A wing and a prayer

Upstate New York: Four hours north of NYC lies six million acres of wilderness

Upstate New York: Four hours north of NYC lies six million acres of wilderness

“You look nervous – you okay?” DH put the car in park and laid his hand on my knee. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “There’s no way I’m watching you all go up without me!”

I meant it: if my family was about to be in a plane crash, I was going down with them! I might be a pilot’s wife, but small planes still make me anxious. “It’s perfectly safe, isn’t it?” I asked.

DH looked out at the Cessna we’d hired. He gave a boyish grin. “Yep – it’s fine.” He held my gaze for several seconds. “Ready?”

I swallowed and felt the bubbles of anxiety begin to pop. “Yes, let’s go.”

"This is your pilot speaking!"

“This is your pilot speaking!”

I looked up. A few white, puffy clouds were drifting slowly across a clear blue sky and I wondered if we’d fly through them. Peering through the fencing, I saw a Cessna taxi-ing out; it stopped just short of the concrete airstrip. It was a bright day and at the furthest point the runway appeared to shimmer, creating the illusion of wetness. I’d seen all this before on previous visits to small airports and flight schools, but DH’s world – the glinting metal, engines, smell of machinery and fuel trucks – never fails to intrigue me.

After the paperwork was finalised, we walked out across the apron in the sunshine. The boys bounded towards the airplane in excitement – they’d been waiting for this day since we’d arrived in the States. As DH checked the plane, I found myself wondering how we’d all fit in. All four of us. The Cessna looked gleaming and airworthy, but … small.

How did my husband, who is at least six foot tall, spend several years giving flying lessons in such a tiny, cramped space, while students practised terrifying manoeuvres, rolls and engine failures?

The aircraft was red-and-white, with a white underbelly and two dark pinstripes running along its entire length. The propeller pointed upwards like a finger. DH climbed onto the plane and pulled a rod out of the fuel tank and studied it.

“Everything alright?” I asked.

“Looking good,” he said.

He inspected the rest of the aircraft then we crawled in, surprisingly fitting snugly inside. DH was relaxed and happy, busy following the procedures on his checklist. My heart gave an exaggerated beat as the propellers started turning. The plane shuddered, and, all of a sudden, the engine spluttered and roared to life. We taxied to the runway, and through the headset, I heard my youngest son chatting away.

DH asked him to be quiet for a bit, then I heard his calm voice talking to air traffic control. “Cleared for takeoff.”

Bounding down the runway, we picked up speed, bumping along, the plane straining to escape the earth. Until suddenly it was smooth. We were tilting upwards, the nose forging through the air. The ground dropped away, and we cleared the trees. The leafy tips looked as though they were in touching distance. Then, within seconds, they were below the plane.

The plane banked to the right, and I looked back down at the airport. The buildings and planes on the ground could now be toys, the cars tiny diecast models. The turquoise swimming pools in the grassy backyards were all different shapes, a rectangle, a circle, a kidney. We were up! Now I just had to loosen my vice-like grip on the seat.

As we levelled out, I craned this way and that – my nerves giving way to exhilaration, my shoulders dropping, mouth curving upwards in a wild grin. Before us, a vast expanse of blue sky. Below, dense green forest and blue, mirror-like lakes. The whole landscape was bathed in a warm, golden glow.

Noticing I’d been struck speechless (mostly because Son2 had started jabbering over the headsets again, right in my inner ear), DH turned round to see if I was ok. He gave me a look that said, Isn’t this great? Isn’t life so much better up here? Ahead, the tree-covered Adirondack mountains came into view.

Final approach

Final approach

I couldn’t stop looking: at the lush woodland; at Lake George; at the real estate (so much land); the properties clearly visible from our bird’s eye view. I thought about my office in Dubai, stationary and sterile, and the smallness of the cockpit didn’t matter anymore. From above, anything felt possible.

The odd jolt shook the plane but other than that, we weren’t buffeted or tossed by the wind like I’d feared. If it wasn’t for the deafening growl of the engine and the vibrating metal, we could almost be gliding.

I unfurled my fingers from the seatbelt, only for my heart to leap into my mouth as DH handed the controls over to Son1. Christ, my ten-year-old was flying! And loving it! “Just small corrections,” said DH, nudging the stick gently to keep us heading straight. Out the front window, the propeller whirled round, like a baseball bat pounding the air.

