Wednesday, september 1st

Lisa and I bid our Palace digs and room overlooking the Nile goodbye. Last night I woke up out of bed (after hearing a three a.m. Call to prayer ring out over the city) and sat out on our balcony to watch the sun rise. I wrote a thoroughly long winded entry about spirituality and devotion, having seen many of examples of it, up close and extreme in my face the last few days. I started to think about the way i was looking at this other culture and their views on religion and devotion and it resulted in me coming to some conclusions about my own lack thereof. I think it might be a tad too heavy for this blog, but I might change my mind about that and add it in at a later date. Or I might circulate it amongst family first to get their consensus. I don’t know yet.

Anyway!

Our transfer to the airport was quick and easy. We braved another cab, who refused to turn his meter on, and then changed the price once we arrived at the airport. Since it eased only four more dollars, I didn’t squabble about it, but it sort of irked me a bit. Evert since arriving in Egypt, we’ve been faced with a custom of theirs called ‘baksheesh’. Baksheesh, as I sure I’ve mentioned in previous entries, is a standard act of tipping whenever a service is rendered. Sure, it sounds simple enough, and to us Americans who are used to (and often do) throw down twenty to thirty percent on a bill following dining out, it doesn’t seem so foreign, but… then I realized, everyone wants a baksheesh. From handling our luggage four feet, to advising us on what to order, To telling me where the information booth at the airport in Sharm el Sheikh is, all these un-solicited assistances seem to think that they are owed monetary compensation, and I have to disagree.

With our cab driver (and several hotel porters) I have literally wrestled my bags out of their hands in order to do it myself. It’s something that I wish I didn’t have to do, but at some point it becomes less about the kindness of the service and more about the expectation of the reward that will ensue.

Keeping with that theme, our arrival at the hotel in Sharm El Sheikh was met with hostility, not hospitality. Told to leave our bags by the drop-off point, Lisa and I begins to argue with the man. It was literally right out in the open where several vans and taxis were picking up and dropping off clients. Our bags could be easily shipped onto bother vehicle and never heard from again. While I keep all of my valuables on or close to my person (wedding band, camera, iPad, passport, etc) I still had things in my luggage that I wanted to keep safe. Ordinarily, hotels will hold your luggage upon check-in, in a safe room behind the reception area and give you a coordinating tag to match you with your stuff. The folks here at Sultan Gardens expected us to leave our belongings by the Porte cochere and check-in without full view of our things. Lisa and I politely declined, saying that we preferred to handle our own things and would gladly walk the suitcases inside (mind you, I have excellent luggage-thanks to my inlaws-and packed lightly, so handling my own bags was not a problem) where we could check in with them beside us. We kept big American smiles plastered on our faces the entire time, and after our airport driver drove off (with a hefty bakseesh in his pocket), the situation turned a little bit ugly. The men jabbered to themselves in Arabic and then sternly told us that bringing our luggage inside was not allowed. He explained that his manager would not tolerate bags in the lobby (which I thought to be a flat out lie). I hadn’t even entered the resort, and I was already souring on the experience. I explained that I wasn’t doubting the fact that he wopukd watch our luggage, but I much preferred to have it with me at all times.

Finally, he angrily relented, and we both marched inside feeling like we’d pissed off the porters/security. Their voices were hard and angry as they spoke to one another with words that we didn’t understand. I tried to shrug it off, but the cloud followed me inside.

Check in was easy enough, but our room was not ready yet, during this time it became quite evident that a large majority of the guests staying at the hotel were Russian. I dont know what they teach in russian pre-school, but single file lines and waiting your turn might’ve been glossed over in the Eastern Bloc. The desk clerk asked us to have lunch in the dining room and he would watch our luggage personally. We relented, tired of fighting with them and figured that our bags stood a lesser chance of being stolen from right in front of the desk than outside by the hotel exit.

Lunch at the buffet was…interesting. I had to remind myself a few times that while I don’t exactly have the most refined palate (and being a vegetarian is a somewhat handicap when you consider yourself to be a foodie), but I was not in a place catering to American tastes. I thought back to a vacation to the dominican republic a few years ago, where the staple of my diet ended up being frozen pizza liberally covered in hot sauce. I’d trade a Mama Celeste any day for what was being served in the line here. Finally, after I’d struck out with the pasts station, and discovered that the draft beer here tastes like grape soda, I ended up making myself a sandwich. The bread was decent
(once again, thank you French explorers!), but the fixings left a lot to be desired. I’d read in many places that the vegetables washed in water were not to be trusted, as high amounts of bacteria and parasites can live in the supply here. I ended up making a ’sandwich’ of grated parmesan cheese, cucumber slices and Russian dressing. Lisa likened the meat she was eating to the stuff she’d grown up on in the uk, so she was happy as a clam. Me? Not so much.

After lunch we made our way to the room. I have to admit, our view is phenomenal. We are beachfront and their is an excellent view of the read sea, straight ahead. Unfortunately there is also a great view of the volleyball court, and on it a bunch of Russian men were playing a game that sort of resembled volleyball, but what I surmised may have been their own creation simply called ‘Don’t touch the net’. balls were hit over and kicked under, and I think the term ‘volley’ was not taken into account, as one hirsute gentleman ran off to another court and tried (and failed) to do a lay up at the basketball net.

Lisa was appreciating the view, but I was quick to point out that the ‘water underpants’ style that many of the men seemed to choose, was not appropriate for contact sports. Sure enough, Lisa shortly pointed out that she was able to see one of the mens’ ‘dangle’. Yuuuuuuck!

Hoping this place gets better, but am so far, unimpressed!

Next entry…I discover a roach in my room that they staff cannot see! (and no…he’s not a figment of my imagination!)

August 31st, continued

For a hot minute after leaving the museum we thought about going to the bazaar, but the temperature and our grumbling stomachs decided otherwise. We caught a cab (the kind with the checkered stripe, not the Egypsy kind) and hightailed it back to the hotel/palace complex.

