any coherent, foolish thinking.

I also had other things on my mind because I was looking up at the looming mountain without a single outcrop, cave or vegetation. My holy quest against taxi drivers was soon lost deep in the ravings of a mad mind. I pushed on.

30 minutes without a break and my legs were shaking and I was hunched over like an old Turkish woman stumbling from rock to rock. Time had lost all meaning to me and I was seeing things. Sweat glistened all over me and my 1.5 litres of water was nearly empty. I licked my gummy lips and looked up to see a man with a donkey. I thought I was hallucinating but I sat down in the shade of the donkey and talked to the imaginary man. He answered back, apparently he was real.

“Hello, welcome, where you from?” rah rah rah.

I gave him some water and realised the other man probably wanted some as well. Egyptians can’t buy water or carry it around, regardless if they are Muslim, during Ramadan. He was so happy at my generosity (which it was seeing as I was about to die of dehydration myself) he invited me back to his house for a tea. He pointed to his house back down the way I had come. I politely refused his offer. I said my goodbyes.

I was feeling revived after my sit in the shade of the donkey so set a cracking pace. I was just getting into my stride.

“Hell, Welcome, Where you from?”

There didn’t seem to be any roads near so I deduced he wasn’t a taxi driver.

“Australia, Mika.”

“Come sit with me.”

He had a nice bit of shade so I obliged.

He pulled out some statues, “£60”

“I really don’t want them.”

“Ok, how much then?”

I shot for the moon and more like my prices, “£5”

For some reason he laughed. I looked at my dwindling supply of £1 notes which I use for baksheesh(bribes) so I bargained with him for a while and got it for £16. Enough for 4 £1 notes.

I said my goodbyes and soon reached the top. A real sense of euphoria came over me as I looked around at the view and thought about the fact that I didn’t have to go up anymore and even more importantly no bloody taxi driver had gotten his little sticky fingers into my wallet, yet.

Strangely enough I had met no other tourists on my journey. I really don’t know why because the view was really quite spectacular. Covered in sweat I began the downwards journey. It was only half as high down I noticed gratefully. I was soon met by an Egyptian.

“Hello, welcome, where you from?” and then without waiting for a reply, “can you change 20 euro for me please?”

“How much Egyptian pounds is that?”

“I am desperate so I will do you a favour, only £150”

Seeing as the rate was about £5 or £6 a euro I didn’t see how much of a favour he was actually doing me.

“Ok I will see you this statue for £60” he replied to my negative on the exchange.

I seemed to be doing well with the £5 call so I tried it again and wasn’t much surprised with his laugh. “Don’t be crazy.”

I laughed back, “Don’t YOU be crazy.”

“Ok £55”

“Ok £5 deal” and I went to grab it.

He didn’t let me have it so I walked off.

He followed me for ages and I struck up a deal for £16 again, but in the confusion of changing and swapping notes I only ended up paying £11 for it.

Near the bottom I found a man guarding a tomb.

“How much is a ticket?”

“£10 but you have to buy it from the office.”

“Where is the office?”

“About 15 minutes walk away.” Pretty much the last thing in the world I wanted to do seeing as my legs were pretty much made of jelly and something else as wobbly as jelly.

“Cant I just pay you?” I pleaded and waved a big fat juicy £10 under his nose.

He looked around suspiciously and stealthily grabbed the note flapping under his nose. You can always count on the Egyptian greed. You are not supposed to take pictures but I didn’t anyway because no-one was in there with me.

Outside I asked, “Can you show me any other ones?” with another £10 note flapping in the breeze. The money disappeared into his robes. He unlocked one not open to the public and let me have a look around. He then showed me where the entrance to a secret 2.5km tunnel through the mountain. Unfortunately he didn’t have the key for that puppy so I only gave him £1 for his efforts.

All the other tombs were filled with tourists so I knew I couldn’t bribe any guards so I did the walk to the office. I had no idea where it was.

“Excuse me do you know where the office is?” I asked a European tour guide.

“You passed it on the way in.”

