My senses were suppressed by unintended sleep but I still felt the movement subliminally of something near my feet. The effort of moving my sedentary eyelids wasn't as considerable as comprehending what forms my sticky sweet and lethargy drugged brain was fed. The desert and the sea were there; as they had been when I succumbed to the inadvertent siesta. They looked... strange, like someone had painted half a sheet the paper blue and then folded along the divide but the paper splayed back out to a semi open state that elevated the blue higher than the white. From my vantage it looked as if the sea was rising above me and the next swell would sweep away me and my book and the... It was the dog. I instantly felt gratitude it wasn't the girl again, then... what? Shame? Pity? No not pity. That was earlier. The mutt was the sort of skinny that comes from eating to little and moving to much. I had tossed him scraps of my chicken the day before and he was the cautious melody of grateful that comes from being abused by shopkeepers and pitied by tourists. He had first approached me a step or two at a time. Just to be sure I wouldn't produce a broom and strike the instant he was in range.
Not quite like the girl. She was about six or seven and trying to peddle bracelets made of thread twisted like the coil of a whip. She had approached me with more gusto than the dog. Maybe that's why I had the first pangs of apprehension when I felt the dog near me; not because I found her company distasteful, but because of what vile things Jiminy Cricket whispered in my ear after.
"You buy one?" she in the staccato English of someone not quite sure of their words but sure their time is limited.
"Bee kem?"
"Ohhh you spoke arabee. What color you want?"
"Laa laa. Bee kem?"
"Pay what you think is fair."
"Black and red if you have them."
The perfectly pronounced and complete sentence stunned me into submission for a few tempos. In that time the girl had started pulling string off the spools in her bag.
Her bag. The first time I noticed anything about her was her bag. It had the flare and cut of something expensively European but was several years old as evidenced by splotches of black and gray on the handle which snaked round to cover the bottom.
"Whats that?" pointing to my upper lip which was iced in droplets of sweat.
"Sweat. Water" I said though my hand as I wiped the accumulation off.
"I don't get that." She quipped. "I'm brown." Too true.
The rest of her wasn't in much better shape than the bag. Her pink shirt had morphed into a Nantucket red. Her hair and feet were the sort of dusty gray that too much salt and sand produce over time. She had finish unwinding thread off her spools.
"Hold this" she said as she forced my index finder into loop of thread that needed a bit of coaxing to fit low enough so I could hold it.
After carefully selecting several threads of different colors from the tangle she started winding them around the lace stretched between her hand and mine. It was mesmerizing. She moved with the precision of a craftsman who is so practiced she just moves. No thinking. No planning. Just swift exact movements. Wind, wind, wind, wind, twist a loop and pull tight. She must have been left handed because she was holding the cord with her right hand and doing all of the precision work with her left.
"Where you from?"
"America. And you?"
"I'm Bedouin." I had noted that the instant came into my sight but I didn't feel like pursuing the topic so I let a silence settle.
"What State are you from?"
"New Hampshire"
She made a clucking noise between her tongue and palate which is the Bedouin thinking noise.
"The capitol of New Hampshire is Concord." I must have shown surprise somehow because she laughed the high pitched laugh of a child who is positively thrilled and excited.
"I have a map. The man down the street trys teach me English. He reads map to point."
She made a flourish with the end of the loose threads that had been wound about a third of the way down the remaining threads. Her thin fingers selected a few more white than black this time and started winding again.
"New Hamsheer have snow?"
"Lots and lots."
"Twenty meters?" I chuckled and she stopped winding to look into my eyes. Then she went back to winding.
"No, where I live we get one or two meters per year." The shoulder slump was so subtle I almost didn't see it in the sun. Disappointment maybe?
"But north of me they get three to five meters." Her sagged frame rebounded instantly.
"Who are they?"
"The people that live north my home."
"Whats north?"
"Above my home."
"In the sky?" I chuckled again but this time she didn't droop. Then I registered that she had been smiling since she spoke. A joke?
"Silly silly" she managed to get through a giggle. "I know people can't live in the sky."
The thread had almost run out so she stopped talking for a second to tie off the threads.
"Do you have...?" and she made a motion I didn't catch.
"I'm sorry?"
"You know..." then she made the gesture again. It was sort of a twist of the left hand so the palm was facing down which she then crossed her right over so she could rub her fourth finger on her left hand between her right thumb and index finger.
"Am I married?" Bingo.
"Yes! Are you married? With a... with a... waf, wif..."
"Wife?" I volunteered.
"Yes! Are you married with wife?" She paused her work to look up for the second time since she started.
"No. I'm not married." The dejection in her transparent childish face was devastating.
"No wife?" She had asked hoping to cling onto the one last chance allowed by her vocabulary.
"Nope." She sighed then went back to the winding. I started to fidget because the string was cutting off the blood to my finger.
"Stop! Stop!" She grabbed my finger and the cord in her minute hand. Then she slid down to a kneeling position like a mechanic trying to get a better view of an auto's suspension as she adjusted the loop.
"There. All better" she said like she had saved me from a horrible fate. She gave the half finished bracelet two subtle tugs to make sure her mechanic's eye was correct.
"A Russian woman told yesterday that her finger would" she cleared her throat as if to make sure she didn't mix up words then she said something in Russian.
"Do you know what that means in English?"
