El Andalous - Rats, Eighth Night

Il Gusto Restaurant, Sahl Hasheesh

It was wonderful to get a proper night’s sleep.

I had another happy day on my balcony, went in to cook my supper, and then went to watch TV. Suddenly, I heard noises in my bathroom. I heard something fall to the ground. Lots of noises of things moving indicated to me that something was running riot in there. I thought I heard a scraping on a ceramic surface (my basin? my shower?). Within that one second, my good spirits evaporated. I was too petrified to go into the bathroom. But what if I needed to go in at some point? It just wasn’t workable.

It was about 9pm. Jacquie had been advising me to phone Medhat even if it was midnight, so that he could see how disruptive it was. I felt I couldn’t really do this, but 9pm seemed early enough to be bordering on reasonable. Besides, it was a Thursday evening, so Friday was their main day off, meaning that it would probably be worse to contact him the following day than now.

Medhat answered my call and I got the impression he wasn’t too pleased – there was a lot of noise in the background – but I didn’t really care. At that precise moment, I was thinking he had to understand just how stressed I was.

He asked me if I’d seen them, so I said I hadn’t, but I could hear them banging around in the bathroom. He said he’d fetch someone to take a look. Around ten minutes later, Yasser arrived, looking as if he had been hauled out from a peaceful night with his family. I felt a bit bad for him.

He went into the bathroom and prodded around. When it became clear that he wasn’t finding anything, I also poked my head round the door and looked where the dead body had been. He showed me that the cupboard went right to the ground and that there was no gap there for anything to crawl into. My previous occupant had simply squeezed itself up against the cupboard where the door hung down to almost cover it.

Yasser, too, asked me if I’d seen the rodents. I said I hadn’t, so he asked me how I knew that there were rats. I was a bit stressed, so I gesticulated in the air as I said that I could hear them and that stuff was being knocked over and that I knew they were there. I looked around as I said it, but actually I couldn’t see anything that had fallen.

Yasser put in some more glue traps and assured me that there was nothing there for now. He had also moved the shower cubicle to see if anything was under there. After he went, I thought and wondered whether actually they were right. Maybe the noises were from next door. I was just so tensed up and on tenterhooks for anything that might sound like it was a rodent, I hadn’t thought of alternative explanations.

In any case, the rest of the evening was quiet. I left the bedside light on during the night, but was feeling relatively confident now that maybe my rodent problems were actually over and I had just over-reacted. But that shadow of doubt always remains.

Two nights later, and no more incidents, and I have now finally concluded that this nightmare is over. I no longer block my bedroom door, I sleep with the lights off, and I no longer hear things going bump in the night.

El Andalous - Rats, Seventh Night

La Piazza Restaurant, Sahl Hasheesh

I got up the next morning and looked at my bedroom door. The plastic bags hadn’t shifted. I decided that at least my residents had perhaps learned that my bedroom was out of bounds. I went into the lounge. The front door had not been attacked.

It was time to wash and get dressed. I knocked on the bathroom door, just in case, although I knew that the rodents were nocturnal creatures and would be unlikely to be around. I opened it, looked around and spotted a tail and a bit of a furry body sticking out from underneath the cupboard beneath my washbasin. This was exactly where I needed to stand.

It wasn’t moving in any way. I shut the door and wondered what to do. I knocked again on the bathroom door with my crutch, looked again, and the tail and body were still in the same position. It was either dead or in a deep sleep. There was no way I was going to stand there and find out which of the two alternatives applied.

I had to dress without washing and went promptly to security by the front door. At least this time I was pretty confident that the rodent would still be there by the time we got back. The security guy went into the bathroom and said he couldn’t see anything, so I waved my crutch in the general direction. He then immediately fetched housekeeping who prodded it until they could tease the dead body from out of under the cabinet. I watched from a distance.

Part of me felt a bit sorry for it, another part of me was hugely hopeful that maybe this single rodent had got trapped in my flat after the vents had got blocked (hence the attempts to gnaw at my door), and that its death heralded the end of my problems.

I’d dismissed the hypothesis of the lone rodent the day before, when Medhat had suggested that perhaps just one rodent was trapped in the flat, but now the idea suddenly seemed plausible and appealing. The rodent was the same colour as the one that had popped its head up by the fridge and if it had experienced me frightening it away from my bedroom, it would explain why my bedroom had been rodent-free for some nights now.

I felt relief wash over me and spent the day happily on my balcony and the night happily sprawled on my sofa as I watched TV. As a precautionary measure, I left the bedside light on for a few hours, but I even turned that off when I woke up in the middle of the night. My torture was perhaps over.

El Andalous - Rats, Sixth Night

Sunken City, Land Portion - With Pier Behind

I woke up feeling happy. Maybe my rodent friends had deserted me at long last. After all, eating a wooden door surely can’t be so interesting.

My day passed unremarkably. I happily watched TV in the evening, well apart from the fact that everything is on very late here because of the time difference. I decided to go to the toilet and brush my teeth in the adverts. As I sat there, I thought I could hear a squeaking and hissing sound. My first thought was that it was a mouse or rat; I looked around, but couldn’t see anything. I wondered if it was the TV or maybe even coming from next door. I couldn’t really work it out, but decided it was probably the TV.

As I went to open the bathroom door, I suddenly spotted the rodent just there in front of me. I let out a scream, but the mouse/rat didn’t move and didn’t look at me. I think it was just hoping I wouldn’t see it. For the first time, I really understood that it was as scared of me as I was of it. I almost (only almost) felt sorry for it. I guess the hissing and squeaking was probably its equivalent of screaming and in my ignorance, I’d just overlooked it.

I had no option but to go out of the bathroom and past the rodent. Of course, I can’t do this as quickly as I may like, but I suspect it may have been my speediest exit since I’ve had my crutches.

So, it was another night of blocking my door with plastic bags, sleeping with the light on, and lying there with my eyes wide open, waiting for a rodent to appear. I listened out and couldn’t hear anything. I suspected I may have scared it away, but of course there was no guarantee. It did strike me as a bit daft that it may be in the bathroom too scared to move because of me, and I was in my bedroom, too scared to move because of it. But that realisation still didn’t help me to relax.

I longed for the time when I could go back to a normal life.

El Andalous - Rats, Fifth Night

Palm Beach Plaza, Sahl Hasheesh

I phoned Medhat in the morning to let him know that I was still having problems. He came in with two other guys and discussed the mesh that they’d put over my vent. It was all in Arabic, so I don’t actually know what was being said, but it looked as if Medhat was saying they should pull the mesh over tighter, although nothing was actually done about it.

In the end, he said he would come back and put a stronger glue down than they had for the current glue traps. I was still not convinced.

That evening was the dinner party at Kathleen’s (thank you, Kath!) – ladies only, so it was me, Nicole, Kathleen, Safi, and Jacquie. I ate beforehand, because I wasn’t too sure whether it was a social gathering with nibbles or a proper dinner party and then regretted it because of the huge spread that Kathleen had laid on for us. I’m delighted to report back that there was chicken available! I passed on the cheese starters, but there was plenty of other stuff (too much!!) to eat.