“I came from over the mountain.”

“I have never heard of anyone doing that before, some people go from this side because it is not as high..”

“Taxi drivers.” I said with a shudder.

“Yes people can take a taxi.”

“I don’t.” She looked at me like I was crazy, perhaps I am.

There was a little mini bus you could take to the entrance costing £1 but I was dubious as to whether they counted as a taxi so walked instead to be on the safe side.

In each of the 3 tombs I visited the guards came out with bulging pockets and me a stack of pictures. Expensive pictures. It was worth it though because no-one else has pictures of the tombs.

By then it was after mid afternoon and boiling hot and my water had totally ran out. So I did the only smart thing, thought about taxi drivers and climbed back over the mountain. I went a different way and found this really cool track down the cliff. It was full on Indiana Jones style. A path about 50cm wide and sheer drop on each side about 50m high. My legs were totally shaking by now because of lack of water, food and exhaustion so that made it even more exciting. It was probably the best thing of the whole day.

At the bottom crawling seemed like the order of the day. I had even stopped sweating by then because there was no fluid left in my body. I was also ruing the day I forgot my sunscreen and hat as well, that day being then.

After what seemed a very long time I stumbling into a store. “How much for water?” I croaked.

He looked me up and down, did some Egyptian calculations, how thirsty a tourist is, the thickness of their wallet * standard price (£2) times how desperate he is.

“£10” he said after his eyes had registered a jackpot.

My pride didn’t let me pay that much.

Next store. A different tact.

“I’ll give you £3 for water.” And just grabbed it.

“£5” My resolve was wearing thin. Even the coolness of the water and the condensation on my skin was like a drink of water.

“Ok £4” and handed him the last of my £1 notes and stumbled off. It was double the price but every drop was like liquid gold to me.

I was walking back but I was beat. I had walked in the hot Saharan sun over rocky terrain up and over two mountains with no more than a 2 minute break, continuously, without food or much water for about 6 hours.

I failed. I hailed the taxi. It was a sad day and one I will rue forever. They won. He ripped me off and refused by refusing to give me any change. I had been thinking clearer I would have done something more so all I did was slam his door so hard it buckled a little, maybe that was from the little kick I gave it though. The cursing, lying, cheating, thieving taxi drivers. I couldn’t believe I had been gotten, again. Ripped me off £2(50c) he did. It was the principle of it though. The whole way back I planned the downfall of the taxi driver empire and its Jihad against me. Just for the record all I need now is my army of Holy Monkey butlers and everything will be in place.

I got back and Hannah was where I had left her, moaning on her sick bed. I thought then that maybe she really was quite sick. She was even quiet. I was about to rush her to hospital but she managed a feeble greeting so I called off emergency stations. It was touching she even called me her precious.