Now, I’m not sure if I mentioned it before, but security here is of the most extreme I’ve ever witnessed, and I consider manhattan to be pretty tight. Any car attempting to enter or exit the grounds of our accommodations has to stop and undergo several different layers of inspection. First, you state your purpose for being there (our guy just pointed out the two white chicks in the back seat). Secondly, your car is examined thouroughly by an adorable dog, which may or may not have the ability to sniff out bombs. This dog has an uuber-cute little house next to the guard shack the same color as the palace with a little Rick-rack detail around the opening. To make it extra palace-y and special, no doubt. Each time we have to enter this way, I want to fling open the doors, drop to my knees and hug the pups (we’ve seen German shepherds, dalmatians and a shorthaired pointer) however I think there’s a sign saying that they frown on such a thing. thirdly, the guards stand in front of the car and give you ‘the ol’ stinkeye’ letting you know that if you mess with the palace, you mess with them too. They have guns so I’m pretty sure they’re not kidding around. Once you’re out of the car, you pass through metal detector which I have set off every single day since arriving with my armful of silver bangles and iPad clutched to my chest (you can pry it from my cold, dead hands!) and they don’t seem to pay it any mind. Besides, I’m pretty sure that they know I’m not the scary type.

Sitting around the other day it seems like the palace Lobby and the gardens might be a go-to place for a lot of Cairo hot-shots and business men, people who appreciate and probably need that security. I saw no less than fifteen Saudi men the other night, all sitting together in their long robes, looking like they were getting ready to have a slumber party (I’m sorry, not trying to be culturally insensitive, but they really do look like jammies!).

Anyways, once we make it through security, Lisa and I decide on lunch it the gardens. It’s such a pity that we’re leaving here tomorrow and didn’t have more time to explore our little oasis away from the chaotic, frenetic city of Cairo. Lisa chooses a pizza and I go for something I love, a grilled haloumi and zucchini sandwich. Haloumi (for those who’ve never tried it) is a dense cheese that can be fried or grilled. It has a mild taste and sometimes gives a delightful squeak when you bite through it. I first tried it last year in Malaysia and that might’ve been the best thing to come from our stop there (I wasn’t a big fan of kuala lumpur).

Between lunch and dinner, Lisa and I have a few hours to kill so we retreat to our room to watch some ridiculous remake of the nineties ice skating movie, ‘The Cutting Edge’. Unable to take any more cheese in my diet for the day, I decided to go down to the lobby and try and burn up some of the expensive wifi card I just ‘had to have’ the night before.

Pretty soon it was time to be picked up for our evening excursion, a trip to the Giza ‘Light and Sound’ show. Set beside the pyramids, the show uses lasers, projected images and lights to illuminate the three pyramids at Giza and the Sphinx.

We met out by the back entrance to the hotel and thought perhaps we were mistaken when two guys got out of a small sedan, saying they were there to pick us up for the show. I felt a little funny about it, I mean, aren’t tours usually consisting of lots of other people? Lisa and I threw one another a look, shrugged our shoulders and got in. It turns out that even before we left the confines of the hotel, it was obvious the men were legit. Any vehicle taking guests in or out of the resort is recorded, and the driver showed the gate attendant a card from the tour company we’d been working through.

The English speaking guide turned around in his seat and started asking us questions which we dutifully answered, he was a really nice fellow, with perfect fluency and a remarkable American accent. He mentioned that he was so happy that it was after sundown. Ramadan was a real drag for him. Nothing to eat or drink from morning until night, he couldn’t smoke, he couldn’t drink, he couldn’t have sex….

Lisa and I looked at one another and smirked. She smiled and mouthed the words ‘double date’? Which made me giggle nervously as our driver (the strong, silent type) stepped on the gas. It certainly was weird being the only two girls on a tour with two dudes. A little less ‘Driving Miss Daisy’, and a little more ‘Fast and the Furious’, Cairo drivers make New Yorkers look like
turtles on a treadmill. As we approached a tunnel at an extremely high rate of speed, I grabbed Lisa across the seat and hissed, “This is how Princess Diana went down.”
“That was barely a tunnel,” she said dismissing my fears as we rocketed through it.

We did manage to make it to the restaurant where we were having dinner amongst a cacophony of car horns and calls to prayer. Our guide asked if we would rather eat fish or Egyptian fare. Having already tried and liked Egyptian fare, and neither of us wanting (or ever eating) fish we asked for the former rather than the latter.

and so he brings us to a place called ‘Caviar’.

He managed to explain to the waiter that I didn’t eat any meat or fish, and lisa was content to order chicken. When the food came, I was delighted-okay, not really-to see that my plate was filled entirely with starch (fries, white rice and some sort of potato/carrot combo). Along with that came a little hot pot of eggplant in a tomato sauce (quite good actually) which I spooned liberally over my rice. There was an adorable Egyptian family behind us, and we took turns playing peek-a-boo with the well-behaved children before the guide came to find us and motion for us to leave.

We took a quick ride down the street to the pyramids and ended up fifteen minutes early. I had spotted some little shops along the road and thought that now would be as good of a time as ever to see if I could perhaps pick up a few things for the folks back home. Let me tell you, if my eyes alighted on something for more than a millisecond, the shopkeeper was at my side, picking it up, encouraging me to touch it and explaining it’s worth and what he’d be willing to part with it for. I’m not a fan of the ‘hard sell’ concept myself, and found myself lying a bit to get him the hell away.
“You like alabaster?” he’d ask, holding up a mini pyramid.
“No. Too heavy.” I dismissed. When he came at me again for glancing at some papyrus, I tried my best stern voice and said “JUST LOOKING.”. I thought that he would get the hint, but he still followed at my heels, this time quiet as a churchmouse.

I skated out with a couple of purchases that I was happy with, and we ran across the street to find our seats for the ‘Spectacular’. It was very nice to be out at the pyramids at night, all lit up and the air filled with overly dramatic music (no Pink Floyd at this laser light show, kiddies). I got a big of a thrill when they talked about Ramses II. After seeing his statue and ruins the day before and then meeting the man himself earlier at the museum (he’d wanted to come with us, but he was just too wrapped up. Bwaaah hahahahahaha-first mummy joke folks, but you had to know one was coming) I almost wanted to pinch Lisa and shout “We know him!”. Don’t worry. I restrained myself.