I’d started going there with the best of intentions and had tried to bring my bottle of wine with me, but I’d only gone a few steps down the corridor when the wine bottle banged so hard against my crutches that I decided it was best to leave it behind. Getting in the lift up to the next floor was also a challenge because I was scared the doors would close on me, so I contorted myself into a position where I thought I could not be knocked over.

It was good to see someone else’s flat (although I didn’t look around because it felt like too much effort with the crutches). I suspect she had a beautiful view and she had it looking very homely; it made me realise that I still have to do some work on mine, although at the moment that’s impossible, of course. I can’t even unpack my shipped stuff yet.

We swapped anecdotes about how we decided to come here – it seems that a few had also considered India. Safi had already lived in Egypt for a while, and Nicole has been here in Sahl Hasheesh for some years as well, so it is good to have some seasoned contacts now. I managed to find out from Nicole that I needed to insist if I wanted to give Yasser a tip, and that it helps if you tell him that it is for his family. I will learn things bit by bit.

My evening was slightly hampered by my constant underlying worry that the rodents were having a party in my flat while I was out. I had left the lights on and had put the television on to try to deter them, but I wasn’t sure how effective this would all be.

I was the first to leave at 11.30pm. Knocking on my front door to scare any rodents away before I came in, I entered tentatively and noisily – a bit of a bizarre combination. I couldn’t see any rodents. I couldn’t hear any scratchings, bangings, or other untoward noises.

I blocked the gap under my bedroom door, kept my bedside light on again, listened out for any noises, but it seemed quiet. Eventually, I went to sleep.

El Andalous - Rats, Fourth Night

 

Underwater in Sahl Hasheesh - Spooky Black Spikey Things!

Was I now free of rats?

The day passed peacefully and I felt a lot better for having slept well, although for some reason my bum was starting to feel uncomfortable with all the sitting I’m having to do whilst my leg is incapacitated.

Jacquie came across to my balcony to let me know that I, along with some others, was invited to Kathleen’s the following night, and to update me on her meeting with the resort owners the day before. You have to see before you believe, of course, but she said that as from January there will be more transport options within Sahl Hasheesh, including little electric cars to take people to Spinneys with reduced rates for residents. This would be the best thing ever! Plus there could be reduced beach options for residents, among other things. Let’s see!

It was the start of “I’m a celebrity…” this evening, which was rather apt. I would be looking at the trials with rats with a different eye. I really don’t know how the celebs go through with it, unless knowing that rats are crawling over you with security watching is better than just wondering whether they are there or not with no help on hand if they do arrive. Actually, one thing that kept me going while listening out at night for any entrants to my bedroom was thinking that they allow the celebs to have these rats crawling all over them, so the danger of a serious infection even then can’t be so great, can it?

Anyway, I’m two hours ahead of the UK, so for me, the programme finishes at around midnight. Half-way through the programme, I heard some knocks and wasn’t sure if it was in my kitchen or next door. I looked over nervously, but couldn’t see anything. Just as the programme came to an end, a rat’s face popped up from behind the fridge. I yelled at it and it disappeared, but my nerves were jangling all over again. I’d put down some peppermint-soaked paper in the kitchen, and the rat’s face popped up just by one of them, so I was disappointed and now doubtful of the efficacy of my means of defence.

I blocked my door, of course, but couldn’t sleep for the first three hours. I heard what sounded like the rat hissing, but I guessed it was chewing the front door again. Sleep eventually overcame me.

The next morning, I looked at the door, and I was right. The rodent had been chewing it again and more wood shavings were on the floor. My nightmare was not yet over.

El Andalous - Rats, Flat Overhaul

Entrance Piazza at Sunset

I am lucky to have good neighbours.

Jac – or Jacquie – often comes over to speak to me while I’m sitting on my balcony so that I have at least a bit of company at some point in the day. She and her husband will go back to the UK for Christmas, but will then return here in January, possibly permanently.

Anyway, today she popped over to see me, along with her husband (Chris) and the manager (Medhat). They were explaining to Medhat that I had rats and that they needed to clear the storage room next to my flat as this was a breeding ground for rats. Medhat protested that no way were the rats coming from there, but Chris insisted that they clear it up as it wasn’t fair on me anyway to have all this rubbish next to my flat.

Medhat then came in, along with three others, to inspect my flat. I had deliberately not cleared up the wood chippings, because I wanted as many people to see them as possible to illustrate the seriousness of what was going on. They, too, like the pest controllers, pulled out the fridge and the dishwasher to see if there were any entry points. I pointed out that the vent had come adrift and some poison had been put there.

After much discussion, it was decided that this was a very likely entry point for the rats. They immediately got a guy to come in and re-seal it. Jacquie had also suggested that they put a wire mesh over it, so that the rats and mice couldn’t squeeze through the vents. They did this, too. I was a bit sceptical at first, since I thought I would have heard them jumping down from a height, but the more I look at it, the more it looks like it is inviting unwanted entrants.

Medhat gave me his phone number and told me I could call him any time, so it was good finally to get a direct line to the manager for future occasions. I am now thinking a metal draught excluder for my bedroom door wouldn’t go amiss, since that would block any rodents from coming into my bedroom, at least.

The workmen got household cleaning to come in and clear up after them, so maybe I will ask Medhat if housekeeping could do my entire flat once a week while my leg is in a cast, as I’m not really able to do it very well at the moment. The poor guy, now that I have his phone number, he will be inundated with requests from me!

My technique for the evening was to mix the peppermint oil with olive oil and then place soaked tissues around the kitchen. I wanted to stay up until around midnight to watch the X-Factor (yes, sad, I know), if my internet connection was strong enough (I watch via my laptop and can get it only if the connection decides to work that evening). The rats usually turn up between 10pm to midnight. I wasn’t too sure what I would do if it didn’t work.

It was a surprisingly peaceful night, with no rodents making an appearance. I still left the bedside lamp on at night, and still blocked my door with a mixture of toilet paper soaked with peppermint and plastic bags.

I heard nothing untoward and finally got a good night’s sleep until almost 10am. Were my problems finally over?

El Andalous - Rats, Third Night

Sahl Hasheesh's local cormorant

So, the plastic bags technique hadn’t worked as a deterrent.

I’d done quite a bit of walking the day before, with going to the owners’ meeting, wandering round blocking holes in my flat, showing the pest control people round, and going to the security person and then walking round while they put down the glue mats. Consequently, I rested my leg in the morning as I thought my toes had swollen a bit.

Today, I was going to try the peppermint oil technique. I should really have done that the day before, but I had been too tired to walk to the shop by the end of the day and I had hoped that the plastic bags may have done the trick.

There is a perfume shop in El Andalous, so at least I could go and get the peppermint oil myself. I already had incense burners in my flat. The websites recommended cotton wool balls soaked in oil, placed strategically by the rodents’ entry points. I didn’t have cotton wool, but reckoned toilet paper would do just as well.

