Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'What is your name?' I repeated, louder and with more force. 'I am here working direc-
tly for the Ministry of Tourism. I am a good friend of . . .' I racked my brain for a name,
something Moez had told me about Aswan. The name I came up with was apparently
the only person who could get me the permits to walk around Lake Nasser. '. . . General
Mostafa Yousry! I am here writing a book for the good of the Egyptian people.'
Across the room, ten pairs of eyes stared at me. When none of them spoke, I continued
my barrage.
'I want every one of your names!
Right now
.' Taking a pen out of my pocket, I helped
myself to a piece of paper from the desk and shoved it in front of the major. 'If I'm not
treated with some respect, I'll have the lot of you sacked. I've been sitting here being in-
terrogated for two hours. I demand to be released.'
The bald man forced a grin. 'Sit down, friend. We are not interrogating you - we're just
doing our jobs . . .'
He might have been grinning but, in his eyes, I could see disappointment. This man's
bluff had been called, and he was backing down; now his family wouldn't get my cameras,
memory cards and satellite phone after all.
'If what you're saying is true,' the major began, 'you'll be happy to show us your pho-
tographs.'
A sudden thought struck me: the camera the major was picking up was loaded with the
pictures I'd taken of the Aswan High Dam as we came into port. Taking pictures of stra-
tegic assets was not a good idea in a country like Egypt. I reached out to snatch it back, my
mind scrambling for something to say.
'Fine! You can see everything. I've nothing to hide. Let me show you . . .'
Quickly, I flicked through the pictures and opened them again at the start of the memory
card. Here, rather than pictures of the Aswan High Dam, were endless images of camels,
lizards and the sand dunes of the Nubian Desert. I was back to being a hapless tourist - if
I couldn't fight my way out of this, I would have to bore them into letting me go.
'So this is Gordon,' I said. 'He's eight years old. You can tell by his teeth.' I held the
picture still for a good ten seconds before clicking to the right. 'And this is a goose. You'll
notice it's a male from its size, rather than the black colouring around the tops of the wings
- which is actually identical in both sexes. Did you know they can fly over five thousand
miles as part of their migration? And . . . you see the boulders in the desert? Formed from
millions of years of freeze-thaw conditions that create an onion skin effect on the granite .
. .'
I could see his eyes rolling back in his head.
'Okay, enough!' He forced a smile again. 'You may take your things.'
Careful not to show my relief, I packed up my bag and stormed out of the office. Out-
side, once I was clear of customs, I stopped to take breath. Aswan stretched out before me,