We headed over glassy lakes and wilderness, eating up miles of greenery. And before too long, it was time to head back.

At some point, we started descending; the toy towns, dots on the roads and bushes became houses, cars and trees once more. The runway rushed up towards us, and we touched down.

It took a while for my ears to adjust to the silence and we climbed out carefully. “Did you enjoy that?” I asked Son1 as DH tied down the airplane.

“Yes,” he nodded, grinning broadly.

“Think you might want to be a pilot?”

Another enthusiastic nod.

Me thinks we’d better start saving …

Tramping round an oil field (with children)

“Kids, this is where it all began!”

An underwhelmed stare passed between them, then they glared at the tap in the ground – an unassuming piece of equipment with metal components, red wheels and a gauge on top.

The tap was on the small side; and it was hot. The sky a translucent blue, the sun a dazzling ball. I felt a trickle of sweat make a slow, tickly descent down the back of my neck. All around us, desert stretched for as far as the eye could see, punctuated by nodding donkeys (pumpjacks), pylon-like masts and oil pipes that traversed the sand in never-ending lines. The only sound was the clanking of machinery.

Oil Well Number One Bahrain

The key to riches

While I got busy taking photos, the boys looked on bemused. They weren’t as impressed by the Bahrain oil field as I was (the magazine I work on reports on the energy industry, so for me Oil Well Number One was actually rather exciting!).

As I explained its significance, there was no denying the sweat breaking out across our faces. I could feel my hairline becoming wet. I told them how this region hasn’t always been wealthy; from dire poverty it grew fat on oil, and while a tap in the desert might not look like much, it was where the story of the region’s riches and growth began.

For those curious: as a quartermaster in the British Army, posted to the Middle East during World War 1, the UK/New Zealand geologist Frank Holmes had heard of seepages in and around the Gulf and was driven by a passionate belief that he would discover oil in Bahrain. He persuaded the ruler at the time to grant him a concession to search for oil, in return for drilling water wells.

Not everyone was convinced: George Lees, a geologist in the Anglo-Persian Oil Company, promised to drink every drop of oil produced south of Basra. But in October 1931, Holmes spudded Oil Well Number One. A year later, the field produced its first oil at 9,500 barrels a day (b/d), rising to a peak of 79,000 b/d in 1970.

The brazen mid-morning sun continued to dazzle and scorch, and the boys’ concentration began to wane. I spent a few moments thinking about how the oil is running out, and that soon this field will be history (already they’re having to use enhanced oil recovery techniques to increase production). Then I got the boys to pose for a few photos.

After which, they wailed in unison, “Mum, can we go now?”.

Well, I thought it was interesting.

How to cause a big scene in Bahrain

Manama skyline

Bahrain, which means ‘two seas’ in Arabic, comprises an archipelago of 33 islands lying between the east coast of Saudi Arabia and the Qatari peninsula

“Where’s Matty gone?”

I turned around at the sound of Son1’s voice, a notch smaller than usual, and sure enough his brother was gone.

It all happened in an instant. We’d spent a magnificent day exploring Manama – a cosmopolitan capital city with a liberal lifestyle, where old and new is succinctly blended; where glass and steel spires decorate the city’s skyline, and the narrow streets at the Manama souq are filled with stalls selling perfumes, spices, nuts, shisha bottles and gold.

Manana souk

The rabbit warren of streets at Manama souk is a sight not to be missed

We’d worn the children out, with sights including the new Bahrain Financial Harbour, rising like Neptune from reclaimed land, and the twin towers of the Bahrain World Trade Centre – linked by skybridges sporting wind turbines. The kids had swum, jet-skied on the sparkling bay (the small island nation is characterised by the aquamarine water that laps its shores). They’d enjoyed a Dairy Queen dinner beside a beautiful mosque with two towering minarets lit up like candles. Then they’d both fallen asleep in the car on the way back to the hotel.

I’d woken Son2 up with difficulty, and he was walking right behind me as we made our way in the dark to the wide doors at the entrance. I’d seen him a second before, his head bowed, shoulders hunched with tiredness. And then, like a car crash, it happened.