The shopkeepers, as usual, were very interested in the progress of my foot, so we stopped and talked about that for a while. I was then able to bring into conversation as to whether they stocked peppermint oil. The perfume guy showed me into his shop.

He asked me what it was for, and I guess my response wasn’t exactly what was anticipated. He  suggested eucalyptus as another alternative. I could see where he was coming from, but said I would stick with the peppermint since that was what had been explicitly mentioned. I didn’t haggle over the price – maybe I should have, but I was just feeling grateful that he was so close to my home and that I may have the solution to my problems. And he needed the business.

After I’d eaten my supper, I turned on the TV in the hope that the noise would deter the rats from coming out. My plan was to go to bed at 10pm, so that I could get to sleep before the mice came out to play. I started making balls of toilet paper soaked in the oil and placed quite a few strategically in the bathroom, where I suspected there could be several entry points. The room soon began to fill with the smell of the oil. I was worried about oil drying out, but I guess oil doesn’t (at least, not as easily as water does).

I planned to intertwine some of the peppermint-soaked toilet paper with the plastic bags, in the hope that this would comprise the supreme defence against the entry of rats into my bedroom. At 9.30pm, with the TV still on at this point, I heard a noise and a rat or large mouse was just jumping off my kitchen table top. It looked at me mid-flight, panicked, and on landing immediately scuttled away in the direction of the dishwasher. I promptly put one of the soaked sheets of toilet paper by the dishwasher. Nothing else appeared within the following 30 minutes.

I deliberated as to whether I should protect my bedroom or place the peppermint items predominantly in the kitchen. I plumped for my bedroom in the end; it would be a disaster if the rats charged through the pong in the kitchen and promptly headed for my bedroom for refuge. I didn’t want to stink the whole place out.

In addition, I put some oil in the incense burner and put it in the bedroom, too. I deliberated putting some soaked paper under my bed, but decided against it just in case it turned out to be totally ineffective, or even worse, an attractant.

No more rodents had appeared in the last half an hour, so I was brave enough to go into the bathroom and clean my teeth and then to fetch myself a glass of water in case I was thirsty during the night (I am too scared to venture into my kitchen at night when rats may be there).

By the time I went into my bedroom, it was stinking of peppermint and I then remembered that you aren’t really supposed to use the pure essence; you need to dilute it. I just had to hope that it wasn’t harmful in such a concentrated form.

I went to bed, and for the first time felt quite cool. I decided I must be relaxing a bit more. I lay there, with the bedside lamp on, listening out for the rodents. I couldn’t hear anything. It was like magic. I lay there for an hour or so, but still I heard nothing. I eventually fell asleep, although the intensity of the peppermint smell was giving me a slight headache.

I woke up at some point in the night. I heard the plastic bag move and I sat upright, but couldn’t see anything. Again, I heard it move. I sat up, but still nothing was to be seen. I eventually drifted off again.

I didn’t get up until after 9am, which, these days, is quite late for me. The edge of the plastic bag by the door now left a gap. I wasn’t sure if this had been a mouse or whether it had just moved due to a random gust of air. I suppose the likelihood was a rodent, but there was no evidence anywhere. Maybe it had poked its nose in and then done a runner when getting the smell full-blast.

My main aim had been achieved, which was to get a relatively peaceful night’s sleep.

I wasn’t sure what intensity of peppermint smell I really needed. My sense of smell will be far less acute than that of a mouse or rat, so I suspect I overdid it. I guess lower intensity would be better, so that if they adapt, you can increase the intensity, although why they would bother continuing to go somewhere where there is a horrible smell when they could go elsewhere is beyond me. On the other hand, they adapt to the ultrasonic noise, so unpleasantness for some reason still isn’t a deterrent.

But at least it looks as if I may have a solution for the time being!

El Andalous - Rats, Second Night

El Andalous - Fountain

I went to greet the pest services people, who had to be signed in before entering any further into the building. It was a German guy and an Egyptian, the latter carrying a big container of poison. My optimism waned on seeing it, as what I really wanted was a quick fix of some kind. The German guy explained that he had an appointment on Monday with the management to provide advice about eradicating rats in the entire resort, since there had been a lot of problems.

They went through all the cupboards to inspect for droppings and to lay poison wherever they saw fit. As I intimated before, I’m not a fan of poison, because I’m not convinced it works well and it is also dangerous. However, it was a step up from those glue traps. To my relief, they replaced the glue mat in my bedroom with poison, so that was one nightmare scenario (a writhing, angry, rat hissing away all night in my bedroom)  eradicated.

I explained that I really needed to be able to sleep and so I wanted them to check where the rats could be coming in. I asked them to check behind the fridge, the sofa, and my wardrobe, since these were the places I’d seen or heard the rats.

They dutifully pulled out the fridge and confirmed that there was nothing there; they also brought the dishwasher out. I asked whether there were holes behind the cupboards, but they said they would need to dismantle the entire kitchen to be able to see properly. They pulled out the sofa, but there were no holes. The same held for my wardrobe, although I was grateful that they pointed out that at least this all confirmed that at this precise moment there were no rodents in my flat. They also checked my bathroom.

I pointed to a few holes in the walls where electrics could go, so they advised me to use plastic bags to block them for now, since the rodents don’t like the rustling sound and it can deter them.

And off they went, until they next came to check on progress. I felt happy to know that the rats weren’t nesting in my actual flat and, particularly, that there was no nest behind the wardrobe, or a hole to their happy home. I could only pray that the poison would mean instantaneous death for the rats.

I checked my email to see if Sara had replied, but she hadn’t. I needed to eat and it was getting late. In the end, I decided to stay in my flat and I went to bed early, partly because I was tired, and partly because I wanted to get to sleep before any rodent activity started. I stuffed the gap under the door with plastic bags. Maybe I wouldn’t get interrupted tonight.

This time, I kept my bedside lamp on rather than my room light. This was at least a bit easier on my eyes and still enabled me to see. I used the mosquito net, thinking that it might make it more difficult for the rats to get to me.

I lay there, eyes wide open with fear. Not long afterwards, I heard a scratching noise up in my air conditioning. A tail swung down from the crack. The scratching continued. I felt as if I was on “I’m a celebrity, get me out of here!”, only I wasn’t a celebrity and there was nobody to get me out. In the kitchen, I could hear a clanking of the utensils. I imagined the rat dying and collapsing onto my table top.

Next, I heard a rustling sound. Something was trying to get into the bedroom. I sat bolt upright. The plastic bag was dragged, bit by bit, from under the door, and a rat scuttled in. I screamed and it ran straight back out. With trepidation, I got out of bed and replaced the bag, trying to make it more firm this time.

In the next room, I could hear something sliding about – maybe it was one of those glue pads, maybe a rat was stuck on there and it was trying to free itself?

I was so tired that I was feeling nauseous.

Another rustling sound, and again, I sat up to look. A mouse was heading straight towards my bed. I shouted at it to go away, it stopped, looked at me for a second, and then went back out again. Once more, I got up and replaced the plastic bag.

The scratching continued in the air conditioning. I was feeling really hot, but didn’t want to put the air conditioning on, because this would open up its vents and the rodent might fall out.

