Monday, November 3, 2008
URL Change.
Hello all. The frustrations of using blogger has finally outweighed my laziness in creating a new blog. So, with that said, the new URL is http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/Max-Crumpley/
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Eid in the Land of the Jews pt.2
I accidentally posted the last post prematurely while attempting to save it. So if you're just now reading this, the first half of my story can be found underneath this post.
Anywhos.
So I set out from Niva's apartment and headed towards Jaffa, a city that is roughly 3,000 years old and has been incorporated into the expanding borders of Tel-Aviv. It was during this walk that I began to fall in love with this city. It was slow and gradual, but the more I saw of the city, its diversity, varying architectural styles, and the attitude of the locals, the more I was reminded of the first time I walked through New Orleans. I started out on Rothschild street, a tree-lined boulevard with a large sidewalk running along the median, dotted with cafes, people on bikes, and young hipsters talking to middle-aged women in bright red lipstick and floral dresses. As one walks, this slowly gives way to the older part of the city, with French-style apartment buildings and boutiques, small green parks with lily ponds and street performers. Once I arrived at Jaffa, the largely Arab population were selling old furniture and knick-knacks in hastily constructed markets, with cafes and stores spilling out into the streets. Once you go up to the upper part of Jaffa, the scene opens up and you see white sand beaches with a perfect view of the absurdity of Tel-Aviv. As you walk along the beach you see the ancient mixing with the unashamedly progressive, as the glass buildings cover the entire beach front, but this bizarre mix seemed healthy there, even natural.
After stopping to do a little shopping and reading at a cafe, I met up with Niva and Yotam at a vegan restaurant, where they were meeting up with a French couch surfer who wanted to talk to them about Tel-Aviv because she was making a documentary about the city. She kept apologizing for her poor English (even though it seemed great to me) and we all talked about our impresions of the city and Israeli society in general. Niva said something that seemed to articulate everything I was feeling. She said that people think that Israeli's constantly live in fear, that they are focused solely on the next bombing or the Palestinian issue. But they aren't. They have lives, like anyone else in Europe or the US, who struggle to make ends meet, go out with their friends, who work hard in their education and feel a deep bond with their language and their identity, even though they may not all be observant Jews. Granted, this is not what she said verbatim, but the basic message is there. Niva and Yotam are the epitome of this. They are staunch environmentalists and have devoted their lives to both the practice and education of these issues. To do this is a luxury, not something present in a "war-torn" country, where people are constantly thinking about where the next bomb has been placed - the environment can wait. You get this same sense looking around at the Buddha Burger, where, once again, young hipsters and the older crowd were concerned with eating healthy and being with friends. Even if their fears were in the back of their minds, they in no way were governed by it. People move on.
We left and said goodbye to the French girl (I forget her name right now) and we walked back to their apartment (it wasn't until we got back that I realized we had been sitting at the restaurant for nearly 3 1/2 hours). Niva and I sat on the back porch and were talking and smoking cigarettes. We started on the issue of films, somehow found our way to the drinking age, to colonialism, then weaved our way to discussing pubs. I could tell she suddenly felt anxious.
"Thats it! We're going to a pub."
Yotam said he was tired, Niva reprimanded him, and he relented. I said it was almost 2 A.M. (last call in Chicago). Will the pubs even be open?
"What are you talking about? They stay open until the last person leaves."
We arrived at a flashy and loud bar not too far from their apartment. The music was loud and fluctuated from Israeli to American songs. We talked over a couple of beers, told them about life in the States, and took a shot of a local alcohol (tastes like licorice). We stumbled back and sat on their couch, all the while translating songs from Hebrew into English for me (very depressing - I dont recommend it). We said goodnight and I got settled on the couch. It was now 630 in the morning.
The next morning, after saying goodbye to Eddie (he was going to Jerusalem) and to Alex (he was going to stay with a friend and try to find some work in Tel-Aviv before moving on), Niva and I went to a market. One of her aforementioned odd-jobs is to dress-up, go to this market (only open on Friday and Tuesday) to hand out flyers for a dance company. On this day, she decided to go as a mime. We, unsurprisingly, caught the glance of not a few people. A hastily and poorly-dressed American and a mime walking down the street together I suppose would be a strange sight anywhere. I'm sure theres going to be a picture online soon of me walking down the streets of Tel-Aviv with a mime soon enough. The market is like the Flea Market in New Orleans, where people sell home-grown and handmade crafts for people to buy, complete with odd characters and street performers. After seeing what was perhaps the best trapeze show I had ever seen (as if Im some expert), we headed back. I walked around the city for a while and came back just in time for a shabbat (sabbath) dinner they had prepared. Niva's sister and one of their friends came to join us. The friends name was Jenny, she was from London and loved to talk about astrology (she would end discussions of people with "oh, hes a great virgo" or "I can't stand Taurus men" - which I happen to be). After having a long conversation with Niva's sister on the balcony about Jerusalem and life in the US, we said our goodbyes. Yotam, who was sitting on a giant plastic ball, said he had eaten too many hash cookies and was going to bed. I was exhausted also and promptly fell asleep. The following morning I said my goodbyes to them, as I had to head to Jerusalem to meet up with Eddie. I left then for the bus station (through what must have been Tel-Aviv's Chinatown) and got on a small van and left behind the small slice of home that I knew I would not feel again for a very long time.
Anywhos.
So I set out from Niva's apartment and headed towards Jaffa, a city that is roughly 3,000 years old and has been incorporated into the expanding borders of Tel-Aviv. It was during this walk that I began to fall in love with this city. It was slow and gradual, but the more I saw of the city, its diversity, varying architectural styles, and the attitude of the locals, the more I was reminded of the first time I walked through New Orleans. I started out on Rothschild street, a tree-lined boulevard with a large sidewalk running along the median, dotted with cafes, people on bikes, and young hipsters talking to middle-aged women in bright red lipstick and floral dresses. As one walks, this slowly gives way to the older part of the city, with French-style apartment buildings and boutiques, small green parks with lily ponds and street performers. Once I arrived at Jaffa, the largely Arab population were selling old furniture and knick-knacks in hastily constructed markets, with cafes and stores spilling out into the streets. Once you go up to the upper part of Jaffa, the scene opens up and you see white sand beaches with a perfect view of the absurdity of Tel-Aviv. As you walk along the beach you see the ancient mixing with the unashamedly progressive, as the glass buildings cover the entire beach front, but this bizarre mix seemed healthy there, even natural.