Except, of course, you don’t immediately think you’ve actually lost your son, do you? You assume he’s just trailed too far behind and you casually start calling his name across the dimly lit car park.

Manama Dairy Queen

Dairy Queen in Manama

Fast-forward 10 minutes, and I was beginning to panic. Where on earth had he gone? We’d checked all the obvious places, the room, the car park, the hotel lobby, a second entrance where workers were dismantling tables and chairs from a wedding at the hotel. Noticing that something was amiss, they joined our search. What was he wearing? they asked, and I could barely remember.

“Come,” said one of the men, and feeling like my legs were on backwards, I followed him over to the security guard at the gate. I’d noticed him earlier: dark hair stuck to his glistening forehead as he checked the trunks and underbellies of all the cars entering the hotel grounds. Checking for what? I’d wondered. Bombs?

He shook his head. “Maybe the swimming pool?” he said, looking askance. I wasn’t too worried about the pool, as Son2 swims well; by now, I’d started imagining he was in someone’s car, half-way over the King Fahd Causeway to neighbouring Saudi Arabia.

DH, Son1 and I lapsed into a dreadful silence as everyone continued to search, the sound of loud music from the wedding party reception at the edge of my hearing. How could he have vanished in the blink of an eye? I’d only taken my eyes off him for a second. My heart was thumping, my mouth as dry as the desert all around.

Then out of the darkness came the silhouette of a man. A security guard was walking towards us, all smiles, eyes twinkling with warmth. He was carrying our sleeping son – Son2 had wandered off, laid down on a grassy verge, and fallen fast asleep. Totally oblivious to the commotion going on around him …

Just when I thought holidays with kids were getting easier!

Tree of Life Bahrain

The Tree of Life: This amazing, 400-year-old tree stands alone in the Bahraini desert, surviving on water gleaned from particles of sand and the air’s humidity

Yin and Yang: Expat paperwork and the Italian Alps

Renewing your driver’s licence. How hard can it be? Well, when you live overseas and your US licence needs to be processed over the other side of the world, things can get complicated, as any expat will know.

My DH was adamant he wasn’t going to let his US licence expire. “It’s a right pain if it runs out,” he told me. With some vacation coming up, he started making travel plans and my mind began to boggle at the distances involved. As I write this, he’s lying on the sofa, head tilted back, eyes shut, mouth slightly parted, recovering from his ‘holiday’.

In numbers:

Nautical miles flown: 14,400
Airplanes flown in: 5
Hotels stayed in: 3
Rentacars hired: 2
Time taken to renew licence: 3 minutes

In days:

Day 1: Fly to New York from Dubai, 14 hours. Attempt to catch connecting flight to Minneapolis. Miss first flight due to plane being full. Wait another two hours at JFK. Catch next flight, 2hrs 45 mins to Minneapolis. Rent car, find hotel.

Day 2: Wake up. Go to Department of Motor Vehicles. Renew driver’s licence in, did I mention? Under three minutes.

Day 3: Get connecting flight back to JFK, while navigating heavy security checks due to the tragic Brussels bombing. Arrive in New York and spend 12 hours wasting time before nine-hour flight to Milan.

Definition of a family ski holidayDay 4: See family, and take them on promised ski trip. Rent a Skoda. Drive family to small Alpine Italian town we’ve only seen online. Supervise two days of skiing, including following crazy Evil Kneivel son down black slopes. Fall down in a flurry of powdery snow and scything skis, thankfully not breaking anything (just!)

Day 7: Last five-hour flight from Milan to Dubai. At immigration, visit small, windowless room, with a high desk and a faint smell of body odour crushed into the plastic chairs and lino, due to a problem with son’s US passport. Agree to the cancellation of his resident’s visa – sending the paperwork merry-go-round spiraling into further ever-decreasing circles as our attention switches from driver’s licences to visas and passports (could expat paperwork be any more infuriating?)

Am glad to report that DH can now spend the rest of his vacation relaxing, and it was all SO worth it, just to see spectacular views like this:

Skiing in the Italian Alps

Skiing in the Italian Alps2

Emirates first-class: My shower phobia (at 40,000ft)

“Have you flown in this cabin before?” The flight attendant smiled and handed me a glass of bubbly.

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “First time.”

