Hurghada – great!

The Long Ride Home

Ah, not so great, but I’ll come back to that later. First there were other issues to deal with. I’d started the week off still feeling a bit low after my 8 months of chemo but began to feel much better as their effects began to recede. So I was dismayed when, on about the Wednesday, I began to feel a bit rotten again. It turned out that I’d picked up a monstrous head cold on my travels, the first that I’d suffered for many a long year.

Whether it was down to my depressed immunity system or just a hazard of travelling by air I have no idea, but I guess that I must have picked it up on one of the aircraft on my journey between Toulouse and Hurghada. But although I otherwise didn’t feel too bad, by Thursday my nose was streaming to the point that at meal times in the dining room, for example, I was surreptitiously wiping it on my napkin (too much information?) and on the paper tissues supplied in glasses on each table in the bar area.

This continued through Friday and even into Saturday, so with my impending flights home getting ever closer, I decided that I had to do something about it. So on Saturday morning I nipped across the road to the pharmacy that I’d spotted to see if I could get something for it. By then my runny nose had abated somewhat and I was more concerned about developing a sore throat and/or a chesty cough, so when I walked in having been greeted by the proprietor who was standing outside dismally scanning the horizon for prospective customers (remember, it was very early in the season) I was pleased when I spotted some Strepsils on his shelf.

He instead recommended some Egyptian lozenges, so having no knowledge of their relative efficacy, I acceded to his recommendation and bought a pack each of the lemon and orange flavoured. I handed over a small quantity of Egyptian Pounds and then, having eyed me up and down, he pointed to some packages on his counter top. Did I want any Viagra, very cheap? I declined saying that I didn’t have any need just at that moment and he seemed a bit disappointed.

On my way back across the road to my hotel, I allowed myself a wry smile. Evidently he’d come to the conclusion that I was a likely customer, either because I looked so desperate that I needed all the help I could get or because, although on the elderly side, I was still sprightly enough to still be in the game with a chance of scoring. I, of course, think that it must have been the latter 😉

My usual routine was to go to the beach after breakfasting and reading the internet news using the free wi-fi in the hotel foyer, to lie in the sun and read. I’d then return to my room for a quick shower and lunch and then either return to the beach for a bit more reading, sunshine and fresh air or while away my time on my balcony or the foyer area where I could partake of the free refreshments on offer.

Usually I found that although it was sunny and pretty warm, up to 28 degrees Celsius before lunch, by lunch time the southerly breezes were whisking up a thin layer of low cloud that, although it didn’t prevent the sun shining through, made the afternoon useless for tanning purposes. It was still nice to lie out in though and read but no good to add to the bronzing that I’d managed to accomplish on my toned abs or swelling biceps (ahem…), so most days I was back in the hotel by 4.30 pm or so, giving me time for more refreshment and a shower before the evening meal.

The attentions that I’d had to pay to my medical matters in the form of my visit to the pharmacy on Saturday had taken up most of the morning and afterwards there was no point my going to the beach. That was fine by me as with my journey home commencing that night and with my case more or less packed, I wasn’t inclined to get into another cycle of getting hot and sweaty and needing to shower again after my morning ablutions.

And in any case, I’d taken four books along with me to read during my stay and with just under 200 of the 600 of Robert Harris’s ‘An Officer and a Spy’ still to go, I was quite happy to finish that off in the time available to me before leaving. So that’s what I did before enjoying a final lunch and evening meal and handing over a small tip to the young man who’d done such a sterling job of keeping my room immaculately clean and tidy and stocked up with more bottled water than I could shake a stick at 🙂

As I’d not received the free transfer that I had been entitled to from the airport to the hotel when I’d arrived, I took the precaution of asking the hotel Reception to check what the procedure was to be for my departure. I was told to ask again the next day (Saturday) as technically my departure was, although in the early hours, on Sunday. In fact I received a call in my room before breakfast on Saturday morning confirming that I would receive a free transfer and that I should be in the foyer ready to go by ‘midnight forty’.

And that’s how it worked out. There were one or two groups of Russians who were leaving at around the same time as me, probably on the same flight to Istanbul, and slowly they dwindled away as their transfer buses came and went. Finally, a gentleman with an identity card and a clip board arrived and asked for me. It turned out that I was the only one being taken back to the airport by him and his driver in their Toyota minibus and they popped my case in the back and settled me comfortably in the row of seats behind them for the 20km journey.

After negotiating the same hazards and obstacles that we’d encountered when I arrived, we eventually arrived at the road entering the airport. I could see that a chicane system had been installed preventing any approaching vehicle driving at more than about 10 or 20 kmh and at the end of it there was a barrier and a group of armed officers. They were checking every vehicle, including underneath with mirrors on sticks, and their occupants and I had to produce my passport before we were allowed to proceed. I wondered what they did with the buses full of 40 or 50 Russian tourists but didn’t ask 😉

They dropped me off at the airport entrance where there was a queue of departing tourists waiting to enter and slowly proceeding as their passports and tickets were checked by a lone armed officer. After five or ten minutes I was processed and allowed in and then, then the fun really began. First, the usual security check. Bags on the belt for X-Rays and phones, belts, shoes, all the usual stuff into a tray for the same while you step through the metal detector with your arms out, men to the right, women to the left, ready to be searched. So far so good, all done, no problems.

Then I was stupid enough to ask where there was a bank where I could change the last few (25€ worth) of Egyptian Pounds that I was still holding. I was told that the only banks were in the Arrivals Hall, where we had purchased our entry visas on arrival, and before I could say, ‘Don’t bother then’, I was told that if I waited a couple of seconds, someone would take me up there.