After stopping to do a little shopping and reading at a cafe, I met up with Niva and Yotam at a vegan restaurant, where they were meeting up with a French couch surfer who wanted to talk to them about Tel-Aviv because she was making a documentary about the city. She kept apologizing for her poor English (even though it seemed great to me) and we all talked about our impresions of the city and Israeli society in general. Niva said something that seemed to articulate everything I was feeling. She said that people think that Israeli's constantly live in fear, that they are focused solely on the next bombing or the Palestinian issue. But they aren't. They have lives, like anyone else in Europe or the US, who struggle to make ends meet, go out with their friends, who work hard in their education and feel a deep bond with their language and their identity, even though they may not all be observant Jews. Granted, this is not what she said verbatim, but the basic message is there. Niva and Yotam are the epitome of this. They are staunch environmentalists and have devoted their lives to both the practice and education of these issues. To do this is a luxury, not something present in a "war-torn" country, where people are constantly thinking about where the next bomb has been placed - the environment can wait. You get this same sense looking around at the Buddha Burger, where, once again, young hipsters and the older crowd were concerned with eating healthy and being with friends. Even if their fears were in the back of their minds, they in no way were governed by it. People move on.
We left and said goodbye to the French girl (I forget her name right now) and we walked back to their apartment (it wasn't until we got back that I realized we had been sitting at the restaurant for nearly 3 1/2 hours). Niva and I sat on the back porch and were talking and smoking cigarettes. We started on the issue of films, somehow found our way to the drinking age, to colonialism, then weaved our way to discussing pubs. I could tell she suddenly felt anxious.
"Thats it! We're going to a pub."
Yotam said he was tired, Niva reprimanded him, and he relented. I said it was almost 2 A.M. (last call in Chicago). Will the pubs even be open?
"What are you talking about? They stay open until the last person leaves."
We arrived at a flashy and loud bar not too far from their apartment. The music was loud and fluctuated from Israeli to American songs. We talked over a couple of beers, told them about life in the States, and took a shot of a local alcohol (tastes like licorice). We stumbled back and sat on their couch, all the while translating songs from Hebrew into English for me (very depressing - I dont recommend it). We said goodnight and I got settled on the couch. It was now 630 in the morning.
The next morning, after saying goodbye to Eddie (he was going to Jerusalem) and to Alex (he was going to stay with a friend and try to find some work in Tel-Aviv before moving on), Niva and I went to a market. One of her aforementioned odd-jobs is to dress-up, go to this market (only open on Friday and Tuesday) to hand out flyers for a dance company. On this day, she decided to go as a mime. We, unsurprisingly, caught the glance of not a few people. A hastily and poorly-dressed American and a mime walking down the street together I suppose would be a strange sight anywhere. I'm sure theres going to be a picture online soon of me walking down the streets of Tel-Aviv with a mime soon enough. The market is like the Flea Market in New Orleans, where people sell home-grown and handmade crafts for people to buy, complete with odd characters and street performers. After seeing what was perhaps the best trapeze show I had ever seen (as if Im some expert), we headed back. I walked around the city for a while and came back just in time for a shabbat (sabbath) dinner they had prepared. Niva's sister and one of their friends came to join us. The friends name was Jenny, she was from London and loved to talk about astrology (she would end discussions of people with "oh, hes a great virgo" or "I can't stand Taurus men" - which I happen to be). After having a long conversation with Niva's sister on the balcony about Jerusalem and life in the US, we said our goodbyes. Yotam, who was sitting on a giant plastic ball, said he had eaten too many hash cookies and was going to bed. I was exhausted also and promptly fell asleep. The following morning I said my goodbyes to them, as I had to head to Jerusalem to meet up with Eddie. I left then for the bus station (through what must have been Tel-Aviv's Chinatown) and got on a small van and left behind the small slice of home that I knew I would not feel again for a very long time.
Eid in the Land of the Jews.
I woke up this morning, not to my alarm clock, but instead to the sun blinding my eyes as it rose outside of my window. In other words, I slept through my first class and, thinking that it was not worth an hour and a half commute to go to my 2nd class (which is essentially worthless), I decided to stay at home today and do some other more important things, like spend hours on YouTube and update my blog. So here we are.
As some of you know, I had a week-long break for the end of Ramadan known as Eid al-Fitr. Being sensitive to Muslim sentiment, my roommate and I decided to celebrate this holiday with a trip to Israel. Monday night, we caught a bus to Taba. The bus trip was not nearly as dramatic as the one returning from Dahab (except for the Egyptian man who sat next to me and, conversing in Arabic, told me he liked to look at American girls on his computer. Thanking Allah that my iPod was recently charged, I said it had been a long day and fell asleep). After arriving in Taba and going through a relatively smooth entry into Israel, we arrived in Eilat, the Israeli border town with Jordan and Egypt. The change was dramatic, to say the least. We had come from one of the most conservative areas in the Middle East (the Sinai peninsula) into a land of girls in bikinis and recycling containers scattered along a beautiful beach. As we were crossing the street to buy some cigarettes the most amazing thing happened. The oncoming car stopped to let us pass.
I am going to stop now to let that fact sink in. THE CAR STOPPED. FOR US. TO CROSS THE FREAKING STREET. I was floored. I hadn't just crossed into a different country, but into a completely different part of the world, with a culture so distinct from the one I had just come out of, it was as if I had just arrived in Europe. We hailed a cab [with doors, A/C, and a meter(!)]. We asked him to take us to the bus station so we could get to Tel-Aviv. He informed us that the bus station was closed. Rosh Hashana, he said. The holidays are never-ending I thought. We told him to take us to the nearest and best hostel. After arriving and checking in at the hostel, we met our fellow hosteller, a South African named Alex. He had been stuck in Eilat for 3 days for this holiday, which was the Jewish New Year. He showed us the one convenience store in town that was open, bought and made some pasta in the hostel with two other AUC girls (I forget their names - if you met them, you would realize why). It was now 9 AM and we fell asleep in our beds.
That night, since the holiday was now officially over, Eddie and I decided to celebrate the end of Ramadan/Rosh Hashana with a trip to the local pub. As we were sitting outside drinking, eating nachos, and watching the Champions League game on a big screen, an older woman who was sitting behind us turned around and asked us where we were from. She was from Jerusalem and was in Eilat for a short vacation before she returned to her job as an artist. We asked her about what life was like in Jerusalem, being an Israeli. She related to us one anecdote after another.
Here's what stuck out to me.
-One day, while on a bus back home from work, she saw a huge blast in front of her. The station in front of her had just been blown to pieces. Not a second later, a second blast shook the bus, this time from behind. The station behind her was on fire. Two suicide bombers had planned attacks on these two frequently used bus stations - with her right between both of them.
- She had been kidnapped by Palestinians in Jericho (in the West Bank) while she was soldier on patrol there. Her kidnappers put her in captivity and were not able to get out a single word before Eliza (the woman's name) told them "The entire Israeli army knows where I am. If you touch one hair on my head, one single piece of skin on my body, the town of Jericho will cease to exist." (Judging by Israel's response to their soldiers being kidnapped by the Lebanese group Hezbollah in 2006, I am inclined to believe that she was not kidding). She was released 5 minutes later.
- After asking her if she had ever been to Egypt, she related to us a story about when she went to Taba (the town we were in that morning). After arriving, an Egyptian started a conversation with her. She told him she was an Israeli and only spoke a little bit of English and Hebrew. The man began speaking to some of his friends in Arabic (which, unbeknownst to them, she spoke fluently) and suggested that they take her down to Sharm al-Shiekh and kill her. She told them that she had to go to the bathroom, snuck out through the window, called the border station and started running back to the border. "Like a mouse," she said, laughing.
