A journey down Egypt's Red Sea coast to find Sufi saints and a mystical lyre

El-Quseir is pitch black at night. The only light inside this decaying labyrinth of a port comes when a battered Bajaj motorcycle purrs down the odd alley, casting a headlight on one of the town’s many stray dogs, or a passerby flashes a phone, lighting up a decaying wooden balcony.

The old mayor’s house is easy to find in the darkness. It emits a warm, golden light. When I arrive, a crowd is already gathered on the colonnaded veranda; some men in djellabas, others in the uniform skinny jeans of the Middle East.

I spot the odd Cairo hipster among them. The women attendees are especially radiant in make-up. Why shouldn’t they be.