Hurghada - The Moving Process Continues

El Andalous - Looking Towards My Flat



Although I may be here, a lot of my luggage is still en route, so in a way I am still in the process of moving. I had a letter from the removal company on the Egyptian side to ask me to notarise a document stating that I gave them the right to move my goods to Egypt. Without this notarised document, the customs will not release my items. They requested I send it back by courier.

There were two challenges here – how do I get a document notarised in Egypt and how do I courier something in Egypt? This whole removal process was a lot more complicated than I had anticipated.

I contacted the lawyer who had acted for me in the purchase of my flat and he confirmed he could notarise the document. We agreed on an appointment at 10am on Monday morning. I assumed it would just be a matter of him witnessing my signature; the real challenge was getting to his office.

The more I thought about it, the more wound up I got. Just think, I had to phone (help!) and order a taxi (help!) and then somehow I had to get back (help!). Two taxi journeys, what a nightmare, and just for someone to witness my signature. It was all too much.

I procrastinated for ages, dithering between going for a taxi that was more expensive and definitely reliable (either Sara’s recommendation or some English guys who run a taxi company, for example) or continue trying to find cheaper options (either ask the guys at the desk to order me one or try one of the taxi numbers in the Hurghada tourists’ guide). The time of the appointment approached faster and faster and I had to make a decision.

So the night before, I finally texted the guy who works with Sara. At least I knew him, I knew the price already, and he was likely to be reliable. I would then take it from there. I fired off the text message with the desired time and destination and immediately got a message back in Arabic and an “OK” button for me to press as my next step. Weirdly, among all that Arabic, my requested taxi time stood out in the way I’d written it in my original English text message.

I concluded that for some reason the phone had automatically translated my text message into Arabic and wanted me to confirm that the translation was correct before sending it. How on earth could I tell? I clicked OK anyway. I then realised I’d forgotten to put my name at the end of the text, so I sent another message to say “From Fiona”. The same Arabic text came back as before, the one with the taxi time, not the one saying anything that resembled “From Fiona”, so now I worried that it wasn’t a translation of my text at all but something to say that the message was invalid or something. But there wasn’t a lot I could do about it, since I had no idea what was going on. I clicked OK again, even though it wasn’t, and quietly resolved to get back to learning Arabic.

Fortunately, I got a confirmation from the driver and the next morning he was there waiting for me at the allocated time. First hurdle passed!

It was about a half-hour’s drive to the lawyer’s office and the first time I’d been into Hurghada “proper” since I’d arrived.

Since my lawyer had enough connections to be listed on the British Embassy website, and having heard someone say that he drives round in a big Mercedes, I was expecting the office to be in a swanky area of town, maybe in the heart of the business district (wherever that might be).

Instead, the taxi turned down an unremarkable street that appeared to lead to a building site. I wondered if maybe I’d written down the address wrongly. I asked him if this was it, and he nodded. I asked again if the building was here, at which point he explained that his English wasn’t very good. I pointed at the only building I could see, and by which we were parked, and said “di” (“this”) from out of my Arabic vocabulary of around 40 words. He nodded, said the lawyer’s name, looked at me and laughed. My attempt at keeping an emotionless expression obviously wasn’t working.

It was good, though, that I had him as my taxi driver, because he phoned the lawyer, who then appeared from out of nowhere and introduced himself. We went up to his office on the fifth floor. At this point, I was still expecting a huge office with luscious furniture and all mod cons. However, his office was just one room in the building and it didn’t even have wifi, because I spotted the dongle sticking out the back of the tower system of the computer.

He offered me some very tasty biscuits, he showed me the forms, and explained that they were all correct. I was waiting to sign, but to my surprise, he said we needed to go to the passport office and the immigration office. All this just to notarise a document to say that the shipping company had the right to transport my goods!

So, off we went in his car (it was a very nice Mercedes, but had a dent) to the passport office. I asked whether I could get my longer-term visa at the same time, but he said I would need to do that on another day.

He parked and we walked to the passport office, which fortunately said “Passport Office” on it, so I should be able to find it when I have to go there again (that will no doubt be another story). Loads of people were queuing, presumably for visas, as quite a few looked like Westerners. However, we went straight through into a back office. Here, an official looked at the passport, looked at me, and then stamped my passport by the entrance visa. This apparently validated it for customs in Alexandria, who required their own stamp. It was all a bit weird, if you ask me, but that’s what they needed to do.

And then off we went again, this time to the immigration office. We climbed up several flights of narrow and shabby stairs in an unpresuming building and entered a room that was full of people – this time, mainly Arab, to my surprise. At this point, I was glad I’d made the effort to put on a long skirt and to wear a light, long-sleeved jacket. I’d never felt so foreign in my entire life.

I was three weeks in China once and someone asked me whether I found it strange being the only white person and having the Chinese stare at me all the time, but actually I was never really conscious of it.

Maybe I felt self-conscious now because I was in an immigration office (I think it’s a psychological effect of being an immigration office - it’s nothing to do with the officers; when I registered in Germany and in Switzerland, my entire physical being suddenly seemed to ooze Britishness, emphasising my difference as I went into that office). This time, though, it was more extreme. Maybe my feeling of foreignness was amplified by being almost the only woman there (and certainly the only Western woman – there was one Egyptian woman working as an official) and seeing so many people in Arabic dress. I should add that it was in no way threatening – I simply felt foreign.

The room had about five tables with officials sitting behind them. We went to three of the tables in turn, each person writing something on my form to be notarised. The lawyer then indicated that I should sit down with those in the waiting area, while he carried on collecting stamps and signatures.

It was very different from governmental offices in the West, where often officials are behind glass, or stay seated behind their table. Here, a whole group of people would crowd round one of the official’s tables, sometimes even hovering right beside the official. Often, the officials would not remain seated, they would stand up, shake hands, clap someone on the back. Heads would almost bang together as everyone looked at the documentation. It was a good-natured, cooperative enterprise (or so it seemed as an outsider).

Finally, one of the officials, who had already greeted me, called me over. He explained what the form said and asked me to print my name and sign in a ledger. It didn’t seem to matter that it was upside down. And that was it!

We went back outside where, just by the entrance of the building, there was a woman with a photocopier. The lawyer got a copy of everything and handed a copy to me. I had asked him if he could courier the documents for me, since I didn’t know where to go (and, truth be told, I hate sending items via courier even in countries where I speak the language. Somehow, I always get the impression I’m doing it wrong).

Business done, I asked him to drop me off at the Marina, he promised to send the documents today, and that was my major task of the day fulfilled.