And then there was another sound of the bags moving from under the gap in my door. A different coloured mouse entered, also heading for my bed. Again, I screamed (apologies to my neighbours), and it made a hasty exit back to the lounge. Once more, I replaced the plastic bag. Won’t these rodents learn that there isn’t anything in the bedroom apart from a scary human and quit trying to get in?

Despite all this, I think I slept a little better than on that first night. At least I knew that my task was to keep my bedroom rodent-free, I could hope that rats were dying as I lay in bed, and the bedside light was a lot softer than the light I’d had on the previous night.

I finally got up the next morning and opened my lounge door with trepidation, half-expecting to see it strewn with bodies of rats. It all looked normal and no bodies were to be seen. The only thing to shock me was all the wood shavings by my front door where the rat had evidently spent time gnawing.

At least nobody could dispute now that I was suffering from an infestation.

El Andalous - Planning the Defence

End of Technicolour Weekend - Mourning For My Days of Peace?

As soon as I was dressed, I went to the security guy at the door to tell him about the rats. He acknowledged it was a big problem and that he would get someone to see to it.

I poured out my cereal and took it to my balcony, only to start eating it and find that it was littered with mouse droppings. Maybe this had been the cause of my recent diarrhoea? I’m not sure how it happened, because the packing didn’t look disturbed. The end result was that it had to be thrown away. It was a horrible brand of cereal anyway, so no great loss.

A knock at the door signalled the arrival of the security guard with some glue traps for mice and rats, which they placed strategically round the flat. I looked on with scepticism, thinking that the rats would be too clever to step on them.

One of them was laid where the rodents had entered and exited the space behind the wardrobe. I gazed at it, thinking that I didn’t really fancy lying in bed at night and listening to a hissing rat as it writhed around stuck on the glue. And what if it was strong enough to get away – then I would have a glue-covered angry rat in my bedroom, which would be even worse. Inwardly, I was freaking out.

I thanked the security guard and his helper, because they were obviously trying their best, and I sat and brooded. I wasn’t sure I could cope with going through another night like I’d just had. The problem was that with my foot in the cast, I couldn’t even make it to the hotel next door to stay there overnight. I just wanted to have a decent night’s sleep.

I stumbled on the great idea of asking Sara if she knew of any empty flats in El Andalous, so I shot off an email to her in the vain hope that maybe I could rent another apartment for a week until my flat was hopefully sorted.

Much of the rest of the day was spent surfing the internet for information on rats, the dangers, the likelihood of them biting you, how to get rid of them, etc. Most sites seemed to agree that the glue traps were not great, and explained that in the majority of cases wild rats do not bite humans unless cornered (they didn’t say what would happen if the rat cornered you, which was my fear).

I already knew that having a pet cat deters rats, but that wasn’t really something I wanted to take on (and where on Earth would I go in Hurghada to find a pet cat?). Snake poo was another option?

Some sites mentioned ultrasonic devices that emit sounds unbearable to rodents, although reports seemed to differ as to their efficacy. Even if this could give me a few days’ sleep, I would be grateful. I searched for places in Hurghada that might stock them, but didn’t find anything, nor could I find an internet site that would deliver them to Egypt.

The most down-to-earth suggestions were the use of peppermint oil, chilli oil, or ammonia to keep the rodents away; apparently they cannot stand these smells. One site claimed that these preventative measures were unproven, and I found no information about whether the rodents can acclimatise to the smell; they apparently can to the ultrasonic devices. I searched through all the cleaning stuff in my flat to see if any of it contained ammonia, but I had no luck.

I also came across a rodent removal specialist in Hurghada.

After some deliberation, I decided to call the specialist. Perhaps they would be able to block all the entrances, wherever they were? To my surprise, the pest specialists were available that very evening. I wasn’t convinced they would help, but at least I felt I was doing something. My experience with Rentokill in Horsham when I had rats there (but not as visible as the ones I have here, so I wasn’t freaked out there) was that they just put poison down, which isn’t an ideal solution.

Before the pest specialists were due to come, I had the weekly owners’ meeting by the pool at 5pm – it was a bit far for me to walk, but I wanted to make it there this week. I’d missed the previous week’s one because my foot was too swollen and I had diarrhoea.

It turned out that the person in the flat above me also had had rats the previous night – she had one crawling down from on top of her wardrobe. Some of the Russians apparently had also suffered. We suspect the rat population grew during the weeks when they’d turned off the electricity and water (and rubbish collection).

The woman above me had fetched security to show them the rat and to get them to get rid of it. In the morning, she’d gone to the manager of the complex to discuss how to solve the problem (I need to find out how to find the manager – I have no idea at the moment).

I asked her if she’d heard me screaming and she said she had; she’d also been screaming, although I hadn’t heard her. However, on my way back from seeing the security guard last night, I’d heard a male yell coming from one of the upper floors that sounded like the male equivalent of a scream. I had wondered at the time if that person too had a rat in his flat, but had decided I was being too obsessive. It seems like a lot of people probably didn’t sleep well last night.

The pest services phoned to say they’d arrived and so I left the meeting. My tactics for the coming night were in their hands!

El Andalous - Rats!

El Andalous garden

Another day, and another trauma.

I’ve been working busily on my “25 New Year’s Resoutions – For Dogs!” book. I was getting on quite well in the evening, sitting on the sofa (I think I need to find cushions that keep you cool – I always get really hot resting on the cushions, even though the room is a reasonable temperature), and typing away. All of a sudden, I had the sensation that something was pushing my cushion. I let out a scream, turned, and got up, pretty much all in one movement. My arm immediately twinged as I’d put it into the wrong position and I realised that I was standing up but couldn’t really go anywhere because of my foot. I sank back down on the chair and nursed my hurting arm, which was now demanding all my attention. That’s the first time in a while that my frozen shoulder has caused me pain. I looked round but couldn’t see anything, so assumed the cushion must just have slid.

Later, I heard noises in the kitchen. The first few times, I thought things were just sliding of their own accord, but then I spotted the rat sitting on the hob. My heart thumped, I stood up, groped around for my crutches, went to hide in my bedroom, then returned to the lounge, switched the laptop off and stared at the rat that was still sitting there. I yelled at it to go away, but it wasn’t at all bothered; it looked happy. I banged my crutches on the ground, but again, no response.

My heart was still thumping. What should I do? It was almost midnight, but I thought it worth going to the security guy. I hobbled all the way up the corridor, but the guy on nightshift didn’t speak any English. I tried miming a rat, but I think I probably just looked seriously weird. The security guy shook his head and shrugged. I contemplated dragging him to my flat, but then thought the rat would probably have disappeared by the time he got there.

Nervously, I entered my flat again. Something small scuttled across the floor, but the rat had disappeared. I was thirsty, but was too scared to go into the kitchen area, so just went straight to bed. I looked worriedly round the bedroom. If I could limit the rat to the kitchen and lounge and keep the bedroom rat-free, it wouldn’t be so bad. I bolstered the gap underneath the bedroom door with my iron, an empty bin, some towels, and a plastic bag. I didn’t think these would be effective against the rat, but may alert me if it was entering.