When the lightshow was over we found our driver and the guide and he high tailed it back to zemalek, showing off some impressive skills along the way such as driving backwards on a one way street??? Perfectly legal if you put on your hazards to alert oncoming traffic. Finally we made it back to the hotel, pressed the baksheesh into their hands and retreated to the garden where I sat to type the beginning of this epic entry. The gardens of the palace surrounded me in a soft glow cast off from the hanging lanterns. I was drinking a contraband beer (albeit one with an alcohol content so low, I might’ve been better off saving the 20 LE and drinking water instead) and watching the children who are school age walk around at what should be waaaaaaay past a normal bedtime. It’s nearly two am here, so i’ve since left the garden and now I’m back in my room where I will sit and read for a while, looking out my sliders to the Nile, still alive and buzzing as people wait to eat in an hour or two to prepare for today’s fast.

The last five days have been (insert deep breath and the sound of tinkling bells) so magical here. It’s another one of those places that I have been lucky enough to visit where the sheer wonder of what you’re seeing far outweighs some of the things that aren’t so nice. Yes, Egypt is a big city, full of pushy souks and smog, but it’s also a place that has had five thousand years of history that you can touch and see. Everyone here knows about kings and queens who’ve been dead for eons. They know where the Nile once flowed and they know what it’s like to live in the shadows of one of the two remaining ‘Wonders of the World’.

It has been a supreme honor to stand inside one of those venerable structures, certainly worth the claustrophobia and sweat stains, pretending to be explorers. It was an amazing experience to find myself face to face with royalty that I’d previously only read about in textbooks, and I was completely dumbfounded to find myself standing in a room, sharing the same place as the Rosetta Stone, the very reason why so much history from that time period can be explained. Yes, the Rosetta room had me completely dumbfounded.

Because, seriously people… Who poops in a museum?

Monday, august 30th. (evening)
After a long day out, and an early morning start, Lisa and I returned to the air conditioned comfort of our palace digs. We’d planned to take a brief nap and then go out to the Khan Al Khalili Bazaar. The Khan is a famous Egyptian bazaar which some people either love or hate. Hundreds of souks try to lure you into their shops, plying you with free mint tea and turning on the hard sell.

The brief nap turned into almost eight hours, and all of a sudden it was after ten. Hungry from our slumber we ended up back at Egyptian Nights for some Orange Miranda (a Fanta style soda), Fetir and Falafel. We’d still intended on heading out to the bazaar, but the front desk advised against it. Getting a cab at that time of night would be harder, and since it was our first time attempting such a feat, we decided to leave it to our final night in Cairo, after we return from the Sinai.

So…I ended up buying another wifi card (for 210 L.E. Or 38USD) for 24 hour use and was able to sit on the patio, enjoy a Stella, and talk to Josh on Facebook chat for a little while. Every few minutes someone would walk by and ask me where I was from and try to start up a little conversation with me. I would politely end the conversation and return to my chatting.

I ended up in bed by three.

Tuesday, august 31st

We awoke late today, and rushed to get ready and head over to the Egyptian museum. We tried to hail a cab from the front of the hotel, but the fare wasn’t enough for him, so he sped off. A second one rolled up (white with a black checked stripe) and we got in. Egypt has three different styles of cabs, the black and white old Peugot style (no a/c, dings all over them), the newer white striped ones (that run on natural gas and have the precious a/c), and then the miscellaneous gypsy cabs. Our entire cab ride lasted a few minutes and costed only 5 LE (one dollar! Finally, a bargain!)

The museum was huuuuuuge. Admission cost 60 LE (about ten dollars) and afforded you access to everything but the mummies. It was so ridiculous to see all these antiquities out in the open, and it was slightly disconcerting to see tons of wooden boxes everywhere. It seems that the museum is constantly loaning out pieces to other countries and other museums. We saw plenty Of boxes marked ‘Roma’, presumably headed to Italy. Corners were haphazardly piled high with statuary and friezes, probably as a result of too many things and not enough space. Lisa and I surveyed the contents of one such corner, neglected by the other tourists. It was full of the sort of things any American museum would prize and go so far as to design an entire exhibition around. Here? “Oh that’s just four thousand year old tchotchkes we can’t find a home for.”

Many of the items weren’t even categorized, so where possible we’d read the inscriptions and figured out where and when they were from. It was exciting to see the sarcophagus of Ramses the second and his successors. His was the statue from Memphis and he was one of the oldest living kings, dying at the ripe old age of ninety two. In a place where dying young was commonplace, he certainly stood out.

Lisa and I ambled upstairs to the ‘Mummies Exhibit’. This cost an extra 100 LE (about 20 usd) and was air conditioned (!!!! The museum was not!!!!). There we came face to face with the man himself, Ramses the second! he was remarkably well preserved, and even his long white hair (turned yellow from embalming chemicals) intact. Wandering around from mummy to mummy we remarked on how amazing it was that these people were as old as they were (over four thousand years) and yet their teeth and fingernails still looked as good (and maybe even better) than those we’d seen on the guards outside.

After getting our fill of gauze wrapped royals, we set out sights on finding the famed Rosetta Stone. after asking around and consulting a map, we found the important piece of history that explained the translation from heiroglyphics to a Greco-roman language in a non-descript room with no one around for miles. As we admired and touched (Lisa and I touched as much as possible when guards were looking the other way) our way around the room, I heard a gasp from Lisa and turned to her quickly.

“I really hope you didn’t just step in that,” she said, pointing down to a drain on the ground, topped with a fat yellowy brown blob of what was unmistakably poop. A streak from it indicated that someone had recently trod through it and I checked my flip flops to make sure that I was not the unlucky one. Thankfully, my soles were clean, but I couldn’t help but loudly wonder aloud.