And so it was that I then found myself being walked through the airport terminal building towing my little case behind me accompanied by a burly armed officer. As we proceeded the crowds of queuing tourists turned to see what was going on and must have wondered what on earth I was guilty of, but whatever it was at least, they must have thought, the bald-headed rogue hadn’t got away with it and was on his way to receive his just deserts 😐

As it happened, the officer took me to a money-changing machine that was identical to the one in my hotel that we’d already established only handed out Egyptian Pounds and didn’t take them back again (after all, who but the Egyptians wants to hang onto Egyptian Pounds rather than a harder foreign currency?) so it was a fruitless mission and we ended up trudging back through the terminal with the staring hordes again wondering what on earth I had been up to to be in the custody of an armed escort!

Eventually we got back to the security check but I was to be disappointed if I thought that having been through it once, I’d be just waved through. Not a bit of it. I had to get out/ take off everything yet again for X-Raying and this time both the officer and I had to subject ourselves to being frisked by security. OK, so that made two security checks, but don’t go away…

What I hadn’t realised was that this was just the preliminary security check and as we turned the corner and entered the next part of the hall, blow me down, we had to do the whole thing all over again. Yes, shoes and belts off and into a tray with your wallet and phone and cases and bags on the belt with them for X-Raying. Now bearing in mind that I’d been through security checks in Toulouse, Istanbul and Hurghada when I’d arrived, I thought that although the whole procedure was pretty useless and just a pain in the arse, it would be just routine. However, on this occasion I was pulled up.

The guy on the X-Ray machine said that I had scissors in my case and that they must be thrown into the rubbish. By this time I’d had enough and I refused point blank as (a) they were there for a purpose (chemo has affected my nails and I need to trim them every day or so until the effects have grown out), (b) they were so tiny as to offer no kind of threat whatsoever to man or beast and (c) they were part of an expensive set that had been purchased many years before in the USA as a gift.

So we had a standoff and there we were, the security guard and me glaring at each other eye to eye. ‘Where do you come from?’ he asked. I had no idea what relevance that could possibly have and I replied, ‘The United Kingdom’ with a note of defiance in my voice. We looked at each other for a few more seconds and he thought that he had the whip hand when he said, ‘If you don’t take out the scissors you’ll have to go right back to the beginning and check your case into the hold’.

He banked on the fact that I’d come through emigration, that my visa had been stamped and that it would be too much trouble to resist. But he didn’t know me. I still had ages to spare before boarding, so I said, ‘OK!’ This took him aback somewhat as then he had the problem with me needing to go back out into the unsecured area of the hall with my visa cancelled and my passport stamped. But out I was determined to go.

As I was on my way out, another security man demanded to know what I was doing. I told him to ask his colleague as he’d told me to return to the Turkish Airlines check-in desk to surrender my case. He was a bit perplexed but told me to hand over my passport, which I was reluctant to do but did anyway, and then sneaked off around the back of the passport check area to head for Turkish Airlines.

They couldn’t have been more helpful – they took my case and replaced my Istanbul-Toulouse boarding pass that had got torn in the earlier melee. Then I had to get back into the boarding queue. As the officer was still holding my passport, I had to sneak around the back of passport control again and was waiting at any moment to hear a shout ring out from an armed guard somewhere or other. In fact, I arrived back at the officer with my passport who then demanded to know what I was doing.

By then I’d had enough of these games. I exclaimed , ‘Jesus fu**ing sh*t’ in a very loud voice making a few people turn around at which time he immediately reached into his pocket, handed me back my passport and waved me through. But the fun and games hadn’t ended, not by a long chalk, because then I had to go through the whole security check rigmarole yet again for a fourth time. And this time, the guard doing the body frisking reached into my top pocket, took out the throat lozenges that I’d bought earlier that day and tossed them in the bin before I could protest. Just to show that he did in fact have some power over me.

Still, at least all the passengers were safe in the knowledge that half a dozen lemon and orange throat lozenges wouldn’t be used by some dastardly means to blow up their airliner, not while this keen security officer was there doing his duty and foiling such plots. Ridiculous, I ask you.

From then on the journey back to Toulouse was pretty routine. I had a six hour layover in Istanbul before picking up my Toulouse connection in what must be one of the most uninviting airport terminals in Europe (Asia?). There is hardly any seating and what there is is scruffy, a bit dirty and well used. As a result, people sit at tables in the refreshment areas with or without buying anything first and if, like me, you are a genuine customer with a ham roll and a cup of coffee, you have difficulty finding somewhere to consume your meal. Horrible.

But I have no criticisms of any of the four Turkish Airlines flights that I travelled on, apart from never seeming to leave on time. The cabin staff were all friendly and helpful and the food was OK if not wholly to my taste. But eventually I arrived safe and sound at Toulouse where I anticipated a final problem. Somehow during the last security check at Hurghada, the idiot who had done a physical search of my case (without finding the scissors) had managed to fiddle and change the combination of my lock. This meant that I couldn’t open it, as the final security officer in Hurghada had found and thought that I was obstructing him on purpose.

What I was concerned about was that I would be pulled over in Toulouse and asked to open my bag, with whatever consequences you might imagine. In fact there was the best part of an hour’s delay while a baggage handling fault was dealt with (and why I had decided on just having cabin baggage in the first place) after which I was allowed to proceed unhindered under the watchful eye of four gendarmes. So I was grateful for that at least as I headed off for car park 6 and my drive home.

For anyone interested, I surmised that the idiot in Hurghada could only have changed my case lock combination by a couple of digits or so and sure enough, it didn’t take me long to find that he’d managed to change an 8 to a 6. So I was able to get at my dirty washing immediately, without incurring a delay of any kind 😉