The next morning Hannah was complaining of no energy and all she wanted to do was sit inside and read Lord Of The Rings. Now I don’t mind a good book and Lord of the Rings is pretty much about as good as they get. However I do mind when I am doing a once in a lifetime trip and my partner for said trip is wrapped up deep inside a books much she doesn’t want to come and explore a small thing called the Valley of the Kings. I know the names are similar but I guess seeing as the Valley probably didn’t have hobbits it just couldn’t cut it for Hannah. I guess she did kinda look like a goblin or something all stooped over and feverish and those red eyes of her did look exactly how I imagine Sauron looked. One thing was definitely clear, I was about to end up looking like Smegal as well if I kept hanging around her disease any longer so I didn’t push it too much.
It was my first day all alone in the big world so I was a bit nervous and scared. King of comparable to the first time you get on a bike without training wheels or how in dreams you are standing naked in front of your class at school.
First things were first, I got on my walking around Egypt stare, the stare of being the only person alive in the world even ignoring the ones grabbing, speaking or trying to fight you. I set off. About 10 minutes in I realised I forgot to get some water and a torch and deciding I didn’t need them anyway, continued.
By the time I had gotten to the ferry across the Nile about 200m down the road I had had to cross the road 10 times and do about 6 “short cuts” down abandoned roads which quickly became un-abandoned as soon as I stepped into them becoming filled with taxi drivers who were really helpful each with a really cheap price of only £100, only catch you pay them up front and then they will wait for you at each place you want to go to, promise! Egyptian promise!
I sat down on the ferry.
“Hey nice necklace.”
“I don’t want a taxi.”
He looked at me injured, “I was just trying to be nice, where are you from?”
After a few seconds silence he continued, “Welcome to Egypt.” A few more seconds of silence, “I suppose you need a taxi for the day to get to the Valley of the Kings.” A few all too short moments of blessed silence, “Ok, for you I will do a cheap price, Egyptian price! Just for you.” After a few more unanswered questions he left.
This was great no Hannah slapping me for being rude or telling me off for how I treated people.
“Hello, welcome to Egypt, where are you from?”
“No thanks.”
“Huh?”
“Go away, I don’t need a taxi.”
“What do you mean?”
“I”, I pointed at myself to make it clear.
“Don’t”, shook my head vigorously.
“want a taxi.” And pretended to driver.
“I just wanted to talk,” he replied.
“I want you to go away but we cant have everything.”
“So anyway you will need a taxi, here is my card. Very cheap, only £10 to Valley of Kings. It is too far to walk so I will drive you.”
“Go away.” He continued to yabber about something but the cone of silence had its intended effect after a while and he left.
Three more contenders later and I finally got to the other side, I pushed through the crowd of people waiting to interview me and jumped off before it docked to get away from them all and get a head start. When I arrived at the taxi stand a guy offered me a trip for £1 (25c), more like my prices. I accepted.
It was all really confusing and there were no signs because people only ever travel to Egypt in tour groups and get everything organised for them.
“Do you know where you buy a ticket?”
“You want a taxi, ok I will take you, very cheap.”
“No TICK-ET”
“Yes, very cheap taxi.”
After a few false starts, false information, being told the shop was a ticket office, all I had to do was buy this statue and entry was included, I finally got to it.
Don’t know how I knew it was it because it was all in Arabic. I studiously studied all the options and picked the one that in mind was the right option.
“I’ll have a djfkgfnn.” I hoped confusion would make it so he would just pick something at random for me and I could just pay him.
“What?”
“dshjfdsjkl.” I assumed the mumbling would make it clearer what I wanted. He didn’t play ball.
“What ticket do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Next!”
I looked behind me for the hordes banked up and saw nothing much more than the tumble weed blowing passed.
“Can you explain to me why there is 15 different price?”
“Student?” I didn’t see how that was relevant seeing as there isn’t 15 types of students as far as I could see.
“Yes.”
“Next window.”
I got through the usual “Hello, welcome, where are you from.”
“Can you explain to me why there is 15 different prices?”
He looked annoyed so I slipped him a little backsheesh, £1. He looked a little more friendly. It turned out you had to buy a ticket to each tomb section individually. I had no idea what I wanted to see so I got him to suggest a few things. Turned out Valley of the Kings was 12km drive away so after looking at things on this side of the mountain I should come back and get a taxi round to there.
“Can’t I just walk over the mountain?” the thought of giving my hard earned cash to those thieves sent shivers down my spine.
He looked at me like I was crazy. “I suppose you could but its hot and a big mountain!”
“Yeah I know. I feel like a short stroll in the sun.”
As I walked off he was still shaking his head. Probably thought I had already been for a walk in the sun and seen a little bit too much of it. I was perhaps thinking I was as well when I looked up and saw the mountain, but when it got down to it a 1hr walk over the hill in the hot Saharian sun or giving some greedy lying taxi AUS$2 for their terror campaign against me was a much better idea.

