These and other wanderings have been the high lights of the last years;
when I turn from them the sky darkens.
--Edith Wharton, A Backward Glance
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
To Summarize
These and other wanderings have been the high lights of the last years;
when I turn from them the sky darkens.
--Edith Wharton, A Backward Glance
Monday, July 13, 2009
The end of the beginning
As I'm sure you've guessed, these Americans are outta Cairo.
I've been back in the US for about two and a half weeks now. I've had all kinds of adventures in that time frame: travel, reverse culture shock, food, employment.
But of course, this is not the place to recount the beginning of the rest of my life!
(Whatever that means ....)
So please update your blog reading software. To remain plugged in to the continuing adventures of my life (under new management), set your sights and sites on my new blog:
Can't wait to see you again!
I've been back in the US for about two and a half weeks now. I've had all kinds of adventures in that time frame: travel, reverse culture shock, food, employment.
But of course, this is not the place to recount the beginning of the rest of my life!
(Whatever that means ....)
So please update your blog reading software. To remain plugged in to the continuing adventures of my life (under new management), set your sights and sites on my new blog:
Can't wait to see you again!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Flying Cat Circus
My family grew a bit while I was in Cairo - it definitely got fuzzier. I adopted India in October 2007, and Zanzibar joined us as a tiny baby this past December. Cairo simply crawls with cats, so while adopting 2 cats was basically pissing into the ocean, at least I felt good that these two cats got off the streets.
As you might suppose, India and Zanzibar are mortal enemies. To be precise, Zanzibar is India's mortal enemy; Zanzibar's arch-nemesis is the washing machine. He's really not very clever.
There was never any question of leaving the cats in Cairo when we moved back to the US. The question, of course, was we had to do to actually accomplish the fact. And there were multiple layers of strategy required - exiting Egypt, physical transportation, and entering the US.
Physical transportation seemed the easiest to take care of first. We booked flights on Delta - we had to get all the way to San Francisco, and we needed to avoid the UK and the EU because neither cat is microchipped. Delta has a pretty extensive website dealing with "jet-set" pets. My cats weren't headed to Monte Carlo; they just needed to get to the US in one hop. We could have taken EgyptAir to JFK and dealt with fewer restrictions, but I didn't intend to pay a pet fee for EgyptAir and then another pet fee for Delta - one $150 (per cat!) was all I was willing to shell out for those little beauties.
That's right. Delta charges $150 per pet ... the pet has to stay in the cabin between May and September (no baggage checking) ... and only 2 pets per flight (economy class) are permitted. KC had delayed in getting his flight tickets, so we ended up having to fly on separate days because the second pet space on my flight was filled by the time KC booked. Maelesh.
I took Zanzibar to the vet to get his rabies shot and to ask about the protocol for getting the cats into the US safely. Dr Rafik spent a long time explaining an incredibly detailed process to me that had appeared nowhere in the research I had done. According to Dr Rafik, I had to leave the cats' vaccination records (they have kitty passports) with him, and he would generate a health certificate for each cat. His certificate was only good for 15 days, and had to be taken, with the kitty passports, to the Egyptian Ministry of Agriculture for exit papers. Those papers would have to be presented in Egypt and in the US to clear customs. Dr Rafik also wrote out a series of instructions, in Arabic and in English, with the names and office locations of the various officials we'd have to visit at the Ministry.
I picked up the certificates a couple of weeks later. Dr Rafik had gotten the year wrong on India's last rabies shot, so that had to be fixed (a simple typo that could have been catastrophic). We also had to be very careful that KC appeared as Zanzibar's owner, and I was listed as India's, so there'd be no question of proper transport of the cats. A few hours later I realized I'd forgotten to pick up the sedative that Dr Rafik had offered me for India, but I decided to just make do without it.
The Sunday after our aborted trip to Abu Simbel, we headed to the New Campus to take care of some final things. Then we decided to take the bus straight to Mohandesin to the Ministry, rather than go back to Garden City and then schlep back out to Mohandesin. By some miracle I had the kitty passports in my purse, but of course I did not have Dr Rafik's instruction sheet. We figured, how hard could it be? Dr Rafik had promised it'd be nothing like the Mogamma.
You can see where this is going. For that matter, so could we.
We easily found the Ministry of Agriculture. I'd remembered vaguely that Dr Rafik had said there were multiple ministry buildings (possibly four) and that the office we wanted was in the building perpendicular to the street, not parallel to it. Right.
We picked a building, I showed the doorman the vaccination certificates from Dr Rafik, I explained in my very simple prepared Arabic what we were trying to do. The gentlemen appeared to understand us and gave us a set of detailed directions (lots of arm waving) to direct us to the office we wanted. When we finally navigated the warren of the building and arrived at the office, we discovered that it was absolutely not the office we wanted, and the occupants of the office (usually a director) were completely puzzled as to why we were such idiots. We then explained everything again, showed the certificates, and were directed to another ministry building.
Take that last paragraph above. Repeat it four times with four separate buildings scattered among a few blocks in Mohandesin. Oh, and turn the temperature up to about 100 degrees fahrenheit and have four lanes of speeding traffic come straight at you, horns blaring. Then you'll start to get a picture of how we spent our afternoon.
At one point a puzzled director said to us, "This is the animal production department. Do you want more cats?" We also got into a huge fight with a guy who wanted to test the cats for avian influenza and couldn't figure out why we hadn't brought the cats. "Because we don't want the cats tested for avian influenza", we replied. "Then why are you here?" he responded. In his defense, it turned out that we'd been erroneously directed to an avian influenza lab. And so on.
Finally, we did actually managed to find the Quarantine Office (we did not want the cats quarantined) in a building that lacked a Ministry of Agriculture sign. This office consisted of about six people sitting around in a stiflingly hot room. We spent the next forty minutes walking back and forth between this office and the office next door. The protocol went something like this: get signature from woman in office 1. Go to office 2 to buy stamp. Get signature from man in office 1. Go to office 2 and buy another stamp. Return to office 1 and get third person to sign forms. Bring forms to fourth person in office 1 (sitting right next to persons already visited for signature). Verify with another person in office 2 that another stamp was not needed. Help woman in office 1 (with apparently no function) read her English language newspaper ("What is 'cherish'? What is 'flora and fauna'?). And so on.
Eventually all the papers were stamped and signed and ready for departure. I swear I checked them before we left the office and I swear I didn't see any mistakes.
The next day, Monday, we had our smashing coup at the EgyptAir office and our final trip to the Khan al Khalili. Tuesday we had a last dinner with friends upstairs and I made a valiant effort to finish the alcohol we'd brought to share. It was really, really hot when we made our way back to down to our flat a half hour before KC was scheduled to be picked up and taken to the airport. One last time I checked KC's stack of papers -
And saw that the people at the Ministry of Agriculture had swapped the names on the cats' papers. KC was listed as India's owner, and I was paired with Zanzibar. After a frantic consultation, KC dashed over to the Four Seasons business center and had photocopies of all the papers made, so we could show Customs exactly where the mistake happened.
I didn't hear anything from KC the next day, so I assumed everything was fine. At 11 pm I wrangled India into her carrier and headed for the airport. As I entered the terminal, a military policeman barked at me, "Cat? Papers?" I responded, "Yes" and kept walking. Clearly I'd been in the country too long.
At Delta's ridiculously extensive security counter I forked over the $150 for the cat, checked my bags, and walked onto the plane. The flight from Cairo was one of those cattlecar planes (I think a 767). I was two or three rows from the back, on the aisle. Being on the aisle was good; it meant that India was subjected to more of the traffic in the aisle, but it meant I could get her in and out more easily. During the flight I draped a blanket over my legs and over the carrier, making a tent. We do this a lot at home - India likes sleeping under the covers. I think it helped keep her warm and sensory deprived. She really did not like take off or landing, but in general she was well-behaved during the flight. It was uncomfortable for me, and one of the flight stewards offered to move her up front, but I declined and kept her with me. The plane was noisy enough that I'm pretty sure I was the only person who could hear her when she cried.
Four times during the flight to JFK I took the bag into the lavatory and let her out. I tried to do this while most people were sleeping. She was shaking like a leaf and she looked like a rabbit, with big rolled up dewy eyes. She wouldn't drink any water and she would only eat a few bites of her dry food if I held it in my hand and put it right under her nose. All she really wanted was to be cuddled, which was really pathetic. She was trying to purr but she was shaking so hard she could only produce odd little sounds, but she constantly nuzzled me and made her scratchy paws. She didn't fight very hard when it was time to go back in the bag.
At JFK I checked the "transporting animals" box on the customs form. The passport control guy looked at India, looked at the form, and told me to keep walking and someone would stop me. The woman ahead of me in line had a cat too (she was the reason KC couldn't fly with me) and she told me that she'd never bothered to go to the Ministry of Agriculture; she just had the vaccination record and the certificate from her vet. After passport control I got my bags and went through customs. Nobody stopped me. I even handed my form - with the checked box - to a customs officer who waved me through.
I rechecked my luggage, then headed back through security. Here I had to put India's carrier through the scanner and walk through the metal detector with her in my arms, which I stupidly did with my cell phone in my pocket (so I had to do it twice). Everyone in line, including the agents, was cooing over India and so they helped me get her through (she still managed to scratch my arms up through my jacket). At JFK I tried to find a bathroom that had dividers that went to the floor, or a single-person bathroom, but I couldn't find any, and the janitors said they were all open on the bottom.
At the gate in JFK I got permission from one agent to preboard and then was told by another that I couldn't preboard with a pet. Again I was about 4-5 rows from the back on the aisle. Before the flight took off I took her into the lavatory and she drank a little water and ate a little food, but still wasn't interested in her custom-made litter box. People were always using the bathroom on the flight to San Francisco, so she stayed in the bag for 6 hours. At SFO there were still no separate bathrooms and no one asked for any papers on that end either. So we just walked out of there.
All told, India was in the bag for almost exactly 24 hours. She was unsedated, surprisingly well-behaved, and didn't create any biohazards during the flight.
