Cairo Hell - My last day in Egypt and the worst day of my life
October 29th, 2008So I left Dalat in a triumphal mood, ready for a few last hours in Cairo before my flight back home. I said goodbyes to all the friends I’d made - the Bedouin guys, the Koreans, Swiss, German and Russians, then got onto the night bus. This was where my Egypt trip was to descend into a hellish nightmare.
Awaking in Cairo after the 9hr journey, the bus arrived at the bus station, bleary eyed at 6.30am. After grabbing my bags it was then that I discovered my (new) iPod was missing from my bag; stolen from a zipped up side pocket. This surprised me somewhat because my bag was by my legs under the seat all night on a pretty plush bus. I’m now convinced that a girl sitting behind me had reached down under the seat and taken it (and on her, I wish a life time of terrible misery). So, amid all the rushing and confusion at the bus station, I knew my only hope was to get a police statement for travel insurance. I soon found out it would be easier to get blood from a stone. There was a police station nearby but it took ages to try and explain what had happened and get a statement - no one spoke much English so I had to resort to the usual exadurated hand actions. I was told over and over various things - that I’d have to go here and there, that they couldn’t give me a statement etc. So after getting wound up in frustration, I was eventually taken by the chief officer and brought into his office. Here I was told I could make a report but I’d have to wait two hours until the Captain came on duty. I patiently waited. He eventually turned up and was actually very helpful, making phone enquiries along with his team of bumbling men. He agreed to write a statement. An hour and a half later, he proudly finished writing his 3 sheets of A4 Arabic report. Great. But now it needed a police stamp which happened to be at another police station a few miles away. So now I had to go in a taxi with another police officer to get the stamp. But low and behold, there I was told they could only give me the report the next day - some sort of policy. I was flying home that day. I let out a kind of demented laugh - I’d been with the police for five hours and now, at the end of it I couldn’t even take a copy of the statement. It had all been a waste of time.
Now, with my plans all set back, I decided to forget about the police palaver. I headed to a tourist market to quickly grab and barter for some souvenirs and gifts to take back home. Crazily busy and gasping for water, laden with tacky Egyptian statues and a huge backpack, I left the market. Now with the clock ticking for the plane, I got on the local airport bus. Big mistake - I’d forgotten it was Cairo traffic and it was rush hour. The bus crept along, stopping it seemed at every local stop. After nearly an hour on the bus, I started panicking. I jumped off and waved down a taxi - using the last few pounds I had left, it took me to the airport. Staggering out and through the terminal doors, I put my bags on the security belt and through they went. Now for me - I went through the scanner and towards the waiting security police. “No! Closed!”, he barked.
It was all minutes too late. Despite my countless protests, I was just handed back my bags and passport - that was it. No help, no advice. I could even see the departure gate with BMI London on it - it was like being stuck in a war zone having just missed the last flight out. I wanted to sit down and cry - cry 29 year old man’s tears. Despite my flying fears, I would have happily skipped onto that plane if it only had one wing. Now, still in grubby unwashed clothes, I was stuck ticketless, moniless, homeless, ipodless in this wretched city with no clue what to do.
I eventually found myself back in Cairo city centre, got myself a room in a hostel and went to bed; a fitful sleep of fears of being trapped in Cairo for good.
The next morning, I headed to the BMI sales office where I’d been advised to go to. As I guessed, I was to have to pay out for a new ticket - a final big kick in the teeth. I had no choice - I paid up and headed straight for the airport again. Four hours too early but happily knowing I’d soon be back in the loving, Motherly arms of dear old London town.
