I told Steve it sounded too much like organised fun, but I had no other plans, so I went along with it.
I met the manager. A smart man in his late fifties or early sixties with jet-black dyed hair and mascara, he gave me a quick tour of the massive boat, which was set over three floors. He introduced me to his captains and cooks and then finally to a quiet man whose job it was to dive into the Nile to collect any items that are dropped by the guests. The manager explained how he has dived to collect cameras, watches and jewellery for careless guests. As the manager spoke about other items he has rescued, he stood there all in black with his polo-neck jumper tucked in his trousers like a baddie in one of the Bourne Identity films. I asked if I could throw something in the Nile for him to collect later. The manager agreed. I was quite excited about it and went to eat.
The food was good. I had soup to start then turkey and veg, followed by some chocolate cake.
The entertainment I had to sit through consisted of a man who whizzed round on the same spot for fifteen minutes, an Egyptian comedian who had an annoying voice, and a belly dancer. I have never been into this sort of entertainment. I’ve never been to a strip club or lap-dancing place, so I didn’t know what was the best thing to do. Is it more polite to look at the woman’s babajangers and arse, as she dances around shaking everything, or is that pervy? But if I just kept my head down and showed more interest in the turkey on my plate, would that be an insult to her? In the end I did a bit of both.
Once the dancing was over I went to find the manager and his diving friend. I asked if he was sure it was okay for me to throw something in. He said yes, it was, no problem. I asked the manager to check with the diver that he was happy, but the manager just said that if he asks the diver to do something, he does it. I said I wanted to throw my Egyptian mobile phone in the river, but the manager was not happy for me to do that. We ended up agreeing that we would throw in a salt-and-pepper pot. But before we threw it in, he wanted to wrap it in bright pink gaffa tape so it was more visible in the dark, muddy waters of the Nile.
I started to doubt the man’s ability to retrieve the salt-and-pepper pot and asked again if the diver was happy to do this for us. The manager spoke on his behalf again and said, ‘Of course.’
I was just about to chuck the salt-and-pepper pot when the manager asked me to wait, as the boat needs to stop nearer to the edge where the current of the river is not as strong and the water isn’t so deep. It all started to sound like a made-up job. The baddie from The Bourne Identity then got off the boat and pointed to where he wanted me to throw it. So, hang on, the diver can only retrieve items if passengers drop them overboard close to the edge where the current is not strong and if they happen to have wrapped them in pink gaffa tape and have let the diver know before dropping them?
An argument then broke out between the manager and the diver. I asked what was wrong. The manager said the diver didn’t want to do it. I said it wasn’t a problem. I said I wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t brought it up. It all put a bit of a dampener on the night. I just think the manager wanted to impress us so much he was willing to throw a member of staff overboard for us.
I said I enjoyed the turkey and left.
Strange night.
I went into Cairo today and started to feel a rumble in the belly. I was told there was a toilet in the market. It turned out to be one of those public toilets you have to pay to use, but I didn’t mind, as I felt like I was going to get my money’s worth the way my belly was feeling.
Trouble was, I didn’t have any money on me to give to the old man at the entrance so I just walked past him. I opened the first cubicle to find a traditional Egyptian toilet. I then looked in cubicles two and three with no joy. I was close to using the urinal when cubicle four saved the day. It had a westernised toilet. I rushed in, shut the door and went to sit down when I noticed it wasn’t a complete westernised toilet. There was no bloody paper, just a tap with a hose attached. I contemplated giving it a go, but I really can’t see how you can clean yourself properly using just a hose. It’s the equivalent of trying to wash your car with just a hose. You can’t. You’d end up just spraying off the mud flaps. You need a sponge. I turned to leave but couldn’t, as there was no bloody handle on the door. I was locked in. I banged on the door but no one came. The man on the front door couldn’t hear me banging, probably due to the call to prayer. I’m glad I didn’t pay to use the place. It stank, had no toilet paper and no handle. I tried to call Krish or Christian but I had no phone signal. I couldn’t even sit down, as there was no toilet seat.
I was there for about ten minutes before someone opened the door to use the toilet. ‘No handle,’ I said. He was English and told me you have to pay to use the toilet and in return you get the handle. I’ve never heard anything like it.
‘Why doesn’t he just sell toilet paper ’cos there’s none in there,’ I said.
The English guy whipped out a roll from his bag and said he never leaves the hotel without it. ‘I keep it in my bum bag.’
Never has the name ‘bum bag’ been so appropriate.
In he went. I thought about waiting for him to finish and asking if I could borrow a few sheets but I didn’t fancy hanging around. Where’s an Andrex puppy when you need one?
I rejoined Krish and Christian, who hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone for 30 minutes. They had been busy sorting out where we were going to eat.
‘What sort of place do you fancy going to?’ asked Krish.
I wasn’t fussed. ‘Just somewhere with toilets,’ I said.
I was taken to a fancy place run by a man called George.
George, the owner, told me he would give me a proper traditional taste of Egypt, which worried me. What I’d seen of Egyptian food so far consisted of brown/beige mush that you dip bread into. I’m not a fan of this type of food. Humous and couscous doesn’t seem like a proper meal to me.
I used the toilets. They were nice and clean, and had handles and everything. Fancy.
We had to wait for 40-odd minutes before the dishes came to the table. George sat with me whilst I ate. It all looked okay. I just had a mouthful of each and asked questions later. It turned out I’d tried an ox’s brain, tongue and eye, and its knob and bollocks. Why would anyone want to eat this? Why would you take a big animal like an ox and eat either end of the beast but not the nice meaty bit in-between?
I suppose I came to Egypt to experience new things, and this was a first for me. I would normally be eating beef and veg on a Tuesday.
My stomach was a lot quieter than it was this morning. I think eating all that odd food had sent it into shock, so before I went to bed I had some Jaffa Cakes I’d brought with me to try and give my stomach something it was used to.
I met a local man today. His name was Mahmoud. He’s 22 years old and makes his living from giving camel rides close to the Pyramids. He invited me round to his house. His front door was open to anyone – even his camel. This seems a bit odd, when I’m not even allowed to keep a cat in my flat due to the rules in my lease.
On
