Children Disappointed, Camel Police Bribed: Pyramids Sleepover

"It's a present for you" he says, holding out a small oval-shaped piece of baked clay meant to be a Scarab Beatle.
"No thanks, I'm just here to see the pyramids."
"Come on, it's a souvenir." This line breathed in my face as he moves to block my path.
"No really, I don't want it but thanks anyway."
"Here take it." He grabs my wrist and presses the beatle into my hand.
"Okay, thanks." I start to walk away, but a toothy yellow grin materialises in front of me.
"Now you give me a present. You have coins?"
An Australian dollar coin from my wallet sends him on his way. Alright, I'm just gonna go back to appreciating the ancient majesty of the pyramids now. A ragged looking kid of about 10 appears at my shoulder and holds out a bottle of Coke.
"Hey mister, 10 pounds."
It's right about then that I decide that I need to sleep out at the pyramids.

So, 3 months later I find myself standing swag in hand at the gate.
"Pyramids closed" mumbles a tourist police officer in a saggy white uniform. My watch says 4 in the afternoon. The pyramids must have been tired today. I look at the fence - 3 metres of flat smooth concrete topped with wire mesh. It seems pretty much unclimbable, but based on my complete faith in the Egyptian authorities' lack of ability to maintain something so large, I figure there must be a hole somewhere. With the fence on my right, I set out to try and find one.

The taxi driver who dropped me off tags along for a few minutes, all shouting indignation at only being able to overcharge me a little bit. I lose him, and myself as i enter a great crowding mob of rickety brick huts. Staying in sight of the fence gets more and more difficult as the buildings push closer together.

I get that 'you're a foreigner' reminder that you get when every single person you pass looks at you like you're on a TV screen.

Eventually, I make my way back to the fence and a rutted dusty track. Fragrant rubbish piles wage a war for territory with the track and seem to be winning. I can feel the wet heat in my throat when I breath it in but I push on. The crowded slums ramble away for as far as i can see on my left, and the Desert sky glares at me through the mesh of the fence.

I run into a gaggle of kids and we exchange the usual
"Where you from?" in broken English,
"Australia, what's your name?" in my broken Arabic,
"Ahmed, I'm from Egypt."
"From Egypt? No way!" in English.

I walk on with my new travelling companions, who chat to me in Arabic. My contributions to this lively conversation consist mainly of "Sorry, i don't understand", "I don't speak much Arabic" and awkward grins. One little boy seems happy with my one-sided conversation, and sticks with me.

We walk on, through the stable district where i'm offered a horse ride every 5 metres or so and a camel ride every 10. Most of the creatures in this quarter look like they could do with some love and a good feed, especially the people.

I realise that the stick I brought with me to pitch my swag is missing. My young friend notices and unleashes a torrent of excited Arabic on me, accompanied by helpful gestures to suggest that the thief had a beard. I fear this information won't be of much help.

Further down the track we come upon a broom handle laying in the dirt. My companion picks it up and offers it to me. I accept it with thanks and put it to work as a walking stick.

The road turns to soft desert sand, and we pass an old cemetary full of brightly coloured tombs with kids playing in between them. The last of the buildings give way to the rolling dunes of the desert and we make our way out, still skirting the fence.

It's at this point that the happy relationship between me and my talkative stick finding friend begins to turn sour. His conversation becomes more insistent and he starts asking for ba'sheesh (tip). I'm devastated when I realise that he only ever liked me for my money. I open what I fear will be a permanent rift between us with my refusal to give him anything.

We find a small hole in the fence with help from an old man in a dirty galabiyya (a loose cotton robe that looks like a dressing gown crossed with a shirt). I follow my swag through to the strains of an increasingly unfriendly pre-pubescent Arabic voice. I decide that it's time for the two of us to go our separate ways, so I turn around and brandish my broomstick with the most threatening bearing I can muster. A renewed stream of vitriol bursts through the fence at me, and I tap the mesh with my stick.
"Yalla, Imshi" (Piss off).
I'm sorry it had to end this way, but you know, I think it's for the best.

Blissfully alone, I make my way into the desert. It's not long before I come across some tombs, their lonely black portals staring across the sand. I stumble on what I'm sure are human bones, and I stuff part of a sun-bleached femur into my backpack.

As I reach the crest of a dune, the Great Pyramids emerge in front of me, looming huge above the desert even from about a kilometre away. I find a spot near the top, sheltered from the wind and prying eyes by a small rocky ridge. I roll out the swag and set up a makeshift clothesline to dry my sweat-soaked shirt. The desert breeze is cool as I lay on my back and stare at the tall blue sky. After a solid month in the traffic infested confines of Cairo with its warm blanket of yellow smog, I sit and smile in the quiet, clear solitude of the desert.

The sun sinks toward the sandy horizon, and i perch on my rocky ridge to watch as the pyramids are engulfed in all the colours of fire. As the sky fades to black, the call to prayer from the loudspeakers of a hundred Giza mosques sounds like an angry, pious beehive somewhere in the distance.

I can't see the Sphinx from where I'm sitting, but I can hear the sound and light show. This involves a lot of dramatic music and British-accented voiceovers. The 3 pyramids are lit up in turn by green and red lights, like actors on a stage.

Climbing the pyramids is forbidden, and apparently pretty tough. I'd learned this on my first visit through pantomime conversations with bemused tourist police. I also learned that it's hard to pantomime climbing without looking like you're marching and scratching someone's face at the same time. I decide to call off my bandit night climb due to poor light.

As I think about getting some sleep, I spot 4 camel riders faintly silhouetted on a nearby ridge. I flatten against the ridge in a poor attempt to make myself scarce, but they've already spotted me and they plod their way down to my spot. As I recognise the tourist police berets, an unpleasant image of the inside of an Egyptian cell flashes in my head. The lead camel grunts with that special camel exasperation as its rider dismounts and sits down next to me on my ridge. I try to be as friendly as i can, using all the flowery Arabic greetings I can think of. It seems to work, and he warms up to me. Two of the other riders jump off their camels and crowd up to me and the leader, one stays mounted. The second rider delivers what I'm sure is an excellent joke at my expense, which sparks laughter all round. They don't seem to want to bring it up, but eventually they tell me I have to leave. Not ready to put up much of a fight with these 4 pretty bad looking cops, I look as sad as I can, and agree. I pack my bag and start to roll up my swag, but they stop me halfway through.
"Okay, forget about it" says the leader with a smile. A little taken aback by this change of heart, I roll the swag out again.
"Ba'sheesh?" I should have seen this coming. I dig a 20 pound note out of my pocket and hand it over, and say "khamsa" (five) four times as I point at all of them. They seem to think that this is pretty generous and they thank me warmly as they mount up. I watch them disappear into the dunes and upon reflection, I decide I'm pretty okay with paying 4 Aussie bucks to stay there.

I crawl into the swag for a windy night's sleep and wake up half an hour before sunrise. After a breakfast of hard bread and cheese, I sling the rolled up swag over my shoulder and strike out towards the middle pyramid. The first touches of dawn settle on the horizon and 3 massive black triangles tower in front of me, almost blocking out the sky. The ancient stone blocks light up as the sun peaks over the horizon. There's not a sound to be heard except for my feet in the sand, and not a soul in sight.

I can't help but grin.