February 4

Today, it is a trip to the Egyptian Museum followed by a trip to the market.  The Museum is impressive; if I am going to find Agatha anywhere, it's here. It is a beautiful building and I can imagine enthusiastic archaeologists and explorers running in and out, excited at some new find.

At the gate, a guide offers to take me round and I flatly refuse.

'There are over 100 000 artifacts,' he says with a smirk.  'I hope you will be able to identify each one by yourself.'

I hope not.  I am not someone to look at every single thing in a museum or read every single piece of information.  The last thing I want is someone else choosing what is interesting and expounding on it when I want to look at something else.

It really is quite fascinating inside and there is so much to see.  Admittedly, there is not a lot of information offered (perhaps so the guides are not put out of business?) and what is, looks a bit tatty.  I wonder if death bothers you more if you are a powerful, important person like a Pharoah.  Knowing that no one escapes death must be quite a burden.  Much better to be a slave and know and accept that that is where you are destined.

The taxi driver drops me at the market and almost immediately I am pounced upon by a man who wants to take me to see the genuine Egyptian market, not the tourist market on the opposite side of the road.

'I don't want money,' he assures me.  'I just want to practise my English.'

He takes me off down winding, narrow passages.  In tiny rooms, men work at making boxes inlaid with mother of pearl, or sell copies of the Koran, or sell pita bread or freshly squeezed orange juice.  In one place, a printing press is going full steam and in another, bakers are hard at work.  It is fascinating that so much can happen in such a small space.  The roads remind me of Stonetown in Zanzibar: they are filthy, muddy and stray cats and dogs abound.  I begin to get worried as we have turned corners so often I don't think I would be able to find my way back.  Have I been completely naive?  Who will notice if I am missing?  I don't have any identification document on me. Finally, I demand to be taken back to where the taxi dropped me and receive a hurt look from my guide.

He is not the last person I have to deal with though.  In the market, I am hassled to the point where I just want to scream.  It is really unpleasant.

'Where you from?  Australia?' says one man.

'No. Zimbabwe.'

'Zimbabwe?'  He sidles close.  'But in Zimbabwe, people are black,' he tells me conspiratorially, as though I were unaware of the fact.

'Not everyone,' I say, trying to dismiss him.

'Ah, South Africa!' declares another man.  'Where are you from?  Cape Town?  Durban?'

I give up.  'Durban,' I say.  'Closer than Cape Town, anyway.'

'Ah, Durban!  I love Durban!'

'Have you been?'

'No, but I want to go one day.  One day I take my whole family to Durban.'

He takes me down a side alley to see a spice stall.  I find the market a little like the wardrobe in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.'  Sometimes these little side alleys appear, but I can't seem to find them on my own.  The stall holders want extravagant amounts of money.  Sorry, your stuff might be nice, I think, but I can buy this all at Alasco in Bulawayo.

I hate to admit it, but I had to run away from this man in the end.  He took me to buy perfumes which I didn't want and then jewellery which I didn't want.  All the time I was aware of time running out and me not finding a few presents for the girls.  In the end, I ran away down an alleyway.  I managed to find a spice stall which was not extravagantly priced, bought some spices, hibiscus tea and frankincense because - well, because I could! - and packets of dates.  I finally got what I wanted and headed back to where I had agreed to meet the taxi driver.

As I was starving, I had an Egyptian pancake at a shop and some anise tea.  I then went to the police lookout point - they are everywhere - and asked them to phone the taxi driver.  The policeman then stopped a very busy road full of traffic so that I could jump in the car.

'Tip, tip.' said the taxi driver.  'You must give him tip.'

Then it was back to the hotel for a bath, dinner and a long wait before my lift came to the airport.  Cairo, I think, has been fun, incredibly interesting, but slightly overwhelming considering the short time I had.  I'd love to come back for a longer visit, but for the time being, I am very happy that Bryony Rheam, lately of Durban via Cairo, is going home.