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| Hurghada Marina Looking Towards Mosque |
The more I thought about it, the more I realised that actually I had quite a lot of admin work to do.
I had three tasks ahead of me – get my visa extension in the hope that this would get me a reduced price at my next hospital visit, make a doctor’s appointment to remove the plaster from my leg (preferably before Thursday evening, when I wanted to go to the Night of Opera and Ballet by the Beach), and open a bank account. There are other things, but those three will do for starters.
So, Task 1: Visa.
I’d read that I would need to bring along a passport photo, a copy of the picture page of my passport, a copy of my entrance visa in the passport, my actual passport, and some money.
Challenge number one was getting the photocopies and getting a passport photograph. I’d decided one of the local hotels would probably be able to do the photocopying for me (at a price), but I had no idea about how to get the passport photograph. I searched around on the internet, but didn't find anything, although I did eliminate Senzo Mall.
In the end, I decided to ask our receptionist/doorman if he knew how I could get a passport photo. He misunderstood me and proudly showed me that he had a photocopier at reception. I was still delighted and I got the copies of my passport for free, which was even better than the convenience of having it there in my own building.
The doorman (Yasser, I think his name is) gave some thought to my request for a passport photograph once I’d explained what it was I was actually asking for, and he ended up saying that the hotel next door had a photographer and he would phone him and ask him to come and take the photos for me. I was a bit dubious, thinking this would cost me an arm and a leg, but I didn’t like to refuse his kindness, especially as I wasn’t too sure whether passport photo machines even existed in Egypt. Maybe this was the only option? I have no Arabic and Yasser’s English is limited, so I wasn’t going to go into detail, and we agreed he would phone the photographer.
Yasser later came to tell me that the photographer would come to my flat at 19:45. At the appointed time, the photographer arrived, I stood by one of my walls while he took a photo, he showed it to me, and I approved. He asked me whether I wanted 8 photos, so I shrugged my shoulders and suggested four, and then he suggested eight again, so I opted for eight, shrugging my shoulders. He asked me when I wanted it delivered, so I just looked a bit confused as I didn’t know what was within the realms of reasonableness. Obviously not able to cope with my continued lack of decisiveness, he said he would just give them to Yasser, so I nodded agreement, wondering how on earth this was all going to work.
Maybe 90 minutes later, he came back with the photographs. I found it quite astonishing. He charged me 50 EGP, which was less than it would have cost for the taxi to the shopping centre and back. So I ended up being somewhat bemused but happy and very grateful for Yasser’s help. I hadn’t expected that getting my passport photos would be done quite like this.
The next challenge was the old one of getting a taxi. I had to get to the visa office before 10am, or so they recommended on the expat websites, so I would need to book a taxi to be sure of getting there on time. I decided that maybe I should lean on Yasser again for help – I had been told I could ask him to order a taxi for me.
He kindly phoned a taxi guy for me, but informed me that the taxi driver was already booked. Could the taxi driver come at 10am? I thanked Yasser for his effort, but said I would order another taxi myself, since I needed to be at the passport office before 10am. Maybe ten minutes later, Yasser came to my door again and said that the driver had now said that he could make it for 9am after all. I had to laugh to myself – it was as if in Egypt you even have to negotiate to get the taxi to arrive at the time you want. I accepted the offer, although inside I was sceptical that the taxi driver would turn up on time. I was pretty sure the driver had just wanted a lie-in and was now saying he would be there simply in order to get the business but would still turn up late.
As it turned out, I was being completely unfair! The driver turned up early and explained that he had a regular customer at this time, but had managed to postpone it for this once so that he could take me. He gave me the soft sell by flattering me, saying that when Yasser had told him it was a British woman, he’d decided to take me because all his other customers were Russian and he wanted more British.
He joked that the Russians claimed that Hurghada should be called Russghada – apparently, an astonishing number of Russians work in Hurghada. He dropped into conversation that he always charges a reasonable price because he thinks then people are more likely to employ him on a regular basis and that it’s worked, since now he has only his regular clients.
I was a bit disturbed at first by the number of times he said “inshallah” (God willing) – it was as if every single thing in life was terribly uncertain and you had to keep on qualifying it and reminding yourself that things may turn out otherwise. But I’m guessing that after a while, it just disappears into the background, like a “you know” in English.
I hadn’t really worked out how I was going to manage the day’s events and, as usual, I’d thought I would just take things as they came. We arrived at the passport office and the driver told me not to pay him yet, as he would collect me after I’d finished. For a moment, I was uncertain about committing myself like that, but then I realised that all the taxis there were probably waiting for their own customers to come back out and not waiting for fares, as I’d first assumed. Consequently, what he was suggesting was most likely the best plan. Moreover, with all the army folk around, this wouldn’t be the best place to get stranded.
