Egypt, where no one speaks the language I have spent two years learning...

Very little to report so far. I arrived at Cairo International Airport at about 4pm local time (having flown low over the Alps, which was rather exciting), and obtained my visa. This in itself was rather comic in comparison to the Russian visa system - I walked up to a little window with a little man behind it, handed over 85EGP (about £8.50 or £9) and he gave me a little piece of paper saying "Entry Visa Eypt" without even looking at my passport. Passport control came next. It turned out the little piece of paper was a sticker, and the passport control man stuck it into my passport, stamped it, chucked my passport over his shoulder without looking to a man sitting a couple of metres behind him, who had a brief look at my passport, chucked it back, and it was shoved back at me. I was successfully in the country. My "outsized baggage" suitcase with the broken handle was the first to come through baggage reclaim (an absolute first, I assure you) and I walked through customs to be greeted by the largest crowd I have ever seen at an airport, most of whom, thankfully, completely ignored me.

About half an hour later, I eventually managed to get enough information from Julian and Toby to know that I should take a taxi to the King Tut Hostel on Talat Harb. So I approached the taxi desk, and discovered that the big boss guy in charge of the airport taxis had never heard of the King Tut Hostel. Luckily I had written down the address. The conversation attracted the attention of about 6 taxi drivers, all of whom wanted to know if I was Turkish, to which I shook my head. They kept talking about me (in English, I'm not sure why) and I decided that the best option was to pretend I didn't speak very good English and therefore had not the first clue what they were saying about me. It seemed to work. I payed 75EGP (about £8) and followed my suitcase as it was wheeled off to a taxi outside, and I was introduced to the driver waiting there as "he very excellent driver". The driver spoke some basic English, and for the 40 minute journey we managed a bit of conversation in a mixture of English and Arabic. The problem was that most Egyptians apparently don't speak Standard Arabic, which is what I have spent the last 2 years slaving away at, and my Egyptian classes don't start until Monday morning, and I expect I will be put in the beginners' class. So I am stuck, unable to communicate with the locals in any language except English. Score.

We eventually got to the hostel, with much stopping to ask people for directions, and I was dumped in the lobby of a building which appeared to be something to do with the Indian Embassy. No sign of a hostel. A European-looking man appeared out of a lift, so I asked him first if he spoke English (answer: yes) and second if the King Tut Hostel was in that building. Answer: yes again, on the 8th floor. He didn't know the English word for eight, but pointed to the Arabic numeral beside the right button in the lift, and by the time the lift made it to that floor, I had remembered that it meant 8 and not 7. Out of the lift and there was the King Tut Hostel. The two men on the reception desk were very friendly when I said I thought I had a reservation. I told them my name, they looked a bit puzzled, checked the book, and shook their heads. It occurred to me perhaps Julian had inadvertantly made the reservation in his name, so I tried that. Again, they shook their heads. They asked if I was Robin Robinson, and when I gave them my best "I'm a confused foreigner" look, they decided I was not Robin Robinson. So I said I would ring my friend. An hour or so later, Julian eventually arrived at the hostel (I had been kindly permitted to sit in their very Egyptian sitting room - carpets, low tables and cushions rather than chairs) and we decided that the best plan of action was for me to stay at their flat, as the hostel had no rooms and anyway I hadn't yet seen a single female there. Getting a taxi from Talat Harb turned out to be impossible, so we walked across town to Doqqi (about 40 minutes) - it was very crowded, which would have been fine except that we had all my luggage. Also, crossing the roads here is an absolute nightmare. Worse than crossing Russian roads. No really.

We got to their flat, or rather the building in which their flat is located, and the old man sitting by the door took a £5 tip to allow a Female into the Flat Of Only Men. Julian explained to him that it was only for one night as I had only just arrived and didn't have anywhere else to stay. Goodness knows what he really thought was going on. We went off in search of food and found a cafe with no doors or walls selling what can only be described as pastamueslicurry. Imagine that, you've got it. A bowl of pasta with something like muesli scattered generously over the top, and 4 small bowls of different curry-like sauces to dribble over it as you wish. Perfectly edible, perhaps even quite pleasant, but certainly very strange.

I slept until 2pm, I'm afraid. And we did next to nothing all day, except go in search of more food at about 7pm - first a supermarket, which was pretty Western, then a rather dodgy-looking but actually perfectly acceptable takeaway, from which I had a chicken sandwich. They had an Egyptian name for it which suggested it was some Egyptian delicacy, but it was basically some chicken in a roll with some mayonnaise.

Today I hope to move house. Danielle has emailed me about the flat and it sounds pretty good. Thing is, in order to leave the flat with some hope of getting back in again, I need Julian with me, and he hasn't woken up yet. Toby has already gone somewhere. In about 10 minutes I shall bash loudly upon his door.