“Well, let me give you a tour,” she replied, flashing another megawatt smile. I suddenly wished I had more make-up on, and imagined her applying her curvy, crimson pout, mushing her lips together to press the lipstick in, and blotting the excess with a tissue. The result – a sharply angled Cupid’s bow and bold pop of Emirates red that matched her shoes and the details on her creaseless uniform.

She leaned towards me and began her tour of the armchair of a seat, pointing out the panel of buttons, vanity table, sliding privacy door and personal mini-bar.

I nodded enthusiastically at everything, gripping the thin stem of the champagne glass a little too tightly in case it was all a dream. The details, the fresh flowers, leather chair that reclined to a bed and acres of walnut trim, almost felt unreal.

“And would you like to take a shower before landing?” she asked. “You know we have a spa on board.”

Ever wondered how celebs get off planes looking as fresh as a daisy? Here's how …

Ever wondered how celebs get off planes looking as fresh as a daisy? Here’s how …

I’d taken a peek inside after climbing the stairs to the A380’s top deck with my roller-luggage banging against my leg. My eyes had widened as I took in the enormous teak-and-marble shower suite, bigger than your average bathroom with two dedicated attendants, shiny taps and no shortage of rolled, fluffy, white towels and bottles of sweet-smelling lotions. The scent of Bvlgari perfume hung in the air. I knew I wouldn’t be taking a shower, though – however inviting the clever back-lighting and full-size window on the world were.

“That’s okay,” I said, a hint of regret in my voice.

She raised a thin, finely arched eyebrow.

I decided not to explain, thinking my fear of hitting turbulence – or, worse, an emergency – while wet and naked in the shower might sound silly.

“Well, just let me know if you need anything. It’s dine on-demand,” she said, passing over a menu and bestowing on me a final red-lippy beam that didn’t quite stretch to her eyes but lit up her young, dewy-skinned face in a flourish.

Left to my own devices, I wanted to giggle uncontrollably that I was sitting in first-class, after ten years of hollow-eyed travelling with young children in economy. I drained my champagne, feeling the bubbles hitting my bloodstream in an effervescent rush, took my shoes off, and got comfy, which wasn’t difficult in the expansive seat. After take-off, I was offered pyjamas to change into. Pyjamas! Flying really didn’t get any better than this.

I decided to try to see who else was in the cabin. My husband has told me of all kinds of celebs who have been on his plane in first – some of whose names/films/music he even remembers (he doesn’t get to meet them). I peered out of my cabin, but it was impossible to see who my companions were – Emirates first-class is all about privacy, peace and quiet. You’d be forgiven for thinking you were on a private jet. Determined not to waste a moment of this precious seven-hour flight by sleeping, I slid my door shut and watched movies on the huge, flat-screen TV.

Knowing exactly how lucky I was to experience first (and feeling rather out of place!), I was a model passenger. I didn’t bother the flight attendants once. If truth be told, I hadn’t quite ‘got’ the dine-on demand thing. I was expecting meals to be brought round on a trolley and didn’t think to ask for food. The staff leave you alone; responding to passengers’ whims via call buttons; privacy, as I mentioned, being king.

With about 35 minutes to go, I opened my door, and a flight attendant asked with surprise, “Did you want anything?”

“No, thank you,” I lied.

“You sure? Tea, coffee, a croissant?” (I’d missed the caviar!)

My stomach betrayed me with a growl so loud I thought she might have heard over the sound of the engines. A passenger – the only one I’d seen all flight – got up to change out of his pyjamas, and my hunger got the better of me.

“Oh, okay! A croissant please.”

(“That’s all you had?” my husband asked, incredulously, afterwards!)

Of course, we started descending all too soon, and, of course, I wanted to do that Jennifer Aniston thing and ask the pilot (DH) to ‘fly this thing around for a bit longer’.

On trying to raise global children

Warning: You won't BELIEVE what lies beneath (readers with a faint-hearted disposition, look away now!)

Warning: You won’t BELIEVE what lies beneath (readers with a faint-hearted disposition, look away now!)

Raptor (formerly known as Son1) pulled his first all-nighter on us last night. I’d felt sure he’d fall fast asleep as soon as we took off from Vienna. The signs were all there as we waited at the gate after our Eid getaway – glassy eyes, voice raised in an over-tired fight with Son2, a whiny tone, his face waxy-white as though it had been lightly dusted with flour. I glanced at my watch: it was past midnight Dubai time.