All that effort, and the papers didn't even get checked once. KC said that his customs agent did look at Zanzibar's rabies vaccination record, but that was it. Yeesh. Now I have a contraband cat.
As you might suppose, India and Zanzibar are mortal enemies. To be precise, Zanzibar is India's mortal enemy; Zanzibar's arch-nemesis is the washing machine. He's really not very clever.
There was never any question of leaving the cats in Cairo when we moved back to the US. The question, of course, was we had to do to actually accomplish the fact. And there were multiple layers of strategy required - exiting Egypt, physical transportation, and entering the US.
Physical transportation seemed the easiest to take care of first. We booked flights on Delta - we had to get all the way to San Francisco, and we needed to avoid the UK and the EU because neither cat is microchipped. Delta has a pretty extensive website dealing with "jet-set" pets. My cats weren't headed to Monte Carlo; they just needed to get to the US in one hop. We could have taken EgyptAir to JFK and dealt with fewer restrictions, but I didn't intend to pay a pet fee for EgyptAir and then another pet fee for Delta - one $150 (per cat!) was all I was willing to shell out for those little beauties.
That's right. Delta charges $150 per pet ... the pet has to stay in the cabin between May and September (no baggage checking) ... and only 2 pets per flight (economy class) are permitted. KC had delayed in getting his flight tickets, so we ended up having to fly on separate days because the second pet space on my flight was filled by the time KC booked. Maelesh.
I took Zanzibar to the vet to get his rabies shot and to ask about the protocol for getting the cats into the US safely. Dr Rafik spent a long time explaining an incredibly detailed process to me that had appeared nowhere in the research I had done. According to Dr Rafik, I had to leave the cats' vaccination records (they have kitty passports) with him, and he would generate a health certificate for each cat. His certificate was only good for 15 days, and had to be taken, with the kitty passports, to the Egyptian Ministry of Agriculture for exit papers. Those papers would have to be presented in Egypt and in the US to clear customs. Dr Rafik also wrote out a series of instructions, in Arabic and in English, with the names and office locations of the various officials we'd have to visit at the Ministry.
I picked up the certificates a couple of weeks later. Dr Rafik had gotten the year wrong on India's last rabies shot, so that had to be fixed (a simple typo that could have been catastrophic). We also had to be very careful that KC appeared as Zanzibar's owner, and I was listed as India's, so there'd be no question of proper transport of the cats. A few hours later I realized I'd forgotten to pick up the sedative that Dr Rafik had offered me for India, but I decided to just make do without it.
The Sunday after our aborted trip to Abu Simbel, we headed to the New Campus to take care of some final things. Then we decided to take the bus straight to Mohandesin to the Ministry, rather than go back to Garden City and then schlep back out to Mohandesin. By some miracle I had the kitty passports in my purse, but of course I did not have Dr Rafik's instruction sheet. We figured, how hard could it be? Dr Rafik had promised it'd be nothing like the Mogamma.
You can see where this is going. For that matter, so could we.
We easily found the Ministry of Agriculture. I'd remembered vaguely that Dr Rafik had said there were multiple ministry buildings (possibly four) and that the office we wanted was in the building perpendicular to the street, not parallel to it. Right.
We picked a building, I showed the doorman the vaccination certificates from Dr Rafik, I explained in my very simple prepared Arabic what we were trying to do. The gentlemen appeared to understand us and gave us a set of detailed directions (lots of arm waving) to direct us to the office we wanted. When we finally navigated the warren of the building and arrived at the office, we discovered that it was absolutely not the office we wanted, and the occupants of the office (usually a director) were completely puzzled as to why we were such idiots. We then explained everything again, showed the certificates, and were directed to another ministry building.
Take that last paragraph above. Repeat it four times with four separate buildings scattered among a few blocks in Mohandesin. Oh, and turn the temperature up to about 100 degrees fahrenheit and have four lanes of speeding traffic come straight at you, horns blaring. Then you'll start to get a picture of how we spent our afternoon.
At one point a puzzled director said to us, "This is the animal production department. Do you want more cats?" We also got into a huge fight with a guy who wanted to test the cats for avian influenza and couldn't figure out why we hadn't brought the cats. "Because we don't want the cats tested for avian influenza", we replied. "Then why are you here?" he responded. In his defense, it turned out that we'd been erroneously directed to an avian influenza lab. And so on.
Finally, we did actually managed to find the Quarantine Office (we did not want the cats quarantined) in a building that lacked a Ministry of Agriculture sign. This office consisted of about six people sitting around in a stiflingly hot room. We spent the next forty minutes walking back and forth between this office and the office next door. The protocol went something like this: get signature from woman in office 1. Go to office 2 to buy stamp. Get signature from man in office 1. Go to office 2 and buy another stamp. Return to office 1 and get third person to sign forms. Bring forms to fourth person in office 1 (sitting right next to persons already visited for signature). Verify with another person in office 2 that another stamp was not needed. Help woman in office 1 (with apparently no function) read her English language newspaper ("What is 'cherish'? What is 'flora and fauna'?). And so on.
Eventually all the papers were stamped and signed and ready for departure. I swear I checked them before we left the office and I swear I didn't see any mistakes.
The next day, Monday, we had our smashing coup at the EgyptAir office and our final trip to the Khan al Khalili. Tuesday we had a last dinner with friends upstairs and I made a valiant effort to finish the alcohol we'd brought to share. It was really, really hot when we made our way back to down to our flat a half hour before KC was scheduled to be picked up and taken to the airport. One last time I checked KC's stack of papers -
And saw that the people at the Ministry of Agriculture had swapped the names on the cats' papers. KC was listed as India's owner, and I was paired with Zanzibar. After a frantic consultation, KC dashed over to the Four Seasons business center and had photocopies of all the papers made, so we could show Customs exactly where the mistake happened.
I didn't hear anything from KC the next day, so I assumed everything was fine. At 11 pm I wrangled India into her carrier and headed for the airport. As I entered the terminal, a military policeman barked at me, "Cat? Papers?" I responded, "Yes" and kept walking. Clearly I'd been in the country too long.
At Delta's ridiculously extensive security counter I forked over the $150 for the cat, checked my bags, and walked onto the plane. The flight from Cairo was one of those cattlecar planes (I think a 767). I was two or three rows from the back, on the aisle. Being on the aisle was good; it meant that India was subjected to more of the traffic in the aisle, but it meant I could get her in and out more easily. During the flight I draped a blanket over my legs and over the carrier, making a tent. We do this a lot at home - India likes sleeping under the covers. I think it helped keep her warm and sensory deprived. She really did not like take off or landing, but in general she was well-behaved during the flight. It was uncomfortable for me, and one of the flight stewards offered to move her up front, but I declined and kept her with me. The plane was noisy enough that I'm pretty sure I was the only person who could hear her when she cried.
Four times during the flight to JFK I took the bag into the lavatory and let her out. I tried to do this while most people were sleeping. She was shaking like a leaf and she looked like a rabbit, with big rolled up dewy eyes. She wouldn't drink any water and she would only eat a few bites of her dry food if I held it in my hand and put it right under her nose. All she really wanted was to be cuddled, which was really pathetic. She was trying to purr but she was shaking so hard she could only produce odd little sounds, but she constantly nuzzled me and made her scratchy paws. She didn't fight very hard when it was time to go back in the bag.
At JFK I checked the "transporting animals" box on the customs form. The passport control guy looked at India, looked at the form, and told me to keep walking and someone would stop me. The woman ahead of me in line had a cat too (she was the reason KC couldn't fly with me) and she told me that she'd never bothered to go to the Ministry of Agriculture; she just had the vaccination record and the certificate from her vet. After passport control I got my bags and went through customs. Nobody stopped me. I even handed my form - with the checked box - to a customs officer who waved me through.
I rechecked my luggage, then headed back through security. Here I had to put India's carrier through the scanner and walk through the metal detector with her in my arms, which I stupidly did with my cell phone in my pocket (so I had to do it twice). Everyone in line, including the agents, was cooing over India and so they helped me get her through (she still managed to scratch my arms up through my jacket). At JFK I tried to find a bathroom that had dividers that went to the floor, or a single-person bathroom, but I couldn't find any, and the janitors said they were all open on the bottom.
At the gate in JFK I got permission from one agent to preboard and then was told by another that I couldn't preboard with a pet. Again I was about 4-5 rows from the back on the aisle. Before the flight took off I took her into the lavatory and she drank a little water and ate a little food, but still wasn't interested in her custom-made litter box. People were always using the bathroom on the flight to San Francisco, so she stayed in the bag for 6 hours. At SFO there were still no separate bathrooms and no one asked for any papers on that end either. So we just walked out of there.
All told, India was in the bag for almost exactly 24 hours. She was unsedated, surprisingly well-behaved, and didn't create any biohazards during the flight.
All that effort, and the papers didn't even get checked once. KC said that his customs agent did look at Zanzibar's rabies vaccination record, but that was it. Yeesh. Now I have a contraband cat.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Back Blog : Dahab, the Sequel
My birthday this year was a big one, the big three-oh. KC asked what I wanted to do for my birthday that was special; after all, we'd gone all the way to London for his. It seemed that my first choice - ignoring the occasion entirely - wasn't going to happen, so I picked my favorite thing in the whole world.
We went scuba diving! I decided that being underwater while I turned thirty was a good plan. So I planned a trip to take us back to Dahab, where I'd had a great time diving with some friends last August. And speaking of last August, I managed, for the second time, to go diving in Dahab without the underwater camera! This time the underwater case was fine, but the camera had been struck down on the top of Mt Moses under suspicious (read: divine?) circumstances.
We stayed at the Dahab Coach House, a really splendid tiny hotel run by a wonderful Danish couple. I'd been introduced to them last fall, and I'd intended to take a trip to Dahab last Eid but ended up going to Lebanon instead. So this June was my first time staying with them, and it was really great. I wouldn't consider staying anywhere else (unless it were free, of course!).
And once again I dove with Sinai Divers Backpacker and couldn't have asked for a better experience. I even managed to get the same dive master as last time, Pritesh, who makes fun of me for being a slow diver but then points out living things that are invisible to my eye. Perfect.