Heart thumping, I lay there in bed, listening to every single noise. I thought I felt something on my foot, went to knock it off and then realised it was my foot that was in the cast and so it had just been my imagination. In the kitchen, I could hear things clanging. I thought I heard something scratching at the balcony door, trying to come into my bedroom and then I immediately heard scratching behind my wardrobe. In a flash, I turned on the light, just in time to see a mouse appearing from behind the wardrobe and scuttling into my lounge, going noiselessly through the barricade I’d set up. I felt defeated. Heart thumping, I decided to keep the light on for the rest of the night, partly in the hope that the light may deter the rodents.

I finally drifted off to sleep, woke up, and my leg in the cast had cramp. I guess because I was feeling so tensed up. I couldn’t get comfortable. Then another mouse scurried in through my “barricaded” door to behind the wardrobe. Terrified, I just lay there trying to keep an eye on the door, although I wasn’t sure what good it would do.

The next thing I knew, I was being woken up by my ironing board falling down in my room, followed by a loud hiss, and then a scrabbling behind the wardrobe. By the time I’d sat up, the rat had already disappeared, but I was well and truly petrified by this point. It sounded like an angry and dangerous rat. It was 04:45. I lay awake until sunrise, when I reckoned the rats and mice would have finally gone to rest, but even then I was too wound up to be able to sleep.

My next day would be spent trying to resolve the issue. I wish that I could have just one month completely trouble-free, where I could relax and do whatever I want.


 

Hurghada - Opening a Bank Account

HSBC, Hurghada

It’s taken me some time, but I finally got round to my third task, which was to open a bank account here.

For once, I was early for my taxi driver and we made our way to the Touristic Promenade branch of the HSBC. I’d wanted to go to the one in Makadi, believing it to be closer, but the taxi driver claimed the other one would be better for opening a bank account and also nearer.

It was on the tip of my tongue to say it was a beautiful day as somehow it was just the right temperature as we sat with the wind blowing through the window, but it seemed a bit of a daft thing to say when every day is sunny. At the moment, it’s hard for me to grasp that it’s mid-November, and I feel as if I am in a limbo where it's constant summer and where no time passes at all (and then I find out that it does, which is a bit of a shock). However, to my surprise, the taxi driver commented that it was a really nice day, so it wasn’t just me and it obviously isn’t a completely stupid thing to comment on over here.

Anyway, we arrived at the bank. I had to pass through a security scanner as I went in, although with my crutches, I couldn’t see the point of it. I got a number so that I could wait my turn, even though no queue was apparent. I sat down and, with relief, realised that the announcement about which number should go to which window was being spoken in English as well as Arabic (it was good to hear the word “window” in Arabic, which is one word I have learned). This is the big advantage of living in a tourist area.

As it turned out, I didn’t need the number because I had to see a customer advisor.

 I was expecting problems opening the account because I’d read that it was no longer possible to open one with a tourist visa, and I’d heard from someone else that you had to have £1k and I didn’t have that in EGP. Nevertheless, I was there to try my best.

The customer advisor was a young woman who spoke very good English and was very pleasant (a credit to HSBC). We went through some formalities about why I needed the account and I decided to describe myself as retired, but stumbled a bit when she asked me about my monthly pension. I explained I would just be transferring money through and I had to stipulate an amount. I’m crossing my fingers that they won’t hold me to this, as my plan is actually to transfer yearly in the hope of saving on transfer fees and currency exchange costs.

We then moved to another table and for some reason I had to provide a UK address. I explained that I lived here now and no longer had any other address, but she said she needed one and told me to put down the address of a friend. It took me a while to think of an address I could remember in the UK, reminding me that my parents were dead and that my UK connections were getting ever flimsier. I explained that the address I was giving wasn’t actually connected to me in any records in any way, but she claimed this didn’t matter. Very strange!

She also wanted my mobile number here in Egypt and the UK. I’d forgotten to bring my mobile number with me, so I had to phone her so that she could read it out to me (but, please note, I did have my phone with me!). I also gave her my Swiss work mobile number and figured she would never know any better.

Then came the request for EGP 10,000. I explained I didn’t have it in cash, so she said I could withdraw it from the machine. I looked at her in astonishment and asked if that was allowed. She didn’t see a problem. I was pretty sure my bank only allowed me to take out £250 (2500 EGP) per day.

I went to the machine and it allowed a maximum withdrawal of 6000 EGP, so I tried that, thinking that maybe I could do two withdrawals. However, it refused to let me withdraw the maximum. I tried my savings rather than my current account, and was again refused, but I was certain I had the money in both accounts.

I lowered the amount to the equivalent of £250 allowed by my bank and that went through fine. When I tried it a second time, it failed. This, too, was consistent with my understanding of my bank’s allowance (I guess it is a safety measure), but found it ironic that the rich West won’t let you take out as much money as is allowed in Egypt (where most people probably don’t even have that much).

In the end, we agreed that I would transfer the money electronically, but I would have to pay a fee of EGP 40 for not starting with the minimum amount. Actually, I was shocked at all the charges – I will pay more for this account than in the UK or Switzerland, so I guess only the wealthier Egyptians must have a bank account (or they get a different offer altogether, which is also possible). I have to pay for my statements at EGP 15 per quarter, EGP 40 for my debit card annually, EGP 40 each month my account falls below £1k, charges if I withdraw money from anywhere that’s not HSBC…

My card will be posted to me so I will be interested to see how that arrives (do they send it by courier or does it come through the normal post, do the statements come by courier?).

I actually went back home wondering if it was really worthwhile having an account if all those charges apply, but I guess if I take money out just as I need it using my UK card, the charges will mount up (it’s just that I don’t see them). And if I need to pay bills etc, it will also be easier with the Egyptian bank account. I will be interested to see how far my money goes.

Hurghada - Repeat Customs Document

Shops along the Marina, Hurghada

Apart from the money that was snatched from me by the taxi driver, my broken foot, and now a small spate of diarrhoea (try running with crutches!), another thing that has gone a bit pear-shaped is the delivery of my shipped items.

As you know, I spent all that time going from place to place, from the passport office to the immigration office, to get the power of attorney so that my goods could be released to customs. As requested, my lawyer sent the document by courier. After a week’s postal strike in Cairo, we finally ascertained that actually it had disappeared into a black hole.

Meanwhile, I was receiving emails every other day informing me that I would be charged storage fees for the delay and that these were steadily mounting up. Help! My lawyer was in the process of moving to Germany (so, ironically, I moved from Switzerland to Egypt as he moved from Egypt to Germany) and he was the one with the documentation for the courier.

In the end, there was no option other than to start all over again. So, it was another taxi ride to see my lawyer. I’d tried to warn the lawyer over the phone that I had a broken foot, but he clearly didn’t understand. I guess it’s not surprising, since it’s not really the sort of thing you expect someone to drop into conversation.

