"Derbler Parge Viarge" - bienvenue to Egypt

What follows is the first in a series I wrote recently, shortly after returning from my first trip to Egypt.

It's a country about which I'm ashamed to admit I knew very little. I was ignorant of the culture, the  people, the language and most importantly the thousands of years of history.

So, at the ripe old age of - no I shan't go into that - I agreed that it was time to broaden my cultural horizons - albeit it as a tourist - and venture beyond the comfortable European familiar into the (for me) unknown.

Now I'm a bit of a polyglot, which isn't bad going for a Brit.

Mainly we prefer to think that we own the rights to the lingua franca of the world (which of course we do) speaking more slowly or increasing the volume if we want ourselves to be better understood when faced with someone who "clearly doesn't understand."

Still as we arrived at Cairo airport, I felt sure that even without a word of Arabic, I would still be able to get by. French and German are useful back-ups, and at a stretch I could always dredge up some Italian.

Unfortunately though things didn't really start off as I had imagined.

After piling off the bus, which brought us from the ‘plane to the gate – just how we managed so successfully to be first on and of course last off will remain forever a mystery – we shuffled towards a mass of waiting tourist representatives.

Each was waving a board rather like one of those exits from an Italian motorway when you can’t find the sign for where you want to go because it’s lost in the sheer of multitude of advertising boards.

Miraculously enough though, through the wood we did manage to see the trees. There holding aloft our names and to greet us was Omar Sharif (or so he claimed) in - er - appalling French.

His English was apparently better, but there was no real immediate proof as he steered us through the crowds and towards immigration babbling away his welcome.

Once there, Omar asked us if our passports had a "derbler parge viarge" necessary for the visa.

"Derbler parge viarge?" I repeated. "Qu'est-ce que c'est un derbler parge viarge".

"Un derbler parge viarge c'est un derbler parge viarge," he replied helpfully with a smile.

Blank looks from my travelling companion and the French couple with us, who just gave a Gallic shrug.

"DERBLER PARGE VIARGE" said Omar more loudly, clearly he had taken lessons about talking to foreigners from some of my fellow countrymen.

Complete incomprehension all round.

"D.E.R.B.L.E.R. - P.A.R.G.E. - V.I.A.R.G.E." he enunciated each letter slowly and clearly, dragging the syllables out to make a full sentence. Proof yet again that the British method of addressing foreigners has indeed made some progress throughout the world.

Still failing to register anything with any of us, I took over and switched to English and hey presto, it turned out that Omar's English really was better than his French.

It also turned out that we were being incredibly dumb as of course "derbler parge viarge" wasn't so far removed from the "double page vierge" or "two blank pages" in our passports, one for the stick-it-on-yourself visa and the other for the official stamp.

Misunderstanding over, Omar took us to baggage reclaim where he decided to continue in a French none of us could follow.

Steadfastly faced with someone who refused to switch back to English, we resorted to hand signals to understand that we had to grab a trolley and a porter, point out our luggage as it made its way along the carousel, and discover how much tip we should leave when we were done.

Amazingly when needs must, they do - and after what seemed like an interminable wait and furious gesticulating, we were being whizzed through customs and delivered safely into the care of Michael.

Omar bid us a fond farewell (I think) as Michael began shouting into his mobile to guide the waiting driver who was somewhere out there in the mass of vehicles all trying at the same time to nudge their way nearer to the airport building.

This was to turn out to be our first taste of the "real" Egypt or at least the real Cairo, and the welcoming melee was to be expected and far from disappointing as drivers set up a honking serenade to see who could get closest to the pick-up points.

We watched mesmerised as one family successfully managed to try to stuff far too much luggage into a waiting car and a mad woman headed straight at a throng of people, horn blasting relentlessly to clear her path.

It obviously worked as within minutes she had parked, and engine still running, hopped out of the seat to shower what surely could only have been her mother with a such a joyous embrace it would have been impossible to view her driving and parking skills as delinquent.

And then somehow and from somewhere our taxi arrived. We were bundled in and driven off at breakneck speed towards out hotel.

Ah yes on the roads, the Egyptians are something else as the rest of our time there was to prove. But that'll save for another day.

For the moment we had arrived, luggage included, dignity intact and curiosity aroused - ready and waiting for what the rest of the country had to offer us.

Bienvenue to Egypt indeed.