This was enough for one night. We said goodbye, went down to the beach and drank a little bit more and climbed back up the hill to our hostel and fell asleep. The next morning, Alex and Eddie and I got some coffee and were on the first bus to Tel-Aviv. The drive was long and stunningly gorgeous, with a quasi-desert landscape flanked by a never-ending stream of mountains. Needless to say, the bus was far better than anything I could imagine in Egypt. We arrived in Tel-Aviv that evening (the two girls lacking personality in-tow) and we found a decent hostel. Walking around, I felt that Tel-Aviv was exactly what I had envisioned it being- a row of glass, high-rise buildings with Western restaurants and clubs scattered throughout. After grabbing a pizza panini type of thing, the rest of the group wanted to buy a bottle of vodka and go to the beach. Having had enough of the beach-drinking binges, I decided to part from them and go to a nearby English pub.
The pub is perfect place to ascertain the demographic make-up of a city (unless it happens to be a relatively conservative city - in which case you will only get demoralized expats and local students). I started talking to the bartender, who was Australian. The other bartender, American and, the third, South African. The man next to me started talking about how he has all the Beatles albums. I said it was impressive. He replied that every time he comes in to the pub, they always play it for him.
"You must know the bartenders pretty well then," I said.
"You could say that. I own this bar."
He was from Chicago.
Two young men then sat down next to me and we quickly bonded over our collective cheering for FC Barcelona, who were playing on the big screen. After a dramatic win over Shaktar, we started talking. "You're an American?" I responded yes. "And you're... a football (soccer) fan?" Yes, I said. "Wow." This seems to be the international response for anyone learning that I am an American soccer fan. One of the guys was celebrating because he had just completed his military service.
"How was it?"
"Pretty boring."
"Oh yeah?"
*pause*
"No, I did some pretty important things."
*pause*
"Yeah?" I asked excitedly.
"Yeah...but I can't talk about it."
Shit.
After being given a free shot from the bartenders, I decided that the day had been long enough and I went back to the hostel.
After realizing that the hostel was going to drain my money and that I was looking for an experience in Israel that was not made up exclusively of getting drunk on the beach with Americans, I decided to give couch surfing a try. For those not in the know, couch surfing is an international online community of people who give up their couches to other members who are traveling through their city. In other words, its a great way to save money (its free) and to meet the locals. And hey, I figured, anyone willing to let complete strangers sleep on their couch have to be interesting people, if nothing else. I created a profile and sent out a few messages then went to sleep.
I woke up to two responses to the messages I had sent out, one saying that he was not in Tel-Aviv at the moment and the other message saying that they (it was a couple) would be happy to host me. After getting coffee with Alex and Eddie, I went to a payphone and called Yotam. He gave me directions to a hummos place he and his girlfriend (Niva) were going to go eat at. After getting lost looking for it, I was about to ask for directions before I heard a voice call out my name behind me. It was them. We sat down and introduced ourselves. Yotam was of average height, with pale skin and shoulder length hair. He is an ecology student currently training to become a tour guide in Tel-Aviv. He smiled and laughed a lot and spoke perfect English. His girlfriend was short with long hair and sharp features. She takes circus, dance, and theater classes and works odd jobs here and there (more on this later). After Yotam left for work, Niva took me back to their apartment, let me put my things down and showed me a map of the city and told me about some of the main things to do in the city. She had to go study for a sailing exam (I couldnt keep everything she does straight), so could not go with me, and she set me loose.
As some of you know, I had a week-long break for the end of Ramadan known as Eid al-Fitr. Being sensitive to Muslim sentiment, my roommate and I decided to celebrate this holiday with a trip to Israel. Monday night, we caught a bus to Taba. The bus trip was not nearly as dramatic as the one returning from Dahab (except for the Egyptian man who sat next to me and, conversing in Arabic, told me he liked to look at American girls on his computer. Thanking Allah that my iPod was recently charged, I said it had been a long day and fell asleep). After arriving in Taba and going through a relatively smooth entry into Israel, we arrived in Eilat, the Israeli border town with Jordan and Egypt. The change was dramatic, to say the least. We had come from one of the most conservative areas in the Middle East (the Sinai peninsula) into a land of girls in bikinis and recycling containers scattered along a beautiful beach. As we were crossing the street to buy some cigarettes the most amazing thing happened. The oncoming car stopped to let us pass.
I am going to stop now to let that fact sink in. THE CAR STOPPED. FOR US. TO CROSS THE FREAKING STREET. I was floored. I hadn't just crossed into a different country, but into a completely different part of the world, with a culture so distinct from the one I had just come out of, it was as if I had just arrived in Europe. We hailed a cab [with doors, A/C, and a meter(!)]. We asked him to take us to the bus station so we could get to Tel-Aviv. He informed us that the bus station was closed. Rosh Hashana, he said. The holidays are never-ending I thought. We told him to take us to the nearest and best hostel. After arriving and checking in at the hostel, we met our fellow hosteller, a South African named Alex. He had been stuck in Eilat for 3 days for this holiday, which was the Jewish New Year. He showed us the one convenience store in town that was open, bought and made some pasta in the hostel with two other AUC girls (I forget their names - if you met them, you would realize why). It was now 9 AM and we fell asleep in our beds.
That night, since the holiday was now officially over, Eddie and I decided to celebrate the end of Ramadan/Rosh Hashana with a trip to the local pub. As we were sitting outside drinking, eating nachos, and watching the Champions League game on a big screen, an older woman who was sitting behind us turned around and asked us where we were from. She was from Jerusalem and was in Eilat for a short vacation before she returned to her job as an artist. We asked her about what life was like in Jerusalem, being an Israeli. She related to us one anecdote after another.
Here's what stuck out to me.
-One day, while on a bus back home from work, she saw a huge blast in front of her. The station in front of her had just been blown to pieces. Not a second later, a second blast shook the bus, this time from behind. The station behind her was on fire. Two suicide bombers had planned attacks on these two frequently used bus stations - with her right between both of them.
- She had been kidnapped by Palestinians in Jericho (in the West Bank) while she was soldier on patrol there. Her kidnappers put her in captivity and were not able to get out a single word before Eliza (the woman's name) told them "The entire Israeli army knows where I am. If you touch one hair on my head, one single piece of skin on my body, the town of Jericho will cease to exist." (Judging by Israel's response to their soldiers being kidnapped by the Lebanese group Hezbollah in 2006, I am inclined to believe that she was not kidding). She was released 5 minutes later.
- After asking her if she had ever been to Egypt, she related to us a story about when she went to Taba (the town we were in that morning). After arriving, an Egyptian started a conversation with her. She told him she was an Israeli and only spoke a little bit of English and Hebrew. The man began speaking to some of his friends in Arabic (which, unbeknownst to them, she spoke fluently) and suggested that they take her down to Sharm al-Shiekh and kill her. She told them that she had to go to the bathroom, snuck out through the window, called the border station and started running back to the border. "Like a mouse," she said, laughing.
