It’s been an enjoyable, if somewhat challenging three days based on the MS Hamees. Food poisoning and buffets have not been our friends, and while the facilities have been very comfortable, the sights undoubtedly spectacular  and the crew hugely friendly and hospitable, the management bugger up our transfer to our next destination and leave us sat in the lounge bar, surrounded by our bags, whilst denying all knowledge of our next move. They then try to persuade us to pay for a cab to get off the boat!

After much to-ing and fro-ing, Karam - our tour rep from Traveline - eventually arrives, full of profuse apologies for the way we’ve been treated, with a gleaming car and driver outside to whisk us to the Winter Palace Hotel, our home for the next three nights. It’s situated on the Nile Corniche, in the heart of the city, mere steps away from Luxor Temple and is the sister hotel to Aswan’s Old Cataract Hotel, which it pre-dates. 

It’s absolutely stunning, the height of luxury and a beautiful oasis of elegance and tranquility. From the glorious exterior to the elegant old-style glamour of the lobby with its enormous staircase and huge chandelier, the whole place drips with old-school style and charm. Originally built in 1886 its roll-call of previous guests spans the likes of Jacqueline Kennedy, King Juan Carlos of Spain, Prince Charles and Lady Di, Princess Caroline of Monaco, Henry Kissinger, Jane Fonda and Tony Blair. And it was on the steps of the grand staircase that Howard Carter announced to the world that he had discovered the tomb of Tutankhamen. 

We wander through the dark wooden Royal bar, complete with pianist, and check out the huge Victorian lounge where heads of state would be greeted, and where Agatha Christie would take afternoon tea whenever she stayed. 

But its crowning glories are the hugely attractive gardens with over 100 varieties of trees including banana, orange and lime trees, complete with fountains, peacocks and flamingos, and the massive pool area for its guests. As we’re too early to check into our room, we are led to our loungers and have a very lovely day relaxing in the shade of the parasols, protecting us from the 35 degree sun baking down. 

Every few hours the incantations of the muezzins echo from loud speakers across the city but otherwise we chill out in soporific tranquility. I’m feeling much better again, the food poisoning now behind me, and have a hot and tasty tagine for lunch at the poolside El Nakhil restaurant, with some Omar Khayyam wine, although Coman is back to eating just plain rice and drinking mint tea as his stomach is playing up again. 

Around 4pm we collect the big gold key to our room, which looks out across the Nile to the west bank and the Valley of the Kings. A couple of doors down is the Royal Suite and the doors are ajar, while the cleaning staff are further down the corridor so we have a sneaky peek while it’s being prepared for its next guests. Opulent and huge, it’s pretty magnificent, and we make it back outside without being spotted. 

The next day however we learn that it was being prepared for Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner, who are on a much-Instagrammed family holiday of Egypt, and sure enough, that evening we sit on our balcony, as the sun sets gloriously over the Nile, watching their security-heavy motorcade sweep out of the hotel driveway. 

Once we’ve settled into our room, we decide to go for an early evening stroll along the riverfront, taking in some of the sights. It’s a sultry evening, very warm indeed, and we run the usual gauntlet of boat owners trying to persuade us to hire their feluccas, shop-keepers touting their wares, promising “just look, no hassles”, whilst contradicting themselves at every juncture, and drivers of horse-drawn carriages pitching their vintage contraptions as “Ferraris”. Luxor Temple is all lit up, whilst along the promenade various photographers have set up to take professional shots of tourists against its backdrop. 

As we walk, I keep coughing, with a dry tickly cough that I presume is probably caused by pollution and over dinner that evening in the hotel’s lovely informal restaurant La Corniche - where I am served a delicious spaghetti pomodoro on embossed and monogrammed china under a silver cloche, and Coman’s plate of plain rice is similarly presented with a flourish - I keep having to clear my throat with alarming frequency. 

We try for a drink in the Royal Bar but I’m not enjoying the glass of Egyptian red I’ve been served, and am feeling pretty knackered, so back in the room I dig out a Covid test from our bags, but all is negative so we head to bed thinking nothing of it. 

The next morning however it’s clear something is not right at all. 

I wake up with a chest-rattling cough that’s ridiculously painful and am struggling to breathe properly. It’s definitely some kind of chest infection so we ask the hotel before breakfast if they have a doctor who can prescribe antibiotics. Within ninety minutes Dr Nabil is in our room, examining me thoroughly and declaring that I have a severe viral chest and upper respiratory tract infection. Apparently a very nasty and highly contagious strain is sweeping through the Middle East and Europe and he’s in no doubt about what needs to happen as he’s seeing it in tons of patients currently. 

Down come my trousers and, with very little discussion, in go three super strength injections - anti-allergy, anti-inflammatory and antibiotic. He’ll be back at 9pm tonight to give me further doses and again tomorrow morning to give me a week’s worth of tablets, and relieve me of $160 US. He also gives Coman another batch of Antanil tablets to sort his stomach and tells me I need complete bed rest for the next two days. 

It’s all happened super fast and we’re both a little shell-shocked at the turn of events. Yet during the consultation Dr Nabil’s phone is ringing constantly to call him for new appointments, the majority of which are for the same thing I have. No wonder everyone was coughing and spluttering in the Valley of the Kings! 

He confirms that with my immune system having taken a battering from the projectile food poisoning I was susceptible to picking up any passing infection, and as Mo had suggested, the tombs are unhygienic crucibles of infection. Damn all the different Rameses, and their germ-infested tombs, this isn’t going to be fun.

So out go any plans for a day-trip to Dendera to see the temples of Cleopatra, and instead we thank our lucky stars that the Winter Palace is so lovely and spend the next couple of days relaxing by the pool, and eating in its outrageously affordable high class restaurants, including the much esteemed 1886 Restaurant, one of the grandest and most revered in the whole of Egypt where we are presented with a choice of ties to wear, while I try and recover. 

At least the mint essence that we bought back in Cairo from the Golden Eagle perfume emporium comes in useful, proving its decongestant qualities with admirable efficiency!