During the journey, the taxi driver let me know that he’d had two British women (customers) to help him with my shopping list the other day, which probably explains the Flora margarine. He quipped that I was lucky because otherwise he didn’t know what I would have ended up with; I was thinking that I must remember that if he says he understands something (I’d talked through the shopping list with him), I mustn’t assume he does!

We arrived and the lawyer was suitably taken aback when he saw the driver bring me my crutches as I climbed out of the car, particularly because the lawyer had greeted me in passing relatively recently in Sahl Hasheesh (he owns an apartment there as well), and at that point I’d been in fine form.

The lawyer merrily led the way to the immigration office. I asked him where we were going, and he explained that it was up the two flights of narrow stairs (the expression on his face said “like last time, of course”). Pointing at my leg, I explained that it was impossible. He hesitated, started to insist, and then I suggested he could bring the people down to see me, so he nodded and said he would try.

He kindly asked an old guy to let me sit on the only chair outside of the building – I managed to catch the word for chair as he spoke, and in the conversation with the taxi driver, I’d managed to catch that the driver was giving the lawyer his telephone number so that he could call him when I was finished, so a few words of Arabic are obviously slowly sinking in.

The old guy who gave up his seat was very kind and even offered me tea, as is typically Egyptian. I was expecting him to resent having to give up his place for a foreigner. I sat there and read, but felt guilty at being the only person who could sit, with others standing all around me.

Eventually, the same officials from when I was there before came down the stairs, offered me their expressions of sorrow for the state of my foot (they are all tremendously polite), explained that the document was all the same as before, and got me to sign again.

The lawyer demanded that I should courier the document this time, since it had been so much hassle. I objected, and he said he would show me how to do it, but that he was doing the new power of attorney for free and I couldn’t expect him to courier it again as well.

He phoned my taxi driver, I think to tell him to show me where and how to do the courier, but my driver was busy. Consequently, the lawyer had to drive me to the DHL office after all. He zoomed along, only to find that the DHL office was closed; the lawyer raised his arms in frustration. He drove on to another courier place nearby – a local company – and parked the car. Fortunately, due to my foot, I wasn’t able to get to the building which was upstairs (the foot is sometimes a great excuse!), so he ended up going there and getting it for me (phew!). In any case, it didn’t look like the kind of place where much English would have been spoken.

He returned to the car, made me pay for the courier and gave me the receipt so that I could follow it up. He wanted to get me a taxi, but I said I’d agreed with my own driver that he would pick me up. The lawyer nodded, took his phone and called the taxi driver. All I could understand in the Arabic was “not a problem”.

When he came off the phone, he told me that he’d told my driver that it was ridiculous for me to wait for him to come when I was sitting there with a broken foot and there were plenty of other taxis around. In any case he, the lawyer, had work to be getting on with. I felt bad for my taxi driver, because now I hadn’t paid him for my trip into town (I will pay him next time), although I could understand that the lawyer had other work to do and didn’t want to hang around.

Anyway, the lawyer flagged down a taxi for me, negotiated the price (interestingly, the same price as I pay my taxi driver, which was comforting), and saw me into the car.

The new taxi driver was a young guy whose English was a bit difficult to understand, yet he talked non-stop, firing questions at me, with the occasional pat of my arm as he drove. I’ve noticed that the Egyptians always like to ask how old you are (obviously not taboo here!) and how much various things cost you. It was all a bit full-on and made me appreciate my own taxi driver.

He repeated the tale that Hurghada is often called Russgarda due to all the Russians living there. I expect I may get a bit sick of that bit of information after I’ve lived here for a while! Any Egyptian to whom I speak starts conversation with the topic of the excessive number of Russians.

The poor guy was obviously talking so much at least in part because he was keen to get me as a regular customer and he was clearly disappointed when I refused to take his card (maybe I should have done so out of politeness?). I hope he does OK.

 So, now, it’s fingers crossed that the document gets there this time, that customs proceed quickly with my stuff, that the storage fees aren’t too horrendous (but they will see it’s from Switzerland, so I fear the worst), and that I eventually receive my shipment (although at the moment, I’m not able to unpack it, even if I receive it!). Maybe, once all that is over, I can start the new chapter of my life in earnest.

El Andalous - First Internet Shopping

Egyptian Pillars by the Pier

In Europe and the USA, it’s e-bay. In Switzerland, it’s ricardo.ch. In Egypt, it’s souq.com.

One thing I really need is a reading lamp, or some other kind of lighting in my lounge. Once it gets dark, my current lighting isn’t really enough for me to be able to read. There are doubtless places where I can buy lamps in Hurghada, but I’d heard of souq.com and thought it would be a good place to see what prices should be like.

To my surprise, the site was in English (I guess there must be an Arabic option, but for me it came up automatically in English). They sold everything apart from lamps. They offered light bulbs, books, linen, toasters, torches, coffee machines, jewellery, but not standard lamps/reading lights. However, I noticed a printer/scanner/copier on special offer for the price I sold my old one for and thought I may as well buy it online as it would save me carrying it home or negotiating in a shop.

After much deliberation, and plucking up of my courage to press that “purchase” button (you never quite know what might happen - would the site suddenly change into Arabic?), I finally found myself at the page where you give your credit card details. I filled it out, only to discover that you couldn’t have your credit card address as anywhere other than in Egypt.

I guess it had to be done at some stage, so I phoned my credit card company and got my address changed (I had been a bit worried that they may refuse me as a customer now that I was in Egypt, but it was all pretty smooth).

Of course, now I had to start all over again with my purchase. To my surprise, I had to pay extra for delivery, and it would take 9 days. However, I was in no hurry, so I went ahead.

Then I received an email saying that, since it was my first purchase, I should email them a scanned copy of my passport page and a scanned copy of the front of my credit card. Catch 22! This was precisely why I wanted to buy a scanner in the first place.

I already had a copy of my passport – it’s amazing how many times it has been requested – but I didn’t have one of my credit card. Also, I can't remember ever being asked for a photocopy of my credit card before and I felt a bit reluctant, to be honest (although maybe I'm being a bit daft, because I'd given them the details anyway). I emailed the passport page and didn’t hear back from them.

Maybe a week later they phoned me (yes, I had my new phone switched on!) to double-check my address, and I guess the call was in part also to check my phone number, and they said the printer would arrive in around five days. The conversation was embarrassing because I couldn’t comprehend what the woman was saying most of the time – I couldn’t work out what the problem was, although part of it was probably me panicking due to being on the phone. I must have said at least ten variations of "Sorry, I can't understand", even though she was speaking English and she was only asking for my address. Amazingly, she didn't get annoyed or flustered at all, which I felt would have been quite justified given how much I was somehow not able to understand.

Anyway, we got there in the end and the printer duly arrived a few days afterwards.

The other thing I wanted was alcohol! As far as I know, I can pretty much only buy this online (and if I recall correctly, the GoCheers website is owned by the same guy that built El Gouna and who is now proceeding with the controversial luxury development in Switzerland; he is also involved in building the Marina here in Sahl Hasheesh) and delivery is free.

