It is 7 am in Giza and you can smell the dawn. For a short while the Cairene pollution is bathed the color of peaches. Beyond the garish papyrus emporia and the awakening touts, 40-odd centuries of towering pyramidal history look down on an outpost of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a cohort of horses. The last remaining wonder of the ancient world stands swathed in stables. Riding horses in the desert is one of the best outdoor activities available in Cairo. Hunched over flying Arabian hooves, it is possible to find a measure of sandy peace, away from the hustle and clamor of um el-donya (mother of the world, as Egypt is often called) and her heaving millions. Early morning or late afternoon is the best time to ride, when the fierce sun is angled and muted. Most visitors opt for an hour-long trip, just far enough into the desert to see the Giza Pyramids from a distance, but we choose instead a longer itinerary towards Abu Sir. Amid much snorting and stamping of hooves we negotiate a price, and then, with bottled water and sunscreen bouncing against our kidneys, our little caravan sets off. Our guide, wearing flip-flops and a wry smile, leads our mounted party of five out through a Muslim cemetery, and then the sands begin. The desert at Giza is second-rate. Those expecting magisterial dunes and nothing but sand and vintage landmines all the way to Libya would come away disappointed. The city is too close, and is reflected in the piles of rubbish, the power lines, and the tangled barbed wire. However, between the shallow Goodyear ruts carved by deflated jeep tires it is still fine riding country. The camel may be the ship of the desert, but at Giza, on the wide flats and in the narrow defiles the horse is its speedboat. After several hours in the saddle the crumbling mounds of the Abu Sir pyramids appear across the desert, flanked by the edge of the irrigated Nile valley, which seems obscenely green in comparison. Behind high walls there are glimpses of cool, lush country club privacy, and a shaven green polo pitch. After a long break, we mount the horses for the return trip. The afternoon is at its peak and the sun, even in October, is beating down. Both riders and the ridden are exhausted, and we plod slowly back across the sand, European skin sheltered beneath adopted Bedouin scarves. Eventually, surrounded by the beginnings of the evening and the wails of the muezzin, our caravan arrives back at Giza. Everyone is tired but happy beneath the windblown dirt. There are countless stables to choose from for those interested in riding at Giza, from footloose Bedouin to sleek operators basking in the recommendation of European guidebooks and consequently charging four times the market rate. In some cases the animals are appallingly cared for, with open sores weeping beneath plastic tack, so it is worth inspecting the horses before you decide where to go.
