The mad dash to keep up with Bush

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After following US President George W Bush and his entourage on his recent tour of six Middle East countries in eight days, Matthew Price found the return leg from Egypt to the USA was even more hectic than the rest of the trip. <hr>

It might look calm - but minutes later the media had to runI first come across the Big Woman in the Four Seasons hotel at Sharm el-Sheik.

The group of journalists had just been led through the hotel. We pass some 200 security men who are standing in doorways and sitting around tables - watching people, watching each other.

Half of the security personnel - the Americans - wear identical black suits, earpieces and wrap-around shades.

The other half - the Egyptians - are in identical dark green suits with earpieces, but minus the eyewear.

The Big Woman is at the end. "When it's over," she says, "you gotta run. I want you to run."

We are sitting on comfy, white-cushioned chairs, in front of two lecterns - each with a microphone - on a relaxing, lush, green lawn.

There are palm trees swaying gently, the sun is filtering through them, and the only sound is the delicate muttering of people around us.

"I mean it, the president's not waiting," she continues. "You gotta go fast."

George Bush and Hosni Mubarak saunter in and the crowd hushes. It all feels deeply civilised and relaxed.

The two men smile and make a few comments about how they both like each other and how their countries like each other, and how they both want peace in the Middle East.

Real "hold the front page!" stuff.

First-time flyer

<a class="" href="/1/hi/world/middle_east/7178422.stm">Read Matthew's tour diary</a>

Then, they shake hands, smile at the cameras and wander back off to the motorcade that will take Mr Bush back to his aeroplane, Air Force One.

"Go!" shrieks the big woman.

"Follow the big woman," shouts the man from the New York Times. And we all run.

The man from the Financial Times and I had already predicted that, as first-time flyers on Air Force One, we were bound to be the geeky English men who ran first, fastest and in the most unflattering manner, while the old-timers slightly quickened their pace behind us.

And so it was.

I'm carrying two bags and a notebook in one hand and my bulky coat in another, all the while trying to work out the top line from the press statements as we run.

"Gotta go. Run faster," shouts the big woman, who is - remarkably, considering the fact that she does not look terribly athletic - right behind us.

The FT man starts to catch up with me so I put on an extra spurt.

We round the corner. There are the security men again, in dark green suits this time, smirking at the tourists.

Into the press vans. "Get in, get in." Doors slam. Nothing.

We sit, breathing heavily. Still nothing.

We wait. Presumably, Mr Bush has not run quite as fast as us.

Slowly, the engines start up, ours too. Then the motorcade - perhaps 30 or 40 vehicles in all - snakes out of the resort.

They drive past lawns that they should not be trying to grow in the desert, past the TV satellite trucks outside the front gate and past the lower-level Egyptian security.

No suits for them, just a rock in the desert as they faced outwards towards the distant hills, a different man standing every 90 metres (295ft) or so, like fence posts.

Fighting for space

We bomb down on to the main road, closed for our motorcade. Then, alongside us, a Toyota pick-up appears.

One of the old hands, a photographer, shouts out: "Don't let him in!".

Air Force One is a highly customised Boeing plane

The Toyota speeds past us and into the convoy. "Hey, hey, don't let him in," the photographer insists.

But our Egyptian driver seems oblivious.

"Buddy, you gotta go, go. We're getting split up here."

There is no reaction.

"We ain't gonna make it," another photographer says, as we are overtaken by yet another pick-up.

"Who the hell are they?" an American journalist asks. "Muslim Brotherhood," another replies. He is joking (I think).

We are dropping back. "Get moving, pal."

We swing into the airport and on to the tarmac just in time to see Mr Bush walking up the steps and into the plane.

"Come on!" It is the Big Woman again, who has managed - incredibly - to arrive before us.

A black suit checks my name as we stand under the huge gleaming belly of the plane.

Then it is up a few steps and into the very back of Air Force One.

Presidential china

"Members of the press," an earnest young security man says a few minutes later, after I have sat down, "thank you for your co-operation."

There is a firm handshake for each of us.

In the cabin in front, a group of black-suited men removes their glasses and earpieces, and slips into something more comfortable.

The steward offers us beer, wine or a gin and tonic in a glass with the presidential seal etched into it.

Then we are served good old American burgers and fries on presidential china.

The comfort food comes out on the return leg, I am told.

I notice that nobody turns their phones off. We just take off and the signal slowly vanishes.

Blackberries and mobiles sit there blinking and searching for a signal, as Sinai and the Middle East slip away.

From Our Own Correspondent was broadcast on Saturday, 19 January, 2008 at 1130 GMT on BBC Radio 4. Please check the <a class="inlineText" href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/3187926.stm">programme schedules </a> for World Service transmission times.