Tuesday, June 15, 2010 (Frankfurt, Germany) – I knew I was back in the “real world” as soon as we landed. When I had arrived in Cairo two weeks earlier, people were up and collecting their bags before the wheels hit the ground. I think they were heading out the door while the plane taxied. Nobody seemed to care.
In Frankfurt, the flight attendant literally yelled at a girl for standing when the plane was completely stopped because the fasten seatbelt sign was still on. The girl was about 8 years old.
I was asked for my passport twice on the jet way (yes, the jet way), which was roughly two more times than I was asked for it in Egypt.
I checked into the hotel and headed out fro a bite to eat. The hotel clerk gave me vague directions to a street with “a bunch of bars and restaurants.” When I got there or perhaps (and probably) somewhere completely different, I was surrounded by strip clubs and sex shops. I try to play it cool and go with the flow when I’m in a new city, but with each step I took this place seemed to grow seedier and seedier. Quickly, I spun around and headed back toward the hotel, where I had seen a couple places that looked ok.
I found the typical German restaurant. It was called O’Reilly’s Irish Pub, and my server was from Auckland, New Zealand. Ok, maybe it wasn’t completely German.
While waiting for my flight in Cairo, I had watched as New Zealand tied their World Cup game about 2:30 into extra time. I asked the waiter if he had seen it. “Ah, I really wanted to, but I was still asleep. They played so bloody earlier,” he replied, giving me a you-know-what-I’m-saying look. The game started around 3 p.m. local time.
The next morning I wandered around town, looking at some relatively old places (after Egypt, “old” becomes slightly more subjective). I was told that the art museum was one of the best in Europe, so I headed that way only to discover that the entire place was closed during renovations.
Feeling I had had enough, I awoke and decided to try to catch an earlier flight than my scheduled 5 p.m. departure. There were several, so I went to the airport at 9 a.m., only to be told that United’s policy prohibits people from leaving on an earlier flight without paying the full ticket change fee ($250 in this case). I tried several attempts to talk the “woman” into letting me on, including an explanation that United allows standby all the time and had even done so for many people on my flight to Germany a few weeks before. She, in turn, explained that at United, rules are rules and can never be altered because at United they want customers to feel as unappreciated and unworthy as humanly possible (I may have paraphrased that last part, due to interpretation). She explained that I would have to wait the 10 hours until my scheduled flight, watching at least five other flights with empty seats head toward the United States within a few 100 yards of my gate. She then ended the discussion by telling me to “Have a good day.” That part was verbatim, but I’m pretty sure it was a euphemism.
If you ever find yourself stuck in the Upper A concourse at the Frankfurt Airport, I can tell you all about the shop and the restaurant. I can also tell you that the duty free places close for several hours in the middle of the day for no apparent reason.
All in all, the trip proved very successful. Thanks for reading, and if you really enjoyed it, I would be happy to consider sponsorships for future journey blogs.
I’ve never really been one for conclusions that succinctly wrap up everything into a neat package.
The end.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Egyptian Wrap Up
Monday, June 14, 2010 (Ras Garib, Egypt) – Darren, Calvin, Sammy and I spent my final three days at their beach place on the Red Sea. I had gone to the Citadel on Friday and quickly realized that I had hit my threshold for tourist attractions (although the impromptu tour of the History of Torture in Egypt by an Egyptian policeman at the Citadel was a fun treat – the photos are on Facebook, and I will look for somewhere else I can post them to make them easier to get to).
I went scuba diving in the Red Sea, which is considered by many as the greatest place in the world to dive, other than perhaps the Great Barrier Reef (which I was fortunate enough to dive in college). However, all of those legendary dives are across the sea closer to Sharm El Sheikh, which is on the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula. We had talked about going to Sharm, but we decided the trip to Siwa was a better option, and none of us regretted that decision.
We went to a reef about 20 miles from the Stella Di Mare, where Darren has his condo, but the visibility was fairly weak, and my mask constantly leaked from the upper right side, which was somewhat annoying. I saw a couple of rays and several fish, and my tank ran out of air on the first dive, but other than that, it was pretty uneventful.
I could try to rehash our other activities at the Red Sea, but “going to the pool and the beach” pretty much sums it up. Therefore, I figured I would touch on some things that I may have forgotten to mention before.
• I was a bit nervous about traveling to the Middle East. I’ve always kind of doubted the accuracy when Darren tells me that Egypt is really safe. What I found surprised me. I never once felt at risk. In fact, I felt safer than I ever do in cities in the U.S. Most police officers don’t even have cars, and it seems they don’t need them. There seems to be very little crime, especially violent offenses.
That said, I walked through metal detectors everywhere. And, no matter what, they always went off, but the guard inevitably waved me through without a second glace. After a while, I stopped bothering to take things out of my pocket. In fact, I rarely paused when it beeped. I asked Darren about this, and he said he hasn’t bothered to take things out of his pocket in years. It’s just too much hassle to remove a cell phone from all the way in his pocket and put it through the x-ray machine.
• While eating lunch at McDonald’s in Marsa Matruh (on the Mediterranean while traveling back from Siwa), the speakers around the “restaurant” were playing Radio MTV. Seriously. Forget the fact that it stands for “Music Television,” which generally applies to nothing they air. We had to listen to Paris Hilton doing commercials in the middle of an audio-only version of Pimp My Ride.
• It may surprise you, since the country is 90% Muslim and fairly conservative, but there are at least three Egyptian beers. There may be more, but I tried three, all at the Red Sea because it was just easier to find there. Many people in Egypt don’t want to appear to drink, but the actual beach at the resort looked like Panama City Beach during Spring Break, and smelled like any given fraternity on a Sunday morning. Because many people don’t want to be seen at a liquor store, the shop nearby delivered. And it was called Drinkies, which may be the single greatest liquor store name in history.
Stella, Meister (Egypt’s attempt at a microbrew) and Sakara – in descending order on a scale of moderately mediocre to almost undrinkable – are all brewed by Ahram Beverages, which translates to “Pyramid Beverages.” I wonder what inspired that name.
• I ate lunch alone in downtown Cairo one day. I wanted the true Egyptian dining experience, so I went to KFC, of course. I was just digging into a piece of finger licking good, when a random guy sat down across from me. There were no empty tables, so it made sense. But I think somebody who tries that in the U.S. has a high likelihood of getting punched (unless it’s at my table, where everybody is always welcome). Needless to say, the conversation was fascinating – and in a language I did not speak. Shokran, my friend. Shokran.
• Speaking of speaking, my foreign language skills wanted to emerge constantly. However, I only threw out “muchas gracias” a couple times. They resulted in blank stares. What? Arabic speakers to innately understand Spanish?
• Every highway has elaborate Pharaonic tollbooths with huge Greek columns and King Tut statues. They are really nice looking. But they’re all in completely random places. Translations: the middle of nowhere with nothing around but sand (and possibly camels). And they are not tollbooths, exactly. They’re patrolled by cops and/or military guys who want to hassle poor people (from what I could tell) and fish for bribes.
When Darren drives through these things, he speaks English like a hick, because it usually prompts the guy to wave him through, especially those guys that don’t speak English. One guy, however, accused him of speeding earlier in the trip. Trust me when I say there was no way a cop with a radar gun was hiding behind anything in the desert – unless maybe he had an invisible car. Darren’s car also has this incredibly annoying contraption that buzzes whenever he reaches 120 kilometers per hour (about 75 mph). After a heated discussion that lasted all of about 30 seconds, the guy waved us through and waited for the next car. I’m sure another one came along within 2-3 hours.
• Why doesn't anyone sell mango and/or strawberry juices in the United States? They’re ridiculously tasty.
• We caught a few games of the World Cup on Al Jezeera Sports. For some reason, I found that at least slightly amusing, especially when the announcer broke his fast-talking Arabic with phrases like “God save the Queen” during the U.S./England match.
• Apparently, most people who own scuba operations in Egypt are foreigners. The one we used was an Italian, who made it perfectly clear that he hated Italy with a passion. He likes Spain.
I went scuba diving in the Red Sea, which is considered by many as the greatest place in the world to dive, other than perhaps the Great Barrier Reef (which I was fortunate enough to dive in college). However, all of those legendary dives are across the sea closer to Sharm El Sheikh, which is on the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula. We had talked about going to Sharm, but we decided the trip to Siwa was a better option, and none of us regretted that decision.
We went to a reef about 20 miles from the Stella Di Mare, where Darren has his condo, but the visibility was fairly weak, and my mask constantly leaked from the upper right side, which was somewhat annoying. I saw a couple of rays and several fish, and my tank ran out of air on the first dive, but other than that, it was pretty uneventful.
I could try to rehash our other activities at the Red Sea, but “going to the pool and the beach” pretty much sums it up. Therefore, I figured I would touch on some things that I may have forgotten to mention before.
• I was a bit nervous about traveling to the Middle East. I’ve always kind of doubted the accuracy when Darren tells me that Egypt is really safe. What I found surprised me. I never once felt at risk. In fact, I felt safer than I ever do in cities in the U.S. Most police officers don’t even have cars, and it seems they don’t need them. There seems to be very little crime, especially violent offenses.
That said, I walked through metal detectors everywhere. And, no matter what, they always went off, but the guard inevitably waved me through without a second glace. After a while, I stopped bothering to take things out of my pocket. In fact, I rarely paused when it beeped. I asked Darren about this, and he said he hasn’t bothered to take things out of his pocket in years. It’s just too much hassle to remove a cell phone from all the way in his pocket and put it through the x-ray machine.
• While eating lunch at McDonald’s in Marsa Matruh (on the Mediterranean while traveling back from Siwa), the speakers around the “restaurant” were playing Radio MTV. Seriously. Forget the fact that it stands for “Music Television,” which generally applies to nothing they air. We had to listen to Paris Hilton doing commercials in the middle of an audio-only version of Pimp My Ride.
• It may surprise you, since the country is 90% Muslim and fairly conservative, but there are at least three Egyptian beers. There may be more, but I tried three, all at the Red Sea because it was just easier to find there. Many people in Egypt don’t want to appear to drink, but the actual beach at the resort looked like Panama City Beach during Spring Break, and smelled like any given fraternity on a Sunday morning. Because many people don’t want to be seen at a liquor store, the shop nearby delivered. And it was called Drinkies, which may be the single greatest liquor store name in history.
Stella, Meister (Egypt’s attempt at a microbrew) and Sakara – in descending order on a scale of moderately mediocre to almost undrinkable – are all brewed by Ahram Beverages, which translates to “Pyramid Beverages.” I wonder what inspired that name.
• I ate lunch alone in downtown Cairo one day. I wanted the true Egyptian dining experience, so I went to KFC, of course. I was just digging into a piece of finger licking good, when a random guy sat down across from me. There were no empty tables, so it made sense. But I think somebody who tries that in the U.S. has a high likelihood of getting punched (unless it’s at my table, where everybody is always welcome). Needless to say, the conversation was fascinating – and in a language I did not speak. Shokran, my friend. Shokran.
• Speaking of speaking, my foreign language skills wanted to emerge constantly. However, I only threw out “muchas gracias” a couple times. They resulted in blank stares. What? Arabic speakers to innately understand Spanish?
• Every highway has elaborate Pharaonic tollbooths with huge Greek columns and King Tut statues. They are really nice looking. But they’re all in completely random places. Translations: the middle of nowhere with nothing around but sand (and possibly camels). And they are not tollbooths, exactly. They’re patrolled by cops and/or military guys who want to hassle poor people (from what I could tell) and fish for bribes.
When Darren drives through these things, he speaks English like a hick, because it usually prompts the guy to wave him through, especially those guys that don’t speak English. One guy, however, accused him of speeding earlier in the trip. Trust me when I say there was no way a cop with a radar gun was hiding behind anything in the desert – unless maybe he had an invisible car. Darren’s car also has this incredibly annoying contraption that buzzes whenever he reaches 120 kilometers per hour (about 75 mph). After a heated discussion that lasted all of about 30 seconds, the guy waved us through and waited for the next car. I’m sure another one came along within 2-3 hours.
• Why doesn't anyone sell mango and/or strawberry juices in the United States? They’re ridiculously tasty.
• We caught a few games of the World Cup on Al Jezeera Sports. For some reason, I found that at least slightly amusing, especially when the announcer broke his fast-talking Arabic with phrases like “God save the Queen” during the U.S./England match.
• Apparently, most people who own scuba operations in Egypt are foreigners. The one we used was an Italian, who made it perfectly clear that he hated Italy with a passion. He likes Spain.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Update
Just an update to let everyone know that there are two more entries coming. The computer I had been using crashed, met an unfortunate demise, went the way of the curtain rod, or whatever other happy term you would like to give it.
The entries are written (longhand) and ready to go, but I just canät handle this German computer and its crayz kezboard (yes, I used the English keys in that sentence). Look for the update in the next couple of days after I return to the States.
The entries are written (longhand) and ready to go, but I just canät handle this German computer and its crayz kezboard (yes, I used the English keys in that sentence). Look for the update in the next couple of days after I return to the States.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Day 9
Thursday, June 10, 2010 – Darren loaned me his cell phone this morning, once again enabling my mobile addiction, while also ensuring I wouldn’t have to move into the City of the Dead.
Since he had a lot of work that he’d been putting off since I arrived, he walked me to the corner and stuck me in a taxi. It was kind of like a mom walking her kid to the school bus.
Like that, except the kid didn’t speak the language or know anything about his neighborhood and how to get home.
I’ve always liked cab rides in foreign countries for the same reason other people like roller coasters, except I think my way provides way more of a thrill.
