By Richard Johnson


Cairo...  the very name conjures images of the mysterious East: pyramids, pharoahs, the steel-blue Nile, hawk-eyed men on camels. All those cliches are on hand almost immediately we touch down at Cairo airport.

But these days there is a more prosaic trademark to this, the largest city in Africa: its heaving mass of chaotic traffic. As the city is home to nearly 20million people, most of whom seem to own a vehicle of some kind, it's not hard to see why. There is, however, another reason for the chaos, as the driver neatly sums up on the way to our hotel: 'Here, lane markers are merely suggestions, traffic signals only decorations. But don't worry, I'm a professional.'


Off to the right, through the smog, we catch glimpses of the mighty Pyramids of Giza, seemingly floating over the city. Cairo is one of those places you can either embrace and enjoy or, after taking the required snaps (Pyramids, museum, maybe the market), depart from with all haste, shaking the dust from your shoes and expelling the smog from your lungs as you board a plane for Luxor.

Most tourists do just that, thereby missing out on the 600-mile land journey to Luxor through the Western Desert, and the opportunity to enjoy a fascinating landscape of unique beauty.

But first, Cairo. I've spent some time in the city over the years, and I like it a lot. Every time I land here I find myself swept up by its throbbing energy, like a leaf in an autumn gale. I love its vitality, the charm and humour of its inhabitants, most of them struggling just to survive in this crucible of history, culture and cars.

If you have time to stay a while, let me recommend three hotels that will look after you very well, and in differing styles. Nearest the airport is the new and superb Fairmont Towers. It has 247 large and well-appointed rooms and suites, and fully grown palm trees decorate the atrium. Service is slick, the restaurants top class and there is ample evidence of the Fairmont philosophy of leaving as light a carbon footprint as possible.

Further from the airport, but nearer the Pyramids, is the charming hotel Belle Epoque. It describes itself as 'Cairo's First Boutique hotel' and is a combination of two buildings of the inter-war years  -  Cairo's Art Deco period  -  when the Farouk dynasty held decadent sway. Quiet and carefully trained staff unobtrusively attend to the desires of a well-heeled clientele. Our bedroom looked out over the pool, and the bed easily entered my wife Lynne's 'ten most comfortable hotel beds' list.

Lastly, right in the centre of town, and only a couple of streets from the Egyptian Museum and its treasures, is The Talisman, which modestly describes itself as a B&B. This place is a treasure. It occupies the entire fifth floor of a massive apartment building and you reach it by way of a 1930s lift. Owned and largely staffed by women, it is an oasis of peace and feminine sensibility in the downtown pandemonium.

The 24 rooms and suites are individually decorated, all have en suite bathrooms and all are double-glazed against the traffic outside. The breakfast is good too, with orange juice squeezed to order (always a mark of a top-class place to me), and plenty of food on offer to fuel a long day's shopping or museum-going. revisiting the antiquities of the Egyptian Museum brings back many vivid memories of my own long-ago actor-life. I had caused something of a panic in the breast of our guide by telling him that I had actually handled the Mask of Tutankhamun, the Museum's most treasured possession and one of the world's most revered works of art. 'how? Why?' he gasped.

Well... back in the early Sixties I was in a film - called Cairo - in which I played a drug-crazed criminal engaged in a plot to rob the museum under the leadership of the ever-urbane George Sanders. It wasn't a very good film, I'm afraid, but George and I had a lovely time, George entertaining at the piano every night at the Shepheard hotel, overlooking the Nile, and telling the most outrageous stories about his contemporaries in Hollywood. he killed himself a decade later by drinking three bottles of Nembutal, leaving a typically pithy note. 'Dear World,' he wrote, 'I am leaving because I am bored... Good luck...'

The Pyramids now occupy a small area of desert surrounded by Cairo's ever-encroaching sprawl: the authorities have had to build a concrete wall beyond which no citizen is permitted to be seen carrying a sack of cement. But will the Great Pyramid one day be part of some-body's back yard? Will a Pizza Express be built even nearer than the one that presently lies just beyond the wall?

