Ancient Egypt was all about propaganda. Pharaohs built huge monuments to glorify themselves in the eyes of their populace, casting themselves as gods. Their role was to become divine in the afterlife and rule for eternity, and it’s an ego trip that has continued through sovereigns, rulers and dictators ever since. 

We’re reminded of this as we approach Cairo airport, and the highway is lined with continual billboards of President Sissi’s face with the slogan ‘Good for Egypt’ emblazoned in Arabic underneath. Politics is a tricky subject in Egypt so we refrain from asking Sherif, who has met us again this morning, his opinion of Sissi, but he ventures that he prefers the President to the Muslim Brotherhood who took control after the 2011 uprising, only to be removed by Sissi’s military coup in 2013. 

Sherif prints our boarding passes out at the automatic machines and directs us towards a second set of security gates, beyond which lies the check in desks, and more scanners and x-ray machines. The airport is pretty quiet and we’ve arrived with plenty of time to spare so relax in the EgyptAir lounge, where the very chilled staff tell us our flight has been delayed and they’ll let us know when we need to head to the gates. 

They’re too chilled it transpires as suddenly, without warning, the final boarding call is announced and we run through the airport, having to negotiate even more security x-rays, pulling our shoes off, untied laces flapping as we finally make it to the gate, which seems miles away from the lounge, and board the plane. Thankfully the stress starts to subside as we sink into our very spacious seats, somewhat shabby and worn but extremely comfortable, and as we recline and relax with a hot towel to wipe our hands, we hope for a glass of champagne to settle our frayed nerves. 

But inevitably as a Muslim carrier, our inflight meal only comes with soft drinks and a smile. The inflight video however is very entertaining with stewardesses in traditional dress and animated ancient Egyptians being told off for smoking. 

It’s a ninety minute flight to Aswan and after hundreds of miles of rippling Sahara desert we start tracking the Nile as we descend towards the southern city. The Nile’s green and blue beauty snakes through the arid landscape, the veritable life-giving river in a barren desert, and circling over vast Lake Nasser we come into land.

Egypt retains a strict hierarchical approach, and the business class passengers are all taken off the plane first and boarded onto a half empty bus to be taken to the airport building, while the economy passengers are forced to wait on board the plane to be rammed lock, stock and barrel, into their own transportation. 

Khaled meets us at baggage reclaim to transfer us to our hotel. It’s a 25 minute journey and we drive over the old British dam to enter the city, before taking a little ferry from the jetty over to Elephantine Island, where the sprawling Movenpick hotel sits. Originally a grand Oberoi property, the Swiss chain took it over a few years ago and added a second modern building and that is where we’re staying. 

Our first task is to meet Emad, the manager of Nasco Tours who have an office in the Movenpick, to pay for our transfers and guide for tomorrow’s excursion to Abu Simbel. He’s a massively overweight, jocular fellow, leaning back in his sturdy chair behind his desk, with a fine line in patter and an enthusiastic eye for our US$. His second in command, Ahmed Ali, is assigned to our 5.30am transfer back to the airport and Emad declares him to be our very own Nubian King. Ahmed is delighted with the title.

By the time we’ve made all the arrangements, unpacked and then spent time with the hotel’s very lovely guest relations manager Taysser, who books us a spot for sunset tomorrow at the famed Old Cataract Hotel, it’s time for dinner. However the hotel’s restaurant options don’t inspire us so we decide to venture further afield. We take the hotel’s ferry back to Aswan’s east bank and wander through the streets of the souk to see what’s available. 

Inevitably we’re assailed from all sides the minute we leave the rarified sanctuary of the hotel. Drivers of horse drawn carriages tout for our trade for a clip along the Corniche, and as we go deeper into the bazaar hawkers, peddlers, shop owners and children all vie for our business. The bazaar is very much a locals hangout so as a pair of well-dressed westerners we attract attention and while we need to keep our wits about us, there’s a general atmosphere of chaotic city life going on around us rather than any undue worries as foreigners on the streets. 

We’ve been recommended Al Masry as a good local restaurant but once we eventually find it and peek inside, we decide it’s not going to be right for us. Whilst tourists do supposedly frequent it, there’s not a solitary one in sight and the menus are all completely in Arabic, with a lot of meat seemingly part of the affair. So we brave the lively back-streets of Aswan once more, passing an Arabic McDonalds on the waterfront where a few tourists are seated inside, to return to the jetty and be ferried back to the Movenpick. 

There’s nothing for it but to dine in-house tonight at the Mezze Egyptian restaurant. The options are limited and the food merely adequate, so we vow we’ll find somewhere more interesting tomorrow… and we definitely succeed!!