"I think it means 'my finger will fall off' but that can't happen," she looked into my eyes again, "Can it?" There was something urgent in the look she gave me, like I was the only person who could assuage her fear of losing a finger.
"Not if you keep moving the thread a little bit." Her apprehension instantly dissolved into her normal bright demeanor.
Another pause to tie off the threads.
"All done! Where do you have it?" I extended my right wrist to her. She gave a slight smile; the sort you give yourself after you think something is going to happen, then it happens just the way you knew it would.
"How tight? Good?" I placed two fingers under the band to space the bracelet away from my skin. She tied off the loose end then snipped the spare threads with a pair of scissors that looked to be of the same origin as her bag and just as worn.
"Thank you."
"You are welcome, sir."
I pulled out three pounds from my pocket and gave the crumpled brown bills to her.
"No five?"
"Too much."
"Okay. Thank you."
She bounced up and waltzed between my book and the low table.
"Have a nice day."
"You too." She disappeared.
The guilt came swiftly. Then the shame; who combined with the first assailant to make a biting synergy that was enough to distract me from my paperback and look across the sea towards Saudi Arabia. Three pounds? I could see she was dirty, likely hungry, and probably without a real home to go back to. Three pounds? It wasn't the bracelet that made me ashamed. It wasn't completely the fact I gave her 53 American Cents. What was it then? I stared across the rough blue to the distant shore. That was it. It wasn't that I regretted my position in life or resented hers. The epiphany had come when I sipped my coke. That was it wasn't it either. Not the coke; the external form of which is know world round as is the product inside. The physic of the coke was immaterial. The essence not the external form was what made me conscious-stricken.
Was I regretting my position in life when compared to hers? Not exactly but it could be that I regret her seemingly limited potential. What could she do? Hawking bracelets on the beach will only get you so far and then... So what do I do? I could accept my moral turpitude and do nothing. I could raise money and help the street children.
On my way out of the restaurant I gave the attendant ten pounds and asked him to buy the girl lunch when she came by again. He was shocked. After asking me several times if I was sure before he finally conceded and took the bill while giving me an incredulous look. So that is what I do. Pray solipsism won't kill me and write bad literature in the vain hope that it will emancipate my soul.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Perfidiousness
Not to sound pedantic but my preferred example of hypocrisy and its best friend, irony, is the life of Justus von Liebig and the results of his work. Like most good intentioned scientists, Liebig started out wanting to help his fellow man. True to form of other altruistic scientists his first invention was Sulfur Mustards which became prolific in World War 1 trench warfare before being defamed then used again in Egypt and Sudan fifty years later. The diminutive is that this chemical development was the genesis of chemotherapy which saves a respectable number of cancer patients per year. The voluminous irony though is that Liebig was the first person to make a process for Nitrogen fixing fertilizer economically viable. This single invention allowed farmers to stop the time consuming process of rotating crops and just revitalize their fields instantly. The irony is that without Liebig's nitrogen work the world's population (especially in China) would be far outstripping the ability of farmers to produce enough food to feed everyone. The hypocrisy is that Liebig didn't consider any of his works to be significant enough to change peoples lives in any momentous way.
Which brings me to Fashion in Egypt (Ok so maybe that was a bit pedantic). My humble estimate is that roughly three quarters of native women wear head scarves while an additional ten percent wear a full burka (click the links for pictures). Where I see the hypocrisy is that most younger women choose to wear highly colourful head pieces which naturally attract the eye and draw attention to the girl. Isn't it just a touch hypocritical that the article of clothing that's main purpose is to dehumanize the wearer is emphasising the only visible aspect of the Arab woman's femininity?
Which brings me to Fashion in Egypt (Ok so maybe that was a bit pedantic). My humble estimate is that roughly three quarters of native women wear head scarves while an additional ten percent wear a full burka (click the links for pictures). Where I see the hypocrisy is that most younger women choose to wear highly colourful head pieces which naturally attract the eye and draw attention to the girl. Isn't it just a touch hypocritical that the article of clothing that's main purpose is to dehumanize the wearer is emphasising the only visible aspect of the Arab woman's femininity?
Friday, August 3, 2007
Dating
Yes, dating. Why dating? Scrutinizing the way courtship, marriage and how people interact in a society can offer some excellent insights. Due to a prevalence of religion in Egypt, dating is slightly different that in the States. Now please understand that my meager knowledge of this topic is holistically secondhand and/or hearsay. So to remove ambiguities here are a few of the most pertinent questions answered.
What is dating?
The popular definition is: Where a young man and woman (or boy/girl) are in a one-on-one intimate relationship, spending time together alone, "getting to know each other" in a very deep way before deciding whether that's the person they will marry. Quaint, eh?
Is dating forbidden is Islamic culture?
Yes
What, what?
Dating in Islamic countries is highly frowned upon by religious doctrine but I will get to that later.
Is "dating" in Islam comparable to dating in America?
Yes, but no. It's purpose as a selection process is slightly different and the standard procedures are very different.
How is it different?
The biggest disparity is the amount of family involvement. The Quraan states quite explicitly that couples should always be accompanied by a family member because "Whenever a man and a women are along together they are accompanied by Satan." This is slightly reminiscent, to me at least, of the British World War 2 poster advocating carpooling that proclaimed "When you ride alone you ride with Hitler" and had a nice little picture of a Wanker riding with a ghostly fuhrer. Furthermore couples should "lower their gaze to guard their modestly." Good thing the Brits didn't advocate that practice while driving.