This was enough for one night. We said goodbye, went down to the beach and drank a little bit more and climbed back up the hill to our hostel and fell asleep. The next morning, Alex and Eddie and I got some coffee and were on the first bus to Tel-Aviv. The drive was long and stunningly gorgeous, with a quasi-desert landscape flanked by a never-ending stream of mountains. Needless to say, the bus was far better than anything I could imagine in Egypt. We arrived in Tel-Aviv that evening (the two girls lacking personality in-tow) and we found a decent hostel. Walking around, I felt that Tel-Aviv was exactly what I had envisioned it being- a row of glass, high-rise buildings with Western restaurants and clubs scattered throughout. After grabbing a pizza panini type of thing, the rest of the group wanted to buy a bottle of vodka and go to the beach. Having had enough of the beach-drinking binges, I decided to part from them and go to a nearby English pub.
The pub is perfect place to ascertain the demographic make-up of a city (unless it happens to be a relatively conservative city - in which case you will only get demoralized expats and local students). I started talking to the bartender, who was Australian. The other bartender, American and, the third, South African. The man next to me started talking about how he has all the Beatles albums. I said it was impressive. He replied that every time he comes in to the pub, they always play it for him.
"You must know the bartenders pretty well then," I said.
"You could say that. I own this bar."
He was from Chicago.
Two young men then sat down next to me and we quickly bonded over our collective cheering for FC Barcelona, who were playing on the big screen. After a dramatic win over Shaktar, we started talking. "You're an American?" I responded yes. "And you're... a football (soccer) fan?" Yes, I said. "Wow." This seems to be the international response for anyone learning that I am an American soccer fan. One of the guys was celebrating because he had just completed his military service.
"How was it?"
"Pretty boring."
"Oh yeah?"
*pause*
"No, I did some pretty important things."
*pause*
"Yeah?" I asked excitedly.
"Yeah...but I can't talk about it."
Shit.
After being given a free shot from the bartenders, I decided that the day had been long enough and I went back to the hostel.
After realizing that the hostel was going to drain my money and that I was looking for an experience in Israel that was not made up exclusively of getting drunk on the beach with Americans, I decided to give couch surfing a try. For those not in the know, couch surfing is an international online community of people who give up their couches to other members who are traveling through their city. In other words, its a great way to save money (its free) and to meet the locals. And hey, I figured, anyone willing to let complete strangers sleep on their couch have to be interesting people, if nothing else. I created a profile and sent out a few messages then went to sleep.
I woke up to two responses to the messages I had sent out, one saying that he was not in Tel-Aviv at the moment and the other message saying that they (it was a couple) would be happy to host me. After getting coffee with Alex and Eddie, I went to a payphone and called Yotam. He gave me directions to a hummos place he and his girlfriend (Niva) were going to go eat at. After getting lost looking for it, I was about to ask for directions before I heard a voice call out my name behind me. It was them. We sat down and introduced ourselves. Yotam was of average height, with pale skin and shoulder length hair. He is an ecology student currently training to become a tour guide in Tel-Aviv. He smiled and laughed a lot and spoke perfect English. His girlfriend was short with long hair and sharp features. She takes circus, dance, and theater classes and works odd jobs here and there (more on this later). After Yotam left for work, Niva took me back to their apartment, let me put my things down and showed me a map of the city and told me about some of the main things to do in the city. She had to go study for a sailing exam (I couldnt keep everything she does straight), so could not go with me, and she set me loose.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
One of the many things a foreigner (a white foreigner especially) must get accustomed to living in Egypt (aside from the traffic, pollution, lack of sanitary establishments, linguistic differences, and the constant reminders of globalization) are the different attitudes towards your presence. Simple traveler generalizations, such as "everyone is so nice there" and "they all hate us", cannot be applied to Cairo, or really to any experience in a foreign country. Here are just a few of the experiences I've had in the last few weeks:
While trying to hail a cab near the dorm, a cab drove by and, without even slowing down, yelled out of the window "no foreigners" and kept driving. He must have strong feelings about us foreigners, considering the general poverty of most cab drivers and the prevailing stereotype that white people bleed money - not to mention that we are ignorant of what a proper fare should be and can easily and unknowingly be ripped off.
While riding on a horse around the pyramids with a guide named Saed, he asked where I was from. When I told him Chicago, his eyes beamed. "Ahhh. America!. I love Americans, but hate your government." I agreed. He then went on a bizarre tirade against Japanese tourists, about how they all just sit on the horses and refuse to make conversation (despite both parties being able to converse comfortably in English). Americans, he said, loved to talk and were some of the friendliest people he'd met. He then pointed to his hat, which had written on it Los Angeles. "It's my dream," he said, "its always been my dream to go there. Is it true that you can say whatever you want in America?"
A few moments later, after being dropped off by Saed near the Sphinx, I had to look for a side staircase. There was another man near the staircase (just a few rocks piled on top of each other) trying to sell horse rides. When he noticed that I was lost he pointed to the "staircase" near him. I thanked him and walked down. "Where are you from?" he asked. "America." "Ahhh! America! I love Americans.....but I think George Bush is the devil." I smiled and said thanks again. I was starting to get tired of this typical response, but respected their ability to see the difference between the government and the people.
After a long day walking around Coptic Cairo, we (myself and 2 friends) decided to make a detour to the mosque of Amr Ibn al-Aas, the first mosque in Africa, established by the man who conquered Egypt during the Arab/Islamic conquests. We were sitting in the corner of the courtyard, trying to be discreet, when we were approached by a young man who did not look Egyptian. He was from Russia, as it turns out, and barely spoke any English, so we had to converse in our broken Arabic. After getting through the basics (where we were from, what we were doing in Egypt, so on and so forth) a group of this man's friends approached us. "You're from America?" on of his friends asked us. We nodded yes. He smiled, and I felt relieved. He then sat down in front of Jeff (a friend I was with) and patted him on his wrist, then pointed to him. "Anta. Muslim, Maseehi, Yihoodi?" Translation: You. Muslim, Christian, or Jewish? I didn't want to answer the question, so I feigned ignorance of what he was asking. He was adamant, and went through the list again, this time with hand gestures making it unmistakable what he was asking. We relented. "Maseehi" I responded. "Jesus?" "Yes", I said, "Jesus." His face dropped, his original friendly tone suddenly gave way to shock and disgust. He took one look at his friends, all standing up at the same time and began walking away. We had a conversation with them for roughly 20 minutes before the questioning of our religion, and they left without even saying bye, giving us hostile looks as we walked away.
Walking down the street towards the local grocery store, people shout out comments like "Welcome to Cairo," How was your flight?" (my favorite, considering its the same guy who has asked me everyday since I arrived a month ago) and "Enjoy your time here." These comments usually come in rapid fire succession, with barely anytime to respond to each person.