As soon as we were airbourne, I put my seat back. I’d only been staring at the luggage bins for half a minute when I succumbed to sleep.

The next thing I was aware of was the plane juddering.

Ding.

Over the sound of seatbelts being buckled up came the captain’s voice. “Good news,” he said, “we’ve just started our descent into Dubai. We should have you on the ground in about 25 minutes.”

DH leaned over from the row behind. “Good luck waking him up,” he said, nodding to Raptor, “he’s only just dropped off.”

Astonished, I prodded and poked him, then finally managed to jostle him awake – he had indeed spent the whole five hours watching movies in the dark. Happy that such a night of uninterrupted viewing actually existed.

Arriving back into the brilliant early-morning light must then have told his brain to stay awake. At home, sun streamed through the patio door. The effect was warm, a homely glow falling over the furniture. Raptor blinked and reached for some electronic stimulation. I’ll admit I was already half way up the stairs to catch a nap.

Later, we sat around chatting about the trip. “What was your best bit?” DH asked me.

Hello Mozart!

Hello Mozart!

I thought for a few moments. I loved Vienna. From the imperial grandeur of this once powerful centre of the Hapsburg monarchy to the opulence of the Schönbrunn Palace, the Austrian capital is an unforgettable city, steeped in history and the birthplace of too many great musicians to shake a baton at. “All of it,” I said. “I loved it all.”

“And what was your best bit?” DH asked Raptor.

I felt sure he’d say the bones. We’d pushed the boat out, you see, to make sure – as you do – that the kids had a memorable time.

I thought we’d surely trumped ourselves on the tour of the cathedral’s catacombs. Shocking doesn’t even begin to describe it. First, you visit the old catacombs where the internal organs of members of the royal family are stored in urns. Then, in the ‘new’ catacombs you see the skeletons of thousands of plague victims. Most chilling were the brick caverns stacked high with neatly arranged bones – a 17th century space-saving concept, illuminated, for the benefit of modern visitors, by dim, yellowish electric lights. It was a dark highlight, if ever I’ve seen one. My sons had been stunned into silence.

I waited. Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps his most memorable moment had been when we’d raced down a platform to catch a glimpse of his favourite European train. Or ridden a tram to tick that box. Surely all this had been more interesting than the movies on the plane? Well, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?

“Erm,” he said, crinkling his forehead. A deep perplexed line appeared between his eyes as though someone had drawn it there with a pencil. “Can you just remind me what we did again?”

Gah! I guess you just have to assume that when you travel with kids, it all sinks in on some level … right?

Welcome to budget travel kiddos

We’re on a little getaway right now, and so this post is coming from sunny England – and I’m not joking, it’s so sunny that the whole country and his dog appeared to be out walking in the forest today.

We took a bit of a winding route to get here, spending a few days with the in-laws in Cyprus first – which gave me the opportunity to introduce the children to something they’ve escaped until now: the delights of budget travel.

Spring has definitely sprung in Cyprus

Spring flowers: Cyprus was in bloom

Yes, it’s no secret that the children of airline pilots are rather spoilt when it comes to air travel. It was high time they went on easyJet, an airline I remember fondly for its mysterious delays and the strangest noise on arrival at Gatwick, like someone’s sawing off a wing. (Happy to report that both these things still apply.) I even managed to throw in a flight on Ryan Air too, out of Athens. What could possibly go wrong?

I always knew the lack of TVs would come as a shock to the boys – and sure enough, to my amusement, Son2 starts looking everywhere for his screen. In the arm rest, under the seat. “It’s got to be somewhere,” he’s thinking. He even tries tapping the safety picture nailed to the back of the seat to see if that would make it change channel. “No really, there’s no TV,” I say.

What I hadn’t bargained on was the rapturous applause and loud cheer that erupted spontaneously, like a Mexican wave, when we landed in Cyprus; it was a stormy, low cloud sort of evening, and the rain was spitting meanly against the windows. It was a good touch down in bad conditions, following what I can only describe as a mile-high shopping experience (scratch cards, drinks, microwave meals, duty free). But someone told me the passengers always clap on landing, whatever the weather. Very funny.

