Groundhog day

Scores of overweight German package tourists waddle in and out of the upper end resorts blissfully unaware that they are paying 20 times the value of a stuffed camel and perhaps our only comfort is the fact that the locals barely hassle us anymore. Most of the hawkers know us if not by name then certainly by association. “Hey Mr expedition, you not go Sudan yet?”

We must be the Hathor hotel’s longest staying customers. Each day, after wasting hours running around chasing shadowy port officials we return from the high dam port office to Aswan town, dishevelled and disappointed.  Eid is fast approaching and with it our last chances of catching a boat for another week. It has been ten days now and time is running out. The rest of the group are holed up south of the border in a filthy frontier town with nothing to do but loaf around in 45 degree heat waiting for the ambulances to arrive.

At least we have found one friend amongst the crowd of useless bureaucrats. Mahmoud Idris works for the ferry company but is originally from Sudan and is probably the only person willing to help. He has spent the last three days working on our behalf trying to find a way out but now the infinitely stubborn manager of the port, Mr Rashad who is as idle as he is corrupt has now doubled the price of the ferry to an incomprehensible £5000. This is clearly out of the question and so while we ponder our fate we try to have as much cross border communication as possible but we can only imagine the others frustration. We can only hope for a miracle.