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. 

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.

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

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.