“Who the fuck shits in a museum?!” I hiss-shrieked. I stared at it for a long time and we dissolved into fits of giggles. “seriously, Lisa. Who poops in a museum? There’s a bathroom up the stairs.”
“And there’s not any animals allowed in here.” Lisa replied. Noting that someone made the choice to take a dump on the floor of the museum. Judging by the size of it, it wasn’t a child either.
“And they purposely dropped trow and shit on the drain.” I observed. Nice that they thought to make clean-up easier for the maintenance men won were sure to find it.
“It’s gross.” Lisa declared.
“Who poops in a museum?” I demanded. “who absolutely cannot wait to walk the forty feet to the bathroom, but chooses to select the Rosetta stone room as a perfectly acceptable place to go?”
“Let’s leave.” She suggested, as some Europeans in designer sneakers walked in.

“Who poops in a museum?” I asked once more, walking out of the room.

Evening continued in a later post.

But really. Who poops in a museum?

Monday, August 30th
Morning came quite quick after returning to our room at nearly two a.m. We weren’t nearly the last people to leave, and the local entertainment had just started. During Ramadan the Muslim people fast all day, eat in the evening and then usually stay up partying and celebrating until four am when another meal, is served to prepare for the call day fast.

Reham was in the lobby when we came downstairs, wearing a lovely navy blue tunic over jeans. she really was gorgeous, and Lisa was pretty covetous of her ‘long, black Cleopatra-like hair’. we grabbed another chocolate croissant from the bakery (at least when the French occupy a place they teach the people to make amazing breads. We just came to America bearing small pox and other diseases) and made our way out of the palatial lobby to the van, with Mohammed waiting inside.

From there we took a forty minute drive to Dashur, which boasted two large pyramids one that wasn’t finished correctly due to their calculations being off and resulting in a bent look to the outside (it was abandoned, because they would never tear down something they’d worked so hard on, and another one was built nearby). this one was large and perfect and after hiking up the side of it, Reham told us we were welcome to go inside and explore. but…she warned us, it smelled.
“Musty?” I asked.
“Like death?” Lisa offered. reham shook her head.
“No. Like Ammonia. I think many explorers and grave robbers peed in it.”

Lovely. A pyramid that smells like my old dining room rug (thanks to the puppy).

so out of breath after the climb, we make our descent into the pyramid. Sure enough, a strong scent of ammonia hits us right away. Yeccchh. yet we press on until….

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.

Something crashing from deep within, I’m closest to the bottom of the shaft and from my bent position, facing down, I’m not liking what I’m hearing…

“Lisa!!! Do you hear that?” I hissed, catching her slightly off guard. She shot her head up, banging it on the one meter (approximately three feet) high ceiling. After collecting herself and rubbing her sore noggin’, Lisa stopped in concentration. some light noise emanated from below.

“What do you think?” She asked, smiling nervously.

“I’m not keen. I don’t think nothing but four thousand year old limestone above me followed by that noise are a good sign.”. still, I kept going for a little ways longer, until…

BANG BANG BANG BANG

“Yeah.” I acknowledged, my insides turning a somersault.
“We made it this far…”
“We are in the pyramid. I could leave right now and be happy with that.”
“Me too.” agreed Lisa.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

And we ran as fast as the uphill treads and our sandy feet would take us. on the way out we passed three large female Italian tourists and their guide.
“Grazie! Grazie!” They proclaimed as we squeezed against the side of the rocky face, allowing them to slide by. As we scrambled down, our hearts still thumping from our ‘close call’ Lisa imagined the headlines on CNN.com the next morning.

“Three Italian tourists trapped in four thousand year old pyramid near Cairo. Imagine how smart we’ll feel then?”

“Back so soon?” Reham said smiling.
“There was this loud banging.” I explained.
“Maybe you made the mummies angry?” She offered, before we drove off.

On the way to the next place Reham pointed out the palm trees all around us, dripping with some berry-like fruit that the farmers were busy harvesting. We pulled over to the side of the road.

“We’re going to buy some of these date palms, would you like to try them?” she asked. we said ‘yes’ and she brought us back a bag of what looked like a cross between kalamata olives and grapes, but were starchy, sweet and fibrous to taste. I wasn’t a huge fan, but glad to have the opportunity to try a local favorite.

next stop was Memphis, a site where the ruins of statuary dedicated to Ramses the second was housed. a museum was built to hold the biggest relic, an enormous full sized statue of the man himself. For anyone who’s ever seen the television show ‘Lost’, this giant statue reminds me exactly of the one on the island. After taking a few pictures and a walk around the site to admire more statuary we hopped back in the van and onto our next stop, Sakkara.

Sakkara was designed over four thousand three hundred years ago by a famous architect named Imhotep. Sakkara housed an air-conditioned museum (!!!!!!) dedicated to the discovery and restoration of the site by a French explorer in the early 1900’s. The museum contained several artifacts found including jewelry, columns, tiles, statuary and… A MUMMY!!!!

I couldn’t believe that I was a standing there staring at a man (albeit in a temperature controlled aquarium of sorts) that was over four thousand years old and remarkably well preserved. his features were small and exposed (no gauze wrapped face here) and Lisa worried aloud that he might open his eyes and look right at us.

after staring at the man, and all the finery he was buried with (including the jars holding his organs) we moved on to the pyramid itself. Sakkara is the oldest known pyramid in existence and is different from the others as it is stepped, giving it the appearance of a birthday cake. Next to the tomb is a palace constructed to be a false tomb. An exact replica of the palace the king had in life, this mausoleum consisted of large limestone columns and shiny, polished walls. There is still plenty of excavating going on this site (so essentially, they’ve been finding new things for over one hundred years now!) and I watched as a brave tourist climbed out onto the rickety scaffolding to get a better look down a huge hole to see what they were digging below. Afterwards, Reham asked if I wouldn’t mind sacrificing the rest of my water to the pack of stray dogs that loitered near the palace and dozed in the shade. she said that due to Ramadan, the many guards (who were fasting both on food and water) no longer shared with them and they were thirsty and starving. She told me not to worry too much, that she and her other friends who were guides were still trying to provide for them even though they themselves could not eat.