Ok so step 1: Pray that Allah will send a suitable mate your way. This applies to both men and women.
Step 2: Family meeting! The pertinent members of the family gather to investigate and discuss potential nominees. After consensus is reached the mother or father will approach the head of the selectee's household.
Step 3: Meeting the date: This stage is the closest thing to "dating" and is always conducted in a group setting meaning the couple will always be accompanied by a family member, usually the mother of the girl. This reminds me of the courtship strategy suggested by Joshua Harris in "I Kissed Dating Goodbye", a book which many parents of my high school contemporaries forced their progeny to read. Mr Harris's thesis is that the concept of dating should be exchanged for a "Group Courtship" which I do condone however Mr Harris did not foresee the probability that if a couple, Christian or otherwise, get married they will be spending time alone and will have no bearing on how their now spouse is during the non social hours. This rather skewed view of Ah well, target your market as they say. Mr Harris has sold a million copies of his book and 300,000 of the accompaniying study guide (these are mostly denim jumper home schoolers after all).
Step 4: Background check time. The families ask about the other family by talking with friends, family, co-workers, religious leaders, and of course, Google.
Step 5: Pray again. Just to make sure all the metaphysical bases are covered.
Step 6: Decision time. A while ago the powers that be decided that the people who are to be married should have final say in who they marry. This was done to avoid making women a commodity and discourage marriage becoming a parental business venture.
What is dating?
The popular definition is: Where a young man and woman (or boy/girl) are in a one-on-one intimate relationship, spending time together alone, "getting to know each other" in a very deep way before deciding whether that's the person they will marry. Quaint, eh?
Is dating forbidden is Islamic culture?
Yes
What, what?
Dating in Islamic countries is highly frowned upon by religious doctrine but I will get to that later.
Is "dating" in Islam comparable to dating in America?
Yes, but no. It's purpose as a selection process is slightly different and the standard procedures are very different.
How is it different?
The biggest disparity is the amount of family involvement. The Quraan states quite explicitly that couples should always be accompanied by a family member because "Whenever a man and a women are along together they are accompanied by Satan." This is slightly reminiscent, to me at least, of the British World War 2 poster advocating carpooling that proclaimed "When you ride alone you ride with Hitler" and had a nice little picture of a Wanker riding with a ghostly fuhrer. Furthermore couples should "lower their gaze to guard their modestly." Good thing the Brits didn't advocate that practice while driving.
Ok so step 1: Pray that Allah will send a suitable mate your way. This applies to both men and women.
Step 2: Family meeting! The pertinent members of the family gather to investigate and discuss potential nominees. After consensus is reached the mother or father will approach the head of the selectee's household.
Step 3: Meeting the date: This stage is the closest thing to "dating" and is always conducted in a group setting meaning the couple will always be accompanied by a family member, usually the mother of the girl. This reminds me of the courtship strategy suggested by Joshua Harris in "I Kissed Dating Goodbye", a book which many parents of my high school contemporaries forced their progeny to read. Mr Harris's thesis is that the concept of dating should be exchanged for a "Group Courtship" which I do condone however Mr Harris did not foresee the probability that if a couple, Christian or otherwise, get married they will be spending time alone and will have no bearing on how their now spouse is during the non social hours. This rather skewed view of Ah well, target your market as they say. Mr Harris has sold a million copies of his book and 300,000 of the accompaniying study guide (these are mostly denim jumper home schoolers after all).
Step 4: Background check time. The families ask about the other family by talking with friends, family, co-workers, religious leaders, and of course, Google.
Step 5: Pray again. Just to make sure all the metaphysical bases are covered.
Step 6: Decision time. A while ago the powers that be decided that the people who are to be married should have final say in who they marry. This was done to avoid making women a commodity and discourage marriage becoming a parental business venture.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Art of the Hustle
Egyptians are amazingly adept weaseling money out of tourists. The areas where it is worst (of course) is around the famous attractions. The biggest Pyramids and the Sphinx, Sakara, Dashur, and Memphis inhabited by a very insistent contingent of Egyptians hawking a multiplicity of identical crap. Then comes the welcomed invading task force of Japanese, British, and French uniformed in immodest clothing, floppy brimmed hats, Tiva sandals, full wallets and armed with cameras. Like most wars fought against former farmers on their land the invaders are beaten back with heavy losses. Since my roommate and I have grown accustomed to the force full selling techniques in downtown Cairo we thought we would be well prepared for the next league.
These people are pros. They move in small squads; none carrying the same product (weapon) so not only are they not stepping on each others toes, they can also cover more sectors with fewer people. Want a perfect replica solid alabaster Sphinx? Talk to Ahmed(100 pound good price!). Semi-Authentic Arabian headdress? Talk to Muhammad (100 pound good price!) . Authentic Egyptian jewelry made in downtown Cairo? Talk to the other Ahmed(100 pound good price!). I can't be sure of the true price of the products however with a bit of market research I am guessing that the average cost to the retailer (Ahmed Ahmed and Ahmed) has a rather extreme mark up. So the widget they are selling for US$20 cost them roughly 8 cents.
