The train journey from Alex to Cairo is usually a very pleasant affair. By far the best way to get between the two cities, the gas powered Turbine train can make the 208km journey in just under two and a half hours, whilst passengers in both first and second class enjoy wide reclining seats and powerful air conditioning. At 35 LE for second class and 50 LE for first class, the train provides an affordable, although not cheap, means for Cairenes to escape the furnace that is Cairo in August to the breezy, sweeping sea-front of Alexandria. As I boarded yesterday's two o'clock – first class, “no space in second I'm afraid sir” – I was not greeted with the wall of dry, cool, conditioned air to which I have become accustomed on such trips, but rather by a stagnant, humid heat that on a hot day makes Alexandria intolerable in the summer. “We're working on fixing the AC,” the guard assured me, before I nodded off with my first class seat fully reclined. Shortly before the train was due to leave, and as the carriage was filling up with travelers no doubt reluctant to be making the return trip to Cairo, I was awaken from my afternoon nap by angry shouts behind me. “So what have I paid 50 pounds for?..What do you mean it's only broken in this car?..Why can't I change my ticket?” An angry mob, led by three or more fifty-something women were unhappy about the air conditioning situation and were baying for blood. One brave husband ventured to suggest there was nothing this man could do about it, only for his wife to resume her volley of questions to the guard. After the guard retreated to find another poor soul to become the object of carriage #3′s fury, I listened as they continued their complaints, fascinated by how, to this group of travelers, a simple technical failure became ever increasingly symbolic of a troubled Egypt. The difference between first and second class on these trains, in practical terms, is tiny. 3 seats to a row rather than 4. For me, it's not worth the 15LE extra. For this group of ladies, however, the fact they had paid, and could afford the extra money was clearly important. For them, it was far more troubling that the lowly people riding second class had what they did not – working AC – than was the heat itself. As a resigned youth sitting beside me politely told the complainers that their efforts wouldn't change anything, that they'd sit down and the train would leave and the AC would still be broken, a uniformed police officer told them the same thing, ordering that the complaints stop, before he himself changed carriages. As the train pulled into Sidi Gaber, a few opportunists followed the officer's lead and a new group of travellers boarded the train. They showed a more bemused, knowing acceptance on hearing the news – “typical in this country… this wouldn't happen in Jordan, Syria.” Of the various words they used to describe the train, and Egypt, one stands out: ta'ban. Tired. Sick. Continuing south, and with temperatures inside the carriage becoming unbearable, tempers flared as one man tries to make an official complaint to the guard. After minutes of shouting in a way the Arabic language seems perfect for, and with popular support mounting with shouts of “Aiwa! (Yes!)” the beleaguered guard stormed from the carriage, telling the man to make his complaint at the station. Although exhausted by the end of the journey, I wandered along, bag in hand, to make a complaint to the appropriate official. But for all the talk, anger and frustration, not a single other passenger from carriage #3 was there to complain to the authorities. They were tired. Daunted by the infamous Egyptian bureaucracy, and wanting to get home, I left without making a complaint. BM