We had a lovely first day's diving at Umm Sid where, among many other things, we found sailor's eyeballs (below left), lionfish, Red Sea walkmen (below right), eels (giant moray, eek!), sand divers, lovely chromodoris, and a blue-spotted ray ... and that's in addition to all the Red Sea regulars!
Thanks again to Google Images for saving the day!
We got seven dives in total, including another set of stellar dives to Canyon and Bells/Blue Hole. Canyon was a bit crowded, but it turned out to be kind of cool - all those divers made lots of bubbles, and the bubbles escape the crack in the floor (the canyon) in a curtain that rises from the edge. It's surreal, playing with the glittering silver bubbles, 20 m under the water.
I don't think I'll ever get tired of Bells/Blue Hole, which is a haunting dive. To do the entry through the Bells, we walked past a wall that has the names of all the divers who have died there. For me the best part of the dive happens after exiting the Bells, when we sweep along the outer edge of the Hole. There's absolutely no bottom, and on the left the blue stretches away into the unknown. Even though there's great sea life right in front of my nose on the wall, I find myself obsessively scanning the blue and below. I get the tingly feeling that there's something big - like a whale shark, or a thresher, or an eagle ray (which I did see once) - just out of sight.
The best/terrifying part of this dive is when we put our backs to the wall and swim out in the blue. It means being super careful, keeping one eye always on my depth gauge, but it's completely thrilling, being surrounded by absolutely nothing. I've done this dive three times now, and I've never felt unsafe or like I was doing something risky. I am not a risky diver. No way.
As we were crossing the saddle of the wall to get into the Blue Hole proper, I saw a big fish that I couldn't identify. I hovered right on the crest, straining my eyes. Was it a napoleon? That'd be a first for me. Pritesh had already dropped over the saddle, and KC was hovering with me, looking in the same direction. I decided to go get Pritesh so after the dive he could identify the fish for me. I signaled to him to come back, and when he arrived I turned to point out my mystery fish. And then to my intense surprise, I spotted a turtle! At the dive's end, KC told me that the turtle had been there all along and that's what he'd thought I was pointing at. Nope! I was the last one to see it, even though I was the one who stopped in the first place. Typical.
We were also lucky enough to do a few dives with a marine biologist from the Red Sea Environmental Center. She was a bit less focused on guiding than Pritesh - it was more like the three of us were just diving together - but it was fun having a fellow biologist with us. In fact, Pritesh talked us into doing a fluorescence night dive with her.
KC and I aren't really night divers. We'd tried it for the first time in Sharm, and we thought it was good but not great - not really worth too much effort. But the fluorescence angle sounded intriguing, and Pritest was really excited about it, so we thought we'd give it a go.
The evening started with a pre-dive briefing on fluorescence and fluorescence in biological organisms. We felt a little guilty because it quickly became obvious that we were ringers. KC ended up giving the "fluorescence" part of the briefing, and I gave the "fluorescent proteins in biological organisms" part of the briefing. Is it our fault that we actually work with these things for a living? We found ourselves a little skeptical about some of the ideas the biologist threw out there - we're not convinced that these things are used for communication at 20 meters. Just doesn't make sense. But eventually it was time to suit up with our special gear - blue wavelength flashlights (for excitation of the fluorescent creatures) and a yellow filter for our masks (to be able to see the fluorescence more clearly).
We stayed in about 3-4 meters of water the whole time. It was amazing, the first time I trained my flashlight on an ordinary-looking coral and it blazed green! We crept along the bottom and came to a small reef, where we moved an inch at a time, trying to find things that glowed. My favorite was the anemone crab (above right), which smolders a fluorescent red when you hit it with the blue light. We also discovered that scorpionfish fluoresce yellow - we didn't find too many fish that did glow, although lots of the coral did. I was having a reasonably good time until I turned my face over my shoulder - and found a (poisonous) lionfish within two inches of my nose. The lionfish are attracted to the lights, and even though our only white lights were with the DMs, I was surrounded. I enjoyed myself a bit less after that; I was uncomfortable knowing that the animals could see me but I couldn't see them. All in all, I'm glad I did the dive, but I don't know that I'll rush to do it again.
At the end of the Dahab trip, we arranged to go to St Catherine's, so KC could see the monastery and climb the mountain. This was a return trip for me, and within only a few weeks! Originally we'd planned to climb the mountain at dawn, but we were so tired from diving that we decided to hit the mountain at 6 am, just around sunrise. It was a two-hour drive from Dahab to St Catherine's, and we couldn't bear the thought of getting up at midnight to start our day.
And boy did we make the right decision, because to my shock, the valley was deserted at 6 am. When I'd arrived to make my last climb, the place was crawling with busloads of ill-dressed tourists and swarming with security guards and beduin "guides." The rule, of course, is that you must hire a beduin guide if you want to go up the mountain. This time, KC and I encountered a single snoozing security guard next to the metal detector. We tiptoed around him and dashed up the path, trying to get as far up the path as possible before we were found out and stuck with a surly guide.
But that moment never came, and we had a splendid climb. It wasn't really that hot while we climbed, and we didn't freeze at the summit. We were alone - truly alone - for something like 90% of our climb. No camel hawkers, no Russian tourists, no pilgrims. Nothing. The kiosks were either closed or deserted. Everyone was up ahead of us. We passed a few people on their way back down the camel path at first, but we'd missed the rush entirely. At the summit there was a group of about 10 Greeks - an amazing contrast to the hundreds of people I'd shared the sunrise with a few weeks earlier. And we came down the Stairs of Repentence completely alone, which was stunning. I'll post some pictures here when we've got them downloaded.
Bottom line: watch the sunrise on your way up Mt Moses. You'll have a better chance of finding the peace and serenity that has drawn people there for hundreds of years.
We spent about an hour and a half at the monastery after our climb, seeing the icons and the museum, the ossuary and the church. And then we made the long drive back to Sharm for the short flight back to Cairo.
But that's not the end of the story, of course! Our 50 minute flight was delayed for an hour in Sharm, and we spent another hour at the new terminal in Cairo trying to avoid being bled dry by taxi sharks. Cairenes, take note - either have City Cab or the university pick you up. It's not worth the hassle of trying to arrange your own transport from the new terminal.
Dahab: two thumbs up. St Catherine's in the late morning: five stars. Terminal three: gaaah.
We went scuba diving! I decided that being underwater while I turned thirty was a good plan. So I planned a trip to take us back to Dahab, where I'd had a great time diving with some friends last August. And speaking of last August, I managed, for the second time, to go diving in Dahab without the underwater camera! This time the underwater case was fine, but the camera had been struck down on the top of Mt Moses under suspicious (read: divine?) circumstances.
We stayed at the Dahab Coach House, a really splendid tiny hotel run by a wonderful Danish couple. I'd been introduced to them last fall, and I'd intended to take a trip to Dahab last Eid but ended up going to Lebanon instead. So this June was my first time staying with them, and it was really great. I wouldn't consider staying anywhere else (unless it were free, of course!).
And once again I dove with Sinai Divers Backpacker and couldn't have asked for a better experience. I even managed to get the same dive master as last time, Pritesh, who makes fun of me for being a slow diver but then points out living things that are invisible to my eye. Perfect.
We had a lovely first day's diving at Umm Sid where, among many other things, we found sailor's eyeballs (below left), lionfish, Red Sea walkmen (below right), eels (giant moray, eek!), sand divers, lovely chromodoris, and a blue-spotted ray ... and that's in addition to all the Red Sea regulars!
Thanks again to Google Images for saving the day!
We got seven dives in total, including another set of stellar dives to Canyon and Bells/Blue Hole. Canyon was a bit crowded, but it turned out to be kind of cool - all those divers made lots of bubbles, and the bubbles escape the crack in the floor (the canyon) in a curtain that rises from the edge. It's surreal, playing with the glittering silver bubbles, 20 m under the water.
I don't think I'll ever get tired of Bells/Blue Hole, which is a haunting dive. To do the entry through the Bells, we walked past a wall that has the names of all the divers who have died there. For me the best part of the dive happens after exiting the Bells, when we sweep along the outer edge of the Hole. There's absolutely no bottom, and on the left the blue stretches away into the unknown. Even though there's great sea life right in front of my nose on the wall, I find myself obsessively scanning the blue and below. I get the tingly feeling that there's something big - like a whale shark, or a thresher, or an eagle ray (which I did see once) - just out of sight.
The best/terrifying part of this dive is when we put our backs to the wall and swim out in the blue. It means being super careful, keeping one eye always on my depth gauge, but it's completely thrilling, being surrounded by absolutely nothing. I've done this dive three times now, and I've never felt unsafe or like I was doing something risky. I am not a risky diver. No way.
As we were crossing the saddle of the wall to get into the Blue Hole proper, I saw a big fish that I couldn't identify. I hovered right on the crest, straining my eyes. Was it a napoleon? That'd be a first for me. Pritesh had already dropped over the saddle, and KC was hovering with me, looking in the same direction. I decided to go get Pritesh so after the dive he could identify the fish for me. I signaled to him to come back, and when he arrived I turned to point out my mystery fish. And then to my intense surprise, I spotted a turtle! At the dive's end, KC told me that the turtle had been there all along and that's what he'd thought I was pointing at. Nope! I was the last one to see it, even though I was the one who stopped in the first place. Typical.
We were also lucky enough to do a few dives with a marine biologist from the Red Sea Environmental Center. She was a bit less focused on guiding than Pritesh - it was more like the three of us were just diving together - but it was fun having a fellow biologist with us. In fact, Pritesh talked us into doing a fluorescence night dive with her.
KC and I aren't really night divers. We'd tried it for the first time in Sharm, and we thought it was good but not great - not really worth too much effort. But the fluorescence angle sounded intriguing, and Pritest was really excited about it, so we thought we'd give it a go.
