A splash and dash through history

Never mind the aching joints and the onset of age; we were going on an 'adventure' holiday.

Touching down at Cairo International Airport and getting through the thousands of travellers was adventure enough; or so I thought until I got into the cab.

Perhaps, this time, I'd pushed the envelope a little too far; perhaps I was trying to recapture youth. And boy, did I capture them, around eighteen in total!

As the 'adventure' began, it became evident our tour companions were all in their late teens and early twenties from around the globe - Australia, New Zealand, UK, Belgium, France, et al - kids on their "gap year extravaganza". And then bringing up the rear were the two of us: Mum and Dad do Egypt.

Our late-night arrival introduced us to the first flavours of Middle Eastern culture; a harrowing journey where three lanes of traffic exploded into five competitive lanes of bleating horns; a spring out of bed at sunrise for the call to morning prayer; and rock-hard boiled eggs for breakfast. It was magic - I wondered if we would survive.

Cairo is indescribable at first introduction and then, simply unforgettable. With a teaming population of over 20 million and a newborn arriving every 27 seconds, it's little wonder the competitiveness of this city breeds excitement.

Our tour took us to the regular spots with little 'misadventure' - the Cairo Museum with Tutankhamen's gold and relics that didn't quite make it to the afterlife; the mummified remnants of the Ramses clan; the Citadel and the City of the Dead - one square mile where people actually live in the mausoleums; take care of the grounds and memories of those long gone and those they never even knew. So far, being an 'adventure tourist' seemed pretty calm.

The pace picked up as we headed east, across the desert toward the Red Sea. There had been a light rain the night before and tiny, azure flowers were coming up out of the concrete of rock and sand. If you took the time to notice, great swells of powdered sands filled the mountainous valleys. And then, there it was, the Red Sea in all of her magnificent turquoise splendour. I felt the compunction to pinch myself - was I really here?

Indeed I was, and the next day had an early start. Ms Snorkel Queen here with zip experience was going to explore the coral reefs on a cruiser of incompetence. I was filled with elation as thoughts of spitting into my mask, when to suck or blow on the snorkel and how to flutter the one-foot long fins happily danced through my head. I couldn't wait to take the plunge.

Let it be said, introductions were brief. As a guesstimate, I'd say about a nanosecond as the eight-foot long moray eel swam by my mask - don't even ask, but the parting of the Red Sea was having a revisit as I scrambled, screamed and propelled myself back on board. But then, the adventure was only kicking off. That, to put it mildly, was a day to remember!

As all the happy snorkelling crew found their way back onboard, the well-meaning crew served lunch. Personally, I decided against the discoloured, green fleshy fish, but many others chowed down eagerly.

Then it was back to shore with everybody on board. NOT! The engine wasn't cooperating; it was just giving those wonderful wheezing coughs that told you nobody was going anywhere fast. Tourists can be so stupid sometimes. Here we were miles from shore and there wasn't a lifejacket to be had! The waves were getting higher, we were being tossed about like spaghetti in a colander and it just couldn't get more unpleasant. But, oh yes, it could!

Exercise of futility

The anchor was again thrown out to get the nose to the wind and, thankfully, a fishing boat came along to the rescue. Wrong again!

In an exercise in futility, our rescuers first decided to tie the two cleats on the back of the boat to their ropes and tow us in from the stern. It was a little like the Jaws movie where the shark grabs hold of the back of the boat and starts administering his superior weight in sinking the ship. Dad intervened, while Mum was on the upper deck screaming "Mayday, Mayday, we're going down," with eighteen youths crowding around me.

Meanwhile, Dad was below deck speaking Egyptian through rapid and aggressive sign language. Communication finally connected - it was decided it would be a better idea to tow from the bow, get that nose back into the wind - good thought with one exception: as ropes were passed between boats, tied down and secured, one little factor had been ignored - the anchor launched to the left had a firm grip and we were now being towed to the right - instead of sinking from the stern, the boat was about to be torn apart as our rescuers took off at top speed!

A nightmare. But, lo and behold, we all survived as Dad finally cut the new anchor line - too bad, so sad and dive tomorrow for the bloody thing.

The next day, our destination was Luxor. Unfortunately, those who had chowed down on that green fleshy fish were now in agony as salmonella and amoebic dysentery arrived as an uninvited guest - my supply of antibiotic and fever medicines took a heavy hit as the 'new kids' rattled our door throughout the night.

Luxor is a city one has to experience to even try to imagine - known historically as Thebes, the Nile lazily wanders by; the mountainous Valley of the Kings is off in the distance; Karnack Temple is breathless with its sphinx and pillared entrance; and the horse-drawn caliches introduce you to a Victorian time where parasols and Howard Carter reigned. When you arrive in Luxor, you breathe the very essence of history - it touches you.

