The Tale of Two Tour Guides

    In the 1990s, a popular show called "The X-Files" followed the paranormal adventures of Scully and Mulder, a pair of mismatched FBI agents. They had shadowy associates to help them solve the unsolvable. One group was three IT/conspiracy nerds who called themselves The Lone Gunmen (after the JFK conspiracy that Oswald couldn't have been the only shooter). The irony, of course, is that if you're a group of three, how can you possibly be "lone"?

    When I described my travel plans to friends, I said that in Egypt, I would be in a tour group of "solo travelers." A few times, I got a response similar to The Lone Gunmen. You're a group of solos? Wouldn't that be a chorus?

    Yes, indeed.

    I certainly wasn't brave, or foolhardy, enough to attempt to get through the terra incognita completely on my own wits. Too vast, too different, too alien (to me). So, for nine days, I traveled solo with a band of seven others. Life-long Cairo citizen Hany as our stalwart guide.

    In Malta, though, I thought I could handle it. Smaller map, more western, more familiar. Still, the country is three islands, and certain sites on the second island, Gozo, were on my bucket list. Better to have a local guide to escort me for the day. Enter Edward of Go Gozo Tours.

Whereas Hany needed to wrangle eight travelers over nine days, across five cities, a half dozen modes of transportation (airplane, bus/van, riverboat, water taxi, felucca, and hot-air balloon); Edward took care of me as his sole responsibility for the day in his indestructible Jeep Wrangler. Hany followed a well-organized, time-tested itinerary with planned contingencies and alternate plans, Edward followed a open-ended agenda based on our previous text chats about what things caught my fancy. History, archeology, good local food. And a cold beer from a streetside cafe. ("I thought you'd like to visit this 15th century windmill, because I know you are interested in history," was a common sentiment.)

    Both gave me a terrific experience, making me feel like I was royalty. 

    Both men were incredibly prepared.

    Both were passionate at proud of their homelands.

    Both were keen on telling backstories and insider gossip about the roads we traveled, the shops we saw, the folks we met. 

    Both were attentive to the details of my interests, my comfort, my enjoyment.

    Their worlds, however, were polar opposites. Hany covered hundreds of miles, spanning thousands of years, and a panorama of landscapes. Edward shuttled me (and his five adorable Yorkshire terriers: Cookie, Bobo, Pixy, Tyka, Spenser) from village to village, winding country lane to narrow city street within a span of 50 yards. All the while greeting folks along the paths and sidewalks with an enthusiastic salutation from the drivers seat.

    Hany took care of gratuity for drivers and hotel staff, bought tickets to exhibits, called ahead so the A/C gets turned on in the shuttle before our arrival. Huge, three-steps-ahead items that we travelers wouldn't need to fret.

    Edward's concerns were just as vital to a good day, and equally organized and successful, but the scale was much smaller, much more intimate, like Gozo itself. He took me to see a cave system discovered under a private house because he thought I'd enjoy it. (He was correct: 8 meters down a tight spiral staircase into a prehistoric cavern discovered by the family's great grandfather digging a well by hand. Incredible!)

    He showed me a spot high on a hill overlooking the capital city, where you could see the breadth of his idyllic island; literally from sea (to the south) to sea (to the north).

    Hany's mission was to show me the big picture: the majesty, the expanse, the dynasty of his home Edward's mission was to show me the local, the closeness, the neighborhood vibe of his home.

    Hany protected his flock by keeping us safe from pesky street vendors and pushy airport security units. Big stuff, important stuff. On the flipside, when I slipped on some loose rocks exploring the cart ruts and sliced my ankle so it bled badly, Edward took me to his mom's house for isopropyl alcohol and cotton balls. He let me recharge my phone with his dad's charging cell, pinched from the garage.

    Both Hany and Edward did their jobs exceedingly well, and I look forward to writing glowing reviews for both businessmen. 

    Traveling solo doesn't always mean going it alone. Thank you, Hani and Edward. Most importantly, both became good friends of mine.