An Idiot Abroad - Karl Pilkington

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everyone is driving. They make every three-lane road into a six-lane road, and cram so many people into their cars it’s ridiculous. Passengers are squashed up against the windows like those Garfield cats that people used to stick on their car windows in the 1980s. The horns are in constant use, but this might be because there are so many people crammed into the car someone’s arse is accidentally pressing against the horn.

      It was a long journey to the hotel. As we drove, all the nice hotels seemed to disappear until we finally pulled up at a place called The Windsor. It is one of the oldest hotels in Cairo and it is situated in one of the roughest areas. It even has a security scanner at the entrance, as if to prove how dodgy the area is. As I walked through, my belt set off the bleeper. It was enough to startle me, but it didn’t seem to wake the security man.

      As well as being one of the oldest hotels, it had the staff to match. You wouldn’t get people of this age working in hotels in England. An old fella brought my case from the coach. We were parked right outside the entrance, but it took the old fella the same amount of time it took me to fill out all the forms and collect my key. It reminded me of the time I was moving flats and I found a company that did removals and was cheaper than everyone else. They charged £10 an hour. I realised what an error I had made when the man turned up. He must have been close to 70 years old. It took him 30 minutes to climb the stairs to our third-floor flat. He had a sweat on just bringing us the empty boxes. It cost a fortune in the end.

      Another man took me to my room. I was on the second floor, just where the cleaners congregated. I couldn’t believe it. Not the fact that it’s where they congregated, but the fact that the hotel had cleaners. It was also clearly a bit of a storage area, as there was a piano outside my door and five TV sets stacked on top of the wardrobe in my room.

      I was given the full tour of the room: ‘Telephone there. Bathroom here.’ He said one or two other things, but I could not hear properly due to the creaking of the floorboards and the noise of the traffic outside. There were two beds separated by a fluorescent tube light on the wall that, once you switched it on, showed up all the damp stains on the walls in their full glory.

      I wandered downstairs to meet up with the crew and bumped into the owner outside. I don’t know if he was waiting to meet me to check if everything was okay or if he was about to have his piano lessons. He was in his late sixties and looked smart but tired. He was keen to tell me that Michael Palin had stayed here once. If these are the sorts of places Palin stayed in, no wonder he went round the world in 80 days. He was obviously keen to get home as soon as poss. The owner then introduced me to his dad, who was in his nineties, at least. I wish I hadn’t met him, as it would have made asking for a better room a lot easier.

      At 4 p.m. we ordered food. Most of us asked for chicken kebabs, apart from Jan, our cameraman, who is more of a hardened traveller than the rest of us. When we were talking about the worst places we had visited on the coach ride into Cairo and I had said a week in Lanzarote was pretty grim, Jan announced he had done three months in Antarctica.

      Finally, at 5.30 p.m. our food was brought to the table. It actually left the kitchen at about 5.22, but all the staff were quite old and shuffled slowly from the kitchen to our table.

      Went to bed. Nodded off counting the car horns outside.

      I met Ahmed this morning. He’s a local lad who is an expert on the Pyramids and Egyptian history in general. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to understand him, but his English was better than mine. He may as well have talked Egyptian to me, as the English words he used went right over my head. One of the words he used was ‘tintinnabulation’, which he told me means a ringing or tinkling sound.

      He took me to a mosque. Praying and religion are a big deal in Egypt. Ahmed prays five times a day. I would never keep to it if I lived here. I struggle having my five fruits a day. Religion has never been a big part of my life. I wasn’t christened. My mam told me not to tell many people about not being christened, as she said I would be a prime target for witches. To this day I don’t know what she meant by that.

      Ahmed told me about how he believes that after death you go to a place that is perfect in every way. I said I’m quite happy with my life as it is now. In Ahmed’s perfect world he listed not having to use the loo. I told him going to the toilet is one of my favourite parts of my day. It’s proper ‘me time’ where I get to clear my head and think about things with no other disturbances, but after seeing the toilets in Egypt I can understand why he thinks this way. They are just holes in the ground with a hose for cleaning up.

      We then went off to old Cairo to see the market.

      The markets are made of up tiny, rough roads, crammed with motorbikes and vans. The stalls themselves sell mostly clothing, cotton and wool. ‘How can I take your money?’ was a popular shout from most of the store owners as I browsed at the wide selection of tat on offer.

      I wanted to buy a gown for Ricky, as he likes to slob out when he’s at home. Most days he has his pyjamas on by 5 p.m. I found one pretty quickly, but it took 45 minutes to get the price I wanted. I wish they just had price tags on the products to save the hassle of haggling. If you nipped out for bread and milk you could be gone for hours. The only good thing about this way of buying products is that you would never have that awkward situation when you’re a penny or two short and have to ask a shopkeeper to let you off.

      We passed a man with crates full of living rabbits and pigeons. They were being sold as food. I’ve never eaten rabbit but I’ve never had one as a pet either. I like the way you could get one as a pet though and eat it if you found it too much trouble to look after. I think we’d eat guinea pig too if they weren’t so expensive.

      The new market was also full of tourist tat. Headscarves, ashtrays, toy camels, plastic pyramids. Even though I had no intention of buying anything when I set out for the market this morning, by the time I left I had purchased a plastic cat and an eagle for me mam. I’m hoping she will find it handy, as she used to have two birds. But one died, so she replaced the dead one with a pebble with one of the dead bird’s feathers glued on it so Kes, the other bird, still feels like he has company. I figured that the eagle from the market would make a good replacement.

      I stopped to have a cup of tea, but it wasn’t very relaxing, as I was constantly hassled by people trying to sell me wallets, glasses, lighters, fags, necklaces, rings and watches.

      I witnessed the call to prayer for the first time today. It’s something that can’t go unnoticed. It’s the only time the car horns are drowned out, by the singing of prayers from different parts of the city. Everything comes to a halt. The only time I experienced something like this was when I worked at a printer’s when I was eighteen. All the printers and packers and guillotine workers all stopped at 11 a.m. to listen to ‘Our Tune’ with Simon Bates on Radio 1.

      During the call to prayer each area of the city tries to be louder than the other. Everyone seems to get involved, and they may as well, as there is no escaping it. It makes you think about religion even though you weren’t thinking about it, in the same way I’d suddenly fancy an ice-cream when the ice-cream man’s chime would sound. The only time I was aware of religion growing up was when Songs of Praise came on the telly on a Sunday evening. This was always my cue to go and have my bath for the week ahead.

      Ricky called last night. He was moaning ’cos I hadn’t been in touch. He said he had left loads of messages asking me to call him, but I can’t access them, as I’ve been locked out of my phone after entering the wrong security code more than four times. I told him I could still get texts, but that they cost me around 70p to receive them.

      ‘What about email? You got email on your phone?’

      Ricky

      ‘Yeah,

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