I got in the taxi, successfully avoiding the giant pile of cigarette ash in the seat next to me. There was no seat belt for the passenger, which probably goes without saying. The driver did have a seat belt, and to his credit it was across his chest and waist, although it probably would prove more effective if he had also snapped it in, as opposed to letting it lie there. Darren told me later that the driver was wearing pajamas, which proves just how weird something around here has to be for me to notice.
I know I keep mentioning the driving, but new things keep popping up. Back home in Denver in my neighborhood of Lowry, there are little traffic circles that people just can’t seem to figure out. All you have to do is yield before entering them and turn when you get to your street.
Here in Cairo, traffic circles give drivers free reign to do anything they want. They can go right. They can go left. They can turn from the inside without any signal. It’s utter chaos, yet seems to work about as well as the ones in Lowry.
I paid the taxi driver the costly price of $15 pounds (three dollars), when he dropped me across the street from the Egyptian Museum. I mention that it was across the street because it meant I would have to play a living version of Frogger.
The museum itself is unbelievable. Of course it has several artifacts and treasures from King Tut’s tomb. For those unfamiliar with the mummifying process for someone like Tutankhamun, as I was a few hours ago, they wrapped the body in linen before placing the golden death mask over the head. Tut’s solid gold death mask is the iconic image many people imagine when thinking about Egypt, and was made to look as much like him as possible to make finding his soul easier in the afterlife (or something like that).
From there, the body was placed in a sarcophagi, a coffin-like box made of solid gold, weighing 110 kilograms and elaborately decorated with a head just like the mask and Pharaonic symbols meant to protect the body. That sarcophagi was then put in a larger wooden and also elaborately decorated sarcophagi, which was put into yet another sarcophagi.
If you’re wondering where Russians got the idea for nesting dolls, I think I might have an answer for you.
One more thing, before they wrapped the body, they removed the organs and mummified them in containers to be placed next to the rest of the corpse. Apparently, they thought of everything back in the day.
While King Tut’s treasures are probably the most impressive part of the museum, the rest is truly amazing, as well.
There are so many artifacts on display – somewhere around 120,000 – that you actually start taking things for granted. After I visited King Tut’s area, I went into a room that must have had at least 100 sarcophagis (or whatever the plural form of sarcophagi might be). Seriously, they were stacked three high so you really couldn’t even see the top one. The whole museum is like that. I would hate to have been the person determining what was worthy of the spots that everyone could see and what should be placed in the hard to find areas.
And almost all of this stuff dates back at least 2,000 years. Yes, the stuff from just before the time of Christ would be the new stuff. Everything else goes a few thousand years beyond that.
One of the “star” exhibits according to the guide books is the Royal Mummy Rooms, where the mummies of 22 actual mummies lie in chronological order. To enter these rooms costs twice the price of the museum entry, and I figured a mummy is a mummy is a mummy.
So I went to the mummified animal room instead. Talk about fascinating. The ancient Egyptians actually had their pets mummified. And I thought animal chiropractic in the United States was taking things too far.
They had displays of cats, dogs, crocodiles and monkeys, among other animals. Now, before you start thinking this was absolutely crazy, they didn’t mummify the organs, like they did for humans. Well, they did do it for pets. And cows. And sometimes donkeys. But they didn’t waste their time and gold on any other animals.
There was a mummified pet baboon, which made me wonder where baboons lived in Egypt back then because I’m pretty sure there aren’t many around now.
Knowing I had only skimmed the surface of the museum, I left to take a little walk around the area. I noticed that instead of a walk sign on the traffic light, they actually had a man who appeared to run in green lights. I was fascinated enough that I stopped to take a picture.
Right then, a man told me what street it was, which was nice although I had not asked. Then he told me what the other streets were and where I could find good shopping.
I’m not an idiot. Well, not a complete idiot. I knew where this was going, but I kind of wanted to experience it anyway.
“No money,” he said after telling me that he had been a taxi driver in Minneapolis a few years back. “I just want to show you where the best places are to go.”
I’ve heard the line before, but it hadn’t hit me until that moment. “No money” is the Egyptian up-sell. What it means is that I’m not going to take your money right now, but I’m sure as hell going to take it in a few minutes.
He led me into his family shop and asked me to have a seat. He offered me tea, which I tried to decline, only to hear, “I’m Arab. You must take it or I will be very offended.” My question is this: since I don’t like tea, is it more offensive to make me drink something I don’t like or for me to not drink it? I drank it.
He showed me a picture of his family, which looked an awful lot like a British exhibition to the Pyramids of Giza, but I just shook my head and said, “Very nice.” He pointed at a photo of Dustin Hoffman and Mohammad Ali, proving I wasn’t the first American to get suckered into the store. In fact, the look on Ali's face seemed to scream, "How much will it cost just to get me out of this store?"
I looked around and realized it was a perfume/cologne shop, which is perfect for me since I wear neither and actually get a little annoyed when people wear too much.
I tried to get out of it by saying I was kind of allergic to them.
“Oh, but these have no alcohol, so you will not be allergic to these,” he explained, and flicked a lighter above the bottle to prove that it wouldn’t turn into some Molotov cocktail, which apparently reinforced his point (although I still have no idea why).
He started shoving bottles under my nose and asking which ones I liked. I asked him how much this process was going to cost me and he uttered something about “Only 2 Egyptian pounds, not dollars, but Egyptian pounds.”
At this point, I was hoping to get out of there for under $20, so I pointed at one that seemed to smell the least like a cleaning solvent.
Wanting to leave, I told him that one would be fine and asked how much. “I want to give you a gift, too,” he said and led me upstairs. Every Egyptian person I’ve met has been extremely friendly, but I still couldn’t help like I was heading to the back room from Pulp Fiction that had the gimp.
Upstairs, there were a variety of decorative bottles, and he told me to pick one out as his “gift.” I settled on a camel, which seemed like it was going to be among the cheapest (not to mention gaudy enough that it was kind of funny).
I said fine and asked again how much. He came up with 1,000 Egyptian pounds, which is roughly $200. I stood and said no chance of that happening. He offered a few different things, and I finally agreed to a fifth of that price, which I knew was still way too much. But I really, really wanted to leave.
I pulled out my money to hand him four 50s, and noticing that I still had more, he started throwing every offer he could think of to clean me out. I grabbed my box of precious fragrance and didn’t look back.
Later, I hailed a taxi and handed him the card Darren had provided me, detailing directions on how to get back to his house.
There’s nothing quite as fun as a cab driver with a led foot in the middle of city rush hour traffic. I think it would have taken me about 45 minutes, if I was behind the wheel. This guy got me home in less than 15 minutes and for less than $3.
Since he had a lot of work that he’d been putting off since I arrived, he walked me to the corner and stuck me in a taxi. It was kind of like a mom walking her kid to the school bus.
Like that, except the kid didn’t speak the language or know anything about his neighborhood and how to get home.
I’ve always liked cab rides in foreign countries for the same reason other people like roller coasters, except I think my way provides way more of a thrill.
I got in the taxi, successfully avoiding the giant pile of cigarette ash in the seat next to me. There was no seat belt for the passenger, which probably goes without saying. The driver did have a seat belt, and to his credit it was across his chest and waist, although it probably would prove more effective if he had also snapped it in, as opposed to letting it lie there. Darren told me later that the driver was wearing pajamas, which proves just how weird something around here has to be for me to notice.
I know I keep mentioning the driving, but new things keep popping up. Back home in Denver in my neighborhood of Lowry, there are little traffic circles that people just can’t seem to figure out. All you have to do is yield before entering them and turn when you get to your street.
Here in Cairo, traffic circles give drivers free reign to do anything they want. They can go right. They can go left. They can turn from the inside without any signal. It’s utter chaos, yet seems to work about as well as the ones in Lowry.
I paid the taxi driver the costly price of $15 pounds (three dollars), when he dropped me across the street from the Egyptian Museum. I mention that it was across the street because it meant I would have to play a living version of Frogger.
The museum itself is unbelievable. Of course it has several artifacts and treasures from King Tut’s tomb. For those unfamiliar with the mummifying process for someone like Tutankhamun, as I was a few hours ago, they wrapped the body in linen before placing the golden death mask over the head. Tut’s solid gold death mask is the iconic image many people imagine when thinking about Egypt, and was made to look as much like him as possible to make finding his soul easier in the afterlife (or something like that).
From there, the body was placed in a sarcophagi, a coffin-like box made of solid gold, weighing 110 kilograms and elaborately decorated with a head just like the mask and Pharaonic symbols meant to protect the body. That sarcophagi was then put in a larger wooden and also elaborately decorated sarcophagi, which was put into yet another sarcophagi.
If you’re wondering where Russians got the idea for nesting dolls, I think I might have an answer for you.
One more thing, before they wrapped the body, they removed the organs and mummified them in containers to be placed next to the rest of the corpse. Apparently, they thought of everything back in the day.
While King Tut’s treasures are probably the most impressive part of the museum, the rest is truly amazing, as well.
There are so many artifacts on display – somewhere around 120,000 – that you actually start taking things for granted. After I visited King Tut’s area, I went into a room that must have had at least 100 sarcophagis (or whatever the plural form of sarcophagi might be). Seriously, they were stacked three high so you really couldn’t even see the top one. The whole museum is like that. I would hate to have been the person determining what was worthy of the spots that everyone could see and what should be placed in the hard to find areas.
And almost all of this stuff dates back at least 2,000 years. Yes, the stuff from just before the time of Christ would be the new stuff. Everything else goes a few thousand years beyond that.
One of the “star” exhibits according to the guide books is the Royal Mummy Rooms, where the mummies of 22 actual mummies lie in chronological order. To enter these rooms costs twice the price of the museum entry, and I figured a mummy is a mummy is a mummy.
So I went to the mummified animal room instead. Talk about fascinating. The ancient Egyptians actually had their pets mummified. And I thought animal chiropractic in the United States was taking things too far.
They had displays of cats, dogs, crocodiles and monkeys, among other animals. Now, before you start thinking this was absolutely crazy, they didn’t mummify the organs, like they did for humans. Well, they did do it for pets. And cows. And sometimes donkeys. But they didn’t waste their time and gold on any other animals.
There was a mummified pet baboon, which made me wonder where baboons lived in Egypt back then because I’m pretty sure there aren’t many around now.
Knowing I had only skimmed the surface of the museum, I left to take a little walk around the area. I noticed that instead of a walk sign on the traffic light, they actually had a man who appeared to run in green lights. I was fascinated enough that I stopped to take a picture.
Right then, a man told me what street it was, which was nice although I had not asked. Then he told me what the other streets were and where I could find good shopping.
I’m not an idiot. Well, not a complete idiot. I knew where this was going, but I kind of wanted to experience it anyway.
“No money,” he said after telling me that he had been a taxi driver in Minneapolis a few years back. “I just want to show you where the best places are to go.”
I’ve heard the line before, but it hadn’t hit me until that moment. “No money” is the Egyptian up-sell. What it means is that I’m not going to take your money right now, but I’m sure as hell going to take it in a few minutes.
He led me into his family shop and asked me to have a seat. He offered me tea, which I tried to decline, only to hear, “I’m Arab. You must take it or I will be very offended.” My question is this: since I don’t like tea, is it more offensive to make me drink something I don’t like or for me to not drink it? I drank it.
He showed me a picture of his family, which looked an awful lot like a British exhibition to the Pyramids of Giza, but I just shook my head and said, “Very nice.” He pointed at a photo of Dustin Hoffman and Mohammad Ali, proving I wasn’t the first American to get suckered into the store. In fact, the look on Ali's face seemed to scream, "How much will it cost just to get me out of this store?"
I looked around and realized it was a perfume/cologne shop, which is perfect for me since I wear neither and actually get a little annoyed when people wear too much.
I tried to get out of it by saying I was kind of allergic to them.
“Oh, but these have no alcohol, so you will not be allergic to these,” he explained, and flicked a lighter above the bottle to prove that it wouldn’t turn into some Molotov cocktail, which apparently reinforced his point (although I still have no idea why).
He started shoving bottles under my nose and asking which ones I liked. I asked him how much this process was going to cost me and he uttered something about “Only 2 Egyptian pounds, not dollars, but Egyptian pounds.”
At this point, I was hoping to get out of there for under $20, so I pointed at one that seemed to smell the least like a cleaning solvent.
Wanting to leave, I told him that one would be fine and asked how much. “I want to give you a gift, too,” he said and led me upstairs. Every Egyptian person I’ve met has been extremely friendly, but I still couldn’t help like I was heading to the back room from Pulp Fiction that had the gimp.
Upstairs, there were a variety of decorative bottles, and he told me to pick one out as his “gift.” I settled on a camel, which seemed like it was going to be among the cheapest (not to mention gaudy enough that it was kind of funny).
I said fine and asked again how much. He came up with 1,000 Egyptian pounds, which is roughly $200. I stood and said no chance of that happening. He offered a few different things, and I finally agreed to a fifth of that price, which I knew was still way too much. But I really, really wanted to leave.
I pulled out my money to hand him four 50s, and noticing that I still had more, he started throwing every offer he could think of to clean me out. I grabbed my box of precious fragrance and didn’t look back.
Later, I hailed a taxi and handed him the card Darren had provided me, detailing directions on how to get back to his house.
There’s nothing quite as fun as a cab driver with a led foot in the middle of city rush hour traffic. I think it would have taken me about 45 minutes, if I was behind the wheel. This guy got me home in less than 15 minutes and for less than $3.
Day 8
Wednesday, June 9, 2010 – We woke up this morning in the Egypt Hotel. It didn’t take long after we went to bed to realize perhaps why we got such a great deal on the room.
