It was a seminal moment for someone whose livelihood is sport and whose passion is travel. The sun had just won its daily battle with the winter morning mist and shafts of light burned pleasingly through the tall groves of trees flanking the fairway.

The dew on the tee box was still damp to the touch. I teed up my ball with a light heart, but reality struck as soon as I hit the ball - it again torpedoed alarmingly right.

Inspired setting or not, my golf remains handicapped.

Mark Twain defined golf as a good walk spoiled. And in the main I've tended to agree. But Tom Sawyer's creator surely never teed up in Giza. This was no average round. No matter how wayward my drives or heavy-handed my putting, a mere glimpse upward put all into perspective.

For keeping us company as we thrashed through the rough and hacked out of the sandtraps (Egyptian golf courses don't lack for bunkers) was the towering presence of the pyramid of Cheops, largest of Giza's three iconic landmarks.

A good walk enhanced, more like.

It's doubtful whether that photogenic pile of stones has ever witnessed a more dismal round of golf during the 5000 years it has stood sentinel over this part of the world, but that's hardly the point.

Because tee-time with the Pharaohs in Cairo has to be one of the better ways of spending a long weekend. Four days of frustrations on the golf course and overwhelming hospitality off it.

Honing bargaining skills with wily vendors and smoking waterpipes alongside leather-faced old men in market stalls. Whirling dervish dinner cruises down the Nile and soothing bottles of Omar Khayyam red wine in a variety of glittering locales.

Cairo is the New York of Africa, a sprawling melting pot with donkey traps almost as common on the highways as Cherokee Jeeps. I counted four traffic lights in this city of sixteen million people. Not that anyone pays them much heed. Traffic is generally bumper to bumper, but no one ever stops dead. Columns of cars barrel forth in a complex manner. A manner which escapes western sensibilities I admit, but a manner nevertheless. The horn is an indispensable part of Egyptian driving etiquette, and an intricate hierarchy of toots and parps has evolved over the years. Common manoeuvres include the last-ditch broadside to nip in front of a vehicle at blind corners. Not that I ever felt unsafe. The blaring horns from all sides seem to act as buffers that repel cars which get too close, in the fashion of a magnet's like poles.

The golfing sojourn was my third trip to Egypt, and I still feel I've hardly scratched the surface of this fascinating ancient land. Here is a nation at the crossroads of three continents, with centuries of history to absorb, some of the world's best diving and some of the classiest hotels anywhere.

All just a comfortable seven and a half hour flight from Johannesburg. And for the well-heeled leisure seeker there's now great golf too. The country has recently fallen for this gentle game's charms and Cairo itself offers four superb resort courses in addition to the Mena House course at the foot of the pyramids. Further a field there's the Gary Player designed course at Soma Bay on the Red Sea.

Just north of Cairo is the newly constructed JW Marriott Mirage City, with its championship course, floodlit practice facilities and driving range. There's also a Lost City-style water-park. And a R100 000 a month bill to keep the course fed and watered. A magnificent oak-panelled club house with log-fire and full-size snooker table enhances the feeling you're somewhere in Scotland.

Most people visit Cairo to gaze upon ancient, often unexplained wonders but I also found myself ogling some of the city's modern structures. In keeping with being one of the world's tourist Meccas, Cairo's upmarket accommodation ranks with the best on the planet.

We lodged at the Mena House Oberoi, a fabulous oasis set in 40 acres of jasmine-scented gardens with the Pyramids towering above, seemingly close enough to touch. It was originally a royal lodge used by Khedive Ismail, the King of Egypt, as a house for hunting trips in the desert or during visits to the Pyramids. In the 1880s, the lodge was sold to an English couple, who turned it into a luxurious hotel. Each room has a balcony overlooking the Pyramids and each night we had a gratis glimpse of the lasers from the nightly sound and light show dancing across the star-lit sky.

The hotel was witness to one of the pivotal events in Egyptian history.

