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After three passed, one finally slowed down and pulled over. The driver, a young man in his mid-twenties, smiled through the open window at me and said something in Arabic. I bent down and looked through the window. “I’m so sorry. English?”
He nodded. “Little. Where go?”
“Zagazig. How much?”
He pretended to think. “Hmmm... Thirty aljunayh almisriu. Thirty pounds.”
I shook my head. I may be a tourist, but I was a fast learner. “No, too much. Fifteen.”
“Pretty lady, I have children to feed!” I stared at him, my eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “Twenty?”
I smiled. “Done.” I opened the door to the back seat and climbed in, chucking my bag on the far seat. The driver checked his mirror and pulled out into the traffic, and I settled back. Twenty was still slightly overpriced. I had done my research after being conned the first time, but I just wanted to get away before West tracked me down. Surely there was no way he’d know where I was going when I left Cairo. I hadn’t told anyone. I settled down and got comfy. The journey would take about an hour, and there was no air con in this particular taxi.
“Sorry, lady. Where you go in Zagazig?” the driver asked, glancing back at me.
“The university,” I answered, opening my bag and pulling out my phone. I typed Bubastis temple into the search bar. As the tall buildings and crowded streets of Cairo gave way to suburbs and then to desert sands, I began to read, forgetting West and Davenport and submerging myself into ancient worlds, grand temples, and the powerful gods of Egypt.