Hayk, my roommate, loves to barter. We had decided to see the Giza Pyramids in style. So instead of walking we decided it would be more memorable if we rented horses. The starting price was 420 pounds. After 15 minutes or so of... debate the price had dropped to 200 pounds. Not bad for two horses and guide for 3 hours. Hayk had never ridden a horse before. Having never developed a touch for animals and their particular temperament quirks he was ill prepared for riding his horse which had been abused by the aforementioned Camera wielding Japanese. My horse tried to bite me once. Since my brother's last horse was a particularly vivacious harridan who's alacrity in tormenting, demoralizing and expertly heckling anyone who got in her personal sphere still makes the base of my neck twinge; the location where she planted a particularly vicious bite while I was feeding her. I should be gracious though. As soon as my horse swung his head around to plant a nip on my shin I saw the scenarios unfolding. The first was I get bit and the horse loses the meager respect for me which in hindsight was probably the only thing keeping me in the saddle. So I selected option B. Moving my foot a touch higher resulted in the less common combination of boot and soft flatness between the nostrils. For the rest of the ride my eunuch was a saint.
Hayk however was less fortunate. The second time he snapped the reins the horse decided that it was better for both of them if they went their separate ways. Which incidentally was Hayk in the sand and the horse smugly cantering away. After Hayk's dirt nap we regained control of the horse and kept moving.
After trotting for about 10 minutes we crested a dune. There they were. The worlds three largest monuments to despotic opulence and their half woman-half lion guardian. When one is confronted with this type of sight for the first time there are several different reactions; I reached for my camera. Then our guide (Ahmed wouldn't you know) said "I make photo to you" and took my camera. After which he proceeded to (whoop) let my camera slip from his hands and fall (soft whistle) none to lightly (crack) to the rock (tinkle tinkle) his horse (whiny that sounded like "Ha! sucker") was standing on. So to reiterate the score: First time within a Berry Bond's swing of the three largest monuments to human slavery still in the world and our guide had broken my camera.
Swiftly moving forward to the Pyramids we went through a gate and were confronted with several Mounted (on camels) Egyptian Tourism Police who confiscated our horses and informed us we could reclaim them outside of the protected area. So we walked the rest of the way to the biggest Pyramid, which I though would be considerably bigger, and went in.
It is a 45 meter slide bounce and scramble down into to the stale and urine scented air. Moving a bit deeper in the air gets more stale and the scent diminishes or possibly I just acclimated to the aroma. After the jaunt through the stone chute we ended in a room. That was stone. And about the size of two short buses placed side by side. And I am having to draw out the description to make it seem copiously much more fulfilling than it actually was.
When we got out there was the expected regiment of tourist hustlers pushing Coke, water and odd lumps of clay which were supposed to be the Pyramids. Fighting through the horde we recovered our horses and proceeded back to the stable. Halfway there our guided demanded a "tip" which we "didn't understand."
Honestly would you tip the guy who broke your camera in front of a wonder of the world? I thought not.
These people are pros. They move in small squads; none carrying the same product (weapon) so not only are they not stepping on each others toes, they can also cover more sectors with fewer people. Want a perfect replica solid alabaster Sphinx? Talk to Ahmed(100 pound good price!). Semi-Authentic Arabian headdress? Talk to Muhammad (100 pound good price!) . Authentic Egyptian jewelry made in downtown Cairo? Talk to the other Ahmed(100 pound good price!). I can't be sure of the true price of the products however with a bit of market research I am guessing that the average cost to the retailer (Ahmed Ahmed and Ahmed) has a rather extreme mark up. So the widget they are selling for US$20 cost them roughly 8 cents.
Hayk, my roommate, loves to barter. We had decided to see the Giza Pyramids in style. So instead of walking we decided it would be more memorable if we rented horses. The starting price was 420 pounds. After 15 minutes or so of... debate the price had dropped to 200 pounds. Not bad for two horses and guide for 3 hours. Hayk had never ridden a horse before. Having never developed a touch for animals and their particular temperament quirks he was ill prepared for riding his horse which had been abused by the aforementioned Camera wielding Japanese. My horse tried to bite me once. Since my brother's last horse was a particularly vivacious harridan who's alacrity in tormenting, demoralizing and expertly heckling anyone who got in her personal sphere still makes the base of my neck twinge; the location where she planted a particularly vicious bite while I was feeding her. I should be gracious though. As soon as my horse swung his head around to plant a nip on my shin I saw the scenarios unfolding. The first was I get bit and the horse loses the meager respect for me which in hindsight was probably the only thing keeping me in the saddle. So I selected option B. Moving my foot a touch higher resulted in the less common combination of boot and soft flatness between the nostrils. For the rest of the ride my eunuch was a saint.
Hayk however was less fortunate. The second time he snapped the reins the horse decided that it was better for both of them if they went their separate ways. Which incidentally was Hayk in the sand and the horse smugly cantering away. After Hayk's dirt nap we regained control of the horse and kept moving.
After trotting for about 10 minutes we crested a dune. There they were. The worlds three largest monuments to despotic opulence and their half woman-half lion guardian. When one is confronted with this type of sight for the first time there are several different reactions; I reached for my camera. Then our guide (Ahmed wouldn't you know) said "I make photo to you" and took my camera. After which he proceeded to (whoop) let my camera slip from his hands and fall (soft whistle) none to lightly (crack) to the rock (tinkle tinkle) his horse (whiny that sounded like "Ha! sucker") was standing on. So to reiterate the score: First time within a Berry Bond's swing of the three largest monuments to human slavery still in the world and our guide had broken my camera.
