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Aswan,
Upper Egypt
ANSON and Zara Margolin flew via Cairo to
Aswan in southern Egypt.
They sat on the shaded balcony of the Old
Cataract Hotel, a terracotta-coloured building perched on a granite bluff above
the Nile. Here they sipped Egyptian Stella beer while looking out at one of the
views of the world, the rocky Elephantine island rising in the stream, tall
palms spreading their fronds in the hotel gardens and the sails of gliding
feluccas slicing wedges in the silvery blue water.
They would have an afternoon and a night
here before joining the conference cruise on Lake Nasser the next day. The film
crew would be joining them in Cairo afterwards.
“When I think of Egypt as an oasis
civilisation, I think of this place and this particular hotel,” he said. “The
Old Cataract is a colonial treasure that’s attracted a Who's Who of guests over
the decades.”
Was she listening? Zara sat behind
reflective sunglasses. A felucca sailed past in her lenses.
“I’ve seen a list of people,” she said.
“I know the list.”
“You do?”
“The Aga Khan, King Farouk, Czar Nicolas,
Howard Carter, Winston Churchill, Margaret Thatcher, Lady Diana. Then of course
the guest list at the Cataract includes Agatha Christie, who wrote 'Death on
the Nile' in a room above.”
“No, not that list. I mean the list of
delegates joining us on the conference cruise. I’ve also read their pre
conference abstracts.”
Zara’s mind was on the job. In a place
like this?