When confronted by the world's great icons of mass tourism, I often find myself wondering why I bother to visit them. There's no way of avoiding being part of a crowd, of being fed a predigested info-snack by guides who have spent four years learning how to get their clients in and out of a monument in a predetermined space of time. And yet I'm still drawn to these places, to the great icons of mankind's history; to the wonderful spectacles of nature. It's part of the payback for being human, perhaps: part of one's duty. For many years I've harboured blissful memories of camping under the star-bright skies of Jordan's desert, and I've always wanted to make a journey through the Western Desert of Egypt. And so, on Monday morning, a shiny, silver Toyota Landcruiser arrives at our hotel, equipped with a burly driver, Zizou, and a young, bespectacled and charming young guide, Mido.

Once we clear the suburbs, Cairo's pollution gives way to the pristine clarity of desert air. Conversation lags as we begin to study the desolate plain on either side of our vehicle. Only the occasional passing bus or car diverts our contemplation of this reminder that nature still rules.

After a couple of hours, Zizou swings the four-wheel-drive vehicle off the road and into the desert. Mido wants to show us the remains of a petrified forest. At one time the entire Western Desert was covered by a tropical forest and its fossil remains are still visible above ground in certain areas. The composition of petrified wood shows a wonderfully diverse range of colours and, when polished, many examples provide a fascinating glimpse into prehistory. however, the taking of samples is forbidden by law, Mido warns us. As if...

We make one more stop and Zizou tries to drive the Toyota to the top of a huge sand dune to view the valley beyond. Skilful as he is, the sand defeats the vehicle, and we all get out to lighten it. 'We'll leave him to it,' says Mido and leads the way to the top of the dune.

The view is indeed staggering with, astonishingly, the glint of water at the base of the hills 25 miles away. 'That is the lake that supports the oasis of Bahariya,' explains Mido. The lake is all that remains of the huge stretch of water that filled the valley in prehistoric times. We hear the engine revving below and look back to see that Zizou has succeeded in freeing the Toyota from the clutches of the dune. So we won't be lost in the desert after all.

We regain the road and drive on towards Bahariya, stopping at the checkpoint on the outskirts where a posse of armed soldiers ensure that we're genuine tourists. The government is determined to prevent any anti-tourist outrages of the kind that happened in the Valley of the Queens a decade ago, and checkpoints every few miles underline the point.

Lynne, as an American citizen, was asked if she'd like to have an armed soldier travel in our Toyota. She bravely declined. Zizou and Mido take the chance to stretch their legs and hobnob with the guards. 'How long have you two been doing this trip?' I ask Mido. 'Eleven years,' he answers. 'We know all these guys at the checkpoints.'

Natural springs, welling up from the underground lakes formed when the Nile ran through the area thousands of years ago, long before the first civilisations were established, support the lush palm groves of the oasis.

DurIng the Roman occupation, these reservoirs proved to be an inexhaustible resource for the small villages and settlements that grew up around the springs. In modern times, it was hoped that the lakes would provide water for larger-scale farming, but recent research indicates the supply might last for only another century of exploitation.

We reach the Hotel Qasr el-Bawity, where we're booked for a two-night stay, in time for a late lunch. This is a lovely, 24-room, recently built hotel where environmental considerations-have received thoughtful attention. Everything is constructed from local stone and the domed rooms are cool, spacious and decorated with examples of local craftwork. The gardens are heavy with bougainvillea, and the sound of water from the mineral spring gushing into the pool and spa provides background music.

After lunch, Lynne and I try out the hot baths. The water is a pleasant 30 degrees and Mido has to urge us to keep our date to climb English Mountain in time to view the sunset. The mountain  -  more of a hill, really  -  got its name because it was the site of an observation post during the British Protectorate. The hotel is built into the base of the hill and to reach the top is an easy 20-minute climb. We are rewarded by a stunning view of the valley and the spectacle of the sun sinking beyond the hills on the other side.

After breakfast, we drive the few miles to the relatively recently discovered Roman-era tombs. The romans occupied the oases for almost 600 years, and they're still here, in the large number of burial grounds. As occupiers they tried to integrate with the locals, embracing their religion and adopting mummification as a means of ensuring eternal life.