To finish up, Reham asked if we’d like to visit a school where they make oriental rugs for sale. We agreed, and were intrigued by the craftsmanship and detail put into hand knotting each one. For the cotton and wool, one square meter takes each worker one month, but for the more expensive and more detailed silk rugs, one meter takes up to three months. the children working there were in good spirits and worked in shifts. Regular primary school during the day or evening and crafting the rugs for the other portion of their day. our guide explained that he once was a student there and now a teacher. Nowadays, the teachers preform much of the finishing work, adding a row of fringe here or there, or checking for stray threads.

perusing their gallery and shop I was tempted (tempted, but still too poor) to buy another ‘bathroom’ for Stanley. Once he is trained a bit better and we can put our area rugs back in the house, I would have no problem ordering a custom one from the school as the quality and attention to detail was evident in each piece.

at the conclusion of that tour we ended up back in the van an on our way back to Cairo. I have to confess that with the icy cold air conditioning, I might have fallen asleep a little. we said goodbye to Mohammed and Reham at the back entrance of the Palace, exchanging business cards and phone numbers. Reham wants to honeymoon in Thailand and I’ve promised to help her with hotels and ideas.

that’s one of the things I like the most about traveling, seeing new things, exploring a new culture and making friends around the world.

Our third evening in Cairo to be continued….

Sunday, August 29th, (continued)

so, we really wanted to swim in the palace pool, we really did. but…after I wrote my blog yesterday, we sat in the cool air-conditioned comfort of our room watching the news coverage of the fifth anniversary of hurricane Katrina. As many of you may know, the city of New Orleans is very near and dear to me, and I can remember clear as day where I was five years ago when the levees broke and left my beloved adopted hometown battered and underwater. I have such immense pride in my heart for the people of that great southern city, and while watching this excellent report live from the Ninth Ward, I may or may not have gotten a little bit emotional. Oh, and the excellent program coverage of the fifth anniversary? It was done by none other (to my surprise) than the Al Jeezera channel. Strange.

Anyways, time and jet lag caught up with us, and before you knew it, we were both fast asleep. I let Lisa vet ready first, and enjoyed a good hour of sitting out on our patio once again, watching the neon-lighted boats cruise slow and low up the Nile. From my post i could also still see into some of the neighboring apartment complexes. it must seem to the casual onlooker that egyptians value having large windows in their homes. I feel like a bit of a creepster, but i peeped anyways. We had awoken after six p.m., which was the typical call to prayer signifying the end of the daily fast, however, loudspeakers still blare gorgeous sounding prayer calls out into the hot night air for hours after the fasting ends. It was during this time that the locals invited over many friends, family and less fortunate (nightly…imagine hosting a big family get together EVERY NIGHT for a solid month). from where i sat i could see the family i spied the night before, up on their rooftop terrace, everyone sitting around a low table on pillows, glancing over each others heads to see the soccer game airing on television. Another family nearer to me threw open the french doors to their terrace, exposing their egyptian silk rugs and a long wooden table, set with a veritable feast. standing there for a few minutes, i watched several cabs pull up and deposit revelers, each of them appearing only a short while later to greet their hosts and make their way through the smorgasbord. Had I had a long lens and no shame or fear of being called out as a creepster, i would’ve taken a few snapshots, but i restrained myself and committed the sight to my memory before retreating inside to get ready, and then make our way to Egyptian Nights, the authentic local restaurant within our Palace complex.

Eggytian Nights did not disappoint. originally, we were going to head out to another restaurant just outside the Palace walls call Abou de Sid. It was right around the corner from the French/Italian restaurant that we had eaten dinner at our first evening. however, the thought of the shisha that would accompany our meal swayed both Lisa and I into staying a bit put. The menu highlighted some of the famous local dishes. Koshari, a very famous Egyptian dish was vegetarian and consisted of lentils, vermicelli, and lava beans in a tomato garlic-lemon sauce. I opted out of that, and selected the Felafel (called Ta’Amma) as well as an Egyptian pancake called a Fetir. Fetir can be prepared either sweet or savory, but the ‘classic Egyptian preparation’ is with spicy cheese and molasses. This sounded good to us, so we ordered one fetir prepared this way, and I’m glad we stopped there. It was absolutely delicious, but so large and filling that I’m very happy we didn’t waste any of it. A mixture between an Indian Naan and a crepe, the fetir was heavenly. The spicy cheese came in its own little ramekins, dusted with paprika and alongside another little pot of hot, think molasses. Both Lisa and I agreed that the spicy cheese tasted just like (and had the consistency of) a really tasty cream cheese. spreading it on our slices of fetir, we congratulated ourselves for not ordering too much stuff. after our dinner, our fabulous waiter returned to tempt us with the dessert menu. It all sounded delicious, but we elected to follow it up with some peach shisha. Having never tried shisha before, I was a bit intimidated. First the waiter brought over a large (three foot at the least) water-pipe. He had already filled a little chamber on the top with flavored tobacco, laid hot coals across the top, and removed a new mouth tube from a sterilization pack (which made me feel infinitely better, kind of like when you see a tattoo artist remove a fresh needle before torturing you for a few hours. no hep B for me!).

Let me tell you a little bit about shisha… It is delicious. Delicate and smooth, without the typical tobacco burn of a cigarette. On my first inhale I heard it bubbling and wasn’t even sure I had sucked in anything, but when I exhaled a little, I saw a plume of smoke and tasted the most fabulous flavor of fresh peach.

Lisa and I spent the next three hours slinging back Stella beers and delighting in looking like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. we struck up a conversation with the German gentleman, shisha-ing alone next to us, and found out that he was here on business (working in medical sales), his meeting (which was due to take place outside)was over an hour late in showing up, and he was greatly enjoying the strawberry flavor, and greatly annoyed by doing business in Arabic countries.
“They think nothing of making you wait. this man… He told me an hour ago that he esd in the lobby. He lies. I don’t like this!”

after carrying on a conversation across a table and a loud fan (pointed in our direction in order to cool off some big-deal Egyptian men at another table, but making Lisa and I feel like we were in a wind tunnel, our glossed lips attracting blown in strands of hair like moths to flame) we moved over to sit with Tomas, who wanted to talk to us all about techno music, an american woman from texas whom he believed to be his true love, American politics (”Obama…Yes he can? Or no?!), and his driver, a man who had ‘very special eyes’.