The evening started with a pre-dive briefing on fluorescence and fluorescence in biological organisms. We felt a little guilty because it quickly became obvious that we were ringers. KC ended up giving the "fluorescence" part of the briefing, and I gave the "fluorescent proteins in biological organisms" part of the briefing. Is it our fault that we actually work with these things for a living? We found ourselves a little skeptical about some of the ideas the biologist threw out there - we're not convinced that these things are used for communication at 20 meters. Just doesn't make sense. But eventually it was time to suit up with our special gear - blue wavelength flashlights (for excitation of the fluorescent creatures) and a yellow filter for our masks (to be able to see the fluorescence more clearly).
We stayed in about 3-4 meters of water the whole time. It was amazing, the first time I trained my flashlight on an ordinary-looking coral and it blazed green! We crept along the bottom and came to a small reef, where we moved an inch at a time, trying to find things that glowed. My favorite was the anemone crab (above right), which smolders a fluorescent red when you hit it with the blue light. We also discovered that scorpionfish fluoresce yellow - we didn't find too many fish that did glow, although lots of the coral did. I was having a reasonably good time until I turned my face over my shoulder - and found a (poisonous) lionfish within two inches of my nose. The lionfish are attracted to the lights, and even though our only white lights were with the DMs, I was surrounded. I enjoyed myself a bit less after that; I was uncomfortable knowing that the animals could see me but I couldn't see them. All in all, I'm glad I did the dive, but I don't know that I'll rush to do it again.
At the end of the Dahab trip, we arranged to go to St Catherine's, so KC could see the monastery and climb the mountain. This was a return trip for me, and within only a few weeks! Originally we'd planned to climb the mountain at dawn, but we were so tired from diving that we decided to hit the mountain at 6 am, just around sunrise. It was a two-hour drive from Dahab to St Catherine's, and we couldn't bear the thought of getting up at midnight to start our day.
And boy did we make the right decision, because to my shock, the valley was deserted at 6 am. When I'd arrived to make my last climb, the place was crawling with busloads of ill-dressed tourists and swarming with security guards and beduin "guides." The rule, of course, is that you must hire a beduin guide if you want to go up the mountain. This time, KC and I encountered a single snoozing security guard next to the metal detector. We tiptoed around him and dashed up the path, trying to get as far up the path as possible before we were found out and stuck with a surly guide.
But that moment never came, and we had a splendid climb. It wasn't really that hot while we climbed, and we didn't freeze at the summit. We were alone - truly alone - for something like 90% of our climb. No camel hawkers, no Russian tourists, no pilgrims. Nothing. The kiosks were either closed or deserted. Everyone was up ahead of us. We passed a few people on their way back down the camel path at first, but we'd missed the rush entirely. At the summit there was a group of about 10 Greeks - an amazing contrast to the hundreds of people I'd shared the sunrise with a few weeks earlier. And we came down the Stairs of Repentence completely alone, which was stunning. I'll post some pictures here when we've got them downloaded.
Bottom line: watch the sunrise on your way up Mt Moses. You'll have a better chance of finding the peace and serenity that has drawn people there for hundreds of years.
We spent about an hour and a half at the monastery after our climb, seeing the icons and the museum, the ossuary and the church. And then we made the long drive back to Sharm for the short flight back to Cairo.
But that's not the end of the story, of course! Our 50 minute flight was delayed for an hour in Sharm, and we spent another hour at the new terminal in Cairo trying to avoid being bled dry by taxi sharks. Cairenes, take note - either have City Cab or the university pick you up. It's not worth the hassle of trying to arrange your own transport from the new terminal.
Dahab: two thumbs up. St Catherine's in the late morning: five stars. Terminal three: gaaah.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Leave one out
This story is so bizarre, I'll start with the end of the tale first:
So we went to the office, spoke with an agent, signed a form with the manager, got a full refund in cash, and left within 15 minutes.
Right. Now that you've heard the end, let me back up.
Back in May I alluded to a "hair-raising adventure" with EgyptAir. But things didn't even start in May - I started working on our trip to Abu Simbel back at the beginning of April.
Bottom line, KC and I wanted to see Abu Simbel before leaving Egypt. The Abu Simbel site is a set of two temples built by Ramesses II in the far south of Egypt. In fact, the temples are located so far south that when the Aswan High Dam was built in the late 1960s, the resulting Lake Nasser would have submerged the temples.
Eventually, someone figured this out - that building the dam (which may or may not have been an ecological catastrophe) would endanger literally dozens of pharonic sites in Upper Egypt. I need to do some more reading about this, because it's quite a remarkable story. The Egyptian government and UNESCO got help from institutions around the world to actually move the two temples at Abu Simbel (and some other sites too, like Philae) to higher ground.
Ever wonder why there's a complete Egyptian temple inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City? It was a "thank you" gift to the museum for working on the UNESCO project. Thanks for your help - here, have a temple. We were going to wreck this one anyway.
On the other hand, diving these things would be fantastic ... but I digress.
We wanted to go to Abu Simbel. I had enough EgyptAir frequent flier miles to get one free ticket to Abu Simbel, and it seemed a good use because generally that's an expensive ticket. I called the EgyptAir hotline and got put through to the rewards desk. I explained to the helpful woman that I wanted one reward ticket and one regular ticket to Abu Simbel on a particular day in June. She typed a bit, and then gave me the reservation number and told me to go down to the EgyptAir office and pay the taxes on the tickets.
"The reservation is confirmed?" I asked.
"Yes madam, no problem."
"The ticket has been issued?"
"Yes madam, just go pay the fee."
"You're absolutely sure this reservation is ready? Because I don't want to go all the way down there and find out I don't have a ticket."
"Don't worry madam, you have a ticket."
So of course I went to the Adly Street EgyptAir office and - brace yourselves - of course there were no damned tickets. I'd walked into the office and saw a desk with about 30 representatives, and there were no other customers (shockingly). An agent waved me over to his desk. When I saw his face, I said, "Oh, I remember you! You used to be in the Tahrir Office!" And to my complete and utter surprise, he responded, "Yes Dr. Tiffany, I remember you."
I almost passed out. This guy had seen me once in January and he remembered my name. That type of thing would never happen in the US. If you're in the Adly Street EgyptAir office (over near Midan Opera) look for the guy with the round glasses and thin bristly mustache. He's the one you want.
Anyway, I freaked out at this guy for a few minutes, and then settled down to business. He's a great agent - smart as hell and efficient. Eventually he constructed a delicate series of reservations for our trip, but unfortunately both seats were waitlisted. I was told to keep checking the waitlist on the airline website and to come to the office when the seats came through.
Three weeks later, the reservation for the two tickets was still waitlisted. I figured enough was enough - EgyptAir was offering a fare of LE 837 (USD $150) round-trip including taxes. I went back to the office to just pay for the tickets. Imagine my surprise when a new agent told me that the reservation I'd made was only in my name - KC's ticket didn't exist.
This precipitated an hour-long argument, and I'll gloss over the details. The most frustrating aspect was telling the guy that not an hour before EgyptAir's website had listed KC's ticket. The agent responded that that wasn't true because his system didn't have it. Fine, I said, open up the internet and I'll show you.
Apparently this was akin to suggesting that we sacrifice his firstborn son. The agent protested that he couldn't possibly do that. I pointed to the Internet Explorer icon on his desktop and said, "Click on it." Back and forth, back and forth, and finally a manager came over.
Eventually I realized the stupidity and futility of my efforts. I asked the manager to cancel that reservation and make a new reservation, which I'd pay for in cash. 10 minutes later all was settled and I walked out the door with my paid, confirmed tickets.
Or so I thought. [cue ominous music]
This past Saturday we dragged ourselves out of bed at 4 in the morning, tossed a few things in the backpack, and headed for the airport. After our airport taxi catastrophe on the way back from Dahab, I'd called City Cab to arrange for transport both ways from the airport in a metered taxi. We got to the airport around 5 am ... and that's when all hell broke loose.
The security guard looked at our itinerary before letting us through the security checkpoint BEFORE the area where you can actually check in. This is normal in Egypt. What was not normal was his refusal to let us pass, and his claim that the flight didn't exist. He directed us over to the EgyptAir ticket counter.
The guy at the ticket counter said this wasn't his job and sent us over to Customer Service.
The guy at Customer Service said this wasn't his job and sent us over to the ticket counter.
This is where things started to get ugly.
We told the customer service guy that we'd been sent to him by the ticket guy. He walked with us over to the ticket counter and lit into the ticket guy, screeching at him in Arabic. Finally it was determined that yes, dealing with ticket issues is in fact the job of the guy at the ticket counter.
We found out that our 6:00 am flight had been cancelled and we'd been put on the 8:45 am flight instead, which would get us to Abu Simbel at 11:30 am - with a return flight departing at 2:15 pm.
Of course, this was completely preposterous. We were tired and really, really angry at this point.
So the recriminations began. We were incensed that EgyptAir had made no effort to contact us before we arrived at the airport on the morning of our flight. The agent claimed that we had given EgyptAir no phone number to contact us. I pointed out how absurd this was, since EgyptAir had been calling me on my mobile phone for 2 years. They even called to tell me when the Tahrir office closed! The agent told me I was lying and I'd never given them my mobile number. There was a lot more shouting at that point.
At some point through my red haze of fury I realized that KC was doing something very clever. He was basically running through a checklist of things that airlines (in the US at least) can't do when they cancel your flight. For example, he asked if our flight had been "cancelled" or "rescheduled." The agent said "cancelled" (not good for the airline). KC asked for a copy of the cancellation policy of the airline. The agent refused to give us one (really, really not good).
The agent scored his only point when he demanded, "What do you want me to do?" Because of course, what we wanted him to do was to schedule a plane just for us, leaving at that exact moment. We found this much funnier later.
We decided that we just wanted our money back. The agent refused, saying we had to go to the office that had issued the ticket. OK, we returned, give us a piece of paper showing that we'd actually gone all the way to the airport before figuring out we were screwed. The guy handed me a blank piece of paper with the words "EgyptAir" printed on them. I gave him my most pissed-off withering glare of derision and he went in the back and printed out an itinerary that had the airport office letterhead.
And then we had to find a taxi to get home. We managed to find a different metered taxi, but the police prohibit the drivers from picking up passengers in front of the terminal (you figure this one out - for the fixed fare scam?) so we walked down the ramp toward the highway with the taxi following us until we were out of sight of the police.
