Second oasis and Luxor

A camel ride at sunset. Let's try to be positive. They have beautiful eyelashes. Mine seemed to have a problem with the steering though. You are probably imagining a tourist cliché but it didn't feel like it. These weren't seaside donkeys. We were riding somewhere in the middle of a large breeding herd (flock? gaggle? concatenation?) of jostling females, males, babies (cubs? calves?) being driven to their night quarters by genuine camel herders (so herd it must be) in an honest to God oasis in the flaming Sahara. Tell me that's not authentic.

Down went the sun and out came the stars. I refer you to my previous description.

Off to the shops with Amir and his battered Toyota 4x4, in search of overpriced beer. He kept the heating full on - presumably for my comfort. We had to greet every passer-by. Some got a toot or a perfunctory wave, others apparently merited a screeching halt followed by manly chest-to-chest contact.

Another dawn. I refer you to my previous description.

There's something I neglected to tell you about the second hotel in Cairo. For all its shortcomings the location was fan-bloody-tastic. Right on the corner of Tahrir Square where history is still being made. One of my many taxi drivers (any distance for two quid) told me he spent 18 days and nights in the square during the revolution. He got a bullet in his leg from a sniper in a nearby office block. Before that he saw an amoured car crush three young people right in front of him. Like ripe fruit. He cries sometimes and months later still can't sleep properly. I believed him. Like ripe fruit.

Back to the desert. Over 300 miles. Lunch at another oasis was a packet of lemon-flavoured crisps (best before October 2008), a melted chocolate biscuit, a packet of Mentos and some actually very nice guava juice.

One of my insect bites is doing something very strange. Over the last two days, instead of healing, it has got bigger harder and redder. One of the truck passengers, a nurse, has recommended (don't be alarmed, this is a joke) a precautionary amputation before gangrene sets in. I am half expecting that at some point a little ugly head will pop out. Funny the things that entertain you on a long journey.

Approaching Luxor the landscape changed suddenly, immediately, almost shockingly. There was a clear sharp demarcation between the barren gritty desert, almost too bright to look at, and lush plantations of - well, green stuff. Next a run-down hotel which clearly once had pretensions of grandeur, and another modest room shared with Marek and Pierre. You get used to it. At least we are all lean, fit and - old.

Luxor. Great place for ruins. But my lasting impression will be of Europeans burnt pink, singlets, tiny shorts, bored expressions, socks with sandals. It only takes a few days in the desert to appreciate how we might look to elegantly-robed Arabs.

I'm not going to tell you about the historic sites and antiquities. You can get better and more authorative descriptions than I could give merely by googling them. And you already know that they are absolutely gob-smacking. But here are some random impressions of Luxor:
- A flash of expensive stilletoes underneath a burqa. A glimpse of mascara through the eye-slit.
- A chat with a caleche driver who told me (and judging by the number of them lining every street I am inclined to believe him) that he had not had a paying customer for 8 days. The tourists are missing and so the revolution may not have been an unqualified success for the people.
- A vicious-looking armoured car in desert camouflage. From a sort of porthole a smiling face, a protruding hand and the cry: "Welcome to Egypt my freend".
- An eye-opening caleche ride through the districts where real local people live, and through an ants' nest of cluttered narrow street markets where few tourists venture - and none on foot. Apart from concrete and electricity nothing seemed to have changed much for a thousand years. This was the real thing and we muscled through the crowds with our wheels scraping stalls on both sides. All the womens' clothing stalls were festooned with extremely saucy outfits - extremely saucy. It gave me an insight into what might go on beneath some of those burqas. Repressed? Don't you believe it.
- Dinner with Pierre and Marek at a cheap table in the elegant private dining room of a restaurant.

Walking along a street after dinner, I met Abdullah, a caleche driver of my recent acquaintance. He convinced me to go drinking with him. There goes another pre-conception.

Naturally this was a commercial venture for Abdi. In one place I was the only customer without a turban. My new friend told me that a djellabah makes you irresistible to Arab women - especially if you are not wearing jockeys underneath. And some other stuff.

I have a confused recollection of going home at 2.30, at a canter, standing up at the reins and shouting with elation and fear, and Abdi prostrate in the back with his eyes closed. I think the horse was doing the steering. Apparently she is Abdi's sister.

I don't know how much it cost me, but it was one of those rock and roll nights you never forget. I left Abdi kissing the horse. It looked like she was kissing him back. Some sister.

Overland to Aswan by the desert road. At some point we ran out of tarmac. It roused me from my hangover long enough to remove the window handle from my ear and turn over. I have been drinking a lot of water.