Our room, which did not need air conditioning because of the very pleasant breeze off the sea, was overlooking the Shari el Corniche, the road running along the coast. Basically, the Corniche is a cross between any beachfront strip in Florida, the intersection of I-70 and I-25, and the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The only difference was that this one required each driver to hit the horn between three and seven times as they passed the Egypt Hotel.
Full disclosure: I slept quite well thanks to my friend Tylenol PM and earplugs that may or may not have been waded up toilet paper. Darren didn’t sleep quite as well, judging from the vacant stare I encountered when I got up around 8:30 a.m.
The room rate included breakfast, so of course we were obligated to eat it. Or at least head in for a little look-see.
The waitress put down a tray in front of each of us. On it were white cheese (nice and salty, just like in Siwa), cucumbers, tomatoes, Roman cheese (tasted like it was made during the Roman Empire), 20 or so olives, and a piece of bologna.
After Calvin commented that the breakfast “seems a bit strange,” Darren told him that it was just like every breakfast he had at home. Darren, the ordained minister, was lying through his teeth.
Darren said that everyone had to finish their olives before we went anywhere, to which I suggested that he make himself comfortable for a very long stay at the table.
Breakfast “completed,” we headed toward the Roman Amphitheatre at Kom al-Dikka. In 1965, developers wanted to construct a housing project right in the heart of Alexandria on what to that point had been a big pile of rubble.
Consistent with our routine so far, we tried to find the place without actually knowing where we were going. Also consistent, we stopped several times to ask people directions, and several times people gave us directions without actually knowing what they were talking about. We drove in circles for a while but finally found the place, which is right next to the main train station that I’m sure everyone could have directed us to. Note to self: ask for directions to important things around the ancient places, not the places themselves.
Unfortunately for the construction company, they started digging and discovered 13 rows of marble benches surrounding an amphitheatre from the second century. It seems that people would prefer not to wipe out that type of discovery.
One of the things that is so amazing about this place is that they just keep finding things. Earlier this year in the same complex as the amphitheatre, archeologists discovered a temple. In fact, as we were visiting the site, people were digging on the other side of a barricade (actually a small rope).
We hopped back in the car, and this time I was determined to go right to the Catacombs of Kom ash-Shuqqafa.
My mother has a reputation for finding really random yet cool toys. Back in the day, she would surprise each of us with these treasures, and now she gives them to her grandchildren, who seem to adore them (and her).
Mom had me carry over two pocket survival kits, one for Calvin and one for Sammy, who insisted on carrying the things everywhere we went. It had a small flashlight, magnifying glass and five other essentials for survival.
Why am I telling you this? Because I borrowed the survival guide from Sammy and used the compass to get to the catacombs. It took us right to the spot. Take that Garmin.
Why didn’t we think of that before?
While I kind of enjoyed the story of how the amphitheatre was discovered to be chuckle worthy, I love the discovery of the catacombs.
In 1900, a guy was walking with a donkey through the city, when the donkey crashed through the road and fell into what turned out to be a huge series of tombs dating to the 200s. Too bad for the donkey (and the guy who presumably no longer had a donkey), but it was a great discovery.
The tombs are decorated with a combination of Pharaonic, Greek and Roman symbols and statues carved into the bedrock, and there were tunnels leading to tombs everywhere that accommodated (that’s the unfortunate word the Lonely Planet used) about 300 corpses.
Seeing what essentially was an underground morgue made us pretty hungry (either that or the unique breakfast didn’t quite do it for us), so we stopped at a mall on the way out of town.
I’m all for trying the local cuisine and that sort of thing, but when you’re traveling hours and hours with two young boys, you do what you can. So we stopped at Fuddruckers. For those of you counting at home, that makes Fuddruckers, Chili’s twice and McDonalds, which may set the record for most American chain restaurants I’ve eaten in a seven-day stretch. (It also marked the fourth time I’ve been in a mall in the past 10 days, which quadrupled the previous two years combined).
It only took about two hours to get back to Cairo, but of course we had to hunker down for the city traffic. For some reason, it seems less chaotic in Cairo than it did in Alexandria, although that may be because Darren has better bearings after living her for the better part of 10 years.
As we sat with a bus (advertising insurance on the side) and another car – all sharing the far left lane – Darren’s car hit the rearview of the car on his right enough to adjust each one but not break either. A minute later, he easily could have done the same thing with cars on either side of him. I decided it was kind of like a high five for cars. Nobody liked when it happened, but nobody seemed to care much either. With traffic like this, it’s bound to happen.
According to Darren, the way insurance works in Egypt is that each person takes his car in once a year to repair every ding and dent. Interesting system.
Tomorrow should be interesting. It will be my first day exploring the city without the help of a translator. I figure, what did I have to lose?
I mean, the only Arabic I know is “shokran,” which means “thank you.” How could that phrase possibly get me into trouble? And, really, what other words could I need?
To top it off, I’m completely turned around in this city. I know the Nile flows north-south, but it’s not exactly like the Rocky Mountains to the west of Denver. You kind of have to see the Nile in order to use it as a compass. That, and I wouldn’t know which was north and which was south.
My cell phone has been turned off since I got to the country. I figured it would just search for signal and die on a consistent basis anyway, but it’s really a tool that most of us have probably grown really attached to. Think about it. When you’re meeting a friend at a restaurant, you call them or text them to see where they’re sitting. If you’re meeting at a festival, it’s nearly impossible to find someone without the ever-present phone. And, when you’re lost in a new place, just whip out the phone and make a simple call.
The phone has become a crutch for me, and I feel almost naked without it.
But, again, no way to communicate, no idea where I am and no phone to use in case of emergency, what could possibly go wrong?
I figure worst case, I’ll probably end up being taken in by a family in the City of the Dead – a collection of cemeteries, in which the tombs have a chamber for the dead underground and a mausoleum for the living to return and pay their respects.
Well, it seems that the homeless in Cairo saw those above ground mausoleums as ideal solutions to their housing problem, and they began moving in. Estimates range from 50,000 to 500,000 people living in the City of the Dead.
Originally the government chose to ignore the fact that anyone was actually living in the cemeteries and left them without running water or electricity. Ingenuity proved victorious, as the inhabitants became proficient at tapping into other people’s water and electrical lines, sending the bills of the unsuspecting victims skyrocketing.
Not only did the government begin providing water and electricity to the area, they also built a post office.
Oh, did I mention that people originally started moving into the City of the Dead sometime in the 14th Century, at least 100 years before Christopher Columbus stumbled upon America?
Our room, which did not need air conditioning because of the very pleasant breeze off the sea, was overlooking the Shari el Corniche, the road running along the coast. Basically, the Corniche is a cross between any beachfront strip in Florida, the intersection of I-70 and I-25, and the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The only difference was that this one required each driver to hit the horn between three and seven times as they passed the Egypt Hotel.
Full disclosure: I slept quite well thanks to my friend Tylenol PM and earplugs that may or may not have been waded up toilet paper. Darren didn’t sleep quite as well, judging from the vacant stare I encountered when I got up around 8:30 a.m.
The room rate included breakfast, so of course we were obligated to eat it. Or at least head in for a little look-see.
The waitress put down a tray in front of each of us. On it were white cheese (nice and salty, just like in Siwa), cucumbers, tomatoes, Roman cheese (tasted like it was made during the Roman Empire), 20 or so olives, and a piece of bologna.
After Calvin commented that the breakfast “seems a bit strange,” Darren told him that it was just like every breakfast he had at home. Darren, the ordained minister, was lying through his teeth.
Darren said that everyone had to finish their olives before we went anywhere, to which I suggested that he make himself comfortable for a very long stay at the table.
Breakfast “completed,” we headed toward the Roman Amphitheatre at Kom al-Dikka. In 1965, developers wanted to construct a housing project right in the heart of Alexandria on what to that point had been a big pile of rubble.
Consistent with our routine so far, we tried to find the place without actually knowing where we were going. Also consistent, we stopped several times to ask people directions, and several times people gave us directions without actually knowing what they were talking about. We drove in circles for a while but finally found the place, which is right next to the main train station that I’m sure everyone could have directed us to. Note to self: ask for directions to important things around the ancient places, not the places themselves.
Unfortunately for the construction company, they started digging and discovered 13 rows of marble benches surrounding an amphitheatre from the second century. It seems that people would prefer not to wipe out that type of discovery.
One of the things that is so amazing about this place is that they just keep finding things. Earlier this year in the same complex as the amphitheatre, archeologists discovered a temple. In fact, as we were visiting the site, people were digging on the other side of a barricade (actually a small rope).
We hopped back in the car, and this time I was determined to go right to the Catacombs of Kom ash-Shuqqafa.
My mother has a reputation for finding really random yet cool toys. Back in the day, she would surprise each of us with these treasures, and now she gives them to her grandchildren, who seem to adore them (and her).
Mom had me carry over two pocket survival kits, one for Calvin and one for Sammy, who insisted on carrying the things everywhere we went. It had a small flashlight, magnifying glass and five other essentials for survival.
Why am I telling you this? Because I borrowed the survival guide from Sammy and used the compass to get to the catacombs. It took us right to the spot. Take that Garmin.
Why didn’t we think of that before?
While I kind of enjoyed the story of how the amphitheatre was discovered to be chuckle worthy, I love the discovery of the catacombs.
In 1900, a guy was walking with a donkey through the city, when the donkey crashed through the road and fell into what turned out to be a huge series of tombs dating to the 200s. Too bad for the donkey (and the guy who presumably no longer had a donkey), but it was a great discovery.
The tombs are decorated with a combination of Pharaonic, Greek and Roman symbols and statues carved into the bedrock, and there were tunnels leading to tombs everywhere that accommodated (that’s the unfortunate word the Lonely Planet used) about 300 corpses.
Seeing what essentially was an underground morgue made us pretty hungry (either that or the unique breakfast didn’t quite do it for us), so we stopped at a mall on the way out of town.
I’m all for trying the local cuisine and that sort of thing, but when you’re traveling hours and hours with two young boys, you do what you can. So we stopped at Fuddruckers. For those of you counting at home, that makes Fuddruckers, Chili’s twice and McDonalds, which may set the record for most American chain restaurants I’ve eaten in a seven-day stretch. (It also marked the fourth time I’ve been in a mall in the past 10 days, which quadrupled the previous two years combined).
It only took about two hours to get back to Cairo, but of course we had to hunker down for the city traffic. For some reason, it seems less chaotic in Cairo than it did in Alexandria, although that may be because Darren has better bearings after living her for the better part of 10 years.
As we sat with a bus (advertising insurance on the side) and another car – all sharing the far left lane – Darren’s car hit the rearview of the car on his right enough to adjust each one but not break either. A minute later, he easily could have done the same thing with cars on either side of him. I decided it was kind of like a high five for cars. Nobody liked when it happened, but nobody seemed to care much either. With traffic like this, it’s bound to happen.
According to Darren, the way insurance works in Egypt is that each person takes his car in once a year to repair every ding and dent. Interesting system.
Tomorrow should be interesting. It will be my first day exploring the city without the help of a translator. I figure, what did I have to lose?
I mean, the only Arabic I know is “shokran,” which means “thank you.” How could that phrase possibly get me into trouble? And, really, what other words could I need?
To top it off, I’m completely turned around in this city. I know the Nile flows north-south, but it’s not exactly like the Rocky Mountains to the west of Denver. You kind of have to see the Nile in order to use it as a compass. That, and I wouldn’t know which was north and which was south.
My cell phone has been turned off since I got to the country. I figured it would just search for signal and die on a consistent basis anyway, but it’s really a tool that most of us have probably grown really attached to. Think about it. When you’re meeting a friend at a restaurant, you call them or text them to see where they’re sitting. If you’re meeting at a festival, it’s nearly impossible to find someone without the ever-present phone. And, when you’re lost in a new place, just whip out the phone and make a simple call.
The phone has become a crutch for me, and I feel almost naked without it.
But, again, no way to communicate, no idea where I am and no phone to use in case of emergency, what could possibly go wrong?
I figure worst case, I’ll probably end up being taken in by a family in the City of the Dead – a collection of cemeteries, in which the tombs have a chamber for the dead underground and a mausoleum for the living to return and pay their respects.
Well, it seems that the homeless in Cairo saw those above ground mausoleums as ideal solutions to their housing problem, and they began moving in. Estimates range from 50,000 to 500,000 people living in the City of the Dead.
Originally the government chose to ignore the fact that anyone was actually living in the cemeteries and left them without running water or electricity. Ingenuity proved victorious, as the inhabitants became proficient at tapping into other people’s water and electrical lines, sending the bills of the unsuspecting victims skyrocketing.
Not only did the government begin providing water and electricity to the area, they also built a post office.
Oh, did I mention that people originally started moving into the City of the Dead sometime in the 14th Century, at least 100 years before Christopher Columbus stumbled upon America?
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Day 7
Tuesday, June 8, 2010 (Alexandria, Egypt) – We contemplated staying an extra day in Siwa, but after consulting our guides, we realized that we pretty much cashed out on all the area had to offer yesterday. On our way out of town, we stopped at the Temple of the Oracle, which was the same place Alexander the Great went to find out if he was the son of Zeus. I’m not sure what he discovered, but since his remains were allegedly discovered a few miles from there, he didn’t have much time to enjoy it either way.
As we were driving out of town, I finally started looking for more people to photograph. Because of customs, I was trying to be respectful, but the people are all so colorful that I really wanted to capture some of the essence (and, let’s be honest, we were getting out of Dodge, so what could they do?). The other thing was that we began noticing that we had not seen even one woman outside of Cairo without a headdress. And in Siwa, the women didn’t even have the cutouts in their burkas for eyes; instead they had thin pieces of cloth that prevented anyone from seeing in but, presumably, allowed them to see out (I’m not totally convinced about that, though).