Yesterday we went to the EgyptAir office to get our refund. We girded ourselves mentally - we prepared our extensive set of documentation - we worked out the good cop/bad cop routine - and we ticked off our set of arguing points. We were called up to the desk - and our agent was the "new" agent who'd told me in May that KC's ticket didn't exist.
"Do you remember me?" I asked him.
"Yes - Abu Simbel frequent flier. How was your trip?"
[beat]
"Actually, that's why we're here. We got to the airport and found out EgyptAir had cancelled our flight. We'd like a refund. Here's our original itinerary."
"Please wait here, I'll be right back."
The agent stepped away and we settled into our chairs. He was gone for about 10 minutes, walking here and there through the office. Finally he came back and said simply, "Come with me."
We were ushered into a manager's office behind the ticket counter. I thought they were bringing us back there to bludgeon us to death for asking for a refund. Instead the manager came around the desk, shook our hands, and boomed, "Congratulations!"
For what? we thought. Being the first EgyptAir customers to get a refund? We stared at him blankly.
"Congratulations on your country!" He beamed at us.
We thought, Great. What have we done now?
"Congratulations on your football! America very good!!"
Ah. America had just beaten Egypt in some big soccer game. Of course this was just about the furthest thing from our minds at this point.
We signed a paper and were sent to the cashier's desk. We showed photocopies of our passport - and 3 minutes later we were handed LE 1674.
To repeat how I began this long sordid tale:
So we went to the office, spoke with an agent, signed a form with the manager, got a full refund in cash, and left within 15 minutes.
I was convinced I was having a coma dream. This last trip to the EgyptAir office is by far the weirdest thing that has happened to me in this country.
And now we have to come back to Egypt - because we haven't seen Abu Simbel.
So we went to the office, spoke with an agent, signed a form with the manager, got a full refund in cash, and left within 15 minutes.
Right. Now that you've heard the end, let me back up.
Back in May I alluded to a "hair-raising adventure" with EgyptAir. But things didn't even start in May - I started working on our trip to Abu Simbel back at the beginning of April.
Bottom line, KC and I wanted to see Abu Simbel before leaving Egypt. The Abu Simbel site is a set of two temples built by Ramesses II in the far south of Egypt. In fact, the temples are located so far south that when the Aswan High Dam was built in the late 1960s, the resulting Lake Nasser would have submerged the temples.
Eventually, someone figured this out - that building the dam (which may or may not have been an ecological catastrophe) would endanger literally dozens of pharonic sites in Upper Egypt. I need to do some more reading about this, because it's quite a remarkable story. The Egyptian government and UNESCO got help from institutions around the world to actually move the two temples at Abu Simbel (and some other sites too, like Philae) to higher ground.
Ever wonder why there's a complete Egyptian temple inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City? It was a "thank you" gift to the museum for working on the UNESCO project. Thanks for your help - here, have a temple. We were going to wreck this one anyway.
On the other hand, diving these things would be fantastic ... but I digress.
We wanted to go to Abu Simbel. I had enough EgyptAir frequent flier miles to get one free ticket to Abu Simbel, and it seemed a good use because generally that's an expensive ticket. I called the EgyptAir hotline and got put through to the rewards desk. I explained to the helpful woman that I wanted one reward ticket and one regular ticket to Abu Simbel on a particular day in June. She typed a bit, and then gave me the reservation number and told me to go down to the EgyptAir office and pay the taxes on the tickets.
"The reservation is confirmed?" I asked.
"Yes madam, no problem."
"The ticket has been issued?"
"Yes madam, just go pay the fee."
"You're absolutely sure this reservation is ready? Because I don't want to go all the way down there and find out I don't have a ticket."
"Don't worry madam, you have a ticket."
So of course I went to the Adly Street EgyptAir office and - brace yourselves - of course there were no damned tickets. I'd walked into the office and saw a desk with about 30 representatives, and there were no other customers (shockingly). An agent waved me over to his desk. When I saw his face, I said, "Oh, I remember you! You used to be in the Tahrir Office!" And to my complete and utter surprise, he responded, "Yes Dr. Tiffany, I remember you."
I almost passed out. This guy had seen me once in January and he remembered my name. That type of thing would never happen in the US. If you're in the Adly Street EgyptAir office (over near Midan Opera) look for the guy with the round glasses and thin bristly mustache. He's the one you want.
Anyway, I freaked out at this guy for a few minutes, and then settled down to business. He's a great agent - smart as hell and efficient. Eventually he constructed a delicate series of reservations for our trip, but unfortunately both seats were waitlisted. I was told to keep checking the waitlist on the airline website and to come to the office when the seats came through.
Three weeks later, the reservation for the two tickets was still waitlisted. I figured enough was enough - EgyptAir was offering a fare of LE 837 (USD $150) round-trip including taxes. I went back to the office to just pay for the tickets. Imagine my surprise when a new agent told me that the reservation I'd made was only in my name - KC's ticket didn't exist.
This precipitated an hour-long argument, and I'll gloss over the details. The most frustrating aspect was telling the guy that not an hour before EgyptAir's website had listed KC's ticket. The agent responded that that wasn't true because his system didn't have it. Fine, I said, open up the internet and I'll show you.
Apparently this was akin to suggesting that we sacrifice his firstborn son. The agent protested that he couldn't possibly do that. I pointed to the Internet Explorer icon on his desktop and said, "Click on it." Back and forth, back and forth, and finally a manager came over.
Eventually I realized the stupidity and futility of my efforts. I asked the manager to cancel that reservation and make a new reservation, which I'd pay for in cash. 10 minutes later all was settled and I walked out the door with my paid, confirmed tickets.
Or so I thought. [cue ominous music]
This past Saturday we dragged ourselves out of bed at 4 in the morning, tossed a few things in the backpack, and headed for the airport. After our airport taxi catastrophe on the way back from Dahab, I'd called City Cab to arrange for transport both ways from the airport in a metered taxi. We got to the airport around 5 am ... and that's when all hell broke loose.
The security guard looked at our itinerary before letting us through the security checkpoint BEFORE the area where you can actually check in. This is normal in Egypt. What was not normal was his refusal to let us pass, and his claim that the flight didn't exist. He directed us over to the EgyptAir ticket counter.
The guy at the ticket counter said this wasn't his job and sent us over to Customer Service.
The guy at Customer Service said this wasn't his job and sent us over to the ticket counter.
This is where things started to get ugly.
We told the customer service guy that we'd been sent to him by the ticket guy. He walked with us over to the ticket counter and lit into the ticket guy, screeching at him in Arabic. Finally it was determined that yes, dealing with ticket issues is in fact the job of the guy at the ticket counter.
We found out that our 6:00 am flight had been cancelled and we'd been put on the 8:45 am flight instead, which would get us to Abu Simbel at 11:30 am - with a return flight departing at 2:15 pm.
Of course, this was completely preposterous. We were tired and really, really angry at this point.
So the recriminations began. We were incensed that EgyptAir had made no effort to contact us before we arrived at the airport on the morning of our flight. The agent claimed that we had given EgyptAir no phone number to contact us. I pointed out how absurd this was, since EgyptAir had been calling me on my mobile phone for 2 years. They even called to tell me when the Tahrir office closed! The agent told me I was lying and I'd never given them my mobile number. There was a lot more shouting at that point.
At some point through my red haze of fury I realized that KC was doing something very clever. He was basically running through a checklist of things that airlines (in the US at least) can't do when they cancel your flight. For example, he asked if our flight had been "cancelled" or "rescheduled." The agent said "cancelled" (not good for the airline). KC asked for a copy of the cancellation policy of the airline. The agent refused to give us one (really, really not good).
The agent scored his only point when he demanded, "What do you want me to do?" Because of course, what we wanted him to do was to schedule a plane just for us, leaving at that exact moment. We found this much funnier later.
We decided that we just wanted our money back. The agent refused, saying we had to go to the office that had issued the ticket. OK, we returned, give us a piece of paper showing that we'd actually gone all the way to the airport before figuring out we were screwed. The guy handed me a blank piece of paper with the words "EgyptAir" printed on them. I gave him my most pissed-off withering glare of derision and he went in the back and printed out an itinerary that had the airport office letterhead.
And then we had to find a taxi to get home. We managed to find a different metered taxi, but the police prohibit the drivers from picking up passengers in front of the terminal (you figure this one out - for the fixed fare scam?) so we walked down the ramp toward the highway with the taxi following us until we were out of sight of the police.
Yesterday we went to the EgyptAir office to get our refund. We girded ourselves mentally - we prepared our extensive set of documentation - we worked out the good cop/bad cop routine - and we ticked off our set of arguing points. We were called up to the desk - and our agent was the "new" agent who'd told me in May that KC's ticket didn't exist.
"Do you remember me?" I asked him.
"Yes - Abu Simbel frequent flier. How was your trip?"
[beat]
"Actually, that's why we're here. We got to the airport and found out EgyptAir had cancelled our flight. We'd like a refund. Here's our original itinerary."
"Please wait here, I'll be right back."
The agent stepped away and we settled into our chairs. He was gone for about 10 minutes, walking here and there through the office. Finally he came back and said simply, "Come with me."
We were ushered into a manager's office behind the ticket counter. I thought they were bringing us back there to bludgeon us to death for asking for a refund. Instead the manager came around the desk, shook our hands, and boomed, "Congratulations!"
For what? we thought. Being the first EgyptAir customers to get a refund? We stared at him blankly.
"Congratulations on your country!" He beamed at us.
We thought, Great. What have we done now?
"Congratulations on your football! America very good!!"
Ah. America had just beaten Egypt in some big soccer game. Of course this was just about the furthest thing from our minds at this point.
We signed a paper and were sent to the cashier's desk. We showed photocopies of our passport - and 3 minutes later we were handed LE 1674.
To repeat how I began this long sordid tale:
So we went to the office, spoke with an agent, signed a form with the manager, got a full refund in cash, and left within 15 minutes.
