In Which She Decides Never Again to Take the Night Bus

We were ecstatic at the ease of the bus situation in Dahab. This bus stop was right next to our hotel. It was small and relatively clean. The 7:30 bus had seats left on it, and we gladly paid for two. Dahab to Cairo, 7:30 PM. A Day in Dahab and no need to pay for a hotel that night. Fantastic.

As we boarded the bus, I immediately noticed the legroom. I have longish legs. Not really long long, but long enough to notice legroom. There was no legroom. I couldn't cross my legs. This is a problem. I grunted and scooted sideways to fit my knees together. It's ok, I thought. I'll sleep, I thought. It won't be a problem, I thought.

By 7:30 PM in Dahab in October, the sun is completely set. It was dark, and we were tired, but not so tired that we fell asleep right away. Which is good, because even if we had wanted to, we wouldn't have been able to sleep. After an hour ride to Sharm al-Sheikh's bus stop, we had a longish (rather too long, if you ask me) stop in Sharm, but not in pretty Sharm. In the Sharm bus stop. With the sketchy bathroom. 15 minutes of wandering aimlessly around the busstop, and we're back on the bus. We had hoped that the creepy dude with the ballcap in front of us would stay in Sharm, but we hoped in vain. He was there for the rest of the ride, regularly and overtly glancing back and inspecting us for seconds at a time.

First, we were entertained with musilsilat (TV programs) with a vaguely Ramadan theme. I think. All I know is there was an Asian-looking singer, an honest-to-goodness bellydancing dwarf, and two sketchy looking men with gelled moustaches. I put on my headphones, pulled my knees to my chest, and closed my eyes. I felt tired enough to sleep after our exciting and exhausting adventures in Dahab.

You would think that since we were STILL IN EGYPT and HAD NEVER LEFT Egypt and no one had gotten ON or OFF the bus since Sharm al-Sheikh, as there were no busstops in the MIDDLE OF SINAI, there would be no need for extra security checks after leaving the busstop. Yes? Well. You would be wrong. Not only are there security checks, but there are security checks EVERY HOUR. Rough looking men board the bus, check your passport and/or your bus ticket, and then leave you to resume your fitful sleep. It is an extremely annoying interruption, especially considering that you are not having that great a time ANYWAY, trying fruitlessly to sleep in a fetal position in a dirty bus with a creepy hat guy staring at you.

But more annoying? Is when they wake you up and make you get out of the bus. Because at 3 am, or thereabouts, a tall gruff man boarded the bus and yelled something about "SHANTAT!" Now, having already dealt with the word "shanta" ("bag" or "purse") after losing my luggage in Jordan, I thought, "Aha, he is talking about luggage! See how well I speak Arabic!" And we assumed, erroneously, that this was a repeat of a previous bus ride, where they had requested that those passengers getting off at certain stops bring their luggage up with them until that stop. The gruff man looked at us and yelled again. So we got off the bus.

Everyone else was already off, with their luggage lined up in front of them. It was the most orderly queue of people we had seen all week. We joined them, yawning. My eyes stung from the previous 6 bumpy hours of sleeplessness. It was chilly, but the air felt clean, the crisp, barren sort of clean that is one of the most beautiful things about the desert. At a command from the police, everyone stepped back one large step in a weirdly synchronized movement. "Weird," I thought, "Have they done this before?"

The policeman, once we had stepped back and given him room, fiddled with a small black gadget he held, then held it up in front of him, as you would a sword or a pistol, and speedwalked past the luggage, turning on his heels when he got to the end to speedwalk back. When he reached the end of the luggage line, he just kept walking, off to the desert behind the bus. And then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, everyone picked up their suitcases, put them back in the bus, and made their groggy way back to their seats.

The whole thing was so surreal, so out of place, and everyone's reactions were so...normal. We had a hard time figuring out what, exactly, Mr. Policeman had done. Was it a metal detector? If so, wouldn't he want to check the bags in the bus as well as the bags under the bus? Wouldn't he want to check the individuals? It was very confusing.

And not two hours later, there we were at a nondescript busstop in Cairo, somewhere by the Nile. We had no idea where we were, but we did know that it was 4:30 AM and that 4:30 AM is when good girls are usually in bed, which is exactly where we wanted to be. We got in a taxi and told him the Four Seasons, knowing that we could sit in their lobby as long as we wanted, and really, just wanting to be off the street. The taxi driver asked us as soon as we started off, "How much?"

This is never a good sign in Cairo. As we learned from Anthony, this is how the taxis work: you get in, you tell them where you are going, and you pay them AFTER you've gotten out of the taxi. Otherwise, you'll get ripped off. But we were stuck, so I asked, in what I thought was a very clever response considering that we had no idea where we were, "How much do you want?"

He laughed. "How much do you want to pay?"

Then I made a mistake: "How long is the drive?"

"You don't know how long the drive is?"

"Well, we don't know exactly where the bus station is."

"It's the Ibrahim bus station!"

"Yes, um, I know the NAME of the bus station, but I don't know how far it is from the Four Seasons."

He laughed again. "80 pounds."

"EIGHTY?" I raised my eyebrows. "No. That is too much." I felt trapped in the cab speeding next to the Nile. I knew 80 pounds was a ridiculous price.

And then he actually said, "You don't even know where you are! How do you know how much is too much?"

I shot a Look at Lisa. The Look said, "This is so, so obnoxious." The usual cab ride is 5 pounds, ten if there is traffic or if it's a ways. Eighty is probably what that guy makes in a month. And at that moment, I lost my previous regard for Egyptian hospitality. What kind of person rips off two obviously lost, tired, young travelers at 4:30 AM?

The ride was not very long. We passed two wedding parties on our way, one with the bride and groom speeding away on a motorcycle, the other with the bride posing for pictures by the Nile. It seemed mildly absurd to have these brides so perfectly adorned at such an odd hour of the day/night, when most people were in bed with smudged eyeliner and tangled hair. But it also seemed fantastically festive. Why not stay up all night and celebrate a marriage? Why not take a stroll in your wedding dress by the Nile at 5 am? I kind of wanted to join the party, or at least follow it from a distance and eavesdrop.

We ended up giving the cab driver too much money, although he swore, "Wallahi, it's not expensive, it is a fair price." I knew it was too much, but I also knew that standing on the street corner arguing with a cab driver was not a good way to spend your Friday pre-dawn morning. I was annoyed that I had spent so much of my vacation getting ripped off by cab drivers, and I was ready to sit on the Four Season's couch, watch the sun rise, and decide what to do next.