Calvin and Sammy are really into Harry Potter right now, and when Sammy (age 6) saw one of these women in town, he asked if she was a Dementor. Again, I would like to say that I was culturally sensitive enough to tell him that he should respect their customs, but frankly I just couldn’t stop laughing. They really did look like J.K. Rowling’s description of the men who suck out your soul.
It took about eight hours of driving, pretty much the same way as we came, which means the first three hours or so were filled with sand. Every once in a while there was a radio tower (or some other sort of tower), and there always seemed to be a tent set up nearby, which led us to believe there might be a person stationed at each one. I’m not sure an assignment could get much more miserable. At one of them, the guy had set up a few water troughs for camels, and many were congregating around and drinking, leading us to believe that these were the guy’s only friends.
In other areas, there were random piles of rocks scattered around. When we drove by the other day, I thought maybe there was a religious meaning or something created by men in UFOs or something like that. Today, I decided the guy must have just been unbelievably freaking bored. I mean, really, what else do you do in the desert, hundreds of miles from the next closest human?
It was 2 p.m. by the time we rolled through Marsa Matruh, so we were all pretty hungry and looking for something that was reasonably quick and easy. The first thing we saw was a McDonalds. Now, I honestly don’t think I’ve had a burger at McDonalds since about 2005, but when I saw this particular one, I was willing to make an exception. The entire restaurant was outdoors and overlooking the turquoise turning into deep blue in the Mediterranean Sea. Seriously, if you offered this to any restaurant in the States, I don’t think McDonalds is getting the land.
On long car trips, one of the ways to pass time is to be looking for things, like states on license plates or types of cars or whatever might be fun. Darren and I spent most of the trip between Marsa Matruh and Alexandria looking for some signs we saw on the drive out. They were lovely signs, neatly printed on stone and set in wood but not gaudy, kind of like signs outside national parks in the States. These, however, were welcoming your to (or warning you of) “Forward British Minefield, October 23rd, 1942.” The tourist guides don’t often tout these fields filled with land mines from the various wars, but Egypt apparently has many.
We thought we were close to Alexandria around 6 p.m., but the signs indicated we had to make a U-turn, which put us into the kind of rush hour where cars are 14 wide across three lanes (and the median and the shoulder). We were frustrated, thinking that we must have made a wrong turn. What we really wanted to know was how we could have possibly passed a city of 4.1 million people and not seen a sign. But soon we realized that the streets around here are goofy and we just felt like we were going to the wrong way. At least, that’s what we’re telling ourselves because surely we wouldn’t make a wrong turn, especially one that puts us in a traffic jam.
I’m not blaming city planners for the goofy streets, mainly because most of them are built directly on top of the roads from 2,500 years ago, and getting mad at Cleopatra’s people just doesn’t seem like it would do much good.
We had a hotel picked out and hoped they would have a spare room. When we got to town, I was reading my book in English and wondering what the street signs said in Arabic. We started making circles that grew smaller and smaller as we felt like we were getting closer. Finally, we knew we were close, so Darren parked the car, and we were going to search on foot. That’s when Calvin asked if we were looking for the Egypt Hotel, and we said yes.
“Oh. It’s on the third floor of the building across the street,” said Cal. Apparently he was the only one that was smart enough to notice the two signs by the door directly across from us, not to mention the gigantic sign above.
The city is loud and crowded, like a smaller version of Cairo. However, with a fourth-floor suite that overlooks the Mediterranean Sea, I’m not complaining.
As we were driving out of town, I finally started looking for more people to photograph. Because of customs, I was trying to be respectful, but the people are all so colorful that I really wanted to capture some of the essence (and, let’s be honest, we were getting out of Dodge, so what could they do?). The other thing was that we began noticing that we had not seen even one woman outside of Cairo without a headdress. And in Siwa, the women didn’t even have the cutouts in their burkas for eyes; instead they had thin pieces of cloth that prevented anyone from seeing in but, presumably, allowed them to see out (I’m not totally convinced about that, though).
Calvin and Sammy are really into Harry Potter right now, and when Sammy (age 6) saw one of these women in town, he asked if she was a Dementor. Again, I would like to say that I was culturally sensitive enough to tell him that he should respect their customs, but frankly I just couldn’t stop laughing. They really did look like J.K. Rowling’s description of the men who suck out your soul.
It took about eight hours of driving, pretty much the same way as we came, which means the first three hours or so were filled with sand. Every once in a while there was a radio tower (or some other sort of tower), and there always seemed to be a tent set up nearby, which led us to believe there might be a person stationed at each one. I’m not sure an assignment could get much more miserable. At one of them, the guy had set up a few water troughs for camels, and many were congregating around and drinking, leading us to believe that these were the guy’s only friends.
In other areas, there were random piles of rocks scattered around. When we drove by the other day, I thought maybe there was a religious meaning or something created by men in UFOs or something like that. Today, I decided the guy must have just been unbelievably freaking bored. I mean, really, what else do you do in the desert, hundreds of miles from the next closest human?
It was 2 p.m. by the time we rolled through Marsa Matruh, so we were all pretty hungry and looking for something that was reasonably quick and easy. The first thing we saw was a McDonalds. Now, I honestly don’t think I’ve had a burger at McDonalds since about 2005, but when I saw this particular one, I was willing to make an exception. The entire restaurant was outdoors and overlooking the turquoise turning into deep blue in the Mediterranean Sea. Seriously, if you offered this to any restaurant in the States, I don’t think McDonalds is getting the land.
On long car trips, one of the ways to pass time is to be looking for things, like states on license plates or types of cars or whatever might be fun. Darren and I spent most of the trip between Marsa Matruh and Alexandria looking for some signs we saw on the drive out. They were lovely signs, neatly printed on stone and set in wood but not gaudy, kind of like signs outside national parks in the States. These, however, were welcoming your to (or warning you of) “Forward British Minefield, October 23rd, 1942.” The tourist guides don’t often tout these fields filled with land mines from the various wars, but Egypt apparently has many.
We thought we were close to Alexandria around 6 p.m., but the signs indicated we had to make a U-turn, which put us into the kind of rush hour where cars are 14 wide across three lanes (and the median and the shoulder). We were frustrated, thinking that we must have made a wrong turn. What we really wanted to know was how we could have possibly passed a city of 4.1 million people and not seen a sign. But soon we realized that the streets around here are goofy and we just felt like we were going to the wrong way. At least, that’s what we’re telling ourselves because surely we wouldn’t make a wrong turn, especially one that puts us in a traffic jam.
I’m not blaming city planners for the goofy streets, mainly because most of them are built directly on top of the roads from 2,500 years ago, and getting mad at Cleopatra’s people just doesn’t seem like it would do much good.
We had a hotel picked out and hoped they would have a spare room. When we got to town, I was reading my book in English and wondering what the street signs said in Arabic. We started making circles that grew smaller and smaller as we felt like we were getting closer. Finally, we knew we were close, so Darren parked the car, and we were going to search on foot. That’s when Calvin asked if we were looking for the Egypt Hotel, and we said yes.
“Oh. It’s on the third floor of the building across the street,” said Cal. Apparently he was the only one that was smart enough to notice the two signs by the door directly across from us, not to mention the gigantic sign above.
The city is loud and crowded, like a smaller version of Cairo. However, with a fourth-floor suite that overlooks the Mediterranean Sea, I’m not complaining.
Day 6
Monday, June 7, 2010 (Siwa, Egypt) – We conquered Siwa today, and it was extraordinary.
The hotel provided breakfast, and we got a taste of the area. It started with pita bread and some sort of cheese that was like cream cheese with four pounds of salt in every shmear (thank you einsteinbros.com for providing the proper spelling). Next, they put down the usual assortment of jams on the table: apricot, olive and carrot. The apricot wasn’t disgusting.
We were concerned about not having enough food for the day, so I actually ate the beans, which most of you probably realize is the kind of texture I cannot stand. We each ordered an omelets, which was really just one omelet split four ways, and we washed it down with Nescafe, marking perhaps the first time in my life I was happy to have instant coffee.
Honestly, I tried it all, and I’m glad I did. But I’m not likely to order any of it again.
The day improved quickly, when we headed to Gabel al-Mawta, the Mountain of the Dead. Although I’m from Colorado, I’m not even going to make a crack about the tiny hill being called a mountain – mostly because it was unbelievable.
Now, when we were kids, Mom took Darren and me (and sometimes big brother David) to Antioch Park, where they had this little play city, where we would spend hours entertaining ourselves. This morning, we took the boys to ancient ruins that were way cooler than some miniature banks and hotels.
The hill is probably about 100-150 high, but there are tombs everywhere we looked. I was hesitant at first, because in the U.S., every one of these things would have been roped off and guarded. But here, there is just so much history that nobody seems to even notice. Calvin and Sammy went down in one of the tombs and I stayed up, thinking it was going to be another single room and they’d be back soon. After a few minutes, I went down to find them and ended up crawling through a hole in the wall. There were passageways leading in just about every direction with what clearly used to be tombs lining the sides.
A few of the tombs had locked doors, which the guard opened for us (for a moderate baksheesh). We went into the Tomb of Si Amun, Tomb of Mesu-Isis, Tomb of Niperpathot and Tomb of the Crocodile. Each one had paintings that dated back to the 26th Dynasty, Ptolemaic and Roman times (according to the always trustworthy Lonely Planet). I don’t know quite how to describe these things, other than to say that I saw the King Tut traveling exhibit once, and these four tombs probably had more artifacts and were definitely cooler (and not behind glass).
Scattered throughout the Mountain were human bones. Darren picked up what we figured was a femur that was lying near his feet. Others were imbedded in the dirt all around. So much for a final resting place.
Last night during dinner, we arranged a tour of the surrounding desert. We were a little skeptical because the price was higher than we expected ($150 for the four of us? Are you out of your mind? Wait, I think I paid that for a half-day rafting trip once in Colorado, and that was just me.) and the guy in charge seemed to be downplaying what we would be doing.
The four of us loaded into the back of a truck with benches along the sides and a cover on top. My first thought, of course, was, “How the hell hot is this day going to be?” I got in anyway.
We drove around the large lake just outside of town that forms the center of the Siwa Oasis. After about 45 minutes, the guide turned to us to say that we had a very special surprise , which made the two boys excited and made Darren and I cringe.
Sure enough, the big surprise was that we got to see the other hotel that was part of our hotel group. Although Darren protested, we took a look anyway.
I’ve got to say, it was a pretty cool place, even if it was in the middle of nowhere and could only be accessed by 4-wheel-drive. There entire complex was built ecofriendly and blended right in with the surroundings. There was no electricity, so candles were scattered around the room we looked at. All the furniture was made of salt. No really. The guide told us that if you spill a glass of water, the thing pretty much disintegrates.
Anyway, as I’ve said, I don’t speak a lick of Arabic, so there’s a possibility that I now own an awesome timeshare in Siwa. Let me know if anyone is interested in taking my week next year.
We drove for quite some time, stopping at various points in the desert. From about 15 minutes into the drive, I had absolutely no concept of where I was or which direction I was pointed. There was sand everywhere, and I’m talking Lawrence of Arabia sand. I don’t know how else to explain it (although some great photos will follow).
We stopped at a focalized footprint that was probably a couple thousand (or more) years old, although Darren and I were more interested in the fact that we were within spitting distance of the Libyan border (no Mom, we didn’t stop in for tea with Kaddafi).
We drove a little more through the sand dunes, and the driver gradually got a little more daring. Needless to say, driving through sand is kind of like driving a boat, and it always feels like you’re moving faster than if you were in a car.
Especially when you’re going over the tops of giant sand dunes. We seriously got to the point a few times where the truck was vertical. Darren even got out one time to try to take pictures of it, and returned to the truck wide-eyed after watching it from afar. I haven’t checked the pictures yet, but I seriously doubt you could capture the insanity in a photograph (I hope I’m wrong).
Let’s just say that all of us were pretty much scared out of our minds the first few times, but we got a little more courageous as the day went on. Well, the kids were more courageous. I was pretty nervous most of the ride.
After another hour or so of seeing sand everywhere, we crested a dune and saw a saltwater oasis appear out of nowhere. As we were swimming, all of us started imagining wandering around the desert and discovering a lush pond, and then realizing that you couldn’t drink any of the water.
We dried off, and they had lunch ready for us. It was much better than breakfast, although Darren is still shocked that I ate it.
You have to understand. I was about as picky as they come while I was growing up. There was a Christmas when my grandfather gave each of us $100, which was more money than any of us could have even imagined. Darren and David went out and bought camera equipment or something else that Grandfather was pleased to hear about.
Me? Throughout the rest of Christmas Break that year, if my family was eating something I didn’t care for, I’d quietly get up from the table, grab the phone and order a pizza. My parents are still incredulous about the whole thing, but I enjoyed every cent of that $100.
And, for the record, Grandfather never gave me money as a gift again. I’m not sure why.
Anyway, they served us fresh cucumbers and tomatoes mixed with feta cheese and canned tuna. I’m not a fan of canned tuna, but I had a little anyway (I was famished after breakfast), and I really enjoyed the salad. Finally, I found a sort of Egyptian dish that I liked.
The tour does it right. For those of you that have put on a shirt after swimming in salt water, you know that prickly sensation you get. It’s not all that appealing. So, next they took us to a freshwater oasis, where we swam for quite a while (and knocked all the salt off, which was nice).
As we were drying off in the desert breeze, I realized that I had not been hot at all today. I really imagined this part of the country being brutally hot, but when I asked the guide, he said it was generally about like this. It may actually be drier than Denver, if that’s even possible (although the dryness probably would not surprise anyone), and there was generally a breeze. I have no idea what the temperature was today, but I imagine it was hovering around triple digits, and I hardly noticed.
