The car is fancy, the kind of car that feels part limousine. Two seats in the back, like aeroplane seats with our own armrests and a gap in between.
The boats are small, eight-seater at most, all lined up along the edge of the water. And it's dark, just a glimpse of sunlight edges its way into the...
On our way into the Pantanal, as we pass through the outer zone, our guide spots a Savannah hawk sitting on a branch.
Blah blah
The car is fancy, the kind of car that feels part limousine.
Two seats in the back, like aeroplane seats with our own armrests and a gap in between. There are black screens on the windows that make it difficult to see out, to see the view, and I’m sure those screens must make it hard for our driver to see what’s around him.
But if you’re used to looking through them, maybe it’s ok.
On the dashboard sits a sand hourglass, a box of tissues and a leather camel, all on top of a fluffy white dashboard protector. But underneath, the part of the dash facing us, is controls and knobs, a fancy control centre for the driver.
Ade sits in the back, next to me. He usually sits in the front, but it’s our anniversary and the car is so comfortable. But the real reason, I think, is so he can be closer to his camera bag and his laptop.
We’re travelling from Bahariya, the Egyptian desert, to Cairo. A four-hour drive. And, despite the fancy car, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more uncomfortable.
The driver has spent most of the time on his phone, yelling at whoever is on the other end and gesticulating wildly. When he’s not talking, he keeps looking down, looking at the screen.
Sometimes, when he gets extra angry, he talks with his free hand, the hand that’s not holding the phone.
No hands on the steering wheel, no hands keeping control of the vehicle.
And all the while we’re driving fast.
Very fast.
Faster than I’m comfortable with.
I keep looking out the window, peering through the black screens as best I can, trying to take in the view to take my mind off the drive. But I end up watching for the trucks ahead of us and the cars coming towards us. The desert is still stretched out alongside us, so there is really nothing to see, but I can’t take my eyes off the road, the vehicles that scream past us.
It’s a highway, not the kind chocked full of cars, not a highway running through the centre of town, but a highway that links two major areas. A highway that carries a steady stream of cars, buses and trucks. All travelling at equally high speeds.
Or maybe I just feel like we’re going really fast, because I’m anxious about our driver spending so much time on his phone.
At one point we slow down, as trucks and cars line each side of the road. Vehicle drivers are out of their cars standing around, chatting along the roadside. There’s been some kind of incident. Our driver winds down the window and chats to someone in Arabic as we pass by.
On the right-hand side, up ahead, I see an ambulance and then a black minivan with a smashed windscreen and dents and scratches along three sides.
A car accident.
But even that doesn’t slow our driver, give him a moment’s pause. As soon as we’ve moved past the black minivan, and cleared the vehicles lining the road, his foot is back on the accelerator.
We’re speeding along the highway.
Again.
A truck pulls out in front of us, as a car travelling in the opposite direction moves towards us. We slow, edge past both.
Our driver takes off. And within minutes, he’s back on the phone. Calmer now but still talking with his hands, the odd thump of the steering wheel.
We’re not giving him a tip, I think to myself, and I’ll be sending a complaint to the tour company that organised this trip.
And I’m trying to be empathetic to the problems he’s clearly facing, trying hard not to be a back seat driver or to wince every time I look out the window.
But we’re driving at 107 kilometres an hour through a sandstorm in the desert. Visibility is low and there are trucks and tourist vans at every turn.
Meanwhile beside me, Adrian calmly sits editing photos, showing me his photos from Morocco, from the Sahara.
A different kind of desert, where the journey felt much more calm.
Meanwhile, I’m on the lookout for a service station, somewhere we can stop for a hot chocolate. Somewhere I can get out of this car and still my nerves, if only for a moment.
I keep thinking of the words to a song my former boss told me about before I left my last job – “A hundred bad days makes a hundred good stories, a hundred good stories make me interesting at parties” by AJR.
I’d rather feel comfortable now than interesting.
Suddenly the driver turns around to face us. “That car,” he says, in broken English. “The one in the accident? My friend was driving that car.”
There’s a note of sadness in his voice and a look of distress etched into his profile.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling guilty now that I’ve judged him so harshly.
But also, thinking that perhaps it was a lesson for him to slow down, to pay more attention to the road.
We arrived in Cairo safely, of course, with frayed nerves and one more interesting story to tell.
(We did end up tipping the driver, and didn’t complain to the company. It was just one more interesting drive through a country with very different driving practices to those in Australia…)
We travelled to Egypt on this trip in 2023.
We stayed in Egypt for three weeks.
Was it long enough? There is always more to see, but we didn’t feel rushed
Highlights: The pyramids, of course, but also the many temples, relaxing on a felucca on the River Nile, and the White Desert, it is stunning.
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