Aswan: Train tracks

Writing about the journey down to Aswan (in the south of Egypt) now is a daunting task for a number of reasons. For one thing, it was almost two weeks ago, buried now under a stack of memories itching to take their turn. Then there is the troubling issue that we have spent so much time on trains recently I now struggle to tell them apart, and must stare blankly at the identical tickets searching for clues as to what made each day distinct. Finally, this first journey in particular was the one most obscured by exhaustion, most broken up by random flutterings in and out of sleep and odd, short encounters with strangers that the whole thing seems now like a dream.

The first leg of the journey takes us just to Cairo - it is possible to take a single train from Alexandria but it is meant as far as possible for Egyptian citizens, and even with the addition of a headscarf I am as white as the day I arrived (possibly whiter due to the amount of time spent in the glare of a monitor) and my faltering Arabic would give us away in no time. Instead we must rise at midnight as the train rattles to a halt and spend two hours in the platform cafe in the capital, surrounded at halfhearted attempts at staying awake in the form of overpriced chocolate and caffeine. Under yellow lights couples, families and those travelling home alone hunch over tables speckled with ash, watching silent music videos play on the overhead television and counting the hours, rising occasionally to brave the bathroom and returning ashen-faced and disbelieving.

A short walk to relieve the boredom takes us into the new part of the station - renovations have been going on since January 2001 and are still ongoing, but the contrast between this huge, opulent room and the rest of the station takes our breath away. I take a few pictures and then scuttle back, remembering the last time we were here.

The second train lasts for about 12 hours and follows the Nile all the way down - most travellers are going to Luxor and the second-class carriage is full to bursting with as many suitcases as there are people, and perhaps more. Families swivel the chairs around to face one another and fall asleep under towels and blankets, curled up against the freezing air that blasts from the fan for the entirety of the journey, lulled to sleep by the tinny sound of Arab pop from numerous mobile phones. At each station, men and often young boys dash from carriage to carriage, selling tea, newspapers and assorted oddments, or dropping typed messages justifying their need for charity into the laps of the dazed passengers.

The sun begins to rise at about six, bathing the carriage in a warm golden glow. Occupants arise, blinking, from shallow and inadequate sleep and shuffle to find new comfortable positions - resting both feet on a bag works best as the worst part of the cold blows along at ground level. It is at this point I realise we have been sharing our seats with several tiny cockroaches who I am fairly sure do not carry tickets; they duck out of the way before my bleary eyes can focus to find a weapon.

Suitably disgusted, I go for a wander to the cafe at the front of the train - this in itself is a bit of a mission as the floor wobbles underfoot and I have to steady myself several times to avoid landing on a sleeping Arab. Once there, however, the four or five occupants are cheery and talkative; I am presented with a free Nescafe, a cigarette and the business card of a Cairo University gynaecologist who is impressed Westerners are still venturing into Egypt in the present climate. Most of the train empties at Luxor though, and the remaining hours pass quickly thanks only to Maroon 5.

At the station, we nearly trip over the pile of bags belonging to Mostafa and Nada, who are both from Cairo and a media co-ordinator and freelance journalist respectively - and on the way to the same culture festival as us, along with some friends. We scramble onto a bus that arrives shortly after and drive for about twenty minutes through Aswan, which seems somewhat sleepier than Cairo or Alexandria but already about ten degrees hotter, and cross one side of the famous Aswan Dam, landing suddenly and unceromoniously in the desert.

We turn sharply left and then downhill and a white tent looms ahead at the water's edge, where a swarm of young Egyptians in 'Volunteer' T-shirts check our reservations and tie wristbands in the colours of the Egypt flag round our wrists. Then, trying not to collapse under the weight of our combined baggage and provisions, we step onto a moored felucca boat and begin the final leg of the journey to the Characters of Egypt Festival, 2011.