I could go on forever, but for the sake of my time and yours, I'll stop here. A few quick updates:
For Eid (a week-long holiday celebrating the end of Ramadan) myself and my roommate will be heading to Tel Aviv and Jerusalem (again). We will be leaving Cairo next Monday.
School is easy to say the least. A lot of the Egyptian students complain about the abundance of work, which for me is a welcome relief from the rigorous atmosphere at DePaul. The campus is not done yet (despite the school's promises to the contrary), and getting to school requires a bus ride that is roughly an hour and a half each way. A huge drain on everyone's days.
Other than that, my life has settled into a routine here, which is exhausting. Not a whole lot else to report.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Return to Cairo and Other Frustrations.
Like I said in my last post, the return trip from Dahab was bizarre and frightening. We boarded on a large empty bus at around 7:30. Neither the AC nor the reading lights worked and we, inconveniently, lacked a bathroom on the bus. A far cry from the luxury of all these things on our bus out of Cairo. It was ok though, except for the fact that I had blown a hundred and twenty pounds (roughly 25 US) on a book specifically for the ride back, as my iPod decided to fail on me.
Anywhos, so the ride gets under way and our first stop in Sharm El-Sheikh. The few other passengers all get off the bus. Fantastic, I think, we are going to have the bus all to ourselves. Eddie and I get off the bus to buy overpriced potato chips at what can be best described as a desert parking-lot cafe. We walk back to our bus to see a large, VERY large, group of people, suitcases in hand, waiting to board our bus. As we were finishing our chips the bus driver gets on, closes the door, starts the engine, and begins pulling away. Eddie and I shared a quick what-the-hell-is-going-on type glance and panic, real panic, sets in. I run up to the bus door and start pounding. The driver looks at me and waves me off. A million horrible thoughts run through my head.
We need to find a hotel in Sharm. We need a taxi. Im out of cash. Eddie could pay. I already owe him money, can't ask for more. There should be an ATM somewhere here. Where's the ATM?! THERE IS NO ATM!
We ran towards the bus. I'm apparently more frightened than he is, as I outrun him by quite a distance.
My bags are on the bus. I wont even have clean boxers.
My run turns into a desperate sprint.
Suddenly the bus stops and parks and the doors open again. Eddie and I are out of breath at this point and behind me I hear a man laughing, loudly. He tells us that the bus is just moving to make room for other buses pulling up. I laugh, half-awkwardly and half-relieved. Sort of a quick "heh." He laughs and introduces himself at Mohammad (all the stereotypes are true regarding Arab names, by the way. Almost every Arab I've met has been named Mohammad, Akhmed, Omar, or some strange variation of those names). We all introduce ourselves and share a quick conversation, Mohammad using his best English and me using my best Arabic (which was not nearly as good as his English). We board the bus and it is packed with people. My seat had been taken over by a young girl wearing a headscarf and she is holding on to my book that I had used to mark my seat. I, for the 2nd time in about 10 minutes, panic slightly. I am unaware of proper bus etiquette regarding strange men and women sitting next to each other. Heres the best part: we had assigned seats next to each other. So I take my seat next to her and she is still holding my book, with little inclination to give it back.
I want my book back.
I pointed towards my book (which she had placed underneath hers) and say "kitabee" (my book). She giggles and hands it back to me. I start panicking again. After everyone boards I see that the seat next to Eddie is vacant, so I take it. Mohammad approaches us.
"Is that you're friend back there?"
I look back and see Chelsea, a white (very white) girl completely surrounded by boisterous and large Arab men, with a frightened look on her face, like the look on a small child when you threaten to hold them up to the ceiling fan.
"She should sit up here next to her" he said, referencing the headscarved book-thief, who was sitting next to my former seat. I raise my hand to get Chelsea's attention and point to the seat to my right, where I was just sitting. I've never seen anyone move so fast in my life. Chelsea sat down and the bus started moving again.
A few moments later I feel Eddie staring past me.
"What are you staring at?"
"That girl sitting next to Chelsea is hot."
"HER!? Are you crazy?"
"No. Shes hot. You don't think so?"
Next thing I know he's trying to Chelsea's attention. He wants her to act as the mediator. After teaching Chelsea a few basic Arabic phrases to use, she starts asking away. Suddenly she breaks into near perfect English and starts talking about her wonderful boyfriend. Eddie is heartbroken, but won't give up.
"Ask her if they're serious."
At this point I start spacing out and try to get some sleep. As soon as I close my eyes, I hear a voice come over the radio. Its all in Arabic and it does not take me long to realize its a sermon. Eddie stops his quest for his new found love and my eyes open. Should have expected this, as it is, after all, the first day of Ramadan. We laugh about this, about how this would never fly in the United States, and we both go back to our respective positions. Suddenly I hear the voice rise, into a beligerent tone, and then into all out yelling. I ignore this until I hear what sounds like the following.
" something-something-something Amrika (America)."
"something-something something Amrika!"
"SOMETHING-SOMETHING-SOMETHING AMRIKA!"
I panic.
I look at Eddie, who got the message, and then over to Chelsea, whose eyes are wide open with a little bemusement and fear. I feel people staring at us. I make eye contact with a man behind me who sees the look in my eyes, and he laughs, as if to say "don't worry". I return a phony smile. I see our other travel companion in front of me, passed out.
"how is he sleeping through all of this?"
Chelsea responds. "He took a sleeping pill."
Barely was the last syllable out of her mouth before I shook him, violently, to wake him up. He budged and turned around.
"I need your sleeping pill. Now."
He didnt even respond verbally, just took out a case from his pocket and passed it back to me. I had had enough, between the heat, nearly getting stranded in the desert, my friend hitting on a girl wearing a headscarf, and now listening to a sermon that was damning me and my country. I stole Eddie's water and took the pill and tried to get to sleep. Of course, as soon as I did this, we pulled over for a meal break. I walked out with Mohammad and Eddie and we took a table for some tea. Soon after we sat down, we could hear one of the buses honking.
"Its not us", Mohammad said.
A second later my phone rings. Its Mike, who stayed on the bus.
"Get on the bus now. We're leaving." Our waiter tells us we owe him 30 pounds.
"30 pounds!"
"Ok, fine, 20 pounds."
With time not on our side, we rush to pay the 20 pounds and, for the second time in one night, I find myself running through the parking lot to avoid getting stranded in the desert.
ARE THERE ANY ATMS IN THIS COUNTRY!?
The bus driver stops the bus and we get on. Mohammad tells the driver something in Arabic and he gets off the bus again, goes back to our waiter, and we see him screaming at him. With flailing arms and everything. He gets back on the bus.
"What was that?" I ask.
"He charge us too much." He then quietly takes his seat and goes to sleep. The sleeping pill kicks in and I fall asleep also.
Next thing I know I wake up to my head drifting from one side to the other, bumping into Eddie and then into the aisle. I dart awake. The bus is going to tip over. I need an ATM. I want my book back. I come to and see that the bus is going at least 80 mph. I see sand splashing out into the street and the bus plow through it, leaning dramatically with every turn we take. I immediately hold onto the seat in front of me. I am now extremely aware of everything. Its now 4 AM. I had slept for 5 hours.