After talking at length about how he and his driver with the special eyes were now the closest of friends, he called the man (who was already on the way over to take Tomas to the airport) and invited him in. As soon as he sat down, Tomas, jerked his chair over closer, professed his love for the man and motioned for us to look at his eyes. Sure enough they were a lovely light shade, but nothing to blow your skirt up at. After bidding aufwiedersehn to techno-loving Tomas, we finished our shisha and retired to bed.

Tomorrow…Another tour with Reham to Memphis, Dashur, Sakkara and Imhotep!

More pyramids, more giant statuary…and….. Mummies!!

Saturday, august 28th

After a nap and some quick sprucing up, Lisa and I went out to the hotel bar, fashioned after a British Pub for some aforementioned ‘Cairoke’. Unfortunately, since its Ramadan, our hotel bar was empty, save for three or four hookers, a obscenely lithe Asian man wearing very little (and insisting each staff member take his picture with an aloft cigarette about fifty thousand times) and liser and I. We switched locations to the marble patio outside in the gardens to split a few Stellas. The Stella here is no relation to the Artois brand you find in the states, but it’s still quite good. We sat directly beside the Shisha bar and enjoyed the lovely smells wafting over.

For those that don’t know, Shisha is a large metal and glass pipe with one or more tubes protruding from it. you smoke flavored tobacco out of it, and it makes even your dorkiest person look like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. Lisa couldn’t believe I have never tried it, so tonight (Sunday), were going to have dinner in the Egyptian restaurant and relax afterwards with some Rose shisha. should be fun. I joked that maybe I would become addicted to it (as an ex-smoker, that idea isn’t too far removed).Then I thought of how ridiculous I would look on the highway, my tall (3 foot) shisha pipe strapped in next to me in the Nitro as I puffed away, or going outside in the mall, dragging it behind me, clanging, only to set it up outside the EMS entrance and light it up. That would take my normal quirkiness to a whole new level! Haha!

Sunday, august 29th

This morning, we awoke early. I booked our private tour to the Pyramids at Giza and the Sphinx for today, and I wasn’t sure if I had to reconfirm it with anyone. The hotel concierge called the company (Touring Club of Egypt) with no answer. Worried, since I’d already prepaid for everything, I did what any normal person would do… I got a chocolate croissant. lisa and I reasoned that we would be back down in the lobby at the appointed time and take it from there. When we returned to the palace entrance at quarter to nine, a tally, skinny young man was standing there with a sign bearing my full name. relieved, we shook his hand and awaited our actual guide.

Raham, our guide (who we’ll be using for the next few days) did not disappoint. she was bubbly and fun and we both instantly liked her. During our half hour car ride to Giza we learned that she was twenty nine, recently engaged and has spent the last six years as a guide. prior to that she studied Egyptology in college and is looking forward to per suing her Masters sometime in the near future. she asked us many questions about ourselves and I was very impressed with her fluency. Raham explained that English is a required language for guides, but that many of the embassies in Cairo offered classes. She said she spoke decent Italian, but was eager to learn Russian soon as well. a couple of times she Ran a few words together, but shook it off and apologized, fasting for Ramadan was having a little bit of an effect on her and she was tired and a little bit hungry.

Our first stop were the Pyramids at Giza. at one time the site held twelve individual pyramids, but only three are left. normal erosion, as well as the pilfering of the site by early explorers led to their destruction. the ones that are left are the tombs belonging to the King, his son and his grandson. the nine tombs of his wives are in rubble piles surrounding the three. when we arrived, Raham informed us that we might not be able to get inside the Pyramids as they only allow a select number of people in a day. The admission to the Great Pyramid (the one belonging to the king) was 100 L.E.(around 20USD) and the smaller pyramid (I believe belonging to the grandson) was 30 L.E. (about 6USD). unfortunately, the great pyramid had surpassed it’s daily quota of tourists allowed inside, but thankfully we were able to get into the smaller one. raham purchased our tickets on behalf of us, and we made our way inside to the dusty plateau which the pyramids were on.

this may be a bit of a generalization, but very often the things you see in life rarely live up to your expectations of them (Angkor Wat may have been the only other exclusion I can think of). The Pyramids, however, did not disappoint. immense and fairly well preserved, to sit beneath on of them is too feel dwarfed and intimidated. Raham allowed us to climb around a little bit on the exterior of the large one, snapping pictures of us as we traversed the uneven limestone facade. Once we’d had our fill of climbing and our photo shoot was complete, she went into the history of the tombs and of the people that occupied them, as well as some of the theories as to how they were constructed. No real instructions or explanations were ever given on the hieroglyphs inside any of them, so it is assumed that the Egyptians did not want their later generations to know exactly how and why they did what they did*.

it was really hard to fathom all the work (twenty years of labor) that went into building each one of them, only to have them serve to house one single body. After the first pyramid, we hopped into our waiting van (with Mohammed, our genial driver at the wheel) and sped off past the men on camels up to the overlook and to the smaller pyramid. built to house the tomb of the grandson, Raham warned us it would be a tight squeeze going in. While I am no stranger to tight spaces (see my post about shimmying through tunnels in Vietnam) I am also not a fan of it either.

Raham warned us earlier about the large amount of men selling their wares to tourists walking up to or around the Pyramids. Since entry to these sites are free for Egyptians, every Tom, Dick and Ali waits around, hoping to engage you in conversation and then demand money for a bottle of resealed water or a fake turquoise scarab necklace. Raham stayed back in the van while we went off to crawl through some thousand year old burial vaults (”when you’ve been doing this for six years, day in and day out, crouching through those things can get a little old,” she’d said). Of course, our lack of an Egyptian guide meant that the souks thought we’d be fair game and defended upon us like locusts.

