If you had told me last week that I’d willingly set an alarm for 04:00 AM while on holiday, I’d have politely suggested you check yourself into the nearest sun-stroke clinic. Yet, there we were. After a sensible, remarkably mature early night, the buzzer went off at an hour usually reserved for milkmen (my son-in-law Matt) and bakers. By 04:55 AM, we were hovering in the hotel reception like a pair of slightly bewildered ghosts.
?Our travel companions, Darren and Tracy, were, shall we say, living on the back foot. They slid into reception a fashionable few minutes after five, eyes at half-mast but present and correct. To our absolute delight, the hotel had done us proud and whipped up a breakfast bag for each of us. Armed with carbs, caffeine, and an ungodly amount of enthusiasm, we stepped out into the pre-dawn air. We were off on an epic, marathon trek to the legendary Valley of the Kings.
?Though, as a quick bit of pedantry right out of the gate, our guide later informed us it really should be called the “Valley of the Rulers,” seeing as there are actually two queens buried down there, too. Inclusion in antiquity—you love to see it.
?4 Hours, 40 Outlandish Sights, and Zero Highway Rules
?The Great Desert Convoy
?The journey from Hurghada to Luxor is not so much a drive as it is a four-hour endurance motorsport event, albeit with better scenery. We finally rolled into Luxor at 09:35 AM, but the getting there was half the fun. First, we had the joy of a security gathering. The local authorities held our entire convoy captive for about fifteen minutes, only to release us all into the wild at exactly 06:00 AM like the start of the Le Mans 24 Hours.
?Then came the inevitable comfort break. Now, when your wife tells you we are stopping in the absolute dead-centre of the Egyptian desert, you brace yourself for a horror show. But Michele stepped out of the facilities and declared them “remarkably clean.” I’ll take her word for it; a clean loo in the Sahara is worth its weight in gold.
?Two Men, a Sheep, and a Moped
?The real entertainment, however, was out of the window. The things you see on the tarmac between Hurghada and Luxor simply do not happen on the M6. My absolute highlight was witnessing two grown men and a fully grown sheep sharing a single moped. The sheep looked remarkably zen about the whole affair, though it did beg the question: was it a lads’ day out, or was the poor woolly chap on a one-way trip to the local abattoir? We’ll never know.
?Not to be outdone, a few miles later we spotted a family of four balancing on another moped. We deduced it was Dad at the handlebars, Mum holding on for dear life, a toddler sandwiched in the middle, and a tiny baby nestled somewhere in the mix. Health and Safety Executive back in Blighty would have had a collective aneurysm.
?Yet, despite the lack of any visible traffic rules, the whole system works. There is no road rage, no aggressive gesturing, and no tailgating. If someone wants to overtake or squeeze into a gap that doesn’t exist, they just give a gentle, polite toot of the horn to say, “Yoo-hoo, I’m coming through!” It’s strangely civilised.
?Going Underground with Abdul and Trading My Wife for a Herd
?The Sweatboxes of the Sovereigns
?Upon arriving in Luxor, we did a quick vehicular shuffle. We dropped off our second driver and collected Abdul, our resident Egyptologist and guide for the day. This man was a walking encyclopedia of ancient history, which was handy, because we were about to plunge into the underworld.
?At the Valley of the Kings, we visited three underground tombs. Walking down into those chambers is a sensory experience, mostly because the air completely vanishes. It was thick, heavy, stuffing, and roughly the temperature of a pizza oven. But the sheer majesty of the hieroglyphics cut into the rock makes you forget that you’re slowly melting.
The Ultimate Barter
?Abdul’s knowledge was top-tier, but the local custodians stationed inside the tombs were equally sharp. They are incredibly quick to offer to take photos of you with your own camera. It’s a slick operation, and in exchange, they rightly expect a donation of about 100 Egyptian pounds to their family budgets. Fair play to them, they know their angles.