I panic. I am going to die in the middle of the Sinai on a bus. I don't get reception. How am I going to call for help?
This goes on for about 3 hours before the bus stops along the side of the road. The lights turn on. I don't recognize where we are, so we all try and go back to sleep. The bus driver approaches us.
"You get out."
It's now Mike's turn to freak out.
"What?"
"Get out."
We look out of the window. Where are we?
"Cairo?" Mike asks.
"Cairo" he responds.
We are back in Cairo, I think.
We got off the bus and I see Mohammad. He says we are in Cairo... kind of. He walks up to a van and starts speaking in Arabic. He comes back.
"They will take you to Zamalek (our neighborhood in Cairo)."
How far? I ask.
"Two hours." Its now 5:30 A.M.
We were demoralized, sleepy, and, at least in my case, felt like we had cheated death about 3 times. We said ok, just wanting to get home. I said goodbye to Mohammad, thanking him for his help, and he took my number. To make a long story short, the drivers had no idea where we were going, had to stop every 10 minutes to ask for directions, and we eventually gave up on our drivers and as soon as we saw a recognizable landmark near our dorm, paid them and walked the rest of the distance. I dropped off my bags in my room and walked out on my balcony just in time to see the Cairo sunrise then promptly fell on my bed and slept until the next afternoon.
Anywhos, so the ride gets under way and our first stop in Sharm El-Sheikh. The few other passengers all get off the bus. Fantastic, I think, we are going to have the bus all to ourselves. Eddie and I get off the bus to buy overpriced potato chips at what can be best described as a desert parking-lot cafe. We walk back to our bus to see a large, VERY large, group of people, suitcases in hand, waiting to board our bus. As we were finishing our chips the bus driver gets on, closes the door, starts the engine, and begins pulling away. Eddie and I shared a quick what-the-hell-is-going-on type glance and panic, real panic, sets in. I run up to the bus door and start pounding. The driver looks at me and waves me off. A million horrible thoughts run through my head.
We need to find a hotel in Sharm. We need a taxi. Im out of cash. Eddie could pay. I already owe him money, can't ask for more. There should be an ATM somewhere here. Where's the ATM?! THERE IS NO ATM!
We ran towards the bus. I'm apparently more frightened than he is, as I outrun him by quite a distance.
My bags are on the bus. I wont even have clean boxers.
My run turns into a desperate sprint.
Suddenly the bus stops and parks and the doors open again. Eddie and I are out of breath at this point and behind me I hear a man laughing, loudly. He tells us that the bus is just moving to make room for other buses pulling up. I laugh, half-awkwardly and half-relieved. Sort of a quick "heh." He laughs and introduces himself at Mohammad (all the stereotypes are true regarding Arab names, by the way. Almost every Arab I've met has been named Mohammad, Akhmed, Omar, or some strange variation of those names). We all introduce ourselves and share a quick conversation, Mohammad using his best English and me using my best Arabic (which was not nearly as good as his English). We board the bus and it is packed with people. My seat had been taken over by a young girl wearing a headscarf and she is holding on to my book that I had used to mark my seat. I, for the 2nd time in about 10 minutes, panic slightly. I am unaware of proper bus etiquette regarding strange men and women sitting next to each other. Heres the best part: we had assigned seats next to each other. So I take my seat next to her and she is still holding my book, with little inclination to give it back.
I want my book back.
I pointed towards my book (which she had placed underneath hers) and say "kitabee" (my book). She giggles and hands it back to me. I start panicking again. After everyone boards I see that the seat next to Eddie is vacant, so I take it. Mohammad approaches us.
"Is that you're friend back there?"
I look back and see Chelsea, a white (very white) girl completely surrounded by boisterous and large Arab men, with a frightened look on her face, like the look on a small child when you threaten to hold them up to the ceiling fan.
"She should sit up here next to her" he said, referencing the headscarved book-thief, who was sitting next to my former seat. I raise my hand to get Chelsea's attention and point to the seat to my right, where I was just sitting. I've never seen anyone move so fast in my life. Chelsea sat down and the bus started moving again.
A few moments later I feel Eddie staring past me.
"What are you staring at?"
"That girl sitting next to Chelsea is hot."
"HER!? Are you crazy?"
"No. Shes hot. You don't think so?"
Next thing I know he's trying to Chelsea's attention. He wants her to act as the mediator. After teaching Chelsea a few basic Arabic phrases to use, she starts asking away. Suddenly she breaks into near perfect English and starts talking about her wonderful boyfriend. Eddie is heartbroken, but won't give up.
"Ask her if they're serious."
At this point I start spacing out and try to get some sleep. As soon as I close my eyes, I hear a voice come over the radio. Its all in Arabic and it does not take me long to realize its a sermon. Eddie stops his quest for his new found love and my eyes open. Should have expected this, as it is, after all, the first day of Ramadan. We laugh about this, about how this would never fly in the United States, and we both go back to our respective positions. Suddenly I hear the voice rise, into a beligerent tone, and then into all out yelling. I ignore this until I hear what sounds like the following.
" something-something-something Amrika (America)."
"something-something something Amrika!"
"SOMETHING-SOMETHING-SOMETHING AMRIKA!"
I panic.
I look at Eddie, who got the message, and then over to Chelsea, whose eyes are wide open with a little bemusement and fear. I feel people staring at us. I make eye contact with a man behind me who sees the look in my eyes, and he laughs, as if to say "don't worry". I return a phony smile. I see our other travel companion in front of me, passed out.
"how is he sleeping through all of this?"
Chelsea responds. "He took a sleeping pill."
Barely was the last syllable out of her mouth before I shook him, violently, to wake him up. He budged and turned around.
"I need your sleeping pill. Now."
He didnt even respond verbally, just took out a case from his pocket and passed it back to me. I had had enough, between the heat, nearly getting stranded in the desert, my friend hitting on a girl wearing a headscarf, and now listening to a sermon that was damning me and my country. I stole Eddie's water and took the pill and tried to get to sleep. Of course, as soon as I did this, we pulled over for a meal break. I walked out with Mohammad and Eddie and we took a table for some tea. Soon after we sat down, we could hear one of the buses honking.
"Its not us", Mohammad said.
A second later my phone rings. Its Mike, who stayed on the bus.
"Get on the bus now. We're leaving." Our waiter tells us we owe him 30 pounds.
"30 pounds!"
"Ok, fine, 20 pounds."
With time not on our side, we rush to pay the 20 pounds and, for the second time in one night, I find myself running through the parking lot to avoid getting stranded in the desert.
ARE THERE ANY ATMS IN THIS COUNTRY!?
The bus driver stops the bus and we get on. Mohammad tells the driver something in Arabic and he gets off the bus again, goes back to our waiter, and we see him screaming at him. With flailing arms and everything. He gets back on the bus.
"What was that?" I ask.
