An alarming crowd of nearly naked men had gathered, hoping for work, I supposed, but with a sullen temper that certainly would have discouraged me from speaking to any. One stood out, however, handsome in a white turban, his bare brown legs beneath a long blue gown held close by a vivid red belt. Raising a hand to shield his eyes against the glare, he seemed to search the deck. Just as I saw “Cook’s Porter” emblazoned across his chest, he spotted me and called out, “You travel Cook, madams? All right! I am here!”

Courteous and efficient, this gentleman saw to it that my bags and my person were safely and efficiently transferred to the train station, and that I had exchanged ten dollars American for the equivalent in local currency. Rosie was always a good traveler and seemed to know that she should take care of business before we boarded the southbound train. That accomplished, the two of us were ushered into a first-class compartment. It was well appointed if a bit garish, and stifling hot, but provided blessed relief from the flies that covered one like soot outside.

The man from Cook’s stood at the door, looking expectant. I opened my pocketbook and held out a handful of Egyptian coins. “Um … how much is appropriate?”

He delicately selected two piastres, making sure that he did not touch my palm as he did so. “Thank you, madams. My pleasure, madams. Speak well of me to Cook’s, yes?” And with that, he was gone.

“Well, Rosie,” I whispered, “here we are in Egypt! Imagine that!”

I was trying to be thrilled but so far, Egypt had failed to charm, although the porter was quite nice. Maybe it was just too warm to generate any excitement. Rosie was panting and couldn’t be bothered to work up so much as a growl when two gentlemen slid open the compartment door and took their seats across from us. After murmuring courtesies, they flicked on the lights and two small electric fans I had not noticed mounted above the luggage rack.