Next day we drive through the spectacular but slightly eerie Black Desert and White Desert. The Black Desert has a covering of volcanic lava, while the White has astonishing wind-eroded limestone formations  -  shapes that remind us of monstrous birds, camels or lions; giants, pygmies and elves springing up supernaturally from the desert floor.

We spend the night at the Desert Lodge Fixed Camp. The tents are luxurious safari-style affairs, with flushing loos and showers, while in the dining marquee, white-outfitted chefs cook in a state-of-the-art steel kitchen. A stay in the desert here presents no hardships  -  and Lynne and I enjoy the sound sleep a well-sprung four-poster induces.

As we drive through the White Desert the following morning, the air is as crisp as a ski resort, and the alpine feeling is reinforced as we drive along a road cut through chalk. We are booked in for two nights at the impressive Desert Lodge in Dakhla. The Lodge occupies a dominating clifftop site overlooking the oasis and is built to resemble the traditional local style (though one suspects there may be a bit of steel underlying the mud-and-sand facade).

This is another place making a real effort to be green and eco-friendly: it nails its colours to the mast right at the entrance where there are three bins marked glass, Paper and Other. The rooms are large, comfortable and stylish, water in the bathrooms is hot, the views are great, but the dining room hasn't got around to modern cooking yet: dinner is standard desert fare of grilled chicken, veg and chips, all piled on to one plate. (At least the veg was organically grown, on their own farm.)

Next day, Mido takes us on a tour of the medieval town. The locals generally live in the ramshackle breeze-block constructions that make up the majority of modern Dakhla, but the old town retains the dignity of its past effortlessly, the buildings remaining much as they were 700 years ago. One has that eerie sense of the presence of its inhabitants, as if the past is held here for ever, like a fly in amber.

Kharga is our next stop, and the last oasis before we reach Luxor. Mido takes us to the town's impressive museum. The exhibits span more than 2,000 years of local history right up to the Farouk dynasty of modern times. The space is light and airy and contrasts favourably with the Cairo museum's old-style, crowded space.

A gentleman who introduces himself as the Director of Antiquities invites me to his office, where he offers to sell me a CD and some postcards for 120 Egyptian pounds (about £10.50). When I meet Mido at the exit, his eye falls on my purchases. 'What did you pay for those?' he enquires. I tell him. 'Outrageous!' he snarls. He marches me back to the office. 'give Mr Johnson his money back,' he demands of the Director. Without a word, the man opens a drawer, takes out my money and hands it to me with a wry smile. He knows he's been rumbled.

We drive through town to our hotel, the Sol y Mar. It is a slightly messy attempt at a 'de luxe' hotel: lots of unnecessary marble. But, again, it has a laudable policy to save water and energy and to reduce waste. From here we will have no further need of a four-wheel-drive and we say a fond farewell to Zizou.

Next morning we have a new car and driver for the 180-mile journey to Luxor. The desert becomes increasingly green as we near the Nile. Soon, we turn off the main road and pass through leafy lanes until we come to the Al Moudira Hotel. The entrance is guarded by tourist police, as are all top-class hotels in Luxor. Later, the manager tells me they sit around and drink tea day and night. 'Five-and-a-half pounds of it a month I have to give them,' he complains.

Mido makes sure our room is the best available and takes his leave. We'll remember him with affection.

The Al Moudira is a magical hotel, lovingly designed to reflect the traditions of oriental design and decoration, with 54 rooms and suites grouped around small courtyards filled with trees, flowers and fountains. There's a beautiful restaurant where one can wipe away the memory of grilled chicken and chips in an instant. In our room there are frescoes, a sunken tub in the marble-clad bathroom, and satellite TV. There's a huge pool tucked away in the gardens, with a hammam and spa attached. A hedonist's heaven, in fact.

After the rigours of a day viewing Luxor's famous Valleys of the Kings and Queens and the temples of Karnak and Luxor, one may well feel like submitting to the gentle hands of Al Moudira's masseur.

Luxor's archaeology is unique, fascinating, not-to-be-missed, and hard on the feet. Best to do it all in a day, have a lovely evening at the Al Moudira reflecting on the wonders of the Western Desert, then board one of the fabulous boats for a lazy, luxurious trip upriver to Aswan.

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