“Hey lady. You so pretty, you can be a supermodel. Tall like supermodel, but strong. I like you. Give me your hand. why your friend not take my hand? (to Lisa) I like her. Come on, shake my hand, why do you have to be this way?” One man followed us almost the entire way to the entrance to the Pyramid before finally regaling Lisa with the reason why English women love Egyptian men (”Because of our bananas.” this got him laughing, and the sexual pretext was not lost on us. I rolled my eyes hard on their strings and made some lame excuse about being a germaphobe so I could escape his handshake once more before proffering my ticket and stooping down into the Pyramid.

The walkway was tight like Raham had said it would be, but someone had he foresight to nail down some treads so you didn’t trip and tumble down the steep decline as you descended deep into the chambers of the pyramid. After about 30 meters or so, we emerged into a bit of a cavernous walkway, the ceiling about six feet in height (or thereabouts, the top of my head skimmed the stone if I stood completely straight). then on again to a steep incline where you had to crouch and maneuver the treads carefully before emerging into another back saving hallway, leading finally to another 30 meters or so of treads, once again on the decline before reaching he tomb itself.

The tomb was empty, pillaged by explorers and grave robbers, but it was a sight to behold. After crouching around, up and down those three narrow, steep passageways, we found ourselves in a large room with cathedral ceilings and an altar upon which a large stone was pried off exposing a black hole below. Of course the prince has been missing from there for some time now, and just the place where his sarcophagus lied is left, but still… It was pretty amazing to look around, with the writing on the wall (old school graffiti) detailing the date in was first discovered in the early 1800’s.

after making our way back through the passageways (yes, you go out the same way that you go in!) we offered up words of encouragement for those who passed us on the way and headed out into the thick heat to find our van and move on to the next site.

Mohammed led us back behind the final pyramid, around the damaged ones built for the kings wives (yes, plural. Egypt used to have a whole bunch of ‘Big Love’ shit goin’ on), past the solar boat museum and over to the Sphinx and the Mummification building. we entered the building first, it’s ceiling gone and it’s alabaster floors slowly eroding and Raham told us about the mummification process. The building we were standing in was built for the sole purpose to mummify the King when he passes away. at that time, they removed his internal organs and placed them in jars. They broke his nose and removed his brain bit by bit, taking care to place it also in a jar to be kept near the body.

ancient Egyptians believed that once the life on this earth ended, we would be judged and given the opportunity for advancement into another life of paradise. while they had many gods and goddesses, they could not deny that everything else around them followed a cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth. The sun rose everyday, shone all day and died in the evening only to rise again the next morning. It was with this theory that they based their religion and began to see death as an opportunity for something greater. However, after your body was prepared (rubbed with oils and myrrh, allowed to mummify for weeks on end) you would be sent in front of fourteen gods and goddesses. They would ask you questions about your life and about themselves. if you were a good person and worshipped them, you would know their secret name and be able to provide that to them in order to show your honesty and devotion. If at that time, there wasn’t a general consensus that you were a good person and deceived to move on, then your heart (believed to be the center of a person, where your thoughts and love were stored) was taken out of it’s jar and weighted on a scale against the heft of a feather. If you were pure of heart and your intentions in life good, then your heart would weigh less than the feather and you would be welcomed by Isis into paradise. if not…well, then they (the gods) had this thing with the head of an alligator, the body of a hippo and some serious talons. He’d eat your heart and you would be damned to stay dead. Sorry, thanks for playing, hope you enjoyed your brief time on earth our gator-beast sure enjoyed his cardiac amuse Bouche.

Raham chose to stay in the shade as we ran ahead and got a bit closer to the Sphinx. With the face of a man, but the body of a lion (Egyptians loved their hybrids. take that Toyota Prius and Golden-Doodle owners out there!) he sits standing sentry over a long damaged temple before him. His impressive face is cut from one giant piece of rock, a feat unto itself, and is famously bereft of a nose. Raham explained that there are many theories surrounding the lost schnoz, but erosion and time is the most widely accepted.
after a few snaps of that man-beast we moved out of the way so some smaller, sweatier man-beasts could muscle their way in to pose before him.

speaking of which, I’d like to address for a moment the way foreign travelers dress. Prior to this or any trip off of American soil, I like to familiarize myself with the culture of the country I’m about to visit. I don’t automatically assume that since I’m going there, that they should have to accept me dressing any which way I want to. I’m not In Kansas anymore, and I get that.

So why, oh why don’t other travelers? On this trip for example, I knew we were heading into a Muslim country during their holiest time if the year (ramadan). If ever there was a time to dress conservatively, it would be in a country where the women generally wear shapeless shift dresses and cover their heads in public. Instead I saw more than my fair share of bare (yes bare) mens chests covered liberally in hair, moles and sunburns so bad they couldn’t possibly be ignore-able. My favorites of these men were the ones who found it appropriate to forgo a shirt, but yet proudly tried on and bought traditional Egyptian turban head-coverings to wear. The women were another story. I saw many wearing ‘hot shorts’ (Rahams term) so short, that they were practically showing off their lady bits. Tube tops and bikinis worn as tops abounded, but none were so revealing as a woman passing us on our way back to the van from the Sphinx. Her lower half was wrapped with a sheer sarong and tied in the center of her waist, exposing the entire front of her bikini/underwear bottom. Seeing that filled me with equal parts disgust, shock and giggles, and it made me want to sing: I saw London, I saw France…but we’re in Cairo, so PUT ON YOUR PANTS!!!

from there we were happy to be inside our air conditioned van, away from the sweaty throngs of tourists and on our way back to the hotel. Raham made a quick stop for us at a Papyrus factory and jewelry store where we partook in a typical Egyptian shopping experience. First, before offering any items, you are offered a drink. Mint or Hibiscus teas or an ice cold pepsi in a bottle. Lisa and I opted for the Pepsi and listened to the pitch. At the jewelry section specialized in Cartouches, a long oval shaped pendant that contains the wearers names in hieroglyphs. Each letter corresponds to a different symbol and supposedly reveals a bit about your personality. after drawing mine out and explaining the meaning of each symbol, our salesperson surmised that I’m stubborn, but loyal and down to earth and have a bad temper that rarely makes an appearance, pretty dead on if you ask me. Lisa apparently is very sure of herself and smart. like he couldn’t figure that one as soon as she opened her mouth! So, although there was very little pressure, we chose to each buy a sterling silver Cartouche of our names to remember this trip by. It was little, and thirty dollars and a nice reminder of our time in this hot, dusty land.

now back at the Palace, we’ve had lunch and are napping before spending the rest of the afternoon in the pool and the evening smoking shisha and eating falafel.