All peace negotiations after the 1973 Ramadan War between Egypt and Israel were conducted there. The guest list is also far from shabby - Sir Winston Churchill and General Montgomery (Suites 623 & 706 are named after them), Presidents Roosevelt, Nixon and Carter, Charlie Chaplin, Omar Sharif and the entire cast of Agatha Christie's "Death on the Nile" movie. The golf course is across the road from the hotel, with the Sphinx a mere chip and a putt away.

Closer to the city centre, the strip of Nile River flanking the island of Geziret is home to all the major hotel chains, and the Meridien needs to be singled out for its sublime sunsets, viewed through floor-to-ceiling windows. Here you can plunk a tune on the transparent baby grand piano or live it up at the adjoining Hard Rock Café, which houses some stunning original Beatles memorabilia. To be honest though, not many people make a pilgrimage to Cairo to fawn at the Fab Four. Beyond the well-trodden tourist trail of the Pyramids, the Sphinx and Tutenkhamen's treasure at the Egyptian museum, the ancient ruins of Memphis and the step pyramid of Sakkara are a mere twenty minute drive out of the city.

Then there's the people. Did I mention Cairenes are a friendly lot? It's worth repeating. Friendly? Overwhelmingly so. Such as gap-toothed Walid, who led us on a four kilometre camel ride round the pyramids. Walid was in the business of letting tourists ride horses and camels ('reading horuss and camels' as his business card stated). We rode Mekki Muss (Mickey Mouse) through the back streets of Giza past mud houses with washing strung from entrances, cats basking in the sand and children pausing from their play to plead for 'small baksheesh'. Baksheesh is a word you hear often in Egypt.

It sometimes pays to acquiesce. Such as when you're riding high on the back of a camel and the camel owner decides he needs a small tip to let you off. Bargaining is an acquired art which needs to be swiftly assumed if you hope to survive in Khan el Kahlili, the ancient warren of streets deep in the heart of Cairo which remains much as it was when it monopolised the spice trade during the 13th century. The market's success encouraged Europeans to search for new routes to the East and led Columbus, indirectly, to bump into the Americas.

Persistent merchants materialize from the narrow, fragrant alleys and welcome you inside their tiny stalls for a cup of mint tea and a good bargain. Most vendors have learned at least one sentence from a whole Babel of languages. We were often greeted by "Hoe gaan dit?" followed by a swift discourse on Bafana Bafana's recent woes. Vendors are apt to be emotional during the haggling process. I was told that I was 'cutting the throat' of one perfume salesman with my 'final, final' offer. Another was convinced that a particularly dismal bid I'd made for a foot-stool made me one of Ali Baba's forty thieves. Nevertheless I stuck to my policy of offering a third of the asking price, and usually managed to wangle our wares for less than half the original cost.

It's all fun and invigorating and a world away from the sterile malls of the west. And I feel we were sparing in our purchases too. After all, we only came away with leather pants, leather jackets, leather travel bags, musk perfume, decorative musk perfume bottle, brass and wood footstools, brass plates in the shape of King Ramses' head, papyrus bookmarks, Queen Hatshepsut ashtrays, elegant prints of ancient Egypt, a jangling belly-dancing costume as well as a full Arabic costume, two leather pouffes and a gold hieroglyphic necklace.

The perfect way to unwind and ponder how you're going to get your market purchases home is with a Stella beer and a restorative puff on a waterpipe (sheesha), Cairoenes' stimulant of choice. Oh yes, one of those somehow found its way into our luggage too.

In fact I'm writing this piece out by the pool, the sun is slowly sinking, and I'm taking occasional restorative puffs on the splendid cherry tobacco from my spanking new sheesha. And planning our next trip to Egypt. After all there's still Luxor and Aswan to explore, a Bedouin desert safari to experience and diving aplenty at Sharm-el-Sheikh and Hurghada.

I'll just give the Khan el Kahlili vendors a month or two to replenish their stock.

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