My appearance at the hotel in a police escort did not go unnoticed by other guests. One of them, a British lady called Helen, approached me there and asked to have a little talk when I chill out after the latest adventure.
The next day I moved to the same place I had stayed at while visiting Luxor a month before. The family who runs the place agreed to rent me a room for a good price, so I could have time to try to arrange replacements for the stolen things. In their café I met with Helen and talked with her about travelling and bicycle touring in particular. While sitting there I noticed another cyclist coming on the road. A familiar face, which I had already seen before. Lucas, another Polish cyclist wandering through the world, had arrived to Luxor.
Although we had not known each other before and we had never done any appointment, that was the third time that our ways crossed in Egypt. Eventually we spent about a week on the west bank in Luxor. Lukas used to befriend locals with simple circus activities: huge soap bubbles and spinning a burning stick. Exactly the things I had done several years ago. Doing together a fire show at local wedding made us known among the villagers, as every of these ceremonies gathers hundreds if not thousands of people. Qorna and other west bank villages, as most of the rural communities in Egypt, are closely bound together by family and clan relations. Everyone knows everyone and all the weddings are arranged and planned years before, and of course attended by all the relatives and friends. After our performance there was no more overcharging or trying to sell us tourist tat. Several times we were invited by local families to eat and in exchange we did small shows for their numerous children.
Meanwhile Helen, a long-term resident of Luxor, pulled some strings. I was invited to have an interview for Luxor Times, an English language newspaper. Few days later I met with the governor of Luxor province, just to be surprised by his broad knowledge about Poland, where he had worked during the time of our revolution. Everybody felt sorry for what had happened to me, but no one could really help. I also realized that there was no way to send bank cards from Poland, so I decided to move on with the supply of cash I had with me.
The ride to Aswan was pretty straightforward, with a nice tailwind, which helped me to reach the southernmost city of Egypt in two days. However short, the ride along the Nile made me happy that I had chosen the desert road to cross most of the country. Overpopulated, the Nile Valley gives no chance to enjoy silence or privacy. Even though most of the people on the way seemed friendly, just the huge number of them made sure that every day I would meet some annoying kids or beggars.
A group of hills after Edfu was my place of choice for the overnight stay. I was not disturbed until the morning, when certain Mostafa showed up in his pickup. After a standard short talk he just sat down and stared at my morning preparations, without a single word being spoken. It seemed like a warning before the African total lack of understanding of the Western concept of privacy.
Aswan was a nice city but not so spectacular as I could have expected from what others had told me. Sorting out the visa and ticket was easy, but accompanied by a number of extremely strange questions being asked by the officials. (“How do you know about Sudan?”)
After the weekend had passed in nice and cheap (13EGP) Youth Hostel, I cycled to the ferry harbor.
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