The final oasis was hot water with a strong smell of sulfur and temperatures that were not conducive to swimming. We didn’t stay long.
Throughout the day, the truck would stop at various points, and we would all look at each other wondering if it was time for the guys to take all our stuff and leave us for dead. Instead, each time they would point out something amazing. One time it was a pile of rocks that could be used to light fires (and looked an awful lot like a meteorite that crashed to earth). Another was a field of quartz or something similar that the wind and sand somehow formed in ample amounts in a concentrated area no more than about a quarter mile. Lastly, we stopped at a field of fossils – seashells, a couple starfish, apparently someone discovered the remains of a whale in the area (which we did not see).
Think about that, in the middle of one of the oldest deserts in the world, near one of the oldest cities in the world, were the remains of sea life.
Our final stop was atop a large sand dune that overlooked the big lake and Siwa itself. As we waited for the sun to drop behind the hills and sand dunes, we did what anyone would do. We jumped on a sandboard and started shredding. OK, maybe no shredding.
Some of you have probably heard about this, but it’s basically snowboarding on sand. And it’s pretty fun (perhaps I thought so because I’ve never actually tried snowboarding and kept wiping out). The kids got on the thing headfirst and shot down the dune on their bellies. I tried the same approach on my second attempt. I found it much easier, but I swallowed a good portion of the Western Desert and had to yard sale at the bottom, fearing that otherwise I would continue gliding into the endless sea of sand.
The sun set, and we headed back for dinner and showers. Another very successful day in the books.
The hotel provided breakfast, and we got a taste of the area. It started with pita bread and some sort of cheese that was like cream cheese with four pounds of salt in every shmear (thank you einsteinbros.com for providing the proper spelling). Next, they put down the usual assortment of jams on the table: apricot, olive and carrot. The apricot wasn’t disgusting.
We were concerned about not having enough food for the day, so I actually ate the beans, which most of you probably realize is the kind of texture I cannot stand. We each ordered an omelets, which was really just one omelet split four ways, and we washed it down with Nescafe, marking perhaps the first time in my life I was happy to have instant coffee.
Honestly, I tried it all, and I’m glad I did. But I’m not likely to order any of it again.
The day improved quickly, when we headed to Gabel al-Mawta, the Mountain of the Dead. Although I’m from Colorado, I’m not even going to make a crack about the tiny hill being called a mountain – mostly because it was unbelievable.
Now, when we were kids, Mom took Darren and me (and sometimes big brother David) to Antioch Park, where they had this little play city, where we would spend hours entertaining ourselves. This morning, we took the boys to ancient ruins that were way cooler than some miniature banks and hotels.
The hill is probably about 100-150 high, but there are tombs everywhere we looked. I was hesitant at first, because in the U.S., every one of these things would have been roped off and guarded. But here, there is just so much history that nobody seems to even notice. Calvin and Sammy went down in one of the tombs and I stayed up, thinking it was going to be another single room and they’d be back soon. After a few minutes, I went down to find them and ended up crawling through a hole in the wall. There were passageways leading in just about every direction with what clearly used to be tombs lining the sides.
A few of the tombs had locked doors, which the guard opened for us (for a moderate baksheesh). We went into the Tomb of Si Amun, Tomb of Mesu-Isis, Tomb of Niperpathot and Tomb of the Crocodile. Each one had paintings that dated back to the 26th Dynasty, Ptolemaic and Roman times (according to the always trustworthy Lonely Planet). I don’t know quite how to describe these things, other than to say that I saw the King Tut traveling exhibit once, and these four tombs probably had more artifacts and were definitely cooler (and not behind glass).
Scattered throughout the Mountain were human bones. Darren picked up what we figured was a femur that was lying near his feet. Others were imbedded in the dirt all around. So much for a final resting place.
Last night during dinner, we arranged a tour of the surrounding desert. We were a little skeptical because the price was higher than we expected ($150 for the four of us? Are you out of your mind? Wait, I think I paid that for a half-day rafting trip once in Colorado, and that was just me.) and the guy in charge seemed to be downplaying what we would be doing.
The four of us loaded into the back of a truck with benches along the sides and a cover on top. My first thought, of course, was, “How the hell hot is this day going to be?” I got in anyway.
We drove around the large lake just outside of town that forms the center of the Siwa Oasis. After about 45 minutes, the guide turned to us to say that we had a very special surprise , which made the two boys excited and made Darren and I cringe.
Sure enough, the big surprise was that we got to see the other hotel that was part of our hotel group. Although Darren protested, we took a look anyway.
I’ve got to say, it was a pretty cool place, even if it was in the middle of nowhere and could only be accessed by 4-wheel-drive. There entire complex was built ecofriendly and blended right in with the surroundings. There was no electricity, so candles were scattered around the room we looked at. All the furniture was made of salt. No really. The guide told us that if you spill a glass of water, the thing pretty much disintegrates.
Anyway, as I’ve said, I don’t speak a lick of Arabic, so there’s a possibility that I now own an awesome timeshare in Siwa. Let me know if anyone is interested in taking my week next year.
We drove for quite some time, stopping at various points in the desert. From about 15 minutes into the drive, I had absolutely no concept of where I was or which direction I was pointed. There was sand everywhere, and I’m talking Lawrence of Arabia sand. I don’t know how else to explain it (although some great photos will follow).
We stopped at a focalized footprint that was probably a couple thousand (or more) years old, although Darren and I were more interested in the fact that we were within spitting distance of the Libyan border (no Mom, we didn’t stop in for tea with Kaddafi).
We drove a little more through the sand dunes, and the driver gradually got a little more daring. Needless to say, driving through sand is kind of like driving a boat, and it always feels like you’re moving faster than if you were in a car.
Especially when you’re going over the tops of giant sand dunes. We seriously got to the point a few times where the truck was vertical. Darren even got out one time to try to take pictures of it, and returned to the truck wide-eyed after watching it from afar. I haven’t checked the pictures yet, but I seriously doubt you could capture the insanity in a photograph (I hope I’m wrong).
Let’s just say that all of us were pretty much scared out of our minds the first few times, but we got a little more courageous as the day went on. Well, the kids were more courageous. I was pretty nervous most of the ride.
After another hour or so of seeing sand everywhere, we crested a dune and saw a saltwater oasis appear out of nowhere. As we were swimming, all of us started imagining wandering around the desert and discovering a lush pond, and then realizing that you couldn’t drink any of the water.
We dried off, and they had lunch ready for us. It was much better than breakfast, although Darren is still shocked that I ate it.
You have to understand. I was about as picky as they come while I was growing up. There was a Christmas when my grandfather gave each of us $100, which was more money than any of us could have even imagined. Darren and David went out and bought camera equipment or something else that Grandfather was pleased to hear about.
Me? Throughout the rest of Christmas Break that year, if my family was eating something I didn’t care for, I’d quietly get up from the table, grab the phone and order a pizza. My parents are still incredulous about the whole thing, but I enjoyed every cent of that $100.
And, for the record, Grandfather never gave me money as a gift again. I’m not sure why.
Anyway, they served us fresh cucumbers and tomatoes mixed with feta cheese and canned tuna. I’m not a fan of canned tuna, but I had a little anyway (I was famished after breakfast), and I really enjoyed the salad. Finally, I found a sort of Egyptian dish that I liked.
The tour does it right. For those of you that have put on a shirt after swimming in salt water, you know that prickly sensation you get. It’s not all that appealing. So, next they took us to a freshwater oasis, where we swam for quite a while (and knocked all the salt off, which was nice).
As we were drying off in the desert breeze, I realized that I had not been hot at all today. I really imagined this part of the country being brutally hot, but when I asked the guide, he said it was generally about like this. It may actually be drier than Denver, if that’s even possible (although the dryness probably would not surprise anyone), and there was generally a breeze. I have no idea what the temperature was today, but I imagine it was hovering around triple digits, and I hardly noticed.
The final oasis was hot water with a strong smell of sulfur and temperatures that were not conducive to swimming. We didn’t stay long.
Throughout the day, the truck would stop at various points, and we would all look at each other wondering if it was time for the guys to take all our stuff and leave us for dead. Instead, each time they would point out something amazing. One time it was a pile of rocks that could be used to light fires (and looked an awful lot like a meteorite that crashed to earth). Another was a field of quartz or something similar that the wind and sand somehow formed in ample amounts in a concentrated area no more than about a quarter mile. Lastly, we stopped at a field of fossils – seashells, a couple starfish, apparently someone discovered the remains of a whale in the area (which we did not see).
Think about that, in the middle of one of the oldest deserts in the world, near one of the oldest cities in the world, were the remains of sea life.
Our final stop was atop a large sand dune that overlooked the big lake and Siwa itself. As we waited for the sun to drop behind the hills and sand dunes, we did what anyone would do. We jumped on a sandboard and started shredding. OK, maybe no shredding.
Some of you have probably heard about this, but it’s basically snowboarding on sand. And it’s pretty fun (perhaps I thought so because I’ve never actually tried snowboarding and kept wiping out). The kids got on the thing headfirst and shot down the dune on their bellies. I tried the same approach on my second attempt. I found it much easier, but I swallowed a good portion of the Western Desert and had to yard sale at the bottom, fearing that otherwise I would continue gliding into the endless sea of sand.
The sun set, and we headed back for dinner and showers. Another very successful day in the books.
Day 5
Sunday, June 6, 2010 (Siwa, Egypt) – It was time to get out of Cairo, so the four boys loaded up the car (Elisabeth stayed behind to get some work done) and headed out.
We started north until we hit the Mediterranean Sea and followed it for a few hours Marsa Matruh, where we headed back south.
Ten short hours later, we arrived in Siwa, an oasis in the Western Desert. To be sure, when I skimmed over that trip south a moment ago, I did not remotely do it justice.
For roughly three hours, we drove on one of the most desolate two-lane highways on the planet. I was surprised at how well maintained the asphalt was, but the scenery was the endless miles of desert you would expect.
It was certainly a first for me when I spotted my first camel road kill, a sight we would see several more times during the journey. Without question, we saw more wild camels patrolling the desert than we saw other motorists. And when cars did pass us in the opposite direction, they flashed their lights at us. We still have no idea why they were doing it and if they were trying to communicate some essential message. So we waved at them.
We finally rolled into Siwa around 8 p.m. and drove around the small town for a good 15 minutes before we finally found our hotel. It’s kind of hard to fault us for not seeing it right away. We’re not exactly talking a Marriott with big flashing lights.
The Al-Babinshal was literally built as an addition to the Fortress of Shali, a 13th Century mudbrick fortress. The place is unbelievable, although I’m not sure adding a hotel alongside an 800 year old building is what historians would want.
The thing is, you really can’t tell where the fortress stops and the hotel starts, because the hotel used all the same materials and somehow blended it in perfectly. And, to be fair, the fortress itself is in shambles and is not really used for much of anything, from the look of it. For those interested in more details, the fortress that was built in 1203 was ruined by three days of rain in 1926. That’s right, rain brought down a 723-year-old fort. Seriously, I can’t make this up.
We headed to the rooftop restaurant for dinner. The wind was blowing pretty hard, which is obviously not uncommon for the desert, but it made keeping the paper placemats difficult to keep from flying away.
We were met with a welcome drink, which was some sort of hibiscus tea. Darren slammed his. Sammy took one sip before saying no chance. And Calvin and I pretended it was some sort of magic potion that would somehow help us. It wasn’t easy, but we both finished the glass.
Up until this point, we have stuck mostly to American restaurants or eaten at home. One of my concerns is that I’ve never really cared for Middle Eastern cuisine, but I am willing to give anything a try (especially figuring that the authentic dishes may taste better than the ones I’ve had in the States).
We ordered hummus and baba ghanoug for appetizers, and I tried both dips before finishing off the rest of my plain pita bread.
I did go out on a limb and ordered Safari Stew for my main course, complete with carrots, mashed potatoes and, yes, camel meat. It was similar to a pot roast, so I made a pretty good dent in it before handing it over so Darren could try (inhale) some of it.
I just hope it had no relation with what we saw on the side of the road today.
We started north until we hit the Mediterranean Sea and followed it for a few hours Marsa Matruh, where we headed back south.
Ten short hours later, we arrived in Siwa, an oasis in the Western Desert. To be sure, when I skimmed over that trip south a moment ago, I did not remotely do it justice.
For roughly three hours, we drove on one of the most desolate two-lane highways on the planet. I was surprised at how well maintained the asphalt was, but the scenery was the endless miles of desert you would expect.
It was certainly a first for me when I spotted my first camel road kill, a sight we would see several more times during the journey. Without question, we saw more wild camels patrolling the desert than we saw other motorists. And when cars did pass us in the opposite direction, they flashed their lights at us. We still have no idea why they were doing it and if they were trying to communicate some essential message. So we waved at them.
We finally rolled into Siwa around 8 p.m. and drove around the small town for a good 15 minutes before we finally found our hotel. It’s kind of hard to fault us for not seeing it right away. We’re not exactly talking a Marriott with big flashing lights.
The Al-Babinshal was literally built as an addition to the Fortress of Shali, a 13th Century mudbrick fortress. The place is unbelievable, although I’m not sure adding a hotel alongside an 800 year old building is what historians would want.
The thing is, you really can’t tell where the fortress stops and the hotel starts, because the hotel used all the same materials and somehow blended it in perfectly. And, to be fair, the fortress itself is in shambles and is not really used for much of anything, from the look of it. For those interested in more details, the fortress that was built in 1203 was ruined by three days of rain in 1926. That’s right, rain brought down a 723-year-old fort. Seriously, I can’t make this up.