So after the worst night in my life and after passing through Farafra Oasis we arrived at Dakhla Oasis at 6am. Of course there was no toilet on this bus and no toilet stops because it was Ramadan and no-one eats or drinks so they don’t go to the toilet.
This is were I was met by a very nice Egyptian man but I didn’t know it at the time. I was wary to say the least and a little curt but I think he put it down to me being a touch tired.
Anyway he kindly pointed out that we should have got off at Farafra Oasis to go to Luxor. I put that down as another reason I didn’t like mole face, because he told us to get to Dakhla Oasis. The man then helpfully quoted out some prices for a service taxi to Kharga Oasis which when I checked in the Lonely Planet checked out as being spot on. Usually when some Egyptian helpfully quotes you a price for something you get quoted double and have to barter, trick or force them to slightly reduce their price and seeing as this guy had a monopoly on getting out of this tiny Oasis where nothing existed I assumed he would quote a ridiculous price.
There was however one small catch, we had to wait around until the taxi got full with 13 people before it would leave. After sitting around in the hot sun for a few hours and seeing the only living things wander past being flies, a goat herd and its little herder boy with a stick and some vultures circling around waiting for Hannah and I to pass out from the heat to pick our bones dry we assumed that perhaps this bus wasn’t leaving in a hurry. In fact we hadn’t even seen 13 people in this oasis at all so presumably this was only used for special occasions like when all the goats had run off and the men rounded up a posse of everyone who lived there and got a taxi out to Kharga so they could round up everyone there and go look for them. The goats were well guarded by goat boy with a stick so it didn’t look like anyone else was coming.
I asked the driver, “Do you think the goats are going to be lost soon?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean is anyone coming soon do you think?”
“Oh maybe tomorrow there will be enough.”
The mole face fury raised another notch.
“Can we buy all the tickets and leave? Actually how much is it straight to Luxor? (600km away)”
“£500($125)”
“Too expensive, we only have £400” after the much haggling, tricking and clever wrangling I turned to Hannah proudly, “I got him down to £500!”
“Mika that’s what it was at the start!”
I decided to then look into the Lonely Planet where it informed me that tourists most probably won’t get a taxi from Dakhla to Luxor because the police don’t let them through without an escort. It did however point out that if you are extremely lucky you may get one but have to pay £660.
The nice man said, “The driver doesn’t want to take you but I am a high man in the village and I like you so I am making him.”
I figured it was because I was playing a little hard to get he liked me. Maybe this was the way to make them like you. Let them try and win a smile without making it easy. In fact I was a nice guy wasn’t I? Very likeable. I had lots of friends and I think all like me. I would have to tell Hannah that when she finally stopped talking to him. I mean come on she was finding out all this stuff about him and smiling and asking him about himself. If she wasn’t careful she was going to ruin everything by being so nice to him.
Anyway because I was playing so hard to get he did me a deal without me even having to say anything we got it for £450, just over $100 for a 6hr journey.
At the first checkpoint some cheeky policemen get a lift home with us. They should have paid us for the privilege of a private car, it was a relief when they finally left the car.
At one stage of the journey the boot would fly open and everything go tumbling out the back. Lucky we had our bags in the front. Then he would put it back in we would go 1km and it would fly open again and everything not bolting in would tumble out again. A few times later he got some rope and tied the door down so when the dust storms came it would real nice having the privilege of our own personal dust storm inside because it was only half closed. He almost charged us extra for the authentic desert experience.
At our hostel we were greeted by our Hostel manager, “Hello, Welcome, Where are you from?” We responded appropriately.
“Where did you arrive from?”
“Dakhla Oasis.”
“Excuse me?”
“Dakhla, private car.”
He looked really amazed, “I didn’t know you could get a car through the desert. The police don’t usually let you because of Islamic terrorists and bandits.”
Maybe the police wee not free loaders after all but really were our protectors, I mean they were carrying machine guns. Guns which they got really angry when I tried to pick one up. So we were really lucky to have that nice man get us a taxi and we didn’t even know until we got to Luxor. We were also lucky to see a part of the Sahara which not many tourists ever get to see. It had been quite cool driving thought the sandstorms and seeing the massive moving sand mountains etc.
The previous few days had blessed us with about 6hrs fitful sleep so we were absolutely exhausted so after a bite to eat and planning the next day we went to bed.