HOLLY HUNT, one of the last Irish visitors to get out of Cairo, describes the scramble to escape
IT WAS SUPPOSED to be a pleasure cruise. I was to baby-sit some well-heeled British tourists on an exploration of ancient Egypt. We were to visit temples, watch sunsets over the desert and sleep floating on the mighty Nile.
When they first took to the streets we were in Luxor, the rumours were vague, unconcerned. We hiked above the Valley of the Kings and breathed in the air in the tombs of pharaohs.
When we boarded our dahabiya the riots were gaining momentum but we glided up the Nile in the evening sunlight almost oblivious. It was only when the mobile phone and internet coverage went down that the seriousness of the situation hit home.
On Wednesday last week we visited the temple of Edfu. The following morning riots broke out in Edfu town. On the Friday, 20 minutes after we sailed away from the ruins of the Temple of Kom Ombo, close to 500 people brandishing sticks and banners marched through the site.
As the sun dropped behind the yellow sand desert the revolution overtook us. It reached Aswan before us.
Thousands were held back with tear gas and the streets were rocked with chanting demands for the resignation of Egypt’s President Hosni Mubarak. In true British style, we ate a three-course meal on the top deck with a background of distant gunfire.
I finally managed to contact our operations manager in Cairo, Basem, on Saturday last week: “Congratulations, wow, you guys have great timing! History in the making and you’re here to witness it,” he exclaimed tiredly. “Cairo is being pillaged, the jails are open, police buildings are up in flames, the supermarkets looted, no one here is safe”, and so began our ordeal home.
From Aswan our best option was to get to Cairo. From there, there was a much higher chance of getting a flight to London. So I spent two days in the airport trying to get my little group out of the most dangerous city on the planet.
Every morning when I rang him, Basem sounded more drained. He hadn’t slept in days. Every night armed with kitchen knives he stands with his neighbours outside their doors to protect their families from looters and the thousands of escaped criminals.
With no internet, intermittent phone coverage and no television in the airport rumours were rife: “Cairo airport is the most obvious target”; “there is no water or food left there”. So I gave a fortune to an opportunistic vendor for a few bottles of water and some chocolate bars, and on Monday evening we managed to get on a flight to Cairo.
The airport was heaving with people and frayed tempers. Embassy officials from dozens of countries were placating their stranded nationals. The Swiss and Germans marched through the mass of people in smart army outfits. A beer bellied Australian official bullied the security into letting his people through.
Breaking the curfew, we drove the guests through empty dark streets to some overpriced rooms we’d found. Every few minutes we were stopped by the army leaning against tanks and looking tired. At one check point two men knelt on the ground, their foreheads in the dirt, hands behind their backs, guns pressed against their heads.
The first contact I had with the Irish Foreign Office had gone something like this: “Hello there dear, so your mother was on to us. Where are you now exactly?” “Aswan.” “Oh really, and have you thought of any alternative ways of getting out?” “How exactly do you suggest I get out?” “Well now, how about a train?” “You want me to take a train with 10 British tourists to the centre of Cairo?” “Oh, well, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Well, what about a bus?” At which point I thanked her and hung up. I did get another more reassuring phone call when I got to Cairo but it was the Brits that were there on the ground to help get us out.
On Tuesday afternoon we finally boarded a flight to London. I had heard rumours of a flight the day before where any non-British nationals were thrown off at the last minute. A few Australians and I sank down in our seats and kept our nationalistic tendencies to ourselves.
When we finally took off the whole plane cheered.
