In a rapidly changing world, it's sometimes revealing to have a taste of a bygone age, and Luxor's Pharaonic monuments certainly warrant being viewed using one of the oldest modes of transport - albeit one that leaves you creakingly stiff and saddle-sore.

When most tourists were still tucked up in bed, my three companions and I donned cocoons of warm clothing to ward off the predawn chill. We met our guide Ahmed in the hotel reception before taking a ferry across the Nile to the west bank, where a group of donkeys was waiting.

The stable owner eyed us up, his gaze coming to rest on my large camera bag. He steered me towards the sturdiest-looking animal, which answered to Ali Baba - when in the mood. Within a minute of gaining my balance on the padded fabric saddle, unaided by stirrups, I discovered that he aspired to racehorse status. Iclung on to the rope reins as he took off at top speed down the long straight road, with a bellowing bray.

Luckily, it wasn't until the group had caught up with me at the foot of the mountains that another of Ali Baba's characteristics came to light. On a small farm by the side of the road, a family was going about its daily chores while a grey donkey munched the clover. It was love at first sight. It took Ahmed and two of the farmers to tear him away from the coy, kicking object of his desire.

A disgruntled Ali Baba led the way up the steep track into a silent world flooded with pure light - a mysterious lunar landscape where the elements have carved extraordinary rock formations. In a small valley, we passed the village that had housed the workers who had dug and decorated the tombs of the Pharaohs, followed by the entrance to the Valley of the Queens, still patterned with deep shadows. The trail then became too steep for the donkeys and we dismounted and led them for a short while. The trip is not one for vertigo sufferers: a donkey behind us later made a determined bid for the lead on a narrow track with a wall of rock on one side and a sheer drop on the other. Ali Baba laid his ears back and increased his speed, slipping on the loose stones while I tensed with fear. Fortunately, the challenger quickly relented.

As the minutes passed, the barren mountains were gradually transformed from dun to rich red ochre, enhancing the view far below us where the magnificent Hatshepsut Temple lay bathed in sunlight. It was still too early for the coaches and tourists who would soon descend en masse. Reaching the temple, we felt dwarfed by the grandeur.

In rapidly rising temperatures, we continued on to the Valley of the Kings to explore the temples and tombs, including the little-visited but glorious Temple of Ramses III. Only groups of three are admitted into a tomb at one time, to minimise damage. The donkeys waited some distance away in shaded areas among the rocks or caves, which the guides called "donkey garages".

As the sun set, we stopped on the way back to town at the spectacular Colossi of Mennon - faceless and enthroned statues, 18m high. Seeing a small elderly woman leading a laden female donkey, I feared the worst, but Ali Baba's ear-splitting bray fazed neither of them. The donkey kicked out as she passed and the woman merely muttered. They had seen his kind before.

Jacqueline Burrell is a British writer and photographer who has been living in Egypt for the last three years.

Published in Travel Africa Edition Eighteen: Winter 2001/02. Text is subject to Worldwide Copyright (c)