I was convinced I was having a coma dream. This last trip to the EgyptAir office is by far the weirdest thing that has happened to me in this country.
And now we have to come back to Egypt - because we haven't seen Abu Simbel.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Last Day at the Khan
The past few days have been filled with too many lasts - or lasts for now - for me to want to risk a tearful gooey blogpost slide into nostalgia.
This morning we said goodbye to our washing machine, which moved up the street to a friend's place. To be specific, the guys from the university showed up, disconnected my washing machine, moved it out of my flat ... and then dumped the machine outside my friend's flat and left. Without ringing the bell, let alone actually installing the machine. For some strange reason in Cairo the washing machines don't belong to the flat but to the tenant.
We tied up a few loose ends in Garden City, then headed to the EgyptAir office to deal with our aborted trip to Abu Simbel. More on this later - because our episode today was, by far, the strangest experience I've had in Egypt.
And if you've been following this blog, you know that means a lot.
Then we made our final pilgrimage to Islamic Cairo. First we headed back to Tentmaker's Bazaar to say goodbye to our friends there. In two years I've really come to value the Egyptian concept of shopping and shopkeeping. I've been buying from Mr Magdy (in the covered part of the bazaar) and Mr Ayman (just past the bazaar) for two years - and taking my friends to them. After about 6 months of this, I realized that both these gentlemen acted mortally offended if I passed by their shop without dropping in for a cup of tea and a chat. Even if I wasn't interested in buying, I was welcome in their store. I don't think I ever spent less than 20 minutes with either one of them, even if I didn't spend a cent.
So how much can two people buy in 30 minutes at Mr Ayman's store? Today: 19 scarves, 5 bags, and 2 big applique wall hangings. I'm especially pleased by the one up above, an unusual applique with a fish / Red Sea motif. Mr Ayman does great work; I frequently see new patterns in his store before any of the others in the bazaar, and usually a few weeks later I see them everywhere.
I'm not usually into these pictorial pieces; I prefer the calligraphy and abstract works. But I saw this fishy scene and knew I had to have it. Fortunately KC agreed, and we went ahead with our rather staggering purchase. In the end the damage came to LE 1000 (USD $178.60), and no matter how hard KC haggled, we couldn't budge Mr Ayman any further (although he did give us an extra bag of our choice).
We managed to talk our way into the fantastic Qalawun complex over in Palace Walk, precipitating a massive fight between the caretaker and a nearby policeman. Some baksheesh to both parties got us out of there in one piece, but it was a bit strange. The caretaker really really did not want us there, even though we were willing to pay and the site is technically open. Why would you spend so much money restoring a monument and then forbid anyone to see it?
Along the same lines, why would you have UNESCO and your government spend millions of dollars to save the temples at Abu Simbel and then arrange the flights so people can only spend an hour in the temples?
Ah, the mysteries of Egypt.
And Mr Ayman's deets:
Stitched Like an Egyptian
Ayman Molokhya
Original Appllique [sic] Art Work
18 El Khiamia st., Babziwela - Cairo
Mob: 012 100 6756
molokyaoneonly@yahoo.com
This morning we said goodbye to our washing machine, which moved up the street to a friend's place. To be specific, the guys from the university showed up, disconnected my washing machine, moved it out of my flat ... and then dumped the machine outside my friend's flat and left. Without ringing the bell, let alone actually installing the machine. For some strange reason in Cairo the washing machines don't belong to the flat but to the tenant.
We tied up a few loose ends in Garden City, then headed to the EgyptAir office to deal with our aborted trip to Abu Simbel. More on this later - because our episode today was, by far, the strangest experience I've had in Egypt.
And if you've been following this blog, you know that means a lot.
Then we made our final pilgrimage to Islamic Cairo. First we headed back to Tentmaker's Bazaar to say goodbye to our friends there. In two years I've really come to value the Egyptian concept of shopping and shopkeeping. I've been buying from Mr Magdy (in the covered part of the bazaar) and Mr Ayman (just past the bazaar) for two years - and taking my friends to them. After about 6 months of this, I realized that both these gentlemen acted mortally offended if I passed by their shop without dropping in for a cup of tea and a chat. Even if I wasn't interested in buying, I was welcome in their store. I don't think I ever spent less than 20 minutes with either one of them, even if I didn't spend a cent.
So how much can two people buy in 30 minutes at Mr Ayman's store? Today: 19 scarves, 5 bags, and 2 big applique wall hangings. I'm especially pleased by the one up above, an unusual applique with a fish / Red Sea motif. Mr Ayman does great work; I frequently see new patterns in his store before any of the others in the bazaar, and usually a few weeks later I see them everywhere.
I'm not usually into these pictorial pieces; I prefer the calligraphy and abstract works. But I saw this fishy scene and knew I had to have it. Fortunately KC agreed, and we went ahead with our rather staggering purchase. In the end the damage came to LE 1000 (USD $178.60), and no matter how hard KC haggled, we couldn't budge Mr Ayman any further (although he did give us an extra bag of our choice).
We managed to talk our way into the fantastic Qalawun complex over in Palace Walk, precipitating a massive fight between the caretaker and a nearby policeman. Some baksheesh to both parties got us out of there in one piece, but it was a bit strange. The caretaker really really did not want us there, even though we were willing to pay and the site is technically open. Why would you spend so much money restoring a monument and then forbid anyone to see it?
Along the same lines, why would you have UNESCO and your government spend millions of dollars to save the temples at Abu Simbel and then arrange the flights so people can only spend an hour in the temples?
Ah, the mysteries of Egypt.
And Mr Ayman's deets:
Stitched Like an Egyptian
Ayman Molokhya
Original Appllique [sic] Art Work
18 El Khiamia st., Babziwela - Cairo
Mob: 012 100 6756
molokyaoneonly@yahoo.com
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Final answer
This is the voice of KC, the quiet half of the Americans in Cairo. Tiffany asks me why I don’t post more to this blog, and the answer is that I rarely feel like I have that much to share. That may sound a bit silly, since I too spent the last year rebooting my life over on the Left Coast with a healthy dollop of scars and bruises to show for it. However, when I Skype with Tiffany or read her blog posts, I often reflect to myself that the ups and downs of my life in California are more run-of-the-mill and predictable than those of Egypt. The incidence of (in no particular order of importance) shouting, camels, shouting at camels, being shouted at by camels, and cancelled flights (see other blog posts) is far higher… and far more likely to cause someone to get hurt. I just hope it’s not us.
We’re currently driving back from the new campus, and as a case in point, I just saw some dude sweeping the sand off the highway. In the grand universal scheme of things, I think that’s on par with digging holes just to fill them in again – except that the holes are in the middle of a firing range, and the guns are firing ultra-deadly “Egyptian Driver” bullets.
In a strange bookend to our two-year love affair with Egypt, Tiff and I trundled around the New Campus today, her for the last time, I for the first. Quite frankly, I was astonished at the progress since we arrived in Cairo two years ago, and in many ways, anyone involved can and should be very proud of the accomplishment. Tiff asked me what I would miss most about Egypt, and my response was the opportunity to be freshly amazed every day that I walk around the city. However, I wonder how long it takes for that feeling to dull into a sense of complacency about your surrounds, and whether one truly finds happiness in that familiarity.
Tiffany will experience much the same thing, I imagine, once she arrives back on American soil. We’re going to have to do something about the yelling, but I think she can be placated by a great draft beer, and a heaping plate of bacon-wrapped bacon. I’m glad we’re relocating to somewhere that should be equally absorbing to explore, but I can feel a poignant sense of loss everytime Tiffany goes somewhere for the last time, or says goodbye to a friend or colleague that has enveloped her life here for the past two years. Yesterday, Tiffany started to feel sick, and today she has a bit of a fever. On top of that, she burned her hand and got electrocuted. This country has managed to get in a few licks, but I’m hopeful that we’ll both end up wanting a little bit more as we fly over Giza one last time.
We’re currently driving back from the new campus, and as a case in point, I just saw some dude sweeping the sand off the highway. In the grand universal scheme of things, I think that’s on par with digging holes just to fill them in again – except that the holes are in the middle of a firing range, and the guns are firing ultra-deadly “Egyptian Driver” bullets.
In a strange bookend to our two-year love affair with Egypt, Tiff and I trundled around the New Campus today, her for the last time, I for the first. Quite frankly, I was astonished at the progress since we arrived in Cairo two years ago, and in many ways, anyone involved can and should be very proud of the accomplishment. Tiff asked me what I would miss most about Egypt, and my response was the opportunity to be freshly amazed every day that I walk around the city. However, I wonder how long it takes for that feeling to dull into a sense of complacency about your surrounds, and whether one truly finds happiness in that familiarity.
Tiffany will experience much the same thing, I imagine, once she arrives back on American soil. We’re going to have to do something about the yelling, but I think she can be placated by a great draft beer, and a heaping plate of bacon-wrapped bacon. I’m glad we’re relocating to somewhere that should be equally absorbing to explore, but I can feel a poignant sense of loss everytime Tiffany goes somewhere for the last time, or says goodbye to a friend or colleague that has enveloped her life here for the past two years. Yesterday, Tiffany started to feel sick, and today she has a bit of a fever. On top of that, she burned her hand and got electrocuted. This country has managed to get in a few licks, but I’m hopeful that we’ll both end up wanting a little bit more as we fly over Giza one last time.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Pithy Egypt
Back from Dahab and gearing up for a grueling last few days in Egypt! More on all these things later, I hope, but first ...
I thought I'd share another NYT article about how Cairenes find peace in this crazy city.
I feel like Cairo is always balanced on the knife-edge of nonchaos. At any given moment, the whole thing could go careening into madness ... and yet, somehow, it doesn't. Every day.
Case in point, last night we flew into the new terminal at Cairo Airport. Terminal 3 itself is quite nice overall - it actually looks like a modern terminal in a developed nation. Even the airport website seems to be in good shape.
Our catastrophe happened when we tried to get a taxi home. Normally I reserve a car from the university, but with the flu-mediated university shutdown I wasn't able to make the booking. In an effort to be helpful (warning warning warning!!!) the government claimed to have standardized taxi fares.
