Cairo
I do feel kind of guilty about slagging off a country that isn’t my own, but to hell with it: Cairo is one of the crappiest places I’ve ever been. It was responsible for several near-death experiences, marriage proposals, explosive diarrhoea and riding Michael Jackson - and let‘s face it, not many people over the age of 12 can say that.

Crappiness started pretty much as soon as I stepped off the plane, when I was relieved of my passport by a humourless security guard, and met a woman in the toilets who wouldn’t pull her pants back up until I gave a dollar. But the real nightmare started when I emerged from the terminal building and tried to get a taxi to my lodgings. I was befriended by a middle-aged man called Mahmoud, who said he would do me special price. Once in his car, I quickly ascertained that Mahmoud drove like a bloody lunatic, as did everybody in this God-forsaken hellhole. Cars zig-zagged wildly across the roads at hundreds of miles per hour, beeping and cursing at one another. At one point, Mahmoud turned around - actually physically turned around in his seat - and said, “You and your friends want to go to Giza, see pyramids? I do you special price!” I nodded enthusiastically - anything to keep his eyes on the road. Then he took his hands off the wheel altogether, leaned over, reached into the glove compartment for a pen and paper, and began writing down his number for me whilst still doing a good 80mph, weaving in and out of traffic by operating the steering wheel with his elbows. There was one fortuitous thing about this: I was wearing brown trousers at the time.

A couple of days later, we did indeed visit the pyramids, driven by someone other than Mahmoud thank goodness. When we arrived there we were accosted by a gentleman who told us that the pyramids were closed (WTF?) but that he had horses for hire so that we could ride into the desert, which was the best way of getting as close as possible. We knew he was bullshitting, but then again, we love horses so we decided to take him up on the offer. I mounted my horse, whose name was Michael Jackson, bent down to adjust my stirrups, and discovered that I couldn’t because my tack was held together with bits of string. One of the tour guides simply came up to me, unpicked the knots, and tied them back together with the stirrups at the right length for my short-ass legs. Christ on a bike. Then we set off. One of the tour guides took a bit of a liking to me, so I told him I was spoken for and hoped that that would be the end of it. On the contrary, he said, “Ah, but your boyfriend isn‘t here…” and just wouldn’t leave me alone. To my complete horror, he managed to herd me away from the rest of the group, despite my protestations that I wanted us all to stick together. It was beginning to get dark, and I was alone in the desert with this strange creepy man, riding a horse with tack held together by bits of string. Then he said he had something to show me. “Please let that not be what I think it is…” I thought, but since I was alone with him and hadn’t a clue how to get back, I had no choice but to follow him. He led me down to the Great Pyramid, where we dismounted, and led me towards a cave. “Come in here…” he beckoned. “Erm, no thanks,” I said. This went on for a while. Then I decided I was going to have to take charge of the situation, grow some balls, and be assertive. “I am not getting into that cave. I want to get back on my horse, and I want you to lead me back to the others,” I said firmly. I meant business. I congratulated myself on my assertive tone as I strode back towards the horses. I wouldn’t be having any more trouble from him.

WRONG!

Next thing I knew, he’d shoved me against a wall and was trying to rip my clothes off. What the poor little man didn’t know was that I’m a black belt in taekwondo. I managed to dig my elbow rather hard into his solar plexus, got him with a killer backfist strike to the temple, leaped onto Michael Jackson and galloped off into the sunset, giggling maniacally. Mercifully the string held together and I didn’t plunge to my death. Then he caught up with me and asked me to marry him. Interesting approach.

But still, apart from the constant harrassment and groping, the stinking exhaust fumes, the noise, the stale cigarette smoke, the dirt and dust, everything else went fairly smoothly until the last day. We’d been staying in a very run-down hotel, where the only member of staff apart from the manager was an octogenarian who didn’t look as if he could lift a feather, let alone a suitcase. I had, of course, had diarrhoea for the entire trip, and this day was no exception. As I was about to get into the lift with said octogenarian and my suitcase, I was hit with sudden and violent stomach cramps. I excused myself and ran to the nearest bathroom, where I stayed, groaning and splattering for a good 20 minutes. When I emerged, white and shaking, the wizened old man was standing there impassively, holding a now-tepid cup of tea. “You are ill. I make you tea.” he said. I realised, to my complete horror, that he’d been standing there listening to me shitting my guts out for the last half hour or so. His poker face didn’t register the tiniest twitch - he’d obviously seen (heard and smelled) it all before.

These were the three most memorable incidents from my week-long stay in Cairo, but the whole trip was basically a string of near-death experiences on the roads, harrassment and groping, and diarrhoea. All things I can do without. No apologies for length - your mum loves it.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Wed 4 Nov 2009, 14:42, 5 replies)

"Riding Michael Jackson"?
Not many people over the age of 12 can say that, shurely?
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Wed 4 Nov 2009, 14:59, closed)

Dammit!
Edited...
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Wed 4 Nov 2009, 15:17, closed)

Good ole Cairo
Our holiday in Cairo was actually ok when we started using the term "Fuck off" to anyone who was trying to rip us off.

We got stung by a taxi driver recommended by the Intercontinental Hotel. I mean, recommended by a fucking 5 star hotel. These people have no morals at all. He took us to a small pyramid, told us that it was the real pyramids, charge us for a smelly, flee bitten camel and led us round a total craphole of an area with ruined houses and finally to a perfume shop.

Never, even trust anyone in Cairo. They are very very poor and have no qualms about ripping off 'rich' tourists. Don't trust staff at hotels, even chain hotels such as Hilton or Intercontinental.

We complained VERY loudly to the taxi driver and the hotel staff who guaranteed us upgrades and free minibar next time we went. Didn't settle for that and got a very large discount on our final bill.
(scotsbloke, Wed 4 Nov 2009, 15:54, closed)

When I visited Cairo....
When I visited Cairo as part of a holiday in Egypt a while ago (We stayed in Sharm-El-Sheik - London Bombings happened while we were there, then the hotel got blown up 4 days after we left, everyone should panic when I go on holiday!) We booked a day trip to Cairo and were told very firmly by the hotel reception do not EVER go off with the people offering horse/donkey trips near the pyramids as they all lead you into the desert and either;

a) Mug you,
b) Rape you,
c) Kill you,
d) All of the above

We thought they were exaggerating, maybe they weren't!
(The_Mighty_Spleen, Wed 4 Nov 2009, 15:59, closed)

I don't really know WHAT to say to this.......
.......Other than *Click*
(Stashie is plotting against his blender on, Wed 4 Nov 2009, 19:56, closed)