I was having my worst day in Egypt so far in dealing with vendors and local people in general. I had been ripped off multiple times in Hurghada before even attempting to buy a bus ticket to Suez. More than once, a vendor had agreed with me on a price, only to return less change than was due, all while smiling and maintaining eye contact, eager to see if their little “trick” would work. There was a time when my travel budget wouldn’t have allowed for even the slightest rip off, but on this day I bit my lip and took the loss.
Later, while attempting to buy a bus ticket away from the tourist trap of Hurghada, several people cut in front of me in the queue at the ticket window as if I wasn’t even there. I’m used to this; it happens all over the developing world, at least to us foreigners. But with an idling bus in the lot beside the ticket window about to leave for Suez, I felt my stress increasing with every second. Again, I said nothing, but only glared at each person who pushed ahead of me.
The last straw came at the ticket window. The vendor refused to sell me a bus ticket to Suez, telling me instead to buy my ticket on board the bus. This has happened to me before, so I didn’t think much of it. However, once on board the packed bus, I noticed that every single Egyptian (I was the only foreigner in sight) had an official bus ticket in hand. Even after I had taken an available seat, I was rudely motioned to move to the cramped seats at the back of the bus by a passenger who decided this seat was his, despite there being no specified seating on the tickets.
At this point, I was having a bad day. I moved to the rear corner of the bus where an older lady greeted me with a smile. I squeezed by her into the window seat, my knees immediately making contact with the hard barrier in front of me. My legs would have to remain folded tightly for the duration of the journey. At least I had a window seat. I pulled back the curtain to check out my view. No view. The rear window of the bus had been painted over in black. Perfect. Soon after departure, the conductor came by to verify tickets, overcharging me for a flimsy, unofficial piece of paper that was supposedly my ticket. So I’m paying more than everyone else for this bus journey with no legroom and no view. We’re off to a great start.
At this point, my mood began to change for the better. There’s something meditative about riding on a long-distance bus through a foreign world. It’s a memorable adventure. The older lady who sat next to me turned out to be a legend. We shared no common language, but communicated through basic sign language and laughter. At one point, she handed me a half-full bag of cookies, insisting that I accept the snack despite my initial refusal. The cookies were delicious.
Then one of the bus’ rear tires exploded. The loud bang shocked everyone awake, with several people leaping to their feet in anticipation of a serious problem. The blown tire had somehow damaged the rear passenger door of the bus, which was directly in front of me. The door had burst open immediately following the tire’s explosion, sending dust from the desert highway billowing into the bus, which I initially mistook for smoke.
The bus came to a stop on the side of the highway and several men got off to inspect the damage. Within a couple of minutes, they were again boarding the bus and we were off, continuing on our journey, but now at a slower speed. A young woman at the back of the bus told me in English that a tire had exploded. Since the bus had double rear wheels, I correctly concluded that the remaining intact tire was enough to drive on. The rear door of the bus still would not close, and I was the only passenger directly blasted by the wind and dust. I had to laugh at my situation.
Some twenty minutes further down the highway, and after a thorough dust shower, we stopped again, this time at a random, remote shop where two teenaged boys immediately began jacking up the bus and replacing the blown tire. Everyone disembarked, and many of the men scattered to nearby bushes to relieve themselves. The teenaged mechanics had the bus tire changed in under ten minutes, and with that we were off again.
At the bus’ regular dinner break at a roadside restaurant, a new passenger boarded and sat next to me. The young man spoke English and served as a translator for myself and the older lady who had assumed the mother figure in the group. She asked the regular questions; my name, age, nationality, and destination. She asked where I would be spending the night, and actually invited me to stay at her house in Suez. At first I thought she was joking, but when it became clear that she wasn’t, I seriously considered the offer. She spoke frequently on the phone with a man I assumed was her husband. Both of my new travel companions shared snacks from their bags. Several nearby passengers chimed in occasionally and laughed at our three-way conversation, the sole foreigner on the bus at the center of attention as usual.
When we arrived at the bus terminal in Suez much later than scheduled, I went on with my original plan of wild-camping nearby and continuing my journey the following morning. I never really answered the woman’s invitation to stay at her home. The man who I assumed was her husband picked her up at the bus stop, so I said goodbye and began my solo walk.
What had started off as an awful bus ride and a pretty bad day overall had turned into a memorable, funny, and wholesome experience. I had drawn up negative conclusions about this journey as a whole, but once again I was proven wrong. All it took was a few friendly strangers and a little adventure to turn my day around.
The Travel Life 