Yeah, right. All they've done is given free rein to the taxi sharks to try to fleece tourists. Some of these drivers had the gall to ask for LE 100 to Garden City and LE 70 to Heliopolis (the airport is in Heliopolis!). For the university car, I pay LE 60 (that's for a private, air-conditioned smoke-free car with seatbelts and a driver who carries my bag). The airport has standardized fares to LE 80 to Garden City. The "shuttle" is actually a private car company that has the word "shuttle" in its name (we discovered this about 35 minutes into our taxi search). Going downstairs to departures to look for empty taxis wasn't any better. And we never have been able to find the 2 pound downtown bus.
After almost an hour we found one of the new metered white cabs who was willing to take us to Garden City. We experienced the usual amount of traffic - and when we arrived home, the meter read LE 33.50. That's right. 34 pounds from the airport to Garden City. We were so pleased, we gave the guy 40 pounds and took his phone number.
Summary: Egyptian government tries to make things better, instead makes a bad situation worse.
What was I talking about? Oh, yes, the article. Here are my favorite bits:
...In a difficult environment, Egyptians know how to make do.
Indeed. I guess that just about sums it up, doesn't it?
... “It’s calm, it’s not crowded, and there is clean air,” her mother said. Her younger brother, Muhammad, 11, said he liked it on the bridge “because this is where the car accidents happen.”
Summary: Egyptian system bad. Egyptian people good. Very good. Except for little Muhammed the accident-lover.
I'm glad to know there are things that I'll be missing about living here.
I thought I'd share another NYT article about how Cairenes find peace in this crazy city.
I feel like Cairo is always balanced on the knife-edge of nonchaos. At any given moment, the whole thing could go careening into madness ... and yet, somehow, it doesn't. Every day.
Case in point, last night we flew into the new terminal at Cairo Airport. Terminal 3 itself is quite nice overall - it actually looks like a modern terminal in a developed nation. Even the airport website seems to be in good shape.
Our catastrophe happened when we tried to get a taxi home. Normally I reserve a car from the university, but with the flu-mediated university shutdown I wasn't able to make the booking. In an effort to be helpful (warning warning warning!!!) the government claimed to have standardized taxi fares.
Yeah, right. All they've done is given free rein to the taxi sharks to try to fleece tourists. Some of these drivers had the gall to ask for LE 100 to Garden City and LE 70 to Heliopolis (the airport is in Heliopolis!). For the university car, I pay LE 60 (that's for a private, air-conditioned smoke-free car with seatbelts and a driver who carries my bag). The airport has standardized fares to LE 80 to Garden City. The "shuttle" is actually a private car company that has the word "shuttle" in its name (we discovered this about 35 minutes into our taxi search). Going downstairs to departures to look for empty taxis wasn't any better. And we never have been able to find the 2 pound downtown bus.
After almost an hour we found one of the new metered white cabs who was willing to take us to Garden City. We experienced the usual amount of traffic - and when we arrived home, the meter read LE 33.50. That's right. 34 pounds from the airport to Garden City. We were so pleased, we gave the guy 40 pounds and took his phone number.
Summary: Egyptian government tries to make things better, instead makes a bad situation worse.
What was I talking about? Oh, yes, the article. Here are my favorite bits:
...In a difficult environment, Egyptians know how to make do.
They know how to ignore what they cannot change and improvise where they can. They drive the wrong way down one-way streets, are blind to traffic lights, never voluntarily wait in line and regularly circumvent a government bureaucracy that is less than user-friendly. They are not trying to be rude; they are just fighting to get by.
Technically, setting up on a bridge is illegal. But this is Egypt. Who cares about technicalities?Indeed. I guess that just about sums it up, doesn't it?
... “It’s calm, it’s not crowded, and there is clean air,” her mother said. Her younger brother, Muhammad, 11, said he liked it on the bridge “because this is where the car accidents happen.”
Summary: Egyptian system bad. Egyptian people good. Very good. Except for little Muhammed the accident-lover.
I'm glad to know there are things that I'll be missing about living here.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
To split infinitives
Tonight I decided to watch the new Star Trek movie. Not because I'm a Star Trek fan - or because I've ever seen a Star Trek movie - or more than 2 episodes of the original series - but because I need to return a DVD and my parents just saw this movie.
All in all, I thought the movie was surprisingly fast-paced ... basing my expectations on no sort of prior knowledge, of course. It did ... go on a bit, but overall I think I enjoyed it.
I'll break my random thoughts down into a few categories:
Things that were not quite the movie's fault:
All in all, I thought the movie was surprisingly fast-paced ... basing my expectations on no sort of prior knowledge, of course. It did ... go on a bit, but overall I think I enjoyed it.
I'll break my random thoughts down into a few categories:
Things that were not quite the movie's fault:
- Something seemed to be wrong with the resolution on my copy; everyone's heads were cut off right at eyebrow level. While disconcerting, this doesn't actually detract from following the details of the movie.
- Prequels drive me crazy when the writers assume I know who all these people are and why every word that comes out of their mouths is significant.
- Ditto the inside jokes. I can tell when I'm supposed to get it, even when I don't.
- What is up with Nimoy's teeth??
- It's always good to see Harold.
- I'm glad to know that when I hold a high-powered, fast-paced position in a space agency, my miniskirt will always be pressed and I'll have time to apply my fake eyelashes.
- All joking aside, at least Chiquita wasn't running around in high heels. Knee-high boots, yes, but they were flats.
- Scottish accent. Hilarious.
- Why was Spock's mom wearing a hijab through the whole film?
- Is it really that hard to memorize the formula for the volume of a sphere?
- Why is it that the bad guys never say, "Hey wait, we're wearing these long leather coats with stand up collars, and our ship is unnecessarily black and spiky - we're the heroes here, right?"
- Where are all the brown folks? I see white, black, yellow, but no brownies (not to mention those craaaaaazy redskins). Hell, they even had a green chick in this movie - so where's the Indian guy, his Arab buddy, and the Native American girlfriend?
- Sorry, I must've dozed off - can anyone remind me why half-breeds shouldn't exist?
- "Damn it man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!" (Only works in Egypt, I think.)
- "I should have killed you when I had the chance!" (If I had a dollar for every time I've wanted to say this ....)
- "It never occurred to me that space was moving!" (Good thing I'm not teaching cosmology anymore.)
Hysteria update
I just received this message from the US Embassy:
This Warden Message alerts U.S. citizens to the latest information regarding human cases of 2009-H1N1 Influenza. The Egyptian Ministry of Health has reported eight confirmed cases of H1N1 virus in Egypt. Seven of these cases are students from the American University in Cairo, all resident in AUC’s downtown Zamalek dormitory. AUC has suspended classes and campus activities through Sunday morning, June 14, 2009, and all residents of the Zamalek dormitory are currently in quarantine, are being tested, and will remain under observation for one week. Cairo airport has also instituted new health screening procedures and they can be found at http://egypt.usembassy.gov/consular/pa060809.htm
Yowza. So my not-to-be-trusted source was correct; the poor blokes in the hostel are under lock and key for a week!
I am so glad I live in Garden City ... thank heaven for small miracles. At least for me - not for my less fortunate friends!
You can read the University's official news release here, if you're interested.
Oh, and I received an invitation to a "swine flu soiree" later this week. Gallows humor - but at least I have the choice of attending!
This Warden Message alerts U.S. citizens to the latest information regarding human cases of 2009-H1N1 Influenza. The Egyptian Ministry of Health has reported eight confirmed cases of H1N1 virus in Egypt. Seven of these cases are students from the American University in Cairo, all resident in AUC’s downtown Zamalek dormitory. AUC has suspended classes and campus activities through Sunday morning, June 14, 2009, and all residents of the Zamalek dormitory are currently in quarantine, are being tested, and will remain under observation for one week. Cairo airport has also instituted new health screening procedures and they can be found at http://egypt.usembassy.gov/
Yowza. So my not-to-be-trusted source was correct; the poor blokes in the hostel are under lock and key for a week!
I am so glad I live in Garden City ... thank heaven for small miracles. At least for me - not for my less fortunate friends!
You can read the University's official news release here, if you're interested.
Oh, and I received an invitation to a "swine flu soiree" later this week. Gallows humor - but at least I have the choice of attending!
Happy Days
I just found this beautiful essay by Pico Iyer about the joy of a simple life. And I find myself wondering - am I happy? Since I'm going through a rather severe transition period right now, it seems a little unfair to place the whole weight of my response on what I'm feeling right this minute.
But it's an important question ... isn't it? And if "happiness" isn't really the issue, what is?
Over the past three years or so back in the US, I was starting to feel more and more divorced from the reality that drove my friends - my nonacademic friends, anyway. I didn't care about the newest mobile phone or car, the latest fashion trends or popular TV shows (I don't even own a TV). It didn't really seem to matter that much that I was in my mid-twenties and barely making $20,000 a year (for awhile there, anyway).
And the times when it did seem to matter always seemed to be when I was with my friends - times that should have been happy, but instead left me with a vague sense of unease that something was wrong with me. For not caring about the things that were so obviously important to, well, just about everyone but me.
I wonder if this is why I've been comfortable as an expatriate. It seems to me that Americans who are happy - or satisfied - with their comfy, normal lives in America don't just dump everything and rush into the unknown. Living here, I've never had to explain to an expat why I moved to Egypt. People are curious as to how I got here, but that's not the same as the "why on Earth would you do that?" type of response I get from people back home.
So even if this wasn't the best (or most obvious) choice career-wise - even though I'm living apart from my partner - even though there are things about this country that occasionally drive me up the wall - I think I've been happy here.
I'm lucky that my partner has values that are similar to my own. Not identical, mind you - he's not immune to wanting better toys than the other kids in his class - but close enough that we find happiness in simplicity. And we travel like fiends, but even when we do, somehow our itineraries never seem to match those of people who've gone to identical places. We prefer to cook rather than go out. We watch movies at home. We use the library. We prefer to stay with friends rather than in hotels when traveling.
