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How I remember it, with some writer's licence. Photos mostly from a later trip.
The Bridge group slept by the pyramids, but not where I could find them. Instead, arriving at closing time and ignoring the tourist police, I found a man wearing a light blue jellebiyah and a greying moustache.
- No, no, can’t go here.
- I’m looking for my friends.
- Friends not here. Nobody here, go, go.
I ignored him and walked around pyramids looking for them. He followed.
- Monsieur, where you go?
- I look for my friends. My friends sleep here.
- Nobody sleep here. Police come. Big problem.
- No problem. Everything OK.
- Big problem. Pyramids closed now. Tomorrow pyramids open. You stay my house, I show you tomorrow morning early before open. No tourists. No police.
The sun was setting and there was no sign of my friends. Eventually Ahmed persuaded me to come back with him to his house in a back street of Giza. I thought I would have to keep my wits about me.
In fact, he was welcoming, and I was safe and comfortable. His wife cooked and I ate with the family. I slept well in a a bedroom upstairs with big matresses and blankets. Early in the morning he took me out for a personal tour of the pyramids.
It went wrong because I was determined to climb a pyramid.
The stones of Kafre & Khufu are too high to climb. The many small “queen” pyramids are quite easy. Ahmed agreeed to taking me up one of those. There was a worn path shown by scattered stones.
It wasn’t enough.
- No, no Monsieur. No climbing. Too big.
I was determined to get to the top of Mycerinus, the dwarf of the three Giza pyramids. I did. Surely I shouldn’t have. But it was well worth it. When I got back to the bottom, Ahmed had fled in disgust, or fear, or because of the need to make a living from someone more cooperative. Perhaps he hadn’t reckoned on my being so resourceful, but I made my way back to his house. His wife let me in and I tried to leave with my bag.
- No, no, wait, she pleaded repeatedly.
Returning to Cairo years later, I tried to look for that house again, to attempt somehow to repay Ahmed for his free night of hospitality and personal attention. It was hopeless. I wondered how he treated his wife after finding me gone, though I didn’t consider that at the time. Instead I was pleased with myself for not getting ripped off. No wonder Egyptians get a reputation for scamming tourists if this is how some tourists treat them.
But actually I did meet Ahmed again, nearly two weeks later, back at the pyramids. He seemed not to recognise me – perhaps he didn’t, all these Europeans look the same. Out of remorse I bought an overpriced set of postcards from him.
Before that, I went to Aswan and back.
Click for what happened next.
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