Swiftly moving forward to the Pyramids we went through a gate and were confronted with several Mounted (on camels) Egyptian Tourism Police who confiscated our horses and informed us we could reclaim them outside of the protected area. So we walked the rest of the way to the biggest Pyramid, which I though would be considerably bigger, and went in.
It is a 45 meter slide bounce and scramble down into to the stale and urine scented air. Moving a bit deeper in the air gets more stale and the scent diminishes or possibly I just acclimated to the aroma. After the jaunt through the stone chute we ended in a room. That was stone. And about the size of two short buses placed side by side. And I am having to draw out the description to make it seem copiously much more fulfilling than it actually was.
When we got out there was the expected regiment of tourist hustlers pushing Coke, water and odd lumps of clay which were supposed to be the Pyramids. Fighting through the horde we recovered our horses and proceeded back to the stable. Halfway there our guided demanded a "tip" which we "didn't understand."
Honestly would you tip the guy who broke your camera in front of a wonder of the world? I thought not.
Monday, July 16, 2007
The White and Black ones don't stop for Pedestrians
One thing about living in a city is the constant movement. Not only are there people, cars, large amounts of cash and general stuff moving in and out of the city limits; there is a mass of material, people and junk that spends its life just moving around the city. If your lively hood depended on being able to move fast from one place to another you'd get rather impatient when someone is interfering with your means of making money. So naturally when a widget is having to wait in traffic for longer than 4 1/2 seconds it gets annoyed and tries to find a faster way. Then another widget sees the first going faster and says "Laa Zachma!" When you add fourth and fifth widget to the constipation things get painfully slow. Since Egypt is so amazingly old and the normal strictures of civilized society have been deracinated for several thousand years the term "Road rage" isn't used. Its the norm.
Taxi drivers should be noted as being particularly ruthless; not only for their driving but also in fare collection and customer acquisition. Historical note: In the mid seventies the president decided that Cairo needed to have a standardized taxi aesthetic and fare. Nearly all cabs that were put into service were Peugeot 504 series and had a mechanical meter. 30 years later all of the taxis are frayed around the edges and the meters are broken. The most common fare proposed to me is "Fifty Pound. Good price since first time Egypt." (50 pounds is about US$8.75) Enough to buy a large meal at US McDonald's? Here that is enough to go from Giza to the Airport with good tip; two of the furthest destinations apart from each other. To go from school to my hostel? "50 pound good price for husband and grapes! (I think he meant for a man and his family)" So naturally I have to negotiate the price down. If you're patient enough you can always get a good price since there 1/3 of the cars in the city are taxis. So after four rounds of "Hamza" "Laa Ashrah" "Hamza" the cabbie finally gives in and accepts a 10th of what he originally asked. So I'm happy and the he is wondering why a white guy is paying 90 cents to go across town.
There are no seat belts. There are no airbags. There is driver with anger issues and a 2000 pound French car that was build during the cold war. The first few times there was also an sweaty American clinging to anything resembling a handle so that he wouldn't be thrown dramatically through the windshield when the very light car ran into something with more mass and less inertia. Now that Ive acclimated to the lack of inhibition and air conditioning I am much less worried that any second I could be t-boned by a 4 ton bus. Atleast I don't have to worry if my driver is drinking on the job or not.
Taxi drivers should be noted as being particularly ruthless; not only for their driving but also in fare collection and customer acquisition. Historical note: In the mid seventies the president decided that Cairo needed to have a standardized taxi aesthetic and fare. Nearly all cabs that were put into service were Peugeot 504 series and had a mechanical meter. 30 years later all of the taxis are frayed around the edges and the meters are broken. The most common fare proposed to me is "Fifty Pound. Good price since first time Egypt." (50 pounds is about US$8.75) Enough to buy a large meal at US McDonald's? Here that is enough to go from Giza to the Airport with good tip; two of the furthest destinations apart from each other. To go from school to my hostel? "50 pound good price for husband and grapes! (I think he meant for a man and his family)" So naturally I have to negotiate the price down. If you're patient enough you can always get a good price since there 1/3 of the cars in the city are taxis. So after four rounds of "Hamza" "Laa Ashrah" "Hamza" the cabbie finally gives in and accepts a 10th of what he originally asked. So I'm happy and the he is wondering why a white guy is paying 90 cents to go across town.
There are no seat belts. There are no airbags. There is driver with anger issues and a 2000 pound French car that was build during the cold war. The first few times there was also an sweaty American clinging to anything resembling a handle so that he wouldn't be thrown dramatically through the windshield when the very light car ran into something with more mass and less inertia. Now that Ive acclimated to the lack of inhibition and air conditioning I am much less worried that any second I could be t-boned by a 4 ton bus. Atleast I don't have to worry if my driver is drinking on the job or not.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Walk like an Egyptian: Barefoot in the Desert
This weekend my Armenian roommate, Hayk (sounds like Mike), Nance and I went on a Safari in the part of the desert known as Bahria. This is divided in to two distinct sections called the Black and White deserts. The Black is in a formerly volcanic area and there are black stones on top of the yellow sand which gives the impression that the entirety is black; but in actuality there stones are about 1-3 inches apart so the blackened effect is only seen when looking over a large area. The white desert is sedimentary rock that is a very pure white color. Since it has been around for a few years and was formerly underwater, there are a good number of oddly shaped formations. I know this seems like a trivial geology lesson but it was enough to convince the three of us to drive down and see the sights.