I was glad I’d been there before as, even with that prior visit, I was still a little uncertain as to where the visa office was (at first I only saw the” Supermarket” sign and not the “Hurghada Passport” one). Apparently, you used to be able to drive right up to the entrance, but it then became a place for demonstrations by the Muslim Brotherhood after Mursi was removed, so now there are lots of security guards and it’s closed off to cars altogether.
As I went in the passport building, there was an old guy with what looked like a visitors' book. I looked at him, but he just pointed inside the building, so in I went. Fortunately, there was hardly any queue, but I had to go up to the counter twice, once for the return visa form and another time for the visa extension form. The return visa form asked me how many re-entries I wanted. I’d read someone saying that if you put two re-entries, your visa becomes invalid on your second re-entry, so I put four just to be on the safe side, although I think I may have had to pay for each one. I’m not convinced it was the right form for me, because I thought it was just a multi-entry visa with no restrictions, but nobody seemed to speak much English so, after repeating the words “multi-entry” and getting no response and writing the words "multi-entry" on the form, I just did as I was told.
What I hadn’t realised was that the multi-entry part and the visa extension part were two separate applications, each part requiring a copy of the passport page and entrance visa. Fortunately, I’d also read on the internet that you should always take spare photocopies with you as there are no photocopiers in the building. Consequently, I had spare copies with me, and I handed the additional copies over as the guy was thrusting my application back at me and telling me there was no copier there. It was satisfying to feel so well-prepared. After I’d paid my money, I was told to come back at 2pm to collect my passport with added visas. I won’t say the guy shouted, but he had a rather loud voice.
The driver asked me where I wanted to go next. I suggested the Marina, as I knew it was close, but he suggested Senzo Mall where I could get a coffee and do some shopping. I agreed since there’s not so much to do at the Marina at midday and, as we were driving along, I realised that Senzo Mall was the better option. It is quite a dusty pedestrian road to get to the Marina and I was going around in my plastered leg with a shopping bag tied round it, so not really what you would call ideal walking gear.
By this time, I’d also resigned myself to the fact it would be an expensive day for taxi fares. Besides, I felt more secure having the one person shuttle me around than having the continual stress of finding different drivers for each part of the journey. I liked the driver, he was friendly and interesting without being flirtatious, and keen to talk without overdoing it. He was also being extremely helpful, no doubt in an attempt to win me as a permanent customer.
I didn’t really have enough money on me to do a full shop, unfortunately, but it was a useful trip for stocking up on water. I spotted another brand of water that was half the price of Nestle, so I bought two experimental bottles of that and thought I would ask someone about the brand before actually drinking it.
As I came out of the mall, one of the unnumbered taxis yelled “Taxi?” at me, so I was relieved to say no and to feel that I had my own person looking after me. I was beginning to appreciate the benefits of having your own, regular driver.
And so we drove back to the passport office. This time, the driver called one of the guards and asked if he could drive through the secure area because of my bad leg (foot). I lifted my long skirt a bit so that the guard could see the plaster and we were waved through, although we were questioned a second time as we drove along. I will miss getting sympathy everywhere I go once the cast comes off!
Getting the passport back was quick. The office looked empty and the guy at the desk seemed to have cheered up considerably from the morning – maybe he’d just had lunch? The stamps took up a whole page of my passport and seemed to have different dates on them, but it’s good to know that I now have six months at least of legal existence with no worries about whether I can go in or out of the country.
We stopped off on the way back to get petrol in a place that seemed to be serving only taxis. Weirdly, the gas is inserted by the sales person in the front of the car rather than at the side (even though there did appear to be a little door in the side of the car for inserting petrol). I’d never seen anything like that before.
The driver was quite taken with me having come over here to write and joked away at how we would both be famous once I, as a famous author, had written about him. He remarked that his own life story as an Egyptian would be interesting with him having lived through a time where both of the last presidents have ended up in jail. He gave me a bit more of a soft sell, his aspiration being to send at least one of his two children to private school – we’d just had a conversation establishing that we both believed education to be very important for the future of Egypt. But I liked the guy!
The driver charged me 150 EGP for the whole time, which I thought was fairly reasonable. I promised to use him when I needed to go to the doctor’s and I’m hoping his prices will be generally moderate enough for me to use him all the time.
I was a bit disturbed at first by the number of times he said “inshallah” (God willing) – it was as if every single thing in life was terribly uncertain and you had to keep on qualifying it and reminding yourself that things may turn out otherwise. But I’m guessing that after a while, it just disappears into the background, like a “you know” in English.