'Fun day'

But back to adventure! The next step of the journey was Abu Simbal with a wake-up call at 3.30am, another rock-hard egg and a "Have a fun day." The one thing you don't expect in the desert is freezing temperatures. As we boarded the bus, we were all in light shirts and shorts - wrong again! The bus was like a cigar tube that had spent the night in the freezer. As teeth chattered at the sub-zero temperatures, we finally found two forgotten sleeping bags. The rule of order was ten minutes per couple, but I was too old for this noise - I demanded twenty.

Anyone can read about Abu Simbal - it was created and built thousands of years ago in tribute to Ramses II and his wife Nefertari; it was then dismantled and recreated when it was about to be swamped by mankind. In the 1960s, when the Temple was threatened with submersion by the High Dam construction at Lake Nasser, it was moved. Now, it's a Hollywood set - you still have the statues; you still have the mystic ambience; but, unfortunately, you now have the guide that tells you how 3,500 years of history has been moved to a new location to accommodate human need.

On it went as I placed one foot in front of the other - I was beginning to feel like Indiana Jones, but looking for a coffin to crawl into. Hardly recovered from our Abu Simbal trip, the next leg took us on a three-day Nile cruise. Our little Doma took some of the sting out of the adventure. She was a small boat with ten cabins where for three days the howls of laughter, from a group of strangers, danced along the currents of the river. Never mind Madonna and her Malawi adoption, I was adopting all eighteen of these kids and taking them home.

A painting

In writing this, my husband tells me I have to write with pictures, not words, so here's a painting.

It is now three o'clock in the morning; you've just had a wake-up call and I was once again having trouble getting that left foot ahead of the right. You're handed another hard-boiled egg to chow down on and then you're chased across the road to some rusty old tin can that's going to take you across the Nile - add freezing cold to the scenario.

Next picture: when you get off the floating can, you're greeted by twenty jackasses that are about as thrilled as you are on introductions - all of them are wearing the 'Seen that; done that; got the T-shirts', as we mounted and headed into the Valley of the Kings for sunrise.

Dad is a keen animal lover; however he hates anything with four legs that he needs to straddle. When he regarded the herd of donkeys waiting for us, he chose the one with the longest legs due to his height - Big Boy. They bonded instantly and became the leaders of the pack.

As we journeyed through the night stars and on toward sunset, Big Boy prevailed in leadership.

Again, I won't even go into the magic allure of the Valley of the Kings - there just aren't enough words to describe it and it really is something that has to be experienced. So I'm going back to sarcasm and my painting - remember, he wanted pictures.

So, after the visit to the Valley of the Kings, we had to lead the donkeys up the ridge of Deir-el-Bahari above the Temple of Hatshesut and then descend - another adventure on its way and this time, hilarious. Dad decided to adjust his saddle by jerking it forward and centre.

Poor Big Boy was the most surprised. He went down on his knees and watched his rider pole vault over his head. Don't even ask how the kids took this one down, but Valley of the Kings had never heard such international hilarity.

Back in Cairo, it was one final adventure and, yet again, on another four-legged beast - horseback riding around the pyramids and into the desert. As we arrived at the stable, we had two girls on the tour who were of equestrian capability, Mum with some experience and Dad definitively muttering, "No way, not again."

As we saddled up, the two equestrian stars were awarded nags; my horse pranced like a washing machine with the drum on tilt; and dear old Dad, well, they gave him an Arabian stallion. As we all trotted off and enjoyed the moment; taking in the wonders of the pyramids; and trying to capture that last moment of holiday, we will all remember this - Dad on the back of a horse he hated.

His stallion, took off in a flash of history. One moment we were all sitting quietly admiring where we were and the next, well, he was gone. He was racing across the desert at lightening speed and hanging on for dear life with legs almost flapping in the wind.

The guide came to me and said, "He no do this - not allowed." At which point, I suggested he might like to go rescue him. But it was too late - they passed like two ships in the night. Dad's horse came to an earth-breaking stop; paused; reared its front legs into the air in true Lone Ranger and Silver fashion; turned on a dime and raced back to the stable with my poor husband still clinging onto ears, mane and anything else that would keep him seated.

And so, the trip of a lifetime ended. Again the howls of laughter danced through the Egyptian skies which later mingled with tearful goodbyes as we each followed our global homeward bound flight.

I'd gone for an adventure holiday - I came away adopting 18 kids - who needed souvenirs?

- Barbara Cummings is a founder member of the Gulf News Readers' Club