Driving down was a quite..... something. We took the bus. If you have ever ridden on a bus in the States you'll notice that the normal clientele of Greyhound does not consist of people you would want to consort with or even sit next to for hours at a time. Egyptian buses are so much worse. Not only are all of the seats filled; the aisles are packed with standing room tickets and any overflow from there is put in the cargo compartment. Since bus drivers are always late they try and make up time by not stopping. Ever. So if you need to get out you have to hit the ground running or not get off the bus. The people under the bus tuck and roll to get off and it is rather startling to see a family of five roll and bounce as they sprawl out. After getting used to the scents and praying coming from people around it was finally our turn to tuck and roll into the hotel.
The next morning we had a traditional meal before jumping in our range rover and heading out to the desert. We started by going dune jumping in the black desert. From there we headed to an Oasis and went swimming. I made the mistake of jumping out of the water and running across the sand. As soon as the water had burned off my feet, my feet started to burn off. Since I hadn't realized what was happening until I was a solid 150 feet out, I made a rather long and hasty sprint back to make a timely dive into the water. Lunch consisted of Fuol (A type of bean and tomato soup pronounced Fool), flat bread and fresh melon.
After a 250 kilometer drive we went of road again to drive though a part of the white desert who's Awe inspiring ability rivals the Grand Canyon. We struck camp just in time to watch the sunset. After dinner Hayk and I decided to take a walk across the desert to go to another group of campers. We figured since it was sandy with a spattering of rocks where we were camped that trend would continue till we got to the other camp. Walking barefoot, in the dark, in starlight, over rocks you can't see is not a good idea. When we finally got close to the other camp we discovered that the 10 South Koreans were quite scared because of all the strange sounds coming from the void beyond their campfire. After assuring the Koreans and their guide that our bodies were indeed corporeal we were treated to Bedouin Whiskey or Whiskey Maroc. This consisted of tea mixed with a healthy amount of mind then sweetened. Think two tablespoons of raw sugar for a shot glass of tea. Coke seems bitter after drinking a glass.
I woke up at just before sunrise. Peeking out from under my blanket I saw the bright spot that foretold the coming heat and thought "Oh that's going to be a good picture. I should get my cam...ZZZZ." Unfortunately I have misplaced my right forearm so it was not under the blanket. I spent two days in the desert sun and the only place I got a burn was a 3 by 16 inch patch on the forearm. The rest of the ride home was rather uneventful. But hoo boy the shower after getting to the hostel was fantastic.
Photos can be found here.
Driving down was a quite..... something. We took the bus. If you have ever ridden on a bus in the States you'll notice that the normal clientele of Greyhound does not consist of people you would want to consort with or even sit next to for hours at a time. Egyptian buses are so much worse. Not only are all of the seats filled; the aisles are packed with standing room tickets and any overflow from there is put in the cargo compartment. Since bus drivers are always late they try and make up time by not stopping. Ever. So if you need to get out you have to hit the ground running or not get off the bus. The people under the bus tuck and roll to get off and it is rather startling to see a family of five roll and bounce as they sprawl out. After getting used to the scents and praying coming from people around it was finally our turn to tuck and roll into the hotel.
The next morning we had a traditional meal before jumping in our range rover and heading out to the desert. We started by going dune jumping in the black desert. From there we headed to an Oasis and went swimming. I made the mistake of jumping out of the water and running across the sand. As soon as the water had burned off my feet, my feet started to burn off. Since I hadn't realized what was happening until I was a solid 150 feet out, I made a rather long and hasty sprint back to make a timely dive into the water. Lunch consisted of Fuol (A type of bean and tomato soup pronounced Fool), flat bread and fresh melon.
After a 250 kilometer drive we went of road again to drive though a part of the white desert who's Awe inspiring ability rivals the Grand Canyon. We struck camp just in time to watch the sunset. After dinner Hayk and I decided to take a walk across the desert to go to another group of campers. We figured since it was sandy with a spattering of rocks where we were camped that trend would continue till we got to the other camp. Walking barefoot, in the dark, in starlight, over rocks you can't see is not a good idea. When we finally got close to the other camp we discovered that the 10 South Koreans were quite scared because of all the strange sounds coming from the void beyond their campfire. After assuring the Koreans and their guide that our bodies were indeed corporeal we were treated to Bedouin Whiskey or Whiskey Maroc. This consisted of tea mixed with a healthy amount of mind then sweetened. Think two tablespoons of raw sugar for a shot glass of tea. Coke seems bitter after drinking a glass.
I woke up at just before sunrise. Peeking out from under my blanket I saw the bright spot that foretold the coming heat and thought "Oh that's going to be a good picture. I should get my cam...ZZZZ." Unfortunately I have misplaced my right forearm so it was not under the blanket. I spent two days in the desert sun and the only place I got a burn was a 3 by 16 inch patch on the forearm. The rest of the ride home was rather uneventful. But hoo boy the shower after getting to the hostel was fantastic.