We headed to the rooftop restaurant for dinner. The wind was blowing pretty hard, which is obviously not uncommon for the desert, but it made keeping the paper placemats difficult to keep from flying away.
We were met with a welcome drink, which was some sort of hibiscus tea. Darren slammed his. Sammy took one sip before saying no chance. And Calvin and I pretended it was some sort of magic potion that would somehow help us. It wasn’t easy, but we both finished the glass.
Up until this point, we have stuck mostly to American restaurants or eaten at home. One of my concerns is that I’ve never really cared for Middle Eastern cuisine, but I am willing to give anything a try (especially figuring that the authentic dishes may taste better than the ones I’ve had in the States).
We ordered hummus and baba ghanoug for appetizers, and I tried both dips before finishing off the rest of my plain pita bread.
I did go out on a limb and ordered Safari Stew for my main course, complete with carrots, mashed potatoes and, yes, camel meat. It was similar to a pot roast, so I made a pretty good dent in it before handing it over so Darren could try (inhale) some of it.
I just hope it had no relation with what we saw on the side of the road today.
Day 4
Saturday, June 5, 2010 (Cairo, Egypt) – We celebrated Calvin’s birthday today, and while it was an exciting Harry Potter-themed scavenger hunt, extensive details are probably not necessary. If you would like to hear about Dumbledore’s challenges, I’m more than happy to go into detail. But for the rest of you, let’s talk about traffic.
On my first full day in Cairo, Darren asked Calvin (the 10-year-old) what the color of the stoplights in the United States mean. “Red means stop, yellow means yield and green means go,” Calvin said. Then Darren asked him what they mean in Egypt:
DK: What is green?
CK: That’s a pretty color for a light.
DK: Yellow?
CK: Hey, that’s the color of mango ice cream.
DK: Red?
CK: That light is the same color as roses. How nice.
Darren actually asked me if he had run any red lights because he doesn’t “even recognize them anymore.”
The streets are utter chaos, but from what I can tell, it seems to work. Some streets have lines painted, but there certainly aren’t any lanes, and I think a quick horn blast and a point signify the same thing as a turn signal in the U.S. Cars routinely get within 3-4 inches of each other while traveling at high speeds.
There are no posted speed limit signs that I’ve seen, intersections don’t have any lights or signs (and if they do they’re ignored), and one-way streets are clearly an optional concept.
Nobody slows down when entering a road, which means merging is pretty much making all the cars to the side move over. At night, most drivers leave their headlights off because “it saves gas.” Of course it does.
On top of all this, pedestrians are crossing the road in every spot except where crosswalks might be in other parts of the world. And they do it with a slow saunter, stopping in the middle from time to time to let cars bellow by. The contrast between the fast moving cars and the slow moving people is extraordinary.
Some women in full black burkas cross the street in the middle of the night. According to Darren, ninjas couldn’t find camouflage that was any better than these women. I haven’t seen them, but I have no doubt they’re out there as I write this, crossing some busy highway and confident that they’ll make it to the other side. No telling if that’s the other side of the street or something more metaphoric.
The thing is, it kind of seems to work. I’m not saying that the Egyptians are providing a monumental example of how we could fix our roadways, but there may be something to it.
In Colorado, there seem to be two rules of driving:
1. Never, ever and I mean NEVER let anyone into your lane under any circumstances. Perhaps he HAS been driving courteously and has had his blinker on for several miles, hoping to get off on one of a dozen exits since his actual exit, but this is MY lane and he has no right to barge into it.
2. If I need to exit or turn, I have EVERY right to point my car in the direction of where I have to go, regardless of where I might be on the road and how many cars, trucks or construction crews may be in the way.
I may be exaggerating, but that sure feels like it’s pretty much the way most drivers think.
Compare that to Cairo. Here, everyone lets people in because they have to, but at the same time neither car appears to slow down in doing so. In other words, both cars go where they want to in the most efficient time. Sure there’s a lot of honking and gestures (although I’ve yet to see the one-fingered salute here), but it’s fleeting. I don’t see anybody senselessly and maddeningly chasing down another car because they got cut off.
We could probably do develop some sort of system like this in the United States. All it would take is convincing every other American that a ding or two (or 33) in their cars was not a big deal.
I guess it won’t work after all.
On my first full day in Cairo, Darren asked Calvin (the 10-year-old) what the color of the stoplights in the United States mean. “Red means stop, yellow means yield and green means go,” Calvin said. Then Darren asked him what they mean in Egypt:
DK: What is green?
CK: That’s a pretty color for a light.
DK: Yellow?
CK: Hey, that’s the color of mango ice cream.
DK: Red?
CK: That light is the same color as roses. How nice.
Darren actually asked me if he had run any red lights because he doesn’t “even recognize them anymore.”
The streets are utter chaos, but from what I can tell, it seems to work. Some streets have lines painted, but there certainly aren’t any lanes, and I think a quick horn blast and a point signify the same thing as a turn signal in the U.S. Cars routinely get within 3-4 inches of each other while traveling at high speeds.
There are no posted speed limit signs that I’ve seen, intersections don’t have any lights or signs (and if they do they’re ignored), and one-way streets are clearly an optional concept.
Nobody slows down when entering a road, which means merging is pretty much making all the cars to the side move over. At night, most drivers leave their headlights off because “it saves gas.” Of course it does.
On top of all this, pedestrians are crossing the road in every spot except where crosswalks might be in other parts of the world. And they do it with a slow saunter, stopping in the middle from time to time to let cars bellow by. The contrast between the fast moving cars and the slow moving people is extraordinary.
Some women in full black burkas cross the street in the middle of the night. According to Darren, ninjas couldn’t find camouflage that was any better than these women. I haven’t seen them, but I have no doubt they’re out there as I write this, crossing some busy highway and confident that they’ll make it to the other side. No telling if that’s the other side of the street or something more metaphoric.
The thing is, it kind of seems to work. I’m not saying that the Egyptians are providing a monumental example of how we could fix our roadways, but there may be something to it.
In Colorado, there seem to be two rules of driving:
1. Never, ever and I mean NEVER let anyone into your lane under any circumstances. Perhaps he HAS been driving courteously and has had his blinker on for several miles, hoping to get off on one of a dozen exits since his actual exit, but this is MY lane and he has no right to barge into it.
2. If I need to exit or turn, I have EVERY right to point my car in the direction of where I have to go, regardless of where I might be on the road and how many cars, trucks or construction crews may be in the way.
I may be exaggerating, but that sure feels like it’s pretty much the way most drivers think.
Compare that to Cairo. Here, everyone lets people in because they have to, but at the same time neither car appears to slow down in doing so. In other words, both cars go where they want to in the most efficient time. Sure there’s a lot of honking and gestures (although I’ve yet to see the one-fingered salute here), but it’s fleeting. I don’t see anybody senselessly and maddeningly chasing down another car because they got cut off.
We could probably do develop some sort of system like this in the United States. All it would take is convincing every other American that a ding or two (or 33) in their cars was not a big deal.
I guess it won’t work after all.
Day 3
Friday, June 4, 2010 (Cairo, Egypt) – The day started early, despite Calvin’s clear objection, which he literally wore (a T-shirt with the word “awake” and a line through it).
It started even earlier for me. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten excited about sleeping great on the first night. Jetlag caught up to me, and I woke at 4 a.m. I have no idea how jetlag works. It seems to me that your body would be used to the time at home, but 4 a.m. in Cairo would be 9 p.m. in Denver, which is certainly not the time I generally wake up for the day.
We were heading for the pyramids. Perhaps you’ve heard of them. But they’re really big, and people think they’re off in the middle of the desert.
In fact, they are less than 30 minutes from Darren’s place in Cairo (35, if you count the wrong turn we took). Here’s another little fact you may not have known: the Sphinx is staring directly at a Pizza Hut/Kentucky Fried Chicken. Seriously. It’s directly across the street. I tried to figure out a way to take a picture of the window with the Sphinx in the reflection, but I’m just not a good enough photographer.
“Of course we were besieged by a rabble of muscular Egyptians and Arabs who wanted the contract of dragging us to the top--all tourists are. Of course you could not hear your own voice for the din that was around you. Of course the Sheiks said they were the only responsible parties; that all contracts must be made with them, all moneys paid over to them, and none exacted from us by any but themselves alone. Of course they contracted that the varlets who dragged us up should not mention bucksheesh once. For such is the usual routine. Of course we contracted with them, paid them, were delivered into the hands of the draggers, dragged up the Pyramids, and harried and be-deviled for bucksheesh from the foundation clear to the summit. We paid it, too, for we were purposely spread very far apart over the vast side of the Pyramid. There was no help near if we called, and the Herculeses who dragged us had a way of asking sweetly and flatteringly for bucksheesh, which was seductive, and of looking fierce and threatening to throw us down the precipice, which was persuasive and convincing.”
The great Mark Twain wrote that passage in The Innocents Abroad in 1869. Of course, he could have easily been talking about today.
You know those beach peddlers at Mexican resorts? They’re bush league. They’re in the minor leagues. These dudes at the Giza Pyramids? They’re in the big leagues. They, in fact, may be the All-Stars.
For the record, when Twain referred to “bucksheesh” he was talking about “baksheesh,” which translates to the requisite tips paid to everyone in Egypt from the guy holding the restroom door to the policemen who offer nuggets if information like “there are three big pyramids and six smaller ones” (for those of us with lesser counting skills or the inability to see the gigantic structures springing up from a flat plateau) to the guy you ask to “please stay out of my photograph.” And if he does stay in the photograph, you have to pay him “modeling fees.” It’s what you might call a win-win, at least for him. And I’ll give him bonus points for hedging his bets.
Most of these men (I wish there was a clever name for them, but I don’t believe there is) are either peddling trinkets or camel rides, although my favorite scene of the day involved a policeman chasing a guy on a horse. It seems that the camel pushers (hey, that’s what we’ll call them regardless of what they were selling) must have some sort of permit, and the guy with the horse did not. What made it so entertaining, though, was the policeman clearly liked his donuts and he was chasing the horse on foot. After about 20 yards, the policeman gave up, so the guy on the horse stopped at the same time, within about 10 feet of the policeman. With crackdowns like that, it’s no wonder so many camel pushers are going through the proper channels (no proof).
We had a nice look around the pyramids and the Sphinx. As you might expect, they are truly huge and fairly breathtaking. After all, they are the only remaining member of the Seven Wonders of the World. You’ve really got to hand it to the Pharos. They had these things built to commemorate themselves, and people are still flocking to them roughly 3,500 years later. I’m choosing to ignore the fact that their mummified corpses were actually taken out of their sacred tombs and will soon be at the Denver Museum of Natural Science (check your local listings) among other places. I’m not sure that’s what they had in mind when they were seeking eternal peace and a resting place, but at least they’re not forgotten.
We ventured down into one of the smaller pyramids. On Darren’s advice, we chose it for a few reasons: the crowds are obviously smaller than they are in the big ones, there is less ground to cover as you’re climbing down, and the tomb area is roughly the same size (and an empty room). The distance can’t be overstated, especially for people who might hypothetically be 6-2. Perhaps I shouldn’t stereotype, but I’m pretty sure the ancient Egyptians were not tall. Going down these passageways was like the marathon of limbo competitions. Sammy (at six years old) was barely able to walk through without ducking, although I think his hat was skimming a couple times.
Being inside the pyramid is more about appreciating the big picture and realizing where you are and just how long ago the thing was built than it is about looking around the tomb. Really, you travel down about 200 yards to look in an empty room that’s roughly the size of a studio apartment in Manhattan. And the heat is unbearable. If you ever want to know what a slow simmer feels like, this might be a good place to find out. It’s not overwhelmingly quick to heat your skin, like the desert sun outside, but after just a few minutes you start to feel like you’re literally cooking. And in case you’re wondering, climbing up to the exit is much easier than climbing down, and the outside air somehow feels refreshing.
While we did go inside, we did not climb the pyramids, as Twain and countless others did. They stopped allowing it in the 1980s, most likely after some American got hurt and sued somebody, but the reasons are not well documented.
We left Giza and headed south. Most people think of the Giza Pyramids when they think of Egypt, but there are actually several more scattered throughout the country. As we were driving along a canal, we drove past farms that were situated within spitting distance of a pyramid.
About a half hour (and a few more wrong turns) later, we arrived at the Step Pyramid of Djoser in Saqqara. For literally four miles around, this area is completely covered in archeological marvels. We wandered down another pyramid. Truth be told, we were kind of making fun of this one because it looked an awful lot like a mound of rocks you might find in the Rocky Mountains. When we got to the tomb, though, we were impressed. The walls were covered in hieroglyphics and the actual tomb remained, although the coffin had long been removed.
All of us were a little tired, hot and cranky, so we made our way back to the car. It was only 12:30 p.m., but we had put in enough time and effort for the day.
After a lunch and a nap, we got back together for dinner. We were heading out, and it was going to be my first true Egyptian meal. Granted, we headed to the local fast food joint.
According to the wall, the place had been “Keeping it real since 1988.” I have no idea what that means, but I got some sort of chicken sandwich that had red and green peppers along with their own version of special sauce. It was certainly edible, but I don’t expect to see this particular chain popping up around the DU campus
All in all, it was a successful day, as we felt like we accomplished what many refer to as a bucket list item before we even had lunch.
It started even earlier for me. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten excited about sleeping great on the first night. Jetlag caught up to me, and I woke at 4 a.m. I have no idea how jetlag works. It seems to me that your body would be used to the time at home, but 4 a.m. in Cairo would be 9 p.m. in Denver, which is certainly not the time I generally wake up for the day.
We were heading for the pyramids. Perhaps you’ve heard of them. But they’re really big, and people think they’re off in the middle of the desert.