There was a reasonable choice online. I opted for a box of white wine and a bottle in case I ever had a special occasion to celebrate, together bringing me to the desired amount for free delivery. Again, I was nervous about committing to that "purchase" button, but realised that sooner or later I would have to take the plunge. This time, to my surprise, the only method of payment available was cash on delivery. They didn’t specify a delivery date, so I wondered if they would let me know once the order was processed.

A few hours later, I checked my email and they'd written to inform me that the minimum order had increased. For a moment, I wondered whether they were chancing it. The email didn’t tell me how to proceed - whether I should delete my order or whether I could create a second order for the remaining amount and they would put the two orders together. I emailed back to ask, but just received an email back informing me that my delivery was “pending”. I'm sure my life would be so much easier if I could speak Arabic.

Looking at the website the next day, I discovered that they'd cancelled my order, so I tried again. I added another box of wine this time to get to the revised minimum order requirements. The site accepted my order, but again there was no indication about date of delivery. I decided to check the website again in the morning for any update.

An hour later, at around 10.30pm, someone knocked at my door. Two guys were standing there holding a black, opaque bag. It was the alcohol delivery! It felt vaguely illicit as I handed over the cash in return for the bag; I couldn’t help wondering what they thought of a lone woman ordering so much alcohol late at night – it probably didn’t look good. I asked for change, which afterwards I wondered whether should really have been the tip. I will get the hang of this one day!

Strangely, I’ve had the alcohol in the apartment for around six or seven days now, and I still haven’t touched it. Previously, I’d had a bit of a craving every night. As it is, I’m not sure now whether I can have alcohol whilst on all these anti-inflammatory tablets, but at least I know it's there if I need it!

El Andalous - First Owners' Group Meeting

New building going up beside El Andalous

As I believe I mentioned before, the drama over the water and electricity being cut back in September had the benefit of bringing the owners together. It was decided that it would be good to have a social group meeting every Thursday so that we could all get to know each other a bit better. For me, this was very good timing.

I hopped over with my plastered foot to the meeting place by the pool and there must have been about ten of us there. I’d met one guy already in the corridor as he stopped to talk to me when I was hobbling to my door and he'd asked what had happened. One good thing about the foot is that it is a good conversation starter!

Of course, the conversation was dominated by the ongoing situation with the management company’s continued threat to turn our water and electricity off again in January as well as by the various court cases against the management company. The Russian courtcase was to be on Sunday, so some people were planning to attend that, if it didn’t get postponed again.

I wasn’t too sure what the set up was, so I didn’t bring anything with me, although some people had provided soft drinks, beer, and crisps. I’m not sure whether it is acceptable to bring wine out into a public place and I’m not sure whether our poolside is regarded as private or public, either. I guess it is private, since I’m paying for it in my maintenance costs?

A couple of people even skyped into the meeting out of curiosity to see what was going on, believing it to be a more formal meeting than it actually was. I think I was the only person present who was actually living there rather than being there for a vacation, extended or otherwise.

Everything is still quite confused at the moment. The management company has written to ask whether we want them to continue next year or not; residents have different views and different approaches as to how to react – with many different nationalities and cultures to contend with, and with most communication happening only via facebook, which isn’t ideal, misunderstandings are easy and a lot of time is spent just clarifying intentions. Various sub-groups (not necessarily opposed) have formed.

This social group has become known as the “friendly” group – probably because we don’t have an agenda, anyone who is an owner can come along, and we are there just to get together and socialise a bit. At the moment, though, conversations about what is going to happen here with the management are pretty much unavoidable, even if it is just us venting about irritations, confusions, etc.

I am myself confused, but that’s nothing new. My electricity meter has broken due to an electricity surge, as far as I can see (they showed me the meter and it said VoltSurg; no-one else's was broken, only mine). I was asked to pay for its replacement, but I emailed the management company to argue that it was their responsibility. They still claim I should pay.

Then, a guy knocked on my door one evening and, to my surprise, handed me my electricity and water bill. I was a bit flummoxed. I looked at the bill and was confused as to how they got the electricity readings if the meter is broken. I guess it could be an estimated reading, but it’s not clear.

I also freaked a bit when I saw that water charges were 900 EGP for one month in August, I think. I asked the guy to wait while I checked, saying I wasn’t happy with the charges, but realised as I was half-way towards hobbling to my bedroom, which is where I've stored my financial folder, that I could just ask to pay him the next day after I’d checked. He seemed happy with that and left. But then I was puzzled as to whether I wasn’t even being asked to pay just now and the invoice was for information only. So many things at the moment happen to me about which I'm unclear. I will need to ask someone.

As it turned out, I worked out that the 900 EGP was from the previous tenants and they’d paid me the money, so at least that much is clear (and obviously I will now pay the money to the management company). Anyway, bottom line is that at the moment I am still very confused as to how these bills and payments work. L guess I will ask someone at the next friendly meeting.

El Andalous - Life With One Foot

View from Roof of El Andalous

I can’t say that living with a broken foot is my idea of “living the dream”.

With the new bandage I am now pretty much housebound. And then I used up my internet allowance and I couldn’t extend online. So now I had limited mobility and no internet. At least it gave me a chance to progress my New Year’s Resolutions for Dogs book (first draft now completed) and my Arabic.

I thought about getting a taxi to Senzo to renew my internet subscription, but the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I would collapse before being able to walk all the way from the taxi, through the mall, find the shop, and then all the way back again.

On the off-chance, I sent a message via facebook to one of the other owners to see if they could go to the Mall for me and renew the internet subscription, but I got no reply all day, probably because it was the day of the Russian court case and I knew they wished to attend.

However, the fear that they may come round at any time was enough to make me attempt to clean – I dusted my lounge table so that it looked presentable and swept parts of the lounge and bedroom floor where the dust gathered like a new smooth coating. My foot tingled after all that exertion, so I’m not sure it was such a great idea.

I had already looked up how people coped with a broken foot on the internet in case there were any good tips. To my huge relief, some of them commented that they were exhausted after walking only short distances with their leg immobilized, even if they previously did a lot of exercise. Others reported needing to rely on someone else to do their shopping for them. I felt less of a failure now for wondering how to cope.

These findings permitted me to contemplate asking the taxi driver to do my errands for me. Although hiring the taxi driver would be an additional expense (money is flowing through my fingers), I needed the internet and I would start to run out of food in the next four days, so it was fairly unavoidable.

The taxi driver very kindly agreed and arrived at 8am (but I get up early these days anyway). I wasn’t sure when he’d return, but it looked as if he wouldn’t be back until the evening. For once, I have to say, THANKFULLY I had the phone which enabled me to check my own emails for anything urgent, so I wasn’t completely cold turkey.

As it turned out, the taxi driver returned around midday.

It’s strange having someone buy your stuff for you. I ended up with a different brand of water (I hope it’s OK!) and he managed to locate some canned tomatoes – I’ve no idea how, although they were very expensive (around 12 EGP a can). He found a huge box of cornflakes, so large it won’t actually fit in my cupboard. And rather than getting me butter, he got me Flora, probably picking up on my request for skimmed milk etc.