Photos can be found here.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Settled
I have a room! When I say "I have a room" I really mean that I just have a room. I splurged and got a bathroom which is more of a spacious walk in closet with the standard sink/toilet and a shower head above all of it. There are two beds with enough floorspace to side step from the door to the water closet, which, when viewing the entirety of the room from the door, seems like an afterthought. Ah well, but for $3.82 a day its perfectly fine. So I'm moving from Zamalek to Talaat Harb which is about a $1 difference in cab ride but a $19 change in boarding costs.
The building which I have moved to was built around 1905 which makes for some interesting architectural departures from the normal forms around the US. For instance, the main stairwell wraps around the open air elevator shaft. While the elevator is smart enough to know which floor is which, there are not any call buttons above the 2nd floor. This makes for a long trek down from the roof where the hostel and my room is.
Classes are going well but the technical complexities of the language are rather wearing. To give a brief over view of what I'm trying to absorb: Arabic has 28 letters and no vowels. Well thats not entirely correct. There are six vowels but in normal texts they arn't written. To make this even harder the sounds are OO, ooN, In, eEN, Ein, and en. Compounded with the very entertaining fact that 12 of the non-vowel letters have almost the same sound; only differentiated with a rolling R on the tongue (which sounds vaguely like a Spanish R) or a guttural R which sounds like a rat being drowned.
Luckily I haven't had to execute a mafia style disposal of a rat since most of them are quite friendly. They are slightly smaller than the average house cat and since they are better scavengers than the average Cairo street cat. Since the rats have more muscle and numbers the cats generally leave them alone. However when a fight does break out there are always a few bums to bet on it. The rats normally have the spread with 4.2 to 1.
The building which I have moved to was built around 1905 which makes for some interesting architectural departures from the normal forms around the US. For instance, the main stairwell wraps around the open air elevator shaft. While the elevator is smart enough to know which floor is which, there are not any call buttons above the 2nd floor. This makes for a long trek down from the roof where the hostel and my room is.
Classes are going well but the technical complexities of the language are rather wearing. To give a brief over view of what I'm trying to absorb: Arabic has 28 letters and no vowels. Well thats not entirely correct. There are six vowels but in normal texts they arn't written. To make this even harder the sounds are OO, ooN, In, eEN, Ein, and en. Compounded with the very entertaining fact that 12 of the non-vowel letters have almost the same sound; only differentiated with a rolling R on the tongue (which sounds vaguely like a Spanish R) or a guttural R which sounds like a rat being drowned.
Luckily I haven't had to execute a mafia style disposal of a rat since most of them are quite friendly. They are slightly smaller than the average house cat and since they are better scavengers than the average Cairo street cat. Since the rats have more muscle and numbers the cats generally leave them alone. However when a fight does break out there are always a few bums to bet on it. The rats normally have the spread with 4.2 to 1.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Settle
My eyes hurt. The air here is quite caustic. Not just from the heat and dust but also from the rampant exhaust and other fumes that fuse with the street scents. The final product is a sickly sweet smelling mixture that provides the same amount of carbon dioxide as smoking a pack and a half of cigarettes per day. Coincidentally most Egyptians smoke while walking down the street so even a non-smoking ambient person is inhaling a good deal of smoke. Since my hotel is in Zamalek, which is the northern half of an island in the middle of the Nile, there is usually a decent breeze which cools and moves stale air somewhere inland where it can settle.
My fight here was blase. The Boston to Zurich leg was unreasonably fast considering that I started reading a excellent book and had seen either of the inflight movies. From Zurich to Cairo I was seated next to a textile engineer and his wife who were both from a city in Germany I had never heard of and could barely pronounce with a great deal of coaching. Neither one spoke very good English so to kill time communication was attempted in German. Keep in mind my German consists of about 4 verbs, 20 nouns and wild gesticulations which are liable to put an eye out.
Flying into Cairo was one of the more spectacular landings I have witnessed. We flew over the Pyramids and Sphinx at about 1000 feet before slowly curving around to land on a strip of sand next to a low concrete building and a larger amount of less groomed sand.
That's all for now as the Internet cafe owner is giving me dirty looks for staying longer than my $1.42 purchased. Pictures and hopefully a video to come.
My fight here was blase. The Boston to Zurich leg was unreasonably fast considering that I started reading a excellent book and had seen either of the inflight movies. From Zurich to Cairo I was seated next to a textile engineer and his wife who were both from a city in Germany I had never heard of and could barely pronounce with a great deal of coaching. Neither one spoke very good English so to kill time communication was attempted in German. Keep in mind my German consists of about 4 verbs, 20 nouns and wild gesticulations which are liable to put an eye out.
Flying into Cairo was one of the more spectacular landings I have witnessed. We flew over the Pyramids and Sphinx at about 1000 feet before slowly curving around to land on a strip of sand next to a low concrete building and a larger amount of less groomed sand.
That's all for now as the Internet cafe owner is giving me dirty looks for staying longer than my $1.42 purchased. Pictures and hopefully a video to come.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Have Back Back Backup Plan(s)
Since this is my first post, and since I am still in the US, and since I haven't done anything which fits the general topic of this post (which is quite a feat, really, since a general topic hasn't been established) in the recent past I am going to rewind about two years to a series of unfortunate events which happened in Ireland.