In fact, they are less than 30 minutes from Darren’s place in Cairo (35, if you count the wrong turn we took). Here’s another little fact you may not have known: the Sphinx is staring directly at a Pizza Hut/Kentucky Fried Chicken. Seriously. It’s directly across the street. I tried to figure out a way to take a picture of the window with the Sphinx in the reflection, but I’m just not a good enough photographer.
“Of course we were besieged by a rabble of muscular Egyptians and Arabs who wanted the contract of dragging us to the top--all tourists are. Of course you could not hear your own voice for the din that was around you. Of course the Sheiks said they were the only responsible parties; that all contracts must be made with them, all moneys paid over to them, and none exacted from us by any but themselves alone. Of course they contracted that the varlets who dragged us up should not mention bucksheesh once. For such is the usual routine. Of course we contracted with them, paid them, were delivered into the hands of the draggers, dragged up the Pyramids, and harried and be-deviled for bucksheesh from the foundation clear to the summit. We paid it, too, for we were purposely spread very far apart over the vast side of the Pyramid. There was no help near if we called, and the Herculeses who dragged us had a way of asking sweetly and flatteringly for bucksheesh, which was seductive, and of looking fierce and threatening to throw us down the precipice, which was persuasive and convincing.”
The great Mark Twain wrote that passage in The Innocents Abroad in 1869. Of course, he could have easily been talking about today.
You know those beach peddlers at Mexican resorts? They’re bush league. They’re in the minor leagues. These dudes at the Giza Pyramids? They’re in the big leagues. They, in fact, may be the All-Stars.
For the record, when Twain referred to “bucksheesh” he was talking about “baksheesh,” which translates to the requisite tips paid to everyone in Egypt from the guy holding the restroom door to the policemen who offer nuggets if information like “there are three big pyramids and six smaller ones” (for those of us with lesser counting skills or the inability to see the gigantic structures springing up from a flat plateau) to the guy you ask to “please stay out of my photograph.” And if he does stay in the photograph, you have to pay him “modeling fees.” It’s what you might call a win-win, at least for him. And I’ll give him bonus points for hedging his bets.
Most of these men (I wish there was a clever name for them, but I don’t believe there is) are either peddling trinkets or camel rides, although my favorite scene of the day involved a policeman chasing a guy on a horse. It seems that the camel pushers (hey, that’s what we’ll call them regardless of what they were selling) must have some sort of permit, and the guy with the horse did not. What made it so entertaining, though, was the policeman clearly liked his donuts and he was chasing the horse on foot. After about 20 yards, the policeman gave up, so the guy on the horse stopped at the same time, within about 10 feet of the policeman. With crackdowns like that, it’s no wonder so many camel pushers are going through the proper channels (no proof).
We had a nice look around the pyramids and the Sphinx. As you might expect, they are truly huge and fairly breathtaking. After all, they are the only remaining member of the Seven Wonders of the World. You’ve really got to hand it to the Pharos. They had these things built to commemorate themselves, and people are still flocking to them roughly 3,500 years later. I’m choosing to ignore the fact that their mummified corpses were actually taken out of their sacred tombs and will soon be at the Denver Museum of Natural Science (check your local listings) among other places. I’m not sure that’s what they had in mind when they were seeking eternal peace and a resting place, but at least they’re not forgotten.
We ventured down into one of the smaller pyramids. On Darren’s advice, we chose it for a few reasons: the crowds are obviously smaller than they are in the big ones, there is less ground to cover as you’re climbing down, and the tomb area is roughly the same size (and an empty room). The distance can’t be overstated, especially for people who might hypothetically be 6-2. Perhaps I shouldn’t stereotype, but I’m pretty sure the ancient Egyptians were not tall. Going down these passageways was like the marathon of limbo competitions. Sammy (at six years old) was barely able to walk through without ducking, although I think his hat was skimming a couple times.
Being inside the pyramid is more about appreciating the big picture and realizing where you are and just how long ago the thing was built than it is about looking around the tomb. Really, you travel down about 200 yards to look in an empty room that’s roughly the size of a studio apartment in Manhattan. And the heat is unbearable. If you ever want to know what a slow simmer feels like, this might be a good place to find out. It’s not overwhelmingly quick to heat your skin, like the desert sun outside, but after just a few minutes you start to feel like you’re literally cooking. And in case you’re wondering, climbing up to the exit is much easier than climbing down, and the outside air somehow feels refreshing.
While we did go inside, we did not climb the pyramids, as Twain and countless others did. They stopped allowing it in the 1980s, most likely after some American got hurt and sued somebody, but the reasons are not well documented.
We left Giza and headed south. Most people think of the Giza Pyramids when they think of Egypt, but there are actually several more scattered throughout the country. As we were driving along a canal, we drove past farms that were situated within spitting distance of a pyramid.
About a half hour (and a few more wrong turns) later, we arrived at the Step Pyramid of Djoser in Saqqara. For literally four miles around, this area is completely covered in archeological marvels. We wandered down another pyramid. Truth be told, we were kind of making fun of this one because it looked an awful lot like a mound of rocks you might find in the Rocky Mountains. When we got to the tomb, though, we were impressed. The walls were covered in hieroglyphics and the actual tomb remained, although the coffin had long been removed.
All of us were a little tired, hot and cranky, so we made our way back to the car. It was only 12:30 p.m., but we had put in enough time and effort for the day.
After a lunch and a nap, we got back together for dinner. We were heading out, and it was going to be my first true Egyptian meal. Granted, we headed to the local fast food joint.
According to the wall, the place had been “Keeping it real since 1988.” I have no idea what that means, but I got some sort of chicken sandwich that had red and green peppers along with their own version of special sauce. It was certainly edible, but I don’t expect to see this particular chain popping up around the DU campus
All in all, it was a successful day, as we felt like we accomplished what many refer to as a bucket list item before we even had lunch.
Day 2
Thursday, June 3, 2010 (Cairo, Egypt) – SPOILER ALERT: I didn’t get my face bit off by a monkey. I just wanted to clear that up, because I know a lot of people were worried about it.
I slept great, falling into a deep slumber at 11 p.m. and waking up around 9:30 a.m. Hopefully that means little or no jetlag. As I told my sister-in-law Elisabeth, there are advantages to being an idiot. When I travel, I have little concept of time anyway, and when I travel internationally I lose all sense of it. In other words, my feeble mind easily tricks my body. Really, it’s a win-win.
After breakfast, my brother, nephews and I headed for the Giza Zoo. Cairo’s zoo is pretty big, and they have all the major animal attractions you could ever hope for, including but not limited to a German Sheppard, 362 ostrich cages and several others that had doors open and no animals inside, making me wonder just how many might have escaped without warning.
Darren had the inside track on the zoo, so through a few genius techniques (bribery) we turned the Cairo zoo into our own petting zoo. With the warning of the vicious monkeys ringing in my mind, we wanted to start smaller. So we did the obvious: We headed to the lion’s den and asked to hold Simba. Darren kept his distance with the camera and sent me with his two young children in tow to hold the baby lion, which was roughly the size of a fully grown dog. Unfortunately, his mouth wasn’t big enough, so I couldn’t try to stick my head inside, like they used to do in the circus.
With that adding to our courage, we headed over to the monkey house. I’ve always thought the best way to overcome fears is to face them head on. That, and I’ve never been very good about following my mother’s advice. With the help of a zookeeper (actually, the 25 Egyptian pounds probably helped more - yes, that translates to a little less than $5, and Darren complained about it), we held a baby chimpanzee that only made a few minor attempts at biting my face off between reaching out and giving hugs to me, Sammy and Calvin (my nephews).
Feeling like we fully conquered the zoo, we headed toward the Nile for a true Egyptian feast. There are restaurants on several boats moored along the coast, and we chose one that looked promising. I won’t even begin to try the Arabic spelling or pronunciation. But roughly translated to English, it means “Chili’s.” According to the manager, it’s quickly becoming the “next golf course” for business men in Cairo.
I slept great, falling into a deep slumber at 11 p.m. and waking up around 9:30 a.m. Hopefully that means little or no jetlag. As I told my sister-in-law Elisabeth, there are advantages to being an idiot. When I travel, I have little concept of time anyway, and when I travel internationally I lose all sense of it. In other words, my feeble mind easily tricks my body. Really, it’s a win-win.
After breakfast, my brother, nephews and I headed for the Giza Zoo. Cairo’s zoo is pretty big, and they have all the major animal attractions you could ever hope for, including but not limited to a German Sheppard, 362 ostrich cages and several others that had doors open and no animals inside, making me wonder just how many might have escaped without warning.
Darren had the inside track on the zoo, so through a few genius techniques (bribery) we turned the Cairo zoo into our own petting zoo. With the warning of the vicious monkeys ringing in my mind, we wanted to start smaller. So we did the obvious: We headed to the lion’s den and asked to hold Simba. Darren kept his distance with the camera and sent me with his two young children in tow to hold the baby lion, which was roughly the size of a fully grown dog. Unfortunately, his mouth wasn’t big enough, so I couldn’t try to stick my head inside, like they used to do in the circus.
With that adding to our courage, we headed over to the monkey house. I’ve always thought the best way to overcome fears is to face them head on. That, and I’ve never been very good about following my mother’s advice. With the help of a zookeeper (actually, the 25 Egyptian pounds probably helped more - yes, that translates to a little less than $5, and Darren complained about it), we held a baby chimpanzee that only made a few minor attempts at biting my face off between reaching out and giving hugs to me, Sammy and Calvin (my nephews).
Feeling like we fully conquered the zoo, we headed toward the Nile for a true Egyptian feast. There are restaurants on several boats moored along the coast, and we chose one that looked promising. I won’t even begin to try the Arabic spelling or pronunciation. But roughly translated to English, it means “Chili’s.” According to the manager, it’s quickly becoming the “next golf course” for business men in Cairo.
Day 1
Wednesday, June 2, 2010 (Cairo, Egypt) – I would love to say the trip to Egypt was uneventful. After hundreds and hundreds of flights in my lifetime, I have realized that I am happy with unmemorable flights, just as much as I like the ones in which I’m upgraded to first class.
Five minutes into the ride to the airport my phone rang, and I received the infamous, “Hello. This is United Airlines with an Easy Update message…” That’s never a good sign. It seems my flight from Dulles to Frankfurt was delayed by about an hour. Hopefully, they would be able to make up some time in the air, because my flight from Frankfurt to Cairo was about an hour and a half after my scheduled arrival at Dulles.
The trip to Washington, D.C. was pretty easy, and in fact we landed about 10-15 minutes early. Such a deal. Granted, with my impending departure running late, that early arrival just meant a longer wait in Dulles. I think that’s a travel rule: the earlier you arrive at an airport, the longer delay time you get to experience. I’m glad I’m not one of those guys who arrive three hours early.
I finally boarded the flight for Germany, which I had expected to be a fairly empty flight. When I was choosing my seat, it appeared that I could either have the double seat by the window or the three seats in the middle. I figured my chances were higher of having a single seat next me remaining open than a whole row, so I went with the window seat. As I was getting situated, the flight attendant announced on the intercom that they expected “a completely full flight today.” Right around the same time, a nice woman threw her oversized purse into the seat next to me. I forced a polite smile.
I’m not a big fan of long flights, so I tend to check things out a few days early, including the lineup of in-flight movies. I was excited to see Invictus listed. I’d heard it was good, and it’s not often that you get to see a “good” movie on a flight.
About five minutes into the movie, the woman – who had not said a word up to that point – asked me why I was heading to Germany. I didn’t want to be rude, so I removed my headphones, which I had to do in order to understand her thick Russian accent, and told her that I was going to visit my brother. She continued eating her sandwich and not looking at me, so I returned my earphones to my ears and my attention to the screen. Then she asked me a follow up question. I once again took out my headphones and answered her question. Again, she seemed satisfied, so I put on the headphones and returned to the movie. And, again, she asked me a follow up question.
Now, I don’t want to be impolite or mean, but generally when my seatmate has earphones on and seems to be enjoying the in-flight entertainment options, it never seems like just the right time to strike up a conversation. But to this woman, it seemed ideal.
She was certainly a nice enough woman, and we talked off and on throughout the flight. During the other conversations we had, there was one touching moment when she spilled her tomato juice straight down my pants leg and was clearly upset about losing the precious liquid.
Later, I woke her up so that I could get by her on my way to the bathroom, which of course made me feel better about the whole tomato juice incident.
When we landed in Frankfurt, I had about 30 minutes to make my flight, so I tried to hurry out of the plane, which is a lot like trying to sprint while underwater.
I got to the counter as fast as I could, and a man with a French accent, despite working for a German airline in Frankfurt, told me I had been rebooked for the next flight to Cairo. I wasn’t thrilled because I had 30 minutes to make it, and I wanted to at least try, but I understood that it was probably impossible (although when I found out that the flight actually took off 42 minutes after it was scheduled, I was considerably more annoyed).
So I had about five hours to fill in the Frankfurt Airport. Lufthansa was “nice” enough to give me a voucher for 15 Euros toward lunch, of which I used 14 because I couldn’t find anything that cost exactly 1 Euro, and of course I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of using my own money.
I love European airports, especially the ones that tell you the terminal but not the gate you will be leaving from. Terminal 1 in Frankfurt has hallways shooting off in every direction with about 10 gates each, meaning your plane could be leaving from literally any of them. For that reason, I didn’t want to get too comfortable and risk being miles from my gate, so I kept getting up and checking the departure board. Most gates were going up on the board about two hours ahead of time. A little more than 90 minutes before my scheduled departure I stood in front of the monitors for 14 minutes, staring intently at my flight, hoping that a gate would appear. Like watching water before it boils, I watched the board as every other plane was assigned a gate. Finally, A32 appeared and went in search.