"He charge us too much." He then quietly takes his seat and goes to sleep. The sleeping pill kicks in and I fall asleep also.
Next thing I know I wake up to my head drifting from one side to the other, bumping into Eddie and then into the aisle. I dart awake. The bus is going to tip over. I need an ATM. I want my book back. I come to and see that the bus is going at least 80 mph. I see sand splashing out into the street and the bus plow through it, leaning dramatically with every turn we take. I immediately hold onto the seat in front of me. I am now extremely aware of everything. Its now 4 AM. I had slept for 5 hours.
I panic. I am going to die in the middle of the Sinai on a bus. I don't get reception. How am I going to call for help?
This goes on for about 3 hours before the bus stops along the side of the road. The lights turn on. I don't recognize where we are, so we all try and go back to sleep. The bus driver approaches us.
"You get out."
It's now Mike's turn to freak out.
"What?"
"Get out."
We look out of the window. Where are we?
"Cairo?" Mike asks.
"Cairo" he responds.
We are back in Cairo, I think.
We got off the bus and I see Mohammad. He says we are in Cairo... kind of. He walks up to a van and starts speaking in Arabic. He comes back.
"They will take you to Zamalek (our neighborhood in Cairo)."
How far? I ask.
"Two hours." Its now 5:30 A.M.
We were demoralized, sleepy, and, at least in my case, felt like we had cheated death about 3 times. We said ok, just wanting to get home. I said goodbye to Mohammad, thanking him for his help, and he took my number. To make a long story short, the drivers had no idea where we were going, had to stop every 10 minutes to ask for directions, and we eventually gave up on our drivers and as soon as we saw a recognizable landmark near our dorm, paid them and walked the rest of the distance. I dropped off my bags in my room and walked out on my balcony just in time to see the Cairo sunrise then promptly fell on my bed and slept until the next afternoon.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Dahabian Photos
Here are some pictures from Dahab and other things. You can see them even if you don't have a facebook profile:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2096491&l=a345c&id=48603766
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2096491&l=a345c&id=48603766
Dahab
It has been a long time since I last posted, but it has been a long week, to say the least.
After getting settled into the dorm, we decided to take a short trip to the Red Sea town of Dahab. We left Thursday night. This requires a note on Cairene cab drivers. Aside from the fact that they are mostly insane drivers (think LA except pedestrians dont have the right of way and lanes are basically non-existent), you also have to go through an arduous bargaining process. They will overcharge you if you are unaware if how cabs operate here. One blatantly admitted that he was adamant about charging a high price simply because "you white, you rich." The meters are either "broken" or simply do not exist. Furthermore, most cabbies do not work with a company, they simply purchase a car, go through a registration process, and then hit the streets, so there is no structure keeping them in check. Once you are here for some time, you begin to know how much cabs should cost. For instance, getting from my dorm to campus, a fare that should run about 5 pounds, the first few interactions with a cab driver might go something like this:
- How much?
--30 pounds
- How about 20?
--25
-ok
Now, this interaction plays out more like this:
- How much?
-- 30 pounds
- No. 5 pounds.
--How about 20 pounds?
- Get the fuck out of here.
Its that simple really. It can come off as being combative and insensitive, but it is far more disconcerting, to me at least, that you can be the unwilling victim of a blatant sham. Anyways, after negotiating a fair price for a ride to the bus station to depart for Dahab (8 pounds was the decided, and fair, price), we quickly realized that the driver had absolutely no idea where we were going. After having asked 4 or 5 people for directions, we gave up and called our friend (already at the station) to ask someone who speaks both Arabic and English to give our driver directions. After a couple of these conversations (the last of which ended in yelling) he finally admitted that he had no idea where he was going, to pay him, and to find another cab. We did as we were told and got out, found another cab (who was honest when he said he knew exactly where it was) and arrived at the station with only 10 minutes to spare. We met with our friends, who told us that guards at the station (who spoke with the first cabbie on the phone) yelled at the cabbie for being dishonest and for not following his directions. He also said that the guard was going to personally hold up the bus for us.
This experience is not uncommon, and has happened nearly every time that we take a cab somewhere that is not a regular or recognizable location.
So after all this, we finally boarded our bus, which was large and (relatively speaking) luxurious. After a ten hour bus ride through the Sinai Peninsula in the middle of the night, we finally arrived at Dahab, just in time to see the sunrise behind the mountains. We were met by a van from the hotel we were staying at. The man who runs the hotel, it ends up, is a very good friend of one of our RA's, so our RA made the reservation for us and, because of this connection, we were treated like royalty. The fact that we were picked up at the bus station was an example of this, as it is against their policy to pick up guests from the bus station. Furthermore, the owner was at work 2 hours earlier than he usually shows up to personally welcome us, ordered breakfast when we wanted it, and in sum, pampered us. His name was Ahmed, he was young and spoke excellent English.
Dahab is very similar to Laguna Beach in California, except much smaller and less crowded, although the majority of people there were tourists (including the British who, to use their own terms against them, were a bunch of wankers). In the last couple of years, it has emerged as a cheaper and more relaxing substitute for Sharm El-Sheikh. It was beautiful, to say the least, and refreshing to get away from the New York-like aggressiveness and smog of Cairo to the relaxing and clean Dahab. The air was clean, so much so that one could see the mountains of Saudi Arabia across the Red Sea.
We spend our 2 days there relaxing on the beach, swimming, snorkeling, and eating 3-course meals for under 10 dollars. The hassling, however, was as pervasive as it was in Cairo. We spent one night dancing at some bizarre rave-venue and the other night drinking Stellas on the beach and trying to talk to the employees in our broken English/Arabic, all the while exchanging cigarettes. They tasted the wonders of American Spirits and I got a taste of Cleopatras (smoking filters taste better). I probably learned more in those few hours than I did an entire year of taking Arabic.
I have to get going now to go smoke some shisha – I think. The bus ride back deserves a post of its own, as it was so utterly bizarre and frightening, so I’ll write about that tomorrow.
After getting settled into the dorm, we decided to take a short trip to the Red Sea town of Dahab. We left Thursday night. This requires a note on Cairene cab drivers. Aside from the fact that they are mostly insane drivers (think LA except pedestrians dont have the right of way and lanes are basically non-existent), you also have to go through an arduous bargaining process. They will overcharge you if you are unaware if how cabs operate here. One blatantly admitted that he was adamant about charging a high price simply because "you white, you rich." The meters are either "broken" or simply do not exist. Furthermore, most cabbies do not work with a company, they simply purchase a car, go through a registration process, and then hit the streets, so there is no structure keeping them in check. Once you are here for some time, you begin to know how much cabs should cost. For instance, getting from my dorm to campus, a fare that should run about 5 pounds, the first few interactions with a cab driver might go something like this:
- How much?
--30 pounds
- How about 20?
--25
-ok
Now, this interaction plays out more like this:
- How much?
-- 30 pounds
- No. 5 pounds.
--How about 20 pounds?
- Get the fuck out of here.