It starts with me being in Dublin. My traveling partner leaving to go see friends in Cork or some such place far, far away leaving me with a prepaid room in the hostel and roughly 36 hours to peruse the greater Dublin area. Now if you read the title of you post you'll notice it hints having a multiplicity of backup plans. The reason I can't stress this enough is because my credit card stopped working. Ah I had travelers checks but who wants to carry around a wad of travelers checks which you could put a down payment on a small motorcycle with? Which is why I left most of them at my brothers flat in London.
So the 300 dollars in checks got diluted into 250 something Euros which got spent on the hostel room (€120), a Genuine Guinness Messenger bag (€40) and various food and stuff (€75) around Dublin. I'm guessing in hindsight that Visa didn't think anyone would want to go to Dublin since Everywhere you want to be doesn't include Ireland because my credit card which had served me so well everywhere else stopped working. Now luckily I still had €15 cash with which to eat and move myself around. However €15 is not much money. Sadly 15 becomes 10 when you account for exchange rates and tube fare to get from the London airport to London flat. Which leaves 5 for the Dublin end.
I caved after a while and bought a few burgers off the Euro Menu which is really not a deal. For instance in the Americas you get a Double Cheeseburger for $1. Being valued higher you'd think a Euro would buy more than a dollar but sadly this is not the case. So 2 singe patty hamburgers and 1 minute serving of French fries for about $8. Now this was towards the near side of the 36 hours before my flight back to London.
So after a while I couldn't stand it anymore and left to go scrounge the city for free food. After many hours of walking I found a knockoff Wal-Mart outside the city limits that had free samples of frozen food. Now normally you only get to eat one or two before the clerk says something to the effect of "Buy it if you like it so much." I was very grateful that the middle aged women serving me frozen, thawed, refrozen, rethawed and microwaved bacon strips had an Aunt in the nether reaches of Minnesota. I can't remember the particular name of the town but the woman was so intent on trying to communicate where her Aunt lived that she spent quite some time naming places she had driven past when she visited the States including Lake Erie and Yosemite National Park. After subsisting on this for several hours I went back to the hostel and spent the night dreaming of Meatloaf and Wings with Blue cheese dressing.
The next morning I headed to one of the more expensive hotels in Dublin. One of the flaws with many of these types of hotels is they are to damn polite for their own good. For instance if some honest person in duress walks in the back entrance with all of his bags, walks up the stairs to the 8th floor, rides the elevator down to the lobby and asks the valet for a ride to the airport, this valet will probably not inquire if you were staying at that particular establishment since he did just witnessed you getting off the elevator with all of your bags. So after a very posh 20 minute (and free) ride to the airport, several hours waiting in the terminal and customs I was London bound.
It starts with me being in Dublin. My traveling partner leaving to go see friends in Cork or some such place far, far away leaving me with a prepaid room in the hostel and roughly 36 hours to peruse the greater Dublin area. Now if you read the title of you post you'll notice it hints having a multiplicity of backup plans. The reason I can't stress this enough is because my credit card stopped working. Ah I had travelers checks but who wants to carry around a wad of travelers checks which you could put a down payment on a small motorcycle with? Which is why I left most of them at my brothers flat in London.
So the 300 dollars in checks got diluted into 250 something Euros which got spent on the hostel room (€120), a Genuine Guinness Messenger bag (€40) and various food and stuff (€75) around Dublin. I'm guessing in hindsight that Visa didn't think anyone would want to go to Dublin since Everywhere you want to be doesn't include Ireland because my credit card which had served me so well everywhere else stopped working. Now luckily I still had €15 cash with which to eat and move myself around. However €15 is not much money. Sadly 15 becomes 10 when you account for exchange rates and tube fare to get from the London airport to London flat. Which leaves 5 for the Dublin end.
I caved after a while and bought a few burgers off the Euro Menu which is really not a deal. For instance in the Americas you get a Double Cheeseburger for $1. Being valued higher you'd think a Euro would buy more than a dollar but sadly this is not the case. So 2 singe patty hamburgers and 1 minute serving of French fries for about $8. Now this was towards the near side of the 36 hours before my flight back to London.
So after a while I couldn't stand it anymore and left to go scrounge the city for free food. After many hours of walking I found a knockoff Wal-Mart outside the city limits that had free samples of frozen food. Now normally you only get to eat one or two before the clerk says something to the effect of "Buy it if you like it so much." I was very grateful that the middle aged women serving me frozen, thawed, refrozen, rethawed and microwaved bacon strips had an Aunt in the nether reaches of Minnesota. I can't remember the particular name of the town but the woman was so intent on trying to communicate where her Aunt lived that she spent quite some time naming places she had driven past when she visited the States including Lake Erie and Yosemite National Park. After subsisting on this for several hours I went back to the hostel and spent the night dreaming of Meatloaf and Wings with Blue cheese dressing.
The next morning I headed to one of the more expensive hotels in Dublin. One of the flaws with many of these types of hotels is they are to damn polite for their own good. For instance if some honest person in duress walks in the back entrance with all of his bags, walks up the stairs to the 8th floor, rides the elevator down to the lobby and asks the valet for a ride to the airport, this valet will probably not inquire if you were staying at that particular establishment since he did just witnessed you getting off the elevator with all of your bags. So after a very posh 20 minute (and free) ride to the airport, several hours waiting in the terminal and customs I was London bound.
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