I wasn’t overly optimistic when there was no plane at the gate until a joyous voice filled the air to let us know a bus would be driving us across the runway to our plane. We packed ourselves in what may have been the hottest bus this side of the sun, and zigzagged our way through airplanes and runways. When we got to the plane and stopped, everyone stood and started moving to the doors, which of course is human instinct. However, the doors remained closed. Did I mention the bus was hot? Minutes. Minutes. Minutes. The cleaning crew boarded the plane as we stood on the bus, still huddled near the doors. The cleaning crew left the plane with bags filled with garbage as we stood on the bus. The cleaning crew drove away from the plane. Still, we stood on the bus. Finally, the doors opened, and the cool, 85 degree Frankfurt heat met us, and we all exhaled with relief as we entered the sweltering plane.
Because I missed my Lufthansa flight, they put me on Egypt Air. It felt like a throwback to airplane rides of yore. Get this: they served a hot meal to each of the passengers without asking for a dime in return (apparently they somehow thought it was included in the ticket price, if you can believe that). They actually woke people up to ask if they wanted beef or fish. The thought of fish being prepared and served on an airplane may well have surpassed mimes on stilts as my greatest fear. In fact, I may have actually screamed when I discovered that fish was an option. I ate the beef, which was sort of like pot roast that was cooked entirely in a microwave.
The flight was fine, and I finally arrived in Egypt at about 8 p.m. – or exactly 24 hours after my first flight departed Denver. It was dark with a haze floating above the city, which I later discovered was from a dust storm that afternoon. The jet way from the plane blasted cold air, and a guy with a Scottish accent and about 756 tattoos claimed to be “pissed” because Cairo wasn’t as hot as he expected. I decided not to point out that he had not actually left the air conditioning yet.
Customs, as usual, was much easier than it ever is in the United States. They smiled, stamped my passport and waved me on.
Five minutes into the ride to the airport my phone rang, and I received the infamous, “Hello. This is United Airlines with an Easy Update message…” That’s never a good sign. It seems my flight from Dulles to Frankfurt was delayed by about an hour. Hopefully, they would be able to make up some time in the air, because my flight from Frankfurt to Cairo was about an hour and a half after my scheduled arrival at Dulles.
The trip to Washington, D.C. was pretty easy, and in fact we landed about 10-15 minutes early. Such a deal. Granted, with my impending departure running late, that early arrival just meant a longer wait in Dulles. I think that’s a travel rule: the earlier you arrive at an airport, the longer delay time you get to experience. I’m glad I’m not one of those guys who arrive three hours early.
I finally boarded the flight for Germany, which I had expected to be a fairly empty flight. When I was choosing my seat, it appeared that I could either have the double seat by the window or the three seats in the middle. I figured my chances were higher of having a single seat next me remaining open than a whole row, so I went with the window seat. As I was getting situated, the flight attendant announced on the intercom that they expected “a completely full flight today.” Right around the same time, a nice woman threw her oversized purse into the seat next to me. I forced a polite smile.
I’m not a big fan of long flights, so I tend to check things out a few days early, including the lineup of in-flight movies. I was excited to see Invictus listed. I’d heard it was good, and it’s not often that you get to see a “good” movie on a flight.
About five minutes into the movie, the woman – who had not said a word up to that point – asked me why I was heading to Germany. I didn’t want to be rude, so I removed my headphones, which I had to do in order to understand her thick Russian accent, and told her that I was going to visit my brother. She continued eating her sandwich and not looking at me, so I returned my earphones to my ears and my attention to the screen. Then she asked me a follow up question. I once again took out my headphones and answered her question. Again, she seemed satisfied, so I put on the headphones and returned to the movie. And, again, she asked me a follow up question.
Now, I don’t want to be impolite or mean, but generally when my seatmate has earphones on and seems to be enjoying the in-flight entertainment options, it never seems like just the right time to strike up a conversation. But to this woman, it seemed ideal.
She was certainly a nice enough woman, and we talked off and on throughout the flight. During the other conversations we had, there was one touching moment when she spilled her tomato juice straight down my pants leg and was clearly upset about losing the precious liquid.
Later, I woke her up so that I could get by her on my way to the bathroom, which of course made me feel better about the whole tomato juice incident.
When we landed in Frankfurt, I had about 30 minutes to make my flight, so I tried to hurry out of the plane, which is a lot like trying to sprint while underwater.
I got to the counter as fast as I could, and a man with a French accent, despite working for a German airline in Frankfurt, told me I had been rebooked for the next flight to Cairo. I wasn’t thrilled because I had 30 minutes to make it, and I wanted to at least try, but I understood that it was probably impossible (although when I found out that the flight actually took off 42 minutes after it was scheduled, I was considerably more annoyed).
So I had about five hours to fill in the Frankfurt Airport. Lufthansa was “nice” enough to give me a voucher for 15 Euros toward lunch, of which I used 14 because I couldn’t find anything that cost exactly 1 Euro, and of course I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of using my own money.
I love European airports, especially the ones that tell you the terminal but not the gate you will be leaving from. Terminal 1 in Frankfurt has hallways shooting off in every direction with about 10 gates each, meaning your plane could be leaving from literally any of them. For that reason, I didn’t want to get too comfortable and risk being miles from my gate, so I kept getting up and checking the departure board. Most gates were going up on the board about two hours ahead of time. A little more than 90 minutes before my scheduled departure I stood in front of the monitors for 14 minutes, staring intently at my flight, hoping that a gate would appear. Like watching water before it boils, I watched the board as every other plane was assigned a gate. Finally, A32 appeared and went in search.
I wasn’t overly optimistic when there was no plane at the gate until a joyous voice filled the air to let us know a bus would be driving us across the runway to our plane. We packed ourselves in what may have been the hottest bus this side of the sun, and zigzagged our way through airplanes and runways. When we got to the plane and stopped, everyone stood and started moving to the doors, which of course is human instinct. However, the doors remained closed. Did I mention the bus was hot? Minutes. Minutes. Minutes. The cleaning crew boarded the plane as we stood on the bus, still huddled near the doors. The cleaning crew left the plane with bags filled with garbage as we stood on the bus. The cleaning crew drove away from the plane. Still, we stood on the bus. Finally, the doors opened, and the cool, 85 degree Frankfurt heat met us, and we all exhaled with relief as we entered the sweltering plane.
Because I missed my Lufthansa flight, they put me on Egypt Air. It felt like a throwback to airplane rides of yore. Get this: they served a hot meal to each of the passengers without asking for a dime in return (apparently they somehow thought it was included in the ticket price, if you can believe that). They actually woke people up to ask if they wanted beef or fish. The thought of fish being prepared and served on an airplane may well have surpassed mimes on stilts as my greatest fear. In fact, I may have actually screamed when I discovered that fish was an option. I ate the beef, which was sort of like pot roast that was cooked entirely in a microwave.
The flight was fine, and I finally arrived in Egypt at about 8 p.m. – or exactly 24 hours after my first flight departed Denver. It was dark with a haze floating above the city, which I later discovered was from a dust storm that afternoon. The jet way from the plane blasted cold air, and a guy with a Scottish accent and about 756 tattoos claimed to be “pissed” because Cairo wasn’t as hot as he expected. I decided not to point out that he had not actually left the air conditioning yet.
Customs, as usual, was much easier than it ever is in the United States. They smiled, stamped my passport and waved me on.
Prelude
Monday, May 31, 2010 (Denver) – I leave for Egypt tomorrow, and I’m really not sure what to expect. My brother, of course, lives there with his family, so I hope they can help me navigate life in the Middle East, translate for me and more or less help me survive.
One of the last times I went to stay with my brother and his family, they were living in Princeton, New Jersey, and I had accepted a short internship at Sports Illustrated in New York City during the winter break of my senior year at KU. In other words, I was preparing for a trip that would be just like the movie “The Secret of My Success,” except I didn’t have a rich uncle who owned the company, I would not be masquerading as a vice president while actually being employed in the mailroom, I would not be sleeping with my uncle’s cougar wife, and I was not Michael J. Fox. I was, however, a young and eager kid out of the University of Kansas, so it was pretty much the same story.
Anyway, before I left, my mother gave me the following advice:
1. Do not lose the portfolio I had spent much of the previous two years putting together through endless hours of hard work.
2. Do not be a bother to Darren and Elisabeth, because they both were studying for their upcoming finals.
3. Check the weekend train schedules, because Saturdays were part of the SI workweek and I did not want to miss the train and be late to such a great opportunity.
4. Don’t get robbed in the city.
I followed her advice, although Darren and I did decide to send her an e-mail that in a much lengthier prose basically said:
Dear Mom,
Everything is going pretty well up here, despite a few challenges. He probably won’t tell you this, but I thought you should be aware.
On Friday, Mike was mugged in the city, and the guy took off with his wallet and his portfolio. Then on Saturday, he missed his train because the weekend schedule is different than the weekday schedule. It wasn’t a huge deal for him because I just drove him into the city that day. I’m a little concerned because it took about four hours roundtrip, and I didn’t have much time to study for my final next week, but that’s not a huge deal.
Aside from that, we’re all doing well and really enjoying his visit.
Love,
Darren
PS – Everything I said, other than that we’re enjoying his visit, was just a joke.
We thought it was great fun to write, and I’m sure my mother would have enjoyed it, too, except she couldn’t keep reading after the second paragraph. Apparently, she felt terrible because she had warned me about all of those things and knew I would be too ashamed to admit any of it.
Back to the present, I know my mom always gives me great advice for my upcoming trips, and she has made a few trips to Egypt, so I called her last week and asked her what to expect. She said I should probably take a roll of dimes, because I would have to tip several people between the arrival gate and meeting my brother. I guess she thinks I’m made of money or something.
And then she dropped the best piece of advice a mother could possible give. After I told her my nephews wanted to take me to the Cairo Zoo, where they sometimes allow you to hold the various animals, my mother said the following:
Don’t get your face bitten off by a monkey.
Honestly, I had not even considered that a possibility, but I’m going to do everything within my power to avoid getting my face chewed off by a primate. Perhaps I should tie a string around my finger, so I don’t forget.
I’m looking forward to the zoo visit, despite the potential dangers. Darren told me that to hold the animals – including turtles, small alligators and the aforementioned chimps – we would need to tip each of the zookeepers a couple dollars each. And then Darren described his preparation for zoo visits:
“I get ready for the Cairo zoo much like a lot of guys probably prepare for a strip club,” said Darren, an ordained minister. “I load my pocket full of singles.”
These are things that no amount of schooling could ever teach you. I’m glad I have received such sage advice. Certainly I’m going to need as much as I can get on this journey.
One of the last times I went to stay with my brother and his family, they were living in Princeton, New Jersey, and I had accepted a short internship at Sports Illustrated in New York City during the winter break of my senior year at KU. In other words, I was preparing for a trip that would be just like the movie “The Secret of My Success,” except I didn’t have a rich uncle who owned the company, I would not be masquerading as a vice president while actually being employed in the mailroom, I would not be sleeping with my uncle’s cougar wife, and I was not Michael J. Fox. I was, however, a young and eager kid out of the University of Kansas, so it was pretty much the same story.
Anyway, before I left, my mother gave me the following advice:
1. Do not lose the portfolio I had spent much of the previous two years putting together through endless hours of hard work.
2. Do not be a bother to Darren and Elisabeth, because they both were studying for their upcoming finals.
3. Check the weekend train schedules, because Saturdays were part of the SI workweek and I did not want to miss the train and be late to such a great opportunity.
4. Don’t get robbed in the city.
I followed her advice, although Darren and I did decide to send her an e-mail that in a much lengthier prose basically said:
Dear Mom,
Everything is going pretty well up here, despite a few challenges. He probably won’t tell you this, but I thought you should be aware.
On Friday, Mike was mugged in the city, and the guy took off with his wallet and his portfolio. Then on Saturday, he missed his train because the weekend schedule is different than the weekday schedule. It wasn’t a huge deal for him because I just drove him into the city that day. I’m a little concerned because it took about four hours roundtrip, and I didn’t have much time to study for my final next week, but that’s not a huge deal.
Aside from that, we’re all doing well and really enjoying his visit.
Love,
Darren
PS – Everything I said, other than that we’re enjoying his visit, was just a joke.
We thought it was great fun to write, and I’m sure my mother would have enjoyed it, too, except she couldn’t keep reading after the second paragraph. Apparently, she felt terrible because she had warned me about all of those things and knew I would be too ashamed to admit any of it.
Back to the present, I know my mom always gives me great advice for my upcoming trips, and she has made a few trips to Egypt, so I called her last week and asked her what to expect. She said I should probably take a roll of dimes, because I would have to tip several people between the arrival gate and meeting my brother. I guess she thinks I’m made of money or something.
And then she dropped the best piece of advice a mother could possible give. After I told her my nephews wanted to take me to the Cairo Zoo, where they sometimes allow you to hold the various animals, my mother said the following:
Don’t get your face bitten off by a monkey.
Honestly, I had not even considered that a possibility, but I’m going to do everything within my power to avoid getting my face chewed off by a primate. Perhaps I should tie a string around my finger, so I don’t forget.
I’m looking forward to the zoo visit, despite the potential dangers. Darren told me that to hold the animals – including turtles, small alligators and the aforementioned chimps – we would need to tip each of the zookeepers a couple dollars each. And then Darren described his preparation for zoo visits:
“I get ready for the Cairo zoo much like a lot of guys probably prepare for a strip club,” said Darren, an ordained minister. “I load my pocket full of singles.”
These are things that no amount of schooling could ever teach you. I’m glad I have received such sage advice. Certainly I’m going to need as much as I can get on this journey.
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