Today, Sunday 10th May, has been extraordinary in contrasts. Breakfast and a private air display in Aqaba with the Royal Jordanian Flying Falcons courtesy of Vic’s aerobatic contacts, followed by an afternoon in Petra.

From 21st century to 2,000BC. But we have covered another 1,000 miles over the last week and we find ourselves in Jordan, having ridden from Ajdabiya in Libya to Cairo, through Sinai and taken a ferry across the Red Sea to Aqaba.

On leaving Ajdabiya, the sandstorm, which I recounted last week, hit us again with greater ferocity. 2 hours of misery and difficult riding we emerged to find our bikes sand blasted. Windshields are now opaque and all that smart chrome on Charlie’s Harley reduced to stainless steel.

The eastern part of Libya is the only area of north Africa with extensive Greek remains and we spent a cold, wet morning walking around Cyrene high in the hills swathed in swirling mist and cloud. Not what we had expected but very atmospheric as great columns emerged from the gloom and then disappeared again. The road continued eastward, hugging the coastline and at both the Allied and German war cemeteries outside Tobruk, we were reminded that while our sightseeing to date had focused on sites of antiquity, a more recent war had been fought over the entire length of the journey so far.

At the border we drove the 200 yards of no man’s land into Egypt. Chaos erupted! Swine fever check with masked giggling girls, backwards and forwards through a total of 9 different offices, at one point kept waiting while the official eat his lunch. “Just 5 minutes” became an all too familiar cry. 5_ hours later and £170 the poorer, we emerged into a setting sun with Egyptian number plates and the prospect of a further 3 hours to reach Marsa Matrouh. Driving at night in Egypt is an interesting experience as goats and other domestic animals seam to roam the road quite freely while two cars drove up the outside lane in the wrong direction with no lights.

Another long day followed, but the small museum at El Alamein, which gives equal prominence to the role of the Italians in the battle, provided a useful respite before branching south east across the desert towards Cairo where, on the outskirts, we hit grid locked traffic. By the time we spotted our hotel on the banks of the Nile there were strange smells emanating from my bike with the gear box stuck in second. Not a good sign.

Cairo is a great city. On the surface it is dirty, decaying, overcrowded and with traffic at a standstill but it has an underlying atmosphere that entices me back. The Pyramids lived up to all our expectations and we relived those faded Victorian photographs of travellers by posing on the great blocks under blazing sun. Today of course everything is rigorously controlled with the exception of the army of touts whose sole aim is to fleece every tourist who sets foot in the place. In contrast, the dimly lit, dusty confines of the Cairo museum hold the world’s greatest collection of Pharonic artefacts with the magnificent contents of Tutankhamen’s tomb occupying the entire first floor.

Friday, the Islamic weekend, the Cairo Harley Davidson club turned up to wish us well on the next stage of the journey. With light traffic we were quickly out of Cairo heading east, passing under the Suez canal and into Sinai. Riding south, the coast was dotted with beach resorts in various stages of construction, many of which seemed derelict with no sign of activity. Perhaps the credit crunch is biting here as well?

The centre of Sinai is extraordinary beautiful. Sandstone hills sculpted into a myriad of shapes by the abrasive action of the wind. The road hugged the contours and we enjoyed every minute of the ride powering round long bends, hills above us. Our arrival at St Catherine’s monastery was timed to perfection. It was closed. The oldest monastery in the world, its library is second only to that of the Vatican. Nevertheless we walked up and sat on a rock looking down into the courtyard flicking through the pages of a guide book which lavishly illustrated the interior we had missed. Another reason to come back.

Internet research recounted horror stories of the time it took to clear customs in Nuweibeh and with a ferry to catch and dreading a repeat of the Libyan/Egyptian border, we made the dock by 0900. It was empty. 2 hours later and with 3 hours to kill before the boat departed we read and kicked our heals. The ferry was empty and the four hour crossing passed quickly, arriving into Aqaba thoughts of Lawrence’s attack from the desert clear in our minds.

Next week we rid north through Jordan and Syria. Gear box behaving.