Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
THE LONG ROAD HOME
Lower Egypt, August 2014
'W
on't they ever go away?' I asked.
'Never.' Turbo grinned, rolling in the car alongside me. 'Do you still need to ask?'
We'd been on the road for a week since Kom Ombo, and were finally nearing the city
of Luxor. Wearily, I looked over my shoulder - and, sure enough, Turbo's wasn't the only
car tracking me. A jeep packed full of uniformed police officers was trundling just behind,
at barely three miles an hour. As they'd done every step of the way, the coppers looked on
in utter disbelief. 'Are you sure you won't jump in?' one of them crowed, for what must
have been the tenth time today. 'Much quicker this way!'
From a different window, another chirped in, 'We tell nobody . . . Don't worry!'
'Ever get tempted?' asked Turbo.
I tried to shut out the policemen's guffaws. The truth was, I'd been tempted on more
than one occasion - especially on these long stretches of agricultural road, which seemed
to be communal dumping grounds for all kinds of dead animals. Yesterday, the stench of
death had been unbearable as I'd slowly walked past the carcasses of rotting camels, buf-
falo, donkeys, dogs and cats. Flies had swarmed me - the only pedestrian for dozens of
miles - and, just when I thought I was out of range, another mountain of carcasses would
appear and I'd begin the rigmarole all over again. The police didn't seem to care; they
simply wound up their windows, turned on their air-conditioning and shook their heads -
not at the carcasses, but at my stupidity for walking among them.
'Not far now,' said Turbo.
I wanted to make Luxor by nightfall, because, if I didn't, I'd have to jump in the car with
Turbo and drive back to whichever the last small town was and book into a guesthouse
there. My journey through Egypt had begun at the centre of a labyrinth of bureaucracy,
and from there it had only got worse. According to the rules imposed by the Egyptian au-
thorities, I was not allowed to camp beyond the shores of Lake Nasser - so I was always
ferried backward or forward, to a town where the police could put me under a twenty-four-