I hadn’t really worked out how I was going to manage the day’s events and, as usual, I’d thought I would just take things as they came. We arrived at the passport office and the driver told me not to pay him yet, as he would collect me after I’d finished. For a moment, I was uncertain about committing myself like that, but then I realised that all the taxis there were probably waiting for their own customers to come back out and not waiting for fares, as I’d first assumed. Consequently, what he was suggesting was most likely the best plan. Moreover, with all the army folk around, this wouldn’t be the best place to get stranded.
I was glad I’d been there before as, even with that prior visit, I was still a little uncertain as to where the visa office was (at first I only saw the” Supermarket” sign and not the “Hurghada Passport” one). Apparently, you used to be able to drive right up to the entrance, but it then became a place for demonstrations by the Muslim Brotherhood after Mursi was removed, so now there are lots of security guards and it’s closed off to cars altogether.
As I went in the passport building, there was an old guy with what looked like a visitors' book. I looked at him, but he just pointed inside the building, so in I went. Fortunately, there was hardly any queue, but I had to go up to the counter twice, once for the return visa form and another time for the visa extension form. The return visa form asked me how many re-entries I wanted. I’d read someone saying that if you put two re-entries, your visa becomes invalid on your second re-entry, so I put four just to be on the safe side, although I think I may have had to pay for each one. I’m not convinced it was the right form for me, because I thought it was just a multi-entry visa with no restrictions, but nobody seemed to speak much English so, after repeating the words “multi-entry” and getting no response and writing the words "multi-entry" on the form, I just did as I was told.
What I hadn’t realised was that the multi-entry part and the visa extension part were two separate applications, each part requiring a copy of the passport page and entrance visa. Fortunately, I’d also read on the internet that you should always take spare photocopies with you as there are no photocopiers in the building. Consequently, I had spare copies with me, and I handed the additional copies over as the guy was thrusting my application back at me and telling me there was no copier there. It was satisfying to feel so well-prepared. After I’d paid my money, I was told to come back at 2pm to collect my passport with added visas. I won’t say the guy shouted, but he had a rather loud voice.
The driver asked me where I wanted to go next. I suggested the Marina, as I knew it was close, but he suggested Senzo Mall where I could get a coffee and do some shopping. I agreed since there’s not so much to do at the Marina at midday and, as we were driving along, I realised that Senzo Mall was the better option. It is quite a dusty pedestrian road to get to the Marina and I was going around in my plastered leg with a shopping bag tied round it, so not really what you would call ideal walking gear.
By this time, I’d also resigned myself to the fact it would be an expensive day for taxi fares. Besides, I felt more secure having the one person shuttle me around than having the continual stress of finding different drivers for each part of the journey. I liked the driver, he was friendly and interesting without being flirtatious, and keen to talk without overdoing it. He was also being extremely helpful, no doubt in an attempt to win me as a permanent customer.
I didn’t really have enough money on me to do a full shop, unfortunately, but it was a useful trip for stocking up on water. I spotted another brand of water that was half the price of Nestle, so I bought two experimental bottles of that and thought I would ask someone about the brand before actually drinking it.
As I came out of the mall, one of the unnumbered taxis yelled “Taxi?” at me, so I was relieved to say no and to feel that I had my own person looking after me. I was beginning to appreciate the benefits of having your own, regular driver.
And so we drove back to the passport office. This time, the driver called one of the guards and asked if he could drive through the secure area because of my bad leg (foot). I lifted my long skirt a bit so that the guard could see the plaster and we were waved through, although we were questioned a second time as we drove along. I will miss getting sympathy everywhere I go once the cast comes off!
Getting the passport back was quick. The office looked empty and the guy at the desk seemed to have cheered up considerably from the morning – maybe he’d just had lunch? The stamps took up a whole page of my passport and seemed to have different dates on them, but it’s good to know that I now have six months at least of legal existence with no worries about whether I can go in or out of the country.
We stopped off on the way back to get petrol in a place that seemed to be serving only taxis. Weirdly, the gas is inserted by the sales person in the front of the car rather than at the side (even though there did appear to be a little door in the side of the car for inserting petrol). I’d never seen anything like that before.
The driver was quite taken with me having come over here to write and joked away at how we would both be famous once I, as a famous author, had written about him. He remarked that his own life story as an Egyptian would be interesting with him having lived through a time where both of the last presidents have ended up in jail. He gave me a bit more of a soft sell, his aspiration being to send at least one of his two children to private school – we’d just had a conversation establishing that we both believed education to be very important for the future of Egypt. But I liked the guy!
The driver charged me 150 EGP for the whole time, which I thought was fairly reasonable. I promised to use him when I needed to go to the doctor’s and I’m hoping his prices will be generally moderate enough for me to use him all the time.
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