?However, one of the tomb guides took a particular liking to Michele. He looked at her, looked at me, and asked how many camels it would take for me to part with her. Thinking I was being a savvy negotiator, I smirked and said, “200.”
?The bloke laughed right in my face. “No,” he said, eyes gleaming, “One million camels.”
?Notice to all readers: From this point forward in my Egyptian holiday blogs, Michele will no longer feature. I am currently looking into the logistical nightmare of transporting, feeding, and housing a newly acquired herd of one million camels. If anyone knows a good vet in Lancashire who handles large-scale dromedaries, please drop a comment below.
?Scorched by Karnak and the Smartest Road in Egypt
?When Smartphones Suffer Heatstroke
?After the tombs, we took lunch on a boat drifting along the Nile. The spread was absolutely plentiful, completely delicious, and provided a brief respite before we faced the afternoon crucible: the Temple of Karnak.
?By the time we arrived, the sun had reached its absolute zenith. It was blistering. In fact, it was so hot that my mobile phone repeatedly popped up with ominous warnings advising me that it was too hot to function and refused to take pictures. It soldiered on eventually, but it was a close-run thing.
?Karnak is monolithic, spectacular, and utterly devoid of shade. Abdul was doing his absolute best, dropping historical gems left, right, and centre, but honestly? None of it was going in. Our brains had officially fried. We could, however, still appreciate the aesthetics—the preservation of the ancient colours on those massive stones is nothing short of fantastic. By 15:00 PM, Abdul took one look at our glazed eyes and sweaty faces, realised we were structurally compromised, and wisely wrapped up the tour.
A Quick Word for Starmer and Co.
?We dropped Abdul back in Luxor and reunited with our trusty original driver for the four-hour trek back to Hurghada. Interestingly, the desert roads we took were in fantastic condition. Smooth, wide, and largely pothole-free.
?If anyone from the UK government is reading this, please take a sabbatical to the Egyptian desert to see how tarmac is supposed to be maintained. Get our roads sorted! The route was heavily patrolled, with plenty of police sitting at the roadside alongside official checkpoints that our driver expertly navigated. I must say, I am incredibly glad we didn’t attempt to rent a car and drive ourselves. Paying the little bit extra for a private tour with an expert driver was the best decision we made. Big shout-out to Darren for organising the itinerary today—an absolutely top-tier day out.
?The Resurrection of Michele and the Battle of the Fire Show
?The Return of the Wife
?We rolled back into the hotel with one collective thought: chill. Darren and Tracy had a fancy reservation at the “posh club” restaurant, so they dolled themselves up and headed off. Michele and I, opting for a lower-key vibe, strolled over to the walk-in restaurant, Lucina.
?(Oh no, look at that… she’s back on the scene. Does this mean I have to return my million camels? Decisions, decisions).
?We explicitly told ourselves we didn’t want much to eat. Naturally, we ended up ordering and polishing off three courses each. In our defense, they were “small plates.” Honest.
?Sinking at the Finish Line
?Post-feast, we wandered down to the beach where the hotel had put on some evening entertainment. There were plenty of tunes playing, giving Michele an excellent opportunity to sing along at the top of her lungs. Crucially, our mate Warren wasn’t there to pull a face at her vocal stylings, so she thoroughly enjoyed herself.
?Next up was a fire show, which I’m sure was spectacular, but a crowd of inconsiderate people stood up right in front of us, rendering the whole thing invisible. By 21:30 PM, Michele hit the proverbial “tired wall” and collapsed into bed, closely followed by Tracy.
?That left Darren and me as the last men standing. We retreated to the bar by the rooms for a couple of cheeky nightcaps before finally calling it a night. It’s now 00:10 AM, my eyelids feel like they are made of lead, and I am officially publishing today’s dispatch. It was a long, brutally hot, and exhausting day, but to walk among that much ancient history is something we won’t soon forget. Time to sleep—and dream of my camel empire.