The thing I’ll remember most about our travels, though, was coming through immigration at Gatwick, and meeting Mr Nice Passport Man (a rare creature indeed). I’m dragging the children behind me, and he starts tapping away at his computer. “Let’s just see if you’re on the Easter Bunny’s naughty or nice list,” he tells my younger son. Son2’s eyes widen like saucers – he’s REALLY worried! “It’s ok – you’re on the good list,” says the official and in we skip.

A welcome like that really does put the spring in your step.

So how was your weekend?

It’s something you don’t expect to hear when you ask someone about their weekend. But with my son attending a school where at least 60 per cent of the students come from airline families (who get super cheap tickets), I’ve learned not to bat an eyelid when mothers tell me about what they’ve been up to.

“Did you have a good weekend?” I asked a fellow mum.

“Yes … Actually we went to Johannesburg.”

Anyone else want to tell me about their Christmas in Lapland?

Anyone else want to tell me about their Christmas in Lapland?

“Really, just for the weekend?” I have to admit I was impressed – the South African city is a good 8 hours’ flying time from here, and that doesn’t include all the getting to and from the airport shenanigans.

“We had 24 hours there. Yesterday morning, we were in the lion park! The children loved it, especially as they’re doing Africa in class at the moment.”

“An amazing field trip!” I agreed. I’d just been looking at all the photos of big animals and African plains on the classroom wall.

“It was really last minute – my husband was flying there, and I woke up and thought ‘Why aren’t we going too?’ Half an hour later, we were on our way to the airport.”

“It’s not like me at all,” she added. “I usually plan everything far in advance.”

“Well good for you,” I said, as we were spat out the school gates – and I really meant it.

Sometimes you just have to grab life by the horns.

Travel post: Stepping back into antiquity

Finding yourself alone inside a pyramid is now a real possibility

After the revolutionary chaos of the past few years, many people will have struck Egypt off their list of must-see places for the time being. With good reason. But there’s an upside for travellers: low visitor numbers.

Egypt’s tourism industry has been decimated since 2011, with income plunging so low that the Antiquities Ministry has struggled to pay thousands of staff. Tourist hotspots such as the market in central Luxor emptied out as holidaymakers shunned Egypt in favour of destinations not plagued by social unrest and travel warnings.

Against this backdrop of turmoil, I was initially taken aback when DH suggested Cairo as a getaway, saying he’d heard the hotels were quiet (and cheap), and the historic sites uncrowded.

A week later, we found ourselves gazing at the Great Pyramid of Giza, awestruck in admiration. And sure enough: the sense of wonder surrounding the magnificent, ancient pyramids is much easier to experience when the site isn’t overrun with tour groups.

Part of the glory of the majestic pyramids is their magical atmosphere, and watching the shadows lengthen on these extraordinary monuments in their glorious settings is made all the more special when the place is this quiet

Space: Part of the glory of the pyramids is their magical atmosphere, and watching the shadows lengthen on these extraordinary monuments in their glorious setting is made all the more special when it’s this quiet

Enormity of Cairo
We travelled to Egypt with our children after I satisfied myself that tensions appeared to be easing. What I wasn’t prepared for was the intensity of Cairo. One of the world’s most densely populated cities, the capital is huge (with a population in excess of 16 million), and driving through the sprawling, chaotic metropolis is a hair-raising experience. But while Cairo is noisy, polluted and disorganised, it’s also incredibly vibrant, colourful and, above all, alive.

Egyptian coffeehouses like Fishawi’s Ahwa have been important gathering places since Islamic times

Cairo cafe: Egyptian coffeehouses like Fishawi’s Ahwa have been important gathering places since Islamic times. Fishawi’s is said to have been open 24/7 since the 1700s

As we crossed the Nile – the river on which the first package holiday tourists travelled in 1869 – I peered out the window to take in its impressive wideness, then hastily retreated as we passed the rubbish piled up in Giza along the banks of the canal. Nine kilometres from the Nile, on the edge of the desert, we arrived at the Pyramids, built by the ancient Egyptians as tombs for the pharaohs and their queens.

xxxxx

Hotel: View from the Mercure Cairo Le Sphinx

Our accommodation (the Mercure Cairo Le Sphinx Hotel) was indeed great value, and set in the most amazing location: at the swimming pool, you literally stare up at a pyramid from your sun lounger. You almost have to pinch yourself to truly believe you’re swimming at the foot of the last surviving Wonder of the Ancient World. At night, after the pyramids have been absorbed into the darkness, I recommend viewing the sound and light show from the rooftop terrace.

