Tip your chair back, relax and get a few hours sleep dreaming of the temples and history that lie ahead. That was what I was hoping to do last Friday when I boarded the night train from Cairo to Luxor.
Hopes of that soon faded as I was shown to my seat. Puzzled by the small cardboard ticket the size of a postage stamp which didn’t resemble any of the others I had previously purchased in Egypt, I soon understood the significance.
At 9.55pm, I was happily sitting on the platform chatting to a woman who had started talking to me. She was telling me of her adventure around Ramsis Station, being sent from one platform to another in an attempt to locate her train. She thought the train on the platform was, in fact, my train. Not the next one as the man selling cake had informed me. I bounded up with about a minute to spare and showed the man leaning on the train door my stub aka ticket.
He got the train worker to show me to my seat. Carriage number 2, seat 19. It seemed simple enough. But on arriving at the cabin we were greeted by a French man who proceeded to speak loudly in French to the Egyptian train worker saying that he had reserved all six seats in the cabin. This act is common everywhere: if you raise your voice when speaking in your own language abroad, the locals will understand you.
Bemused, the train employee led me to the next carriage, same seat number. To my surprise, it looked like a sleeper train, without the beds. Three seats adjacent to each other facing another set in a, erm, ‘cozy’ arrangement.
Enter three young Egyptian guys. Cue an awkward silence until we arrived at our first destination: Giza. Exit one of the Egyptians. Enter an older man, complete in galabeya and turban-like head apparel (’emma’). “Alaikum as-salam, I replied, thinking to myself that the prospect of any sleep at all was looking distinctly bleak.
Two trips in consecutive weekends should qualify me as a Luxor expert. Having traveled on overnight trains in several countries (Japan, Iran, Egypt) across three different continents, I could claim to be somewhat of a train connoisseur.
Those wanting tasty, as opposed to airline-style food, will find it served on the ‘Phoenix’ train that runs between the capital of Iran, Tehran and the holy city of Mashad in the north-east. Those wanting comfort should opt for the train between Tokyo and Sapporo, Hokkaido where a kimono is provided to sleep in, a curtain for privacy and a special spot light for reading. The Japanese think of everything. Well, everything that is besides food.
A great means of transport, you can usually, although unfortunately not this time, have a seat, mind your own business and maybe catch a few winks. Those less inclined to rest can move to the car housing the bar and spend their journey socializing with fellow passengers.
Trying to sleep on my Luxor train the week before was successful in bouts. That is until I was interrupted by shouts of “shay, haga sa’aa, sandewitchat, Nescafe from the worker doing the rounds with his drinks trolley. Unfortunately for us, he didn’t take much of a break during the whole journey which meant us, as passengers, managed a broken sleep at best.
Seated opposite a boy of 9, his father, two young Egyptians and the traditionally dressed older man did not put me immediately at ease. But the cabin door was left ajar.
The only downside of this was that the train workers who patrolled the carriages would poke their noses in every so often enquiring if I was Egyptian or Lebanese and asking whether I lived in Egypt.
A couple of minutes into the ride and a stern man wearing a navy boiler suit sauntered into the cabin saying “tazakir. I showed my excuse for a ticket and, to my amusement, it was accepted. Phew! The young Egyptians started squirming in their seats, as they were not in possession of valid tickets. No matter as the ticket inspector had a ready supply.
After a few minutes scribbling some pointers in my notebook, I thought that I would try and get a bit of shut-eye.
The father must have heard me speaking Arabic to the ticket inspector and warned the younger guys that I understood Arabic and so they should watch what they were saying about me.
That prompted one of them to start a conversation with me. The subjects ranged from job to nationality to religion to politics. The latter two being on the contentious side, I generally steer clear of showing my political colors or engaging in any sort of heated debate on these issues.
What could have been an 11-hour silence turned into conversation punctuated by a few attempts at sleeping. Not an easy achievement in the seats that were stuck in a bolt upright position.
My newly-found friends offered me their food, which consisted of bread with beef and cheese, as well as tea and cakes. On leaving, they made sure that I was not ripped off on my short taxi ride to the hotel.
What could originally have been a bit of a nightmare turned out to be an amusing travel experience. One I am certain I will remember and laugh about for years to come.
