### Mamma’s Egyptian Dream: A Comedy of (Biblical) Proportions
This is the story of how my mother’s lifelong dream to see the wonders of Egypt came true. Or, as I now call it, “The Great Pharaonic Fiasco of ‘88.”
It all started with Mamma, who had a sacred, burning desire to visit the land of the pyramids with her two sons. This was her vision, and finally, the stars aligned. Or, more accurately, a very important man from the Sheraton Hotels sent us a fax that looked like it had been typed by a chicken. We were told all our documents were waiting for us at a hotel in “Cario.” Close enough.
**Act I: The Omen at the VIP Lounge**
Our flight from Zurich was with EgyptAir. The moment we mentioned this to Suzanne, the angel of the VIP lounge, she unleashed a roar of laughter usually reserved for someone who’d just announced they were commuting to work via pogo stick. “Why in the *world* would you book EgyptAir?” she cackled. We smiled weakly, already feeling the first tremors of doom.
The plane, when it finally arrived, was less a vessel of flight and more a flying testament to chaos. It was filthy. The service made a cheap charter flight look like the Ritz. Mamma, flying first class, asked for a simple cup of tea. She never got it. The mineral water tasted like it had been recently filtered through a sock. The only miracle was that my brother Alex and I found seats in the smoking section, saving me from certain combustion.
**Act II: The Case of the Missing Valente**
We landed in “Carlo” at 1:30 AM. After an archaeological dig to retrieve our luggage, we discovered Alex had left the key to his suitcase at home. A minor annoyance, like finding a scorpion in your slipper.
Then, the real fun began: there was no one to pick us up. After I performed a ritual involving a payphone and a helpful local who looked like a young James Farentino (and who swiftly offered me “intimate pleasure”), a car finally arrived. We were dumped at the hotel at 3:45 AM, dreaming of beds. A cruel joke! We were informed our next flight to Luxor was at 6:30 AM. Sleep was for the weak.
At dawn, we met Abdel, our guide. He was flustered. He’d been told to look for the famous singer **Caterina Valente** arriving from Germany. Poor Abdel had been holding a sign with her name, causing every German tourist to mob him, desperately searching for the elusive star. We were nobody, and we were from Switzerland. The confusion was absolute.
**Act III: The Kamikaze and the Locked Suitcase**
Abdel, now aware of his non-celebrity charges, deposited us at the airport like a pair of unwanted parcels. We were eventually shuffled onto a different airline, ZAS, whose plane was blessedly clean. It was the first and last time anything would go as planned.
In Luxor, again, no one. So we hired a local taxi driver dressed as an extra from *Aladdin*. He strapped our luggage to the roof with what I can only assume was a prayer and then drove like a kamikaze pilot late for his own funeral. Miraculously, the suitcases stayed put. We arrived at the Nile cruise boat, breathless, only to be told our rooms weren’t ready. Alex, defeated, went to bed fully dressed. His suitcase was still locked. It was becoming a character in our story.
That evening, Mamma and I, dressed for a gala, entered the dining room to find everyone else in shorts and beer T-shirts. We had become the dinner theatre. We befriended a woman named Brenda, whose travel horror story was even more catastrophic than ours. Bonding over shared misery is a beautiful thing.
**Act IV: Chariot Chase & Our Personal God**
The sights were, of course, breathtaking. But the organization was a donkey-led circus. At the Temple of Edfu, we took a chariot. On the return trip, ours had vanished. Our guide, Mohamed, procured another, which immediately triggered a Ben-Hur-style chariot chase with the original driver. We clung to the sides, expecting to see Charlton Heston at any moment.
The pinnacle of our spiritual journey was in Aswan, where we discovered the ancient Egyptian god **Bes**, the god of music and merriment. He was depicted as a squat, bearded dwarf sticking his tongue out. Finally! A god for us. We had found our patron saint of this entire shambolic adventure.
**Act V: The Airport That Time Forgot**
Our return to Luxor involved an airport that can only be described as a waiting room from a post-apocalyptic film. Hundreds of people were sitting on the stairs, the street, and their own luggage. Our “special agent” whisked us away to the “VIP bar.” This “bar” was a piece of cloth strung over some sand, featuring 15 broken chairs. I turned to Mamma and yelled, “Mum, please go to the VIP lounge and have a drink!” The entire crowd of stranded travelers erupted in laughter. We were all in this hellhole together.
The flight back to “Cario” was a rollercoaster. Alex slept through the turbulence, while Mamma and I held hands, sweating and praying to every god we could think of, especially Bes.
**The Final Tally:**
* Mamma’s room was next to a swimming pool with a nightly Oriental show.
* My non-smoking room came with a complimentary wedding party soundtrack.
* A man at the pyramids, while pointing to a photo spot, copped a feel and suggested a “private sunrise climb.”
* We spent approximately 5,000 hours in Egyptian airports.
So, would we go back?
**YES.**
Absolutely. The country is mesmerizing, the history is humbling, and our guide Mohamed has invited us to his ranch. This time, we’re trusting a man who wrestled charioteers, not a “very important man” from a hotel chain.
Thank you, Mamma, for the dream. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Mostly because I’m not sure my nerves could survive it twice.