To be continued…

*a lot of conspiracy theorists believe aliens had something to do with the construction of the pyramids as well.

P.s. Please excuse the lack of capitalization in some parts here. Yes I know when beginning a new sentence it is necessary to start with a capital, but for some reason, my iPad does not agree

ever had to run through an airport, ‘home alone’-style*? You’re huffing and puffing, sure you’re not going to make your ‘final boarding call’ for a flight that supposedly doesn’t leave for another half hour, with your heart beating hard and bruising against your ribcage only to board and discover that you’re seated next to a screaming baby (not Lisa) for the next eleven hours?

Yeah, me neither.

So finally we’re here! Cairo is exactly what I thought it would be: hot, dusty and smelling a bit like smoke and char everywhere you go. We arrived mid afternoon, and I forgot about bothering to book us a car service from the airport to the hotel. Cairo is a rather large city with hellish traffic that makes the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut feel like a Disney ride. our hotel advertised limo service for ninety u.s. Dollars in a Mercedes, but after a bit of research I decided that we would be just fine in an airport shuttle which cost a whopping eight dollars. I booked our spaces through a super-shuttle style service and printed out a confirmation. Upon exiting customs, with a newly minted Egyptian Visa still warm in my passport, we were swarmed by folks holding signs. None of them looked nearly close to My first or last name so we proceeded to the information booth to get some….er, information?
,
There the gentleman swore up and down that there was no such service, but that he could get us (sell us)a taxi (air conditioned) for a twenty five dollar flat rate. A bit more than eight dollars, but a whole lot less than ninety, so I let this guy trick us into his service. Lisa thinks I bummed him out, icing on him after forking over my share of the fare, but I just hoped deep down that the first experience I had as a tourist in the country wasn’t going to be repeated often in the next ten days. everyone here seems really eager to help you, whether it be to hold a door, help you move your bags four feet or show you where the remote control in your room is. great service, yes, but here a tip (also known as a baksheesh) Is customary for these friendly gestures. now I don’t know about you, but i prefer to carry my own bags, and if someone happens to open the door for me, I’ll say ‘thank you’ but don’t see the need to offer up cash for something that I regard as simply ‘good manners’. I swear, from the first fifty feet of car to reception, no less than four sets of hands attempted to assist with my luggage.

our hotel happens to be located on an island in the Nile known as Gezirah, or Zemalek, forty-five minutes from the airport in good traffic. It’s a relatively residential neighborhood, supposedly quite affluent by Cairo standards, and home to several Western-style hotels and an American university. security is quite tight here, and upon arrival, our cab was searched by bomb sniffing dogs as well as manually under-carriage by armed guards and then our bags x-rayed thoroughly before even hitting check in.

It’s not hard to see why they’re so protective of it, because we’re literally staying in a Palace. Our home for the next five days has quite a bit of rich history surrounding it, a lot more than meets and pleases the eye. Built as a guest palace to host the Suez Canal inaugurations in 1869, The ‘Al Gezeriah Palace’ played host to many European Monarchs, including Princess Eugenie, wife of Napoleon the third. The owner/architect, Khedive Ismail, had a certain fondness for the neoclassical European style of the day, and hoped by building the palace with a bit of that character imbued in it, he would attract many more European guests and friends. unfortunately, in an effort to assimilate into European social circles, he trusted the famous German banker, Oppenheimer to handle his accounts. while not keeping his best interests in mind, Oppenheimer did open Khedive up to European artists whom he commissioned to work on the interiors of the palace. since it was opened up as a hotel, the onsite zoo and most of the gardens have been sold off and developed, but the hotel still retains much of the work done to it. Seamlessly blending Islamic and European style in what can only be called elegant and exotic grandeur, befitting the term ‘Palace’.

and that’s where I’m staying, y’all!

so, after dropping off our bags and checking out the view of the Nile from our furnished fourteenth floor patio (we’re actually staying in a newer, tower portion of the palace), both Lisa and I headed out into the hot hot heat to grab something cold to drink and perhaps a little free wi-fi somewhere.

Taking a left out of the hotel put us on the main drag of July 26th street, we wandered around a bit, but most things were closed due to the fact that we were traveling during the holy month of Ramadan. For those of you who do not know, Egypt, and Cairo in particular, is 90% Muslim (the rest are Coptic Christian. I promise to find out what that is this week!) and thus mostly everyone practices the strict adherence to the Ramadan. During this time the devoted fast from sun-up to sun-down, denying themselves even water to drink unless absolutely necessary. on our walk from the hotel we were somewhat nearing sunset, and many people had erected large tables in the streets, awaiting the time in which they could feast and celebrate the holiday amongst friends, family, and those less fortunate. During our stop in a local coffee shop (in a futile effort to get free wifi) a loud prayer call came ringing out in the streets. almost immediately hungry Cairenes flocked to the local restaurants and tables to get something to eat.

Lisa and I chose a French/Italian bistro to toast our first meal, however, no wine was to be drunk over our large Margherita pizza, as most places do not sell it AT ALL, TO ANYONE, Muslim or not, during the month out of respect for those abstaining. So, back we went…to the palace (will I ever tire of saying that? No!) to explore the gorgeous restored rooms and furnishings a bit more.

Lisa begged off to a cat nap before heading out to the hotel pub, Harry’s for a beer and a bit of karaoke (or is it, Cairoke?) and here I sit, night now fallen and the brightly colored neon boats gliding up and down the Nile in front of me while songs of prayer waft over from a nearby loudspeaker. From my perch I can also see down into the residential areas, to a family, gathered on a rooftop, sitting around in front of a television and eating together in celebration of another day past.

I like it here.

*I’m referring to the beginning scenes of the first two movies, where all of the McAllister clan-minus Kevin-hoofs it through O’Hare to make it to their plane which almost takes off without them.