"It's always the same in Egypt isn't it? Always baksheesh? It's not like this in other Arab countries - Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Palestine - only in Egypt. I think perhaps there must be some problem with the people here - why are they like this? Perhaps they are keffirs?"
The massed ranks of the black berets, white uniforms, and starched moustaches of the "Egyptian Tourist and Antiquities Police" stare at me in angry disbelief. They are almost as surprised by my tirade in Arabic as I am. By the looks of things I managed to communicate my meaning clearly enough, though I'm beginning to think that accusing these officers of being keffirs - unbelievers - was perhaps a bit much. It's easy to detect a devout Muslim in Egypt; the purple-black bruising on their foreheads attests to some committed and regular time kneeling on a prayer mat. Still, I'm pretty sure that these officials are trying to steal from me, and going by the Book (all three Books in fact) at least, that would make them unbelievers. "Thou shalt not steal". (Exodus 20:15)
The towering rocky outcrop of Mount Sinai, believed to be the site at which Moses received the Ten Commandments from God, has long been a destination of pilgrimage - for Jews, Muslims and Christians - from all over the world. Now, however, the vast majority of pilgrims are of a distinctly secular bent. With charter flights from all corners of Europe and ludicrously cheap all-inclusive hotel deals, the Sinai Peninsula has become a veritable Mecca for the sort of tourists that generally make me shudder. In opting to climb Sinai at sunset, instead of sunrise, I was hoping to miss out not only on grotesquely half-naked gargoyles from Eastern Europe, but also the kind of sleazy local rip-off merchants who habitually follow them. Now, however, it seemed I would be thwarted by the mustachioed dimwits of the Egyptian Tourist Police, who insisted I hire a "Bedu guide" for 50 Egyptian Pounds. Given the state of some of the large blubbery mammals staggering out of the gates after successfully completing the climb, I was highly sceptical about my need to be accompanied, particularly by a walking cliche machine who would doubtless try to foist upon me any number of stuffed camels, "traditional" jewellery, and other such tat, all at "special prices". So I protested some more.
"Look, he's clearly not a fucking Bedu, and I don't need a fucking guide. Just let us go."
While Arabic is undoubtedly a beautiful, expressive, poetic language, some things are just better said in good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon. Unfortunately this did little to calm the situation. At this point reason, in the form of a nice young Australian girl with whom I have a, shall we say, "passing acquaintance", stepped in.
"James, this really isn't helping matters, and it is only five quid after all..."
I demurred, and off we walked, our by now very frightened Bedu guide Mohammed keeping a safe distance ahead, and casting the odd furtive glance back to check he wasn't in mortal danger. Of course he was an authentic Bedu, about as authentic as it gets in fact, and a thoroughly nice bloke too. For four hours I had a free Arabic conversation partner with whom I could discuss the three topics closest to every man's heart, namely politics, sex, and football (possibly not in that order). Upon reaching the summit we found it blissfully free of Lithuanian bodybuilders, beach towel-toting Germans and alcoholic Brits, with only the slightly deranged hymn-singing of a group of French Christians to disturb the spiritual peace.
Down at sea level, it was a different story. Sinai is a veritable paradise for hotel developers, and hell on earth for anyone with a backpack. While the tourists are distasteful, many of the locals are just appalling. I can quite understand the negativity of anyone whose opinion of Egyptians, and Arabs in general, is based on experiencing the awful hassle prevalent in the Sinai Peninsula. Since my first visit to Cairo eighteen months ago, I have fought a largely unsuccessful battle to persuade friends, family and colleagues of the inherent friendliness and hospitality of the Egyptian people. After visiting Nuweiba, Dahab, and Mount Sinai - which together with the abominable Sharm el Sheikh is the extent of most people's experience of Egypt - I can understand why people are so reluctant to believe me. Indeed, I even began to doubt myself. Could Cairo live up to my rose-tinted recollections of drinking tea and smoking sheesha in scenic backstreets with charming, friendly and unfailingly hospitable locals?
The answer is equivocal. While the hassle factor around the heavily-visited Pyramids, Egyptian Museum and Khan al-Khalili Bazaar is undeniably immense, away from the tourist traps the "Mother of the World", as Cairo is known here, is still a wonderful wonderful place. The overcrowding is chronic: 20 million people living in what is, in parts, the most densely-populated area on Earth, and the pollution is appalling: at this time of year especially the city is shrouded in a dense brown carpet of smog. The traffic is simply incredible: crossing the road in Cairo is an adrenaline sport to match anything I have ever experienced: bull-running, skydiving, swimming with sharks, none can come close to the terror of stepping into the streets of Egypt's capital.
Yet for all its undoubted faults, the "Arab Manhattan" (as one Australian I know referred to it) still has some incredible sights, a magical atmosphere, and some of the friendliest people I've encountered anywhere. For all the glory of its museums, ancient mosques and Pharaonic monuments, my abiding memory of Cairo will always be the side of the city that the hotpant-wearing, camel-toe showing package tourists never witness [for pictures of Russian girl with camel toe outside Egyptian Museum, click link to "Egypt" photos above right]. Sitting in a sidestreet drinking tea and smoking sheesha, the gentle bubbling of the waterpipe and the staccato clatter of dominoes competing with the cacophanous soundtrack of car engines, never-ending horns, and the sound of twenty million people taking time out from their daily lives to practise the only English they know: "Hello. Welcome."