I was prepared for hassle from tour ‘guides’ and other touts, so wasn’t surprised when our taxi driver suddenly thrust his mobile phone into my husband’s hands so his friend could attempt to sell us a tour; or when the hotel driver we hired took us less than a mile, to a stable, where we ended up shelling out more money for four-legged transportation (one camel, one horse-drawn cart, with several stable hands and a guide) to see the pyramids.

But, actually, the ‘hassle factor’ wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, especially considering how desperately people need the business. Nobody leapt into our taxi on the approach road to the pyramids and demanded to be employed, and everyone we met was friendly and warm – just trying to make a living. At Cairo’s Grand Bazaar the next day, there was even a sense of humour amid the kaleidoscope of shops, smells and sights: “Maam, how can I take all your money?” one vendor joked with a cheeky glint in his eye.

Guided tour
The downside for me was realising that the animals used to ferry visitors around the pyramids are most likely mistreated. Our guide, on the other hand, was excellent, engaging our young boys with illuminating stories and drawing triangular diagrams in the sand to demonstrate how the pyramids were constructed.

Sphinx: A man rides his horse and carriage past a scene that’s been part of the landscape for thousands of years

Sphinx: A man rides his horse and carriage past a scene that’s been part of the landscape for thousands of years

During our two-hour tour, we rode past the limestone Sphinx (the oldest known monumental sculpture and largest monolith statue in the world) and stood alongside the pyramids, admiring their advanced geometry and massive scale. We also climbed inside one of the smaller pyramids (claustrophobic and hot, but I’m glad we did it), and marvelled at the carvings inside the tomb of Queen Meresankh III.

Not everyone enjoys their visit: there’s litter clinging to the fence and the touts are out in force, plying camel rides, souvenirs and refreshments. Plus, when you get there, it doesn’t initially look like the thousands of photos you’ve seen. While one side of the pyramids faces the desert, the other is right up against a rundown residential neighborhood. The Sphinx literally looks at a Pizza Hut.

But with so much of the pyramids’ majesty retained, I, for one, will never forget our magical and mellow afternoon spent clambouring around the world’s most famous manmade structures. Knowing I was standing at a site visited in history by Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Mark Antony and Napoleon left me feeling pretty inspired. As did the fact the biggest pyramid was the tallest structure in the world for close to 4,000 years. The Burj Khalifa, it seems, has some way to go.

Geometry: It could have been because the blocks the pyramids are made out of reminded our boys of Minecraft, but their imagination was captured

Geometry: It could have been because the blocks the pyramids are made out of reminded our boys of Minecraft, but their imaginations were well and truly captured

Silent Sunday: Walk like an Egyptian

Sometimes we come up with crazy travel plans – this weekend being a case in point. More on Cairo to follow, but here’s a few of my favourite snaps of the exuberant and exotic Egyptian people who really made our trip for us. First up, this gem of a coffee shop that I fell in love with in the heart of Cairo.

Sometimes we come up with crazy travel plans – this weekend being a case in point. More on Cairo to follow, but here’s a few of my favourite snaps of the exuberant and exotic Egyptian people who really made our trip. First up, this gem of a coffee shop that I fell in love with in the heart of old Cairo.


Clockwise from top left: an Egyptian wedding; a man rides his horse and carriage past a scene that’s been part of the landscape for thousands of years; a belly dancer mesmerises her audience on a Nile river cruise; and standing room only on the bus.

Clockwise from top left: an Egyptian wedding; a man rides his horse and carriage past a scene that’s been part of the landscape for thousands of years; a belly dancer mesmerises her audience on a Nile river cruise; and standing room only on the bus.


Ancient craftsmanship: Despite millennia of plundering, the antiquities of Egypt are remarkably well preserved. This carving is part of the tomb of Queen Meresankh III near the Giza pyramids.

Ancient craftsmanship: Despite millennia of plundering, the antiquities of Egypt are remarkably well preserved. This carving is part of the tomb of Queen Meresankh III near the Giza pyramids.