Anyway, he did a great job. He handed it over to me, said it wasn’t a problem to do it, gave me my change and left. When I looked at the receipts for the dongle top-up and the groceries, he’d not actually charged me anything at all for going there and getting it. He’d done it as a favour. I’m not sure whether this was an act of goodness on his part, whether he forgot to charge me, or whether I’d given him more money than I’d realised. Whatever the case, I was extremely grateful!

In the evening, a neighbour knocked on my door to ask if I was OK since she hadn’t seen me for a while and urged me to join her and her husband if I got lonely being stuck in the flat on my own. Like me, she was astonished that I could have such an injury just from coming out of the water. It was good to feel that I already have people who are looking out for me. The bandaged foot is at least getting me known round here!

So that was today, my second full day with the new bandage. This morning I felt my good leg, well, thigh, aching after taking on its extra responsibility the day before. My frozen shoulder hurt more last night than for a while, probably because I am forcing it, too, to support me at times. No doubt it was also aggravated by me reaching further with my left arm than I would really like whenever I pick something off the floor (whilst my right arm keeps my balance). However, to my relief, my frozen shoulder isn't worsening with me not swimming and it might even be becoming more flexible. I am trying to exercise it gently a little each day in the most difficult directions to improve it.

Washing is awkward and not very satisfactory – I would love to be able to unzip the plaster and wash my foot. It must be sweaty and stinky in there! At least my toes poke out more in the new bandage, so I can clean them more easily. However, when wiping my good foot I worry that I will fall, because I rest on my bandaged foot and have only my frozen arm left for support.

To my encouragement, my toes show me that the swelling has gone down in my foot with the increased dosage of anti-inflammatories. With my foot up, I sit comfortably and I can almost feel that bone healing as I watch (or so I like to convince myself). I can completely understand how my mum used to forget that she couldn’t walk any more. Every now and then I also find myself standing up, being surprised at the bandage on my leg, and having to rethink my next actions.

My biggest fear is having a mosquito trapped under my plaster.

Meanwhile, I guess will have to wait just a bit longer until I can live my dream.

Hurghada - New Bandage

Egyptian Hospital, Hurghada

The doctor had promised me that my plaster would be only for five days and then he would replace it with a much nicer plastic one that would be lighter and easier. I had been looking forward to this, imagining maybe something similar to a little firm plastic shoe, and I was curious to see how my foot was progressing.

I’d tried to get an appointment for Thursday, as I’d wanted to go to an event on Thursday evening, but it turned out the doctor wasn’t available until Friday at 1pm. I was surprised, as this was the equivalent to their weekend, but imagined that it was just the doctor’s allocated shift.

I ordered the taxi with my “new” driver (and at least the cost this time was less than the ambulance!), who turned up early and I duly arrived on time.

I proudly showed my new visa to the receptionist, as a subtle way of letting them know I was now expecting Egyptian prices, and said I had an appointment at 1pm. They took my name, discussed for a while, and then told me that, as I surely knew since I lived in Egypt, Friday was the weekend and no doctor would be available.

I explained that I did understand, and that I had originally asked for Thursday, but they had told me to come in at 1pm on Friday, because the doctor wouldn’t be there on Thursday. After a bit more discussion and looking around in their records, they somehow managed to find the doctor.

They also asked why I didn’t have the crutches they’d given me (actually, I’d paid a lot of money for them; they hadn’t given them to me!), so I explained that I found it easier to get around without them since I didn’t have any pain.

The doctor arrived, I lifted myself onto the hospital bed, and he removed my plaster and bandages. He too asked about my crutches. I gave the same answer. It felt good to be there this time without any pain. I looked on with baited breath, gazing at my right foot and trying to guess whether my left foot would now look exactly the same. The final bit of the bandage fell away. “Well, it’s looking a lot better from when you first came in”, the doctor remarked cheerfully.

Meanwhile, my heart sank as I looked at it. The foot bulged compared with my healthy foot. The doctor looked at me and nodded “Yes, it’s still quite swollen. Have you been walking much?” I had to concede. I didn’t tell him, but only last night I had walked to Il Gusto for a coffee and a change of scene.

To my horror, the doctor started re-bandaging the foot and leg. This wasn’t what I’d anticipated. He then put on the green, plastic bandage, whilst extolling its virtues of being light and yet firm and so therefore much better than the plaster. It may be light, but it was still taking up all my foot and half of my leg!

He advised me to use my crutches and that this bandage would have to stay on for five weeks. “Five weeks?” I exclaimed. It was only a small fissure! How can this take five weeks? The doctor thought for a moment and then relented that I could come back in four weeks and see how it was going, but there was a big “only maybe” hanging in the air as he spoke. I quickly did the calculations in my head – it would be just under four weeks before I went to the UK for two weeks. I needed this to be healed before then!

The doctor advised the nurse to give me two further injections to bring down the swelling. Again, my heart sank. I don’t really like injections. When I was at the hospital the last time, I didn’t mind what injections they gave as long as I had some hope of getting rid of the pain; this time, I felt like asking them not to bother as I couldn’t really care less about my foot being swollen.

As I swung my feet down to the ground, I suddenly felt the “firmness” to which the doctor had referred. My leg was in a vice, there was no softness, no room for movement or flexibility. The leg was dead. As I put my foot down on the ground, my foot slipped because of the hard, plastic bandage. I felt very unsure and unsteady. This wasn’t what I’d come back to the hospital for! It was supposed to be an improvement. Now I could hardly walk at all. And this was for five weeks. The doctor must have been having a laugh when he was extolling the virtues of this other bandage. How was I going to do my shopping? How was I to do my cleaning? Ahead of me lay another five weeks of not being able to shower and having to hand wash myself. All this because I’d trodden on a stone, how could it be?

I vaguely hoped they would have forgotten about the injections, but they didn’t. I complained this time that it hurt, partly because it did, and partly because I was starting to feel disgruntled. Afterwards, the nurse walked ahead at what now seemed like lightning speed to get to the lift, while I hobbled slowly and unsurely along. Inwardly, I was panicking as to how on earth I was going to cope, whereas another part of me reminded myself that every day hundreds of thousands of people must have this happening to them and they all manage perfectly well and that I mustn’t be so pathetic.

The nurse then called the same girl as before to do the lift, who was obviously reluctant at first until she saw me shuffling along in pigeon steps. I’d forgotten this from last time – the lift must have something wrong with it. The girl seems to have to come along and unlock it somewhere at the top of the door. She then has to stand, hand pressed on each side of the door to keep it open and sometimes she even has to stand with one leg midway on each side of the door, and one hand on each side at the top of the lift, hanging in the air, to make sure that the lift lands evenly to the floor and not a few inches up. It was quite a bit of a faff last time as she couldn’t keep the lift level with the floor, but it went without problem this time.

The small victory I did gain was that I got Egyptian prices at the hospital, so it was maybe 2% of the cost of my last visit. I paid, phoned my taxi guy to come and they rolled me out in a wheelchair to the taxi, which was a help.

I will now have to see how I go as to whether I can still do my UK visit. At the moment, I can’t see how it’s possible as I can barely walk, but maybe I will master it over the next few days.