Its that simple really. It can come off as being combative and insensitive, but it is far more disconcerting, to me at least, that you can be the unwilling victim of a blatant sham. Anyways, after negotiating a fair price for a ride to the bus station to depart for Dahab (8 pounds was the decided, and fair, price), we quickly realized that the driver had absolutely no idea where we were going. After having asked 4 or 5 people for directions, we gave up and called our friend (already at the station) to ask someone who speaks both Arabic and English to give our driver directions. After a couple of these conversations (the last of which ended in yelling) he finally admitted that he had no idea where he was going, to pay him, and to find another cab. We did as we were told and got out, found another cab (who was honest when he said he knew exactly where it was) and arrived at the station with only 10 minutes to spare. We met with our friends, who told us that guards at the station (who spoke with the first cabbie on the phone) yelled at the cabbie for being dishonest and for not following his directions. He also said that the guard was going to personally hold up the bus for us.
This experience is not uncommon, and has happened nearly every time that we take a cab somewhere that is not a regular or recognizable location.
So after all this, we finally boarded our bus, which was large and (relatively speaking) luxurious. After a ten hour bus ride through the Sinai Peninsula in the middle of the night, we finally arrived at Dahab, just in time to see the sunrise behind the mountains. We were met by a van from the hotel we were staying at. The man who runs the hotel, it ends up, is a very good friend of one of our RA's, so our RA made the reservation for us and, because of this connection, we were treated like royalty. The fact that we were picked up at the bus station was an example of this, as it is against their policy to pick up guests from the bus station. Furthermore, the owner was at work 2 hours earlier than he usually shows up to personally welcome us, ordered breakfast when we wanted it, and in sum, pampered us. His name was Ahmed, he was young and spoke excellent English.
Dahab is very similar to Laguna Beach in California, except much smaller and less crowded, although the majority of people there were tourists (including the British who, to use their own terms against them, were a bunch of wankers). In the last couple of years, it has emerged as a cheaper and more relaxing substitute for Sharm El-Sheikh. It was beautiful, to say the least, and refreshing to get away from the New York-like aggressiveness and smog of Cairo to the relaxing and clean Dahab. The air was clean, so much so that one could see the mountains of Saudi Arabia across the Red Sea.
We spend our 2 days there relaxing on the beach, swimming, snorkeling, and eating 3-course meals for under 10 dollars. The hassling, however, was as pervasive as it was in Cairo. We spent one night dancing at some bizarre rave-venue and the other night drinking Stellas on the beach and trying to talk to the employees in our broken English/Arabic, all the while exchanging cigarettes. They tasted the wonders of American Spirits and I got a taste of Cleopatras (smoking filters taste better). I probably learned more in those few hours than I did an entire year of taking Arabic.
I have to get going now to go smoke some shisha – I think. The bus ride back deserves a post of its own, as it was so utterly bizarre and frightening, so I’ll write about that tomorrow.
Monday, August 25, 2008
I Lost.
After telling myself that I was not going to be starting a blog once I arrived, increased pressure from Amy led me to act otherwise. So here it is: some blog by an American who knows very little Arabic in the largest city in Africa and the Middle East.
My Egyptair flight to Cairo was eerily similar to the city itself: old, hot, unpredictable, and slightly uncomfortable. After a rough takeoff, a sleepless 11-hour flight, and an absolutely frightening landing through smog that puts Los Angeles to shame, I arrived at the Cairo airport. After meeting up with fellow study abroad students (finding a group of Americans was never so easy) we took a shuttle to our dorm. My first impression of the city was how tan it was, from the buildings to the people, mosques to the churches, the furniture to the thick layer of dirt on the streets. My room is, in a word, ginormous. Its a three-bedroom, 5th story room with a large balcony (which has elicited admiration and pure jealousy from those less fortunate, and has become the official smoking locale for those on my floor; and someone just walked in right as I typed that).
We were walking around after orientation in Tahrir square the other day (where the Egyptian museum is) looking for an ATM. This would mark my first experience with the wile of the Cairene merchants. He introduced himself as soon as we walked by him and asked what we were looking for. He lost half his teeth and wore an outfit with a thick layer of dirt. "I know where you can find one," he said, and he led us down twisting alleys. After making awkward small talk (where he was from, what he does, so on and so forth) he led us back to where we met him. "Come into my shop," he said. We were screwed. "No," we said, "we need to be going back." He insisted and offered us tea and coffee, after which we relented. We were led in through a large wooden door into a small, musty perfume shop, with a tobacco laden ash tray and crooked wooden shelves, on top of which sat small vials of perfume. Of course, the conversation steered towards his business. He wanted four, white, college students to buy perfume. We refused, and tried to change the subject while we waited for our drinks.
"So where are you from?"
"Cairo"
"Business is good?"
"So-so"
*Silence*
"Why you no buy perfume?"
We said our goodbyes promptly and left, giving him money for the coffee and tea that had not come yet. He said farewell, nonchalantly.
Another note is on the traffic. There are no words to do it justice, so Ill just leave you with a video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-t6FZujJxM
Were about to go out to some bar somewhere. I'll update more soon.
My Egyptair flight to Cairo was eerily similar to the city itself: old, hot, unpredictable, and slightly uncomfortable. After a rough takeoff, a sleepless 11-hour flight, and an absolutely frightening landing through smog that puts Los Angeles to shame, I arrived at the Cairo airport. After meeting up with fellow study abroad students (finding a group of Americans was never so easy) we took a shuttle to our dorm. My first impression of the city was how tan it was, from the buildings to the people, mosques to the churches, the furniture to the thick layer of dirt on the streets. My room is, in a word, ginormous. Its a three-bedroom, 5th story room with a large balcony (which has elicited admiration and pure jealousy from those less fortunate, and has become the official smoking locale for those on my floor; and someone just walked in right as I typed that).
We were walking around after orientation in Tahrir square the other day (where the Egyptian museum is) looking for an ATM. This would mark my first experience with the wile of the Cairene merchants. He introduced himself as soon as we walked by him and asked what we were looking for. He lost half his teeth and wore an outfit with a thick layer of dirt. "I know where you can find one," he said, and he led us down twisting alleys. After making awkward small talk (where he was from, what he does, so on and so forth) he led us back to where we met him. "Come into my shop," he said. We were screwed. "No," we said, "we need to be going back." He insisted and offered us tea and coffee, after which we relented. We were led in through a large wooden door into a small, musty perfume shop, with a tobacco laden ash tray and crooked wooden shelves, on top of which sat small vials of perfume. Of course, the conversation steered towards his business. He wanted four, white, college students to buy perfume. We refused, and tried to change the subject while we waited for our drinks.
"So where are you from?"
"Cairo"
"Business is good?"
"So-so"
*Silence*
"Why you no buy perfume?"
We said our goodbyes promptly and left, giving him money for the coffee and tea that had not come yet. He said farewell, nonchalantly.
Another note is on the traffic. There are no words to do it justice, so Ill just leave you with a video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-t6FZujJxM
Were about to go out to some bar somewhere. I'll update more soon.
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