THE armed guard travelling as part of the, suddenly missing, convoy across the Egyptian desert is there to protect travellers from many things.
Almost certainly not somebody swinging a sledgehammer in your direction as you hold on to a crowbar as tight as possible.
But then, even on what is essentially a relaxing last couple of weeks on the road, that’s life on the Trans Africa.
To say nothing of near record temperatures, the slowest travelling we have done on the entire journey, getting firmly on the tourist trail and another possible medical first in my bid to limp around the continent and the penultimate week of the trip has had plenty going on.
Even if we have done our best to spend as much time as possible doing as little as we can.
Throughout all that, it has continued to be extremely hot as we have meandered our way up the River Nile.
Any hopes of any respite after leaving Sudan have long since vanished (although the wonders of air conditioning have at least provided some valuable relief) with Luxor allegedly clocking up the second hottest recorded day in its history as the thermometer reached 56 degrees Centigrade.
On the day we opted to walk across town to visit the Karnak Temple.
But let’s rewind to our first Egyptian port of call where it was – albeit by just a few degrees – a bit cooler at Abu Simbel on the banks of Lake Nasser.
An early morning start saw us beat the tourist crowds (bussed down from Aswan), head back to the hotel for breakfast, raid the shops for as many cold drinks as we could lay our hands on and return to the temple to rejoin the convoy of coaches for the journey back across the desert to Aswan.
Which is where the plan went a little bit awry.
Overland trucks are built for many things – doubt too many of our travelling companions would have made it across the Sudanese desert in one piece – but speed is not one of them, so we were soon left behind as the day trippers were whisked back to their hotels in air-conditioned comfort.
One back marker did come past us, offloading their armed soldier to ride shotgun in the front of Nala as we brought up the distant rear.
And he, like the rest of us, was dozing off in the heat of the desert when we were all rudely awoken by a very loud bang, the smell of burning rubber and the sound of running water.
Having gone nine months with just one puncture, a second tyre had given way in the space of a few days, only this time in spectacular style – shredding in the heat to such an extent it took the mudguard and adjoining metal shelf (mainly used for storing firewood) with it, along with the tap off the adjacent water container.
So before we could change the tyre, we had to reshape the twisted metal to make room. Think the sun must be behind my decision to attempt to bend it back into shape with a crowbar while Joe smashed it with a sledgehammer – something we did not try again.
But, finally, with the armed guard watching on, smoking cigarettes and listening to his iPod in the middle of the road, we finally got the new tyre on and headed up the final stretch to Aswan, rolling over the low dam to our hotel on the banks of the Nile.
After certain members of the group failed to control their excitement at spotting both a McDonald’s and KFC – and when push comes to shove, the golden arches can be a welcoming sight, whatever your age – we headed out on a boat to our dinner destination for the night, a family home on the opposite bank just below the lower, older dam. Right after we had plunged into the river (just upstream from some swimming cows) to cool off.
There was little chance to cool off the next morning as a group of us headed out for a guided tour of the local attractions, most notably the newer High Dam and the Philae Temple, which had to be relocated to an island to avoid the rising waters of Lake Nasser created by the dam.
A fascinating visit, highlighted by the last known use of hieroglyphics (basically, a craftsman bemoaning the death of his art by declaring he was the last person actually able to read it), before we headed back to the inevitable stop under the golden arches and, in my case, a race back to wallow in the small but welcoming hotel pool.
There was plenty more wallowing in water over the next couple of days as the pace of the trip slowed to a crawl – roughly 30km in the space of 48 hours – on board our two feluccas, small, local sailing craft which once crowded these waters.
Before the Arab Spring and the Egyptian Revolution, which has left a marked impact on the country’s tourist trade, our captain estimated they made around six or seven trips like ours each month. Now it is about three a year.
The upside is that we were virtually alone on the river for much of the time, either lazing around on the mattresses which provided our dining room, living room and beds for our two nights as we tied up to shore, or cooling off in the thankfully crocodile-free waters of the Nile.
With a selection of well-stocked eskies on board to keep us refreshed, it was a relaxing couple of days which came to an end far too quickly as Gareth and Nala collected us and swept us through the red hot wind along the banks of the river to Luxor, centre of the ancient Egyptian world for so long and site of many of the great attractions from that period.
Not that we were that bothered on arrival, once we realised the Nile Valley Hotel comes complete with just about the best equipped rooms of the trip, as well as a very welcome (if warm) swimming pool. Which is beckoning off to my right at this very moment.
With a virtual free day on our hands, a group of us opted to spend the next morning exploring Karnak Temple. And well worth the exploration it is too, particularly the mightily impressive Hipostyle Hall with its 134 giant columns providing some much-needed shade as the heat reached new levels.
It was also where it dawned on me that my little toe was turning purple.
The blood on the end was no surprise, after all that had been pretty instant the moment it had made contact with the base of the safety barrier. But the livid purple bruise came as a bit of a surprise, prompting a rapid diagnosis from a passing nurse – of which this trip has been liberally sprinkled – of a break.
My first. Plenty of dislocations. Loads of injuries (back, shoulder, knees, take your pick). But never a broken bone. Until now. Maybe.
It is still purple and it still hurts, but there’s been plenty of ground to cover in the last couple of days, starting with another morning on the tourist trail, playing Rameses bingo in the Valley of the Kings as we explored the tombs of three pharaohs of that name before moving on to Queen Hatshepshut’s Temple and Habu Temple (built by one of those Rameses).
Thankfully, this morning’s activity was less stressful on the foot, a hot air balloon taking the strain as we flew across the air we had explored the morning before as the sun rose around us.
Not a bad way to start the day.
