Alexandria, Egypt

I woke in the early hours this morning as bright lights scrolled past our cabin window, and looked at the clock – 3:30am. We were arriving in the port of Alexandria, Egypt. I woke again at 7am, looked out again, and saw all manner of industrial buildings and cranes stretching in all directions.

After scraping ourselves out of bed and grabbing a quick breakfast we gathered up our passports, boarding cards, and tour tickets, and disembarked the ship. We were booked on a “Walking Tour of Alexandria”.

It’s difficult to put the rest of the day into words. Perhaps if I explain that we had to surrender our passports three days ago, you might see where the rest of the day was heading.

While filing onto our tour bus, a properly frightening looking man in a suit stood and kept watch over us. Six feet five tall, three feet wide, slicked back hair, a sharp suit, and a total absence of humour. Throughout the rest of the morning we worked out he was our security detail. Our armed security detail.

Leaving the port took quite some time while officials and military personnel checked the passenger sheets several times. Eventaually – half an hour after we should have departed – we left.

Thankfully the various delays throughout the day were glossed over by perhaps the best tour guide I’ve encountered so far – a female Egyptologist / historian / professor (I didn’t get to ask what her day job was – suffice to say she knew a LOT). She told us about the history of Alexandria, the various cultures in play, the religions, the migratory people that had settled there over the years. Like I said – she was good.

Once we did get going, we drove to several sites around Alexandria where we were allowed off the coach to take photos – only they weren’t the places you might expect – and we grew increasingly disgruntled as terrifically interesting looking places scrolled past the coach windows – such as the building where E M Forster and Laurence Durrell had once written books, and the cafe that John Mills sat in at the end of “Ice Cold in Alex”.

After parking near the modern castle at the end of the breakwater where the Pharos Lighthouse once stood (the castle is partly built from the recovered remains of the lighthouse), we were shepherded into a harbour-side building for pre-prepared coffee and cakes. We were not surprised in the least to discover dissension growing among those we sat with either – all wondering how a walking tour had somehow become a coach tour.

Thankfully the next few hours somewhat saved the day.

Perhaps the next hour of the tour involved a walk through the older part of Alexandria – on foot at last – following our tour guide, bluetooth earpieces hanging over our ears like some kind of secret-agent school trip. As we snaked through the back-streets of Alexandria, the security detail was never far away – more than once blocking entire roads for our passage.

Perhaps the highlight of the on-foot part of the tour was a stop at an old “hanging mosque” deep in the back-streets – with a row of shops at ground level, and the mosque towering over them. With a beaming smile the tour guide informed us her great great great grandfather was the original owner.

The final part of the walking tour – that must have turned the security detail inside out – was a walk through the old street markets – with barely enough room for two people to pass between the stalls. It’s also worth noting that we arrived early – for most people in Alexandria, the day starts at lunchtime, and ends at midnight. I can’t imagine what the street markets would have been like a couple of hours later.

I took hundreds of photos both from the coach window, and while on-foot – a small selection are shared on Instagram. I couldn’t help being reminded of the scene in Marigold Hotel where the Bill Nighy character snaps at his wife about abundance of life being right in front of her, if only she opened her eyes.

Alexandria was filled with life. It was chaotic, noisy, occasionally smelly – but also filled with wonder, smiles, and curiosity. Our group must have seemed quite the unusual spectacle for those setting out their stalls for the day.

I will admit to a flash of anger at one of our party when a young boy approached selling souvenirs. He walked with our party for some time – trying his luck. He was about nine years old, wearing only a pair of shorts, and no shoes. One of the elderly women in our group berated him to his face – “you should be in SCHOOL!”. I wondered how ignorant she was – or how ridiculous her words were. I’m willing to bet he had no parents and no home.

While walking, I thought about giving my cash to each of them – a note each (worth about £1.50 per note) – but then caught myself. They were almost certainly working for a handler or boss – and wouldn’t see the cash themselves.

After returning to the ship, a number of stalls had setup shop along the port approach – and rushed towards us with toothy grins. They seemed a little caught between preying on the older members of our group (read: everybody else), or going after myself and my other half. You should have seen them gravitate towards us when we started buying things (for our children), and they realised we had cash.

One of the stall holders started talking non-stop at me, and I retorted with “we are just looking – we will talk to you if we want something”. He then launched into an accidentally comedic routine;

“Yes sir – you are free to look. Thank you sir. Do you like Manchester United sir? Newcastle United? Liverpool? What about these scarves sir? You are free to look – I will not pressure you. Look in your own time. I show you wonderful things sir. No pressure sir. How about a souvenir sir? Fridge magnets? Children’s toys? No pressure. I am letting you look. I am not following you (he was).”

Unbeknown to him, my other half was quietly buying things while I walked slowly forwards, listening to the monologue.

A few shops further on, we bought some shawls – which again was accompanied by a comical sales routine that reminded me of the scene in Life of Brian where Eric Idle’s character insists on bartering. Having secured a sale against an original offer, the store owner realised we had money, and kept on denigrating the sale he had already secured – offering better and better deals on supposedly more valuable items (just more shawls, in different colours). There was a part of me that wanted to place a gentle hand on his shoulder and tell him to stop working so hard – we are both educated people – we could see straight through what he was trying to do – we just wanted to buy the shawls. He eventually smiled and gave in – obviously hoping to make more from those following behind us.

I’m still not sure what to make of Alexandria. I think we would have been far happier walking the streets on our own – and perhaps we might return to do that in the future. I’m not entirely sure we would be allowed to though – given that our group had armed security wherever we went, and that free passage through the city is not a given. It almost seemed like a performance was being put on for us – a heavily sanitised sales pitch for a city and people that desperately want to be more – that want to be accepted, but know they have problems to conquer first.

The guide opened many of the parties eyes to the ancient history of Alexandria – dating back to before Alexanders arrival and expansion of the city several millennia ago – and its turbulent past. She also talked at length about the search for Alexander and Cleopatra’s tombs – neither of which have been found. We passed the park I had seen in a documentary some time ago where they have dug perhaps 12 metres below the modern ground level towards the level where Alexander’s city still exists – far below the modern city.

The interesting thing? When any building collapses, or is destroyed in the modern city, nobody is allowed to build anything new until archaeologists have surveyed the site – because everybody knows the ancient cities – yes plural – still exist below modern Alexandria.