I'm not saying I'm getting ready to run off and join a monastery in Japan like Pico Iyer (although I have started begging KC for a sabbatical in Japan in a few years) ... but I am saying that I think I'm living my life the way I want to.
Maybe that's more important than giddy happiness or material comfort, in the long run.
But it's an important question ... isn't it? And if "happiness" isn't really the issue, what is?
Over the past three years or so back in the US, I was starting to feel more and more divorced from the reality that drove my friends - my nonacademic friends, anyway. I didn't care about the newest mobile phone or car, the latest fashion trends or popular TV shows (I don't even own a TV). It didn't really seem to matter that much that I was in my mid-twenties and barely making $20,000 a year (for awhile there, anyway).
And the times when it did seem to matter always seemed to be when I was with my friends - times that should have been happy, but instead left me with a vague sense of unease that something was wrong with me. For not caring about the things that were so obviously important to, well, just about everyone but me.
I wonder if this is why I've been comfortable as an expatriate. It seems to me that Americans who are happy - or satisfied - with their comfy, normal lives in America don't just dump everything and rush into the unknown. Living here, I've never had to explain to an expat why I moved to Egypt. People are curious as to how I got here, but that's not the same as the "why on Earth would you do that?" type of response I get from people back home.
So even if this wasn't the best (or most obvious) choice career-wise - even though I'm living apart from my partner - even though there are things about this country that occasionally drive me up the wall - I think I've been happy here.
I'm lucky that my partner has values that are similar to my own. Not identical, mind you - he's not immune to wanting better toys than the other kids in his class - but close enough that we find happiness in simplicity. And we travel like fiends, but even when we do, somehow our itineraries never seem to match those of people who've gone to identical places. We prefer to cook rather than go out. We watch movies at home. We use the library. We prefer to stay with friends rather than in hotels when traveling.
I'm not saying I'm getting ready to run off and join a monastery in Japan like Pico Iyer (although I have started begging KC for a sabbatical in Japan in a few years) ... but I am saying that I think I'm living my life the way I want to.
Maybe that's more important than giddy happiness or material comfort, in the long run.
Back Blog: St Catherine's, Day Two, the Mountain
At the end of our surprisingly fruitful first day at St Catherine's a few weekends ago, my friends and I turned in at the ridiculous time of about 9 pm to try to get some rest before our next challenge:
Climbing Mt Moses.
Mt Moses is the mountain that the monastery cozies up to in its wadi. The thing to do is to be on top of the mountain to watch the sunrise - which means, of course, that the ascent has to be made in the dark.
There are two paths up the mountain: a relatively easy long switchback path known as the "camel path," and the Stairs of Repentance - which are just as terrifying as they sound. The Stairs are slightly more than 3700 stone stairs that go straight up the mountain to the Grove of the Elders, where they join the last set of stairs that are shared by the camel path. Supposedly a monk single-handedly built the staircase to atone for a sin; I find it hard to imagine what a monk could do that would be bad enough to warrant that severe a punishment. We opted to take the camel path up and the Stairs down.
We roused ourselves at 2 in the morning to begin our journey. I stuffed some gear - including 2 headlamps and my parka shell - into my backpack, slug it on my back, and then yanked on the shoulder strap to adjust the weight.
The buckle snapped in my hand.
Oh no, I thought, this is not a good start. I transfered the gear into my brother-in-law's backpack, and then we piled into the van that was taking us to the foot of the mountain.
When we arrived at the monastery it was astoundingly dark because there was no moon. This turned out to be one of the most pleasurable aspects of the trip. It's easy to forget, in our modern lives, what the sky is supposed to look like. That night we hiked under a canopy of stars so brilliant it stopped us in our tracks more than once. I don't think I could see a millimeter of sky that wasn't blazing with light, and the Milky Way was so pronounced I was astounded. Pausing for only a few seconds, the eye was immediately drawn to orbiting satellites. We had trouble picking out the familiar constellations among the phenomenal number of visible stars.
Our security guy picked out a pair of Beduin guides for us (my boss had decided not to scale the peak, since he's already done it 14 times) and we started up the camel path. I wish I could tell you that it was a moving spiritual journey, but the truth is we spent long stretches of the hike elbowing aside huge groups of tourists and ignoring the persistent cries of "Camel, lady? You want camel? Camel? Camel? Camel?"
No, we did not want camels. But the ever-present Beduin hawkers and their camels on the path were not deterred by our responses.
Our group ended up breaking into three parts. One of my colleagues decided to run up the mountain, so he dashed off with his flashlight. I had my flashlights - and interestingly, in a group of 8 university professors, we only had those 3 lights. I'm not quite sure what everyone else was thinking when they packed, but I had thought it would be reasonable to bring light to scale a mountain. In the dark. I gave one of my flashlights to our security guy, who ended up dropping back with one member of our group who was having trouble with the ascent. I walked up the mountain with 3 companions, a surly Beduin, and one flashlight.
FYI - when you're hiking in the dark, please remember that is both stupid and rude to shine your light directly into the eyes of your fellow hikers when they're passing you. Keep your light on the path a few paces ahead of your feet, especially if you're sharing the light. Stupid bloody tourist morons.
The ascent wasn't easy, but it was certainly doable. The worst parts came when the path was scattered with gravel that twisted underfoot. There's nothing like that feeling deep in your gut that you're walking along the edge of a vast precipice that you can't actually see. I'm beginning to think that the dark was actually an asset on the way up.
As we hiked higher and higher, the air became colder. About 2/3 of the way up I realized that I was both freezing and utterly drenched in sweat. Charming. I was dressed in layers, including a light jacket and my parka shell, and I was moving, so I was warm enough during the ascent.
All along the path we'd passed little huts - blazing with light, ruining our night vision - selling tea and snacks and such run by Beduin. Eventually we came to the point where the path joined the staircase for the final push to the summit. It was dark, and cold, but not especially crowded. We pushed on up the narrow, steep, gravel-covered stairs (I was grateful again for the dark) and reached the summit.
It was still pitch-dark, so we realized we had a wait ahead of us. The wind was strong and I pulled up my hood and huddled next to a low wall with my friends. We spent a peaceful time silently watching the stars, but eventually we got tired of idiots shining their flashlights into our eyes and we decided to move. We circled around the chapel at the summit and came to what looked like a set of large boulders. We hoisted ourselves up and found ourselves places on the forward ledge of the boulders - right in the teeth of the wind.
We waited in the dark. It got colder and colder. We were surrounded by cries of "Blanket? Mattress? Blanket? Mattress?" followed by absolutely outrageous prices. Two of my more lightly-clad friends were freezing, so I turned around and clambered blithely up a small ledge to join them, and the three of us huddled together. Eventually we broke down and rented one of the most repulsive blankets I've ever seen in my life - but it was warm and kept the wind off, so it was a good choice.
Finally, finally, the eastern sky began to lighten. As my surroundings came into view, I was astounded by the number of people who now crowded next to us on the boulders and all along the summit as far as I could see. I was also astounded by the thousand-foot drop approximately three inches from my hip, along which I'd so casually moved earlier. Gulp.
We snapped a few photos of each other in the growing light. I was posed on the edge of the boulder, smiling into the camera, when it happened.
Just like that, my camera stopped working. It didn't fall, it wasn't jostled, nothing. One minute it was taking pictures like it has for the last three or four years. The next - a nonretracting lens, a black screen, and an ominous error labeled E18. I'm sure you reached the same logical conclusion for my camera's death as I did, given my ... shall we say ... dramatic surroundings.
On the edge of a cliff surrounded by hundreds of tourists is not the place for camera repair, so I stuffed it in my parka as we scrambled down the ledge to beat the big rush down. Our reunited group descended the first set of stairs until we got down to the Grove of the Elders, where one of us picked out the sign for the Stairs of Repentance. Our guide and our security guide were marching back down the camel path, and when we stopped them and pointed, a big discussion with the guide ensued. The guide didn't want to go down the stairs, because it was "hard."
Tough, we said. And through the grove and down the stairs we went.
The Grove of the Elders is surpassingly lovely and surprisingly quiet given the vast hordes of tourists surrounding it. We lingered for awhile there, examining a tree that was supposedly visited by the prophet Elijah (amazing how all these things just happened to have occurred on the same mountain, isn't it?). In the Grove I noticed a fellow traveler who was none other than the bedraggled pilgrim I'd seen the day before in vespers - and he was still barefoot. Yikes. Finally we plucked up our courage and tackled the stairs.
(The above picture is one of David Roberts' lithographs from his trip to Sinai. The stairs I descended were not nearly this even.)
Physically speaking, going down the stairs isn't that bad. The worst part is the repeated impact on the joints, but it's not difficult. The tough part is keeping your eyes where you're putting your feet instead of enjoying the spectacular views as you plunge down the side of the mountain. We couldn't manage - we kept stopping and lingering in places that revealed especially stunning vistas. Fortunately the stairs were fairly empty, so there weren't many "traffic" problems.
Of course, I can't show you any of these stunning vistas, because my camera was struck down! This wikipedia page has a few photos, but I promise you they don't begin to hint at the overall effect.
Eventually we made it down to the foot of the mountain and the monastery, where we got a lift back to the hotel for showers and breakfast. My boss was waiting by the side of the road for our van at the hotel, and I immediately felt like I'd been caught doing something bad. Were we late? Was he worried?
He just seemed happy that we'd had a good time - and escaped without permanent injury.
My legs and back were a bit tight for the next few days, but nothing crippling. So if you're in for a bit of moderate adventure, don't forget to wake yourself up in the middle of the night for a cold precarious climb with a few thousand of your new best friends.
It's worth it.
Climbing Mt Moses.
Mt Moses is the mountain that the monastery cozies up to in its wadi. The thing to do is to be on top of the mountain to watch the sunrise - which means, of course, that the ascent has to be made in the dark.
There are two paths up the mountain: a relatively easy long switchback path known as the "camel path," and the Stairs of Repentance - which are just as terrifying as they sound. The Stairs are slightly more than 3700 stone stairs that go straight up the mountain to the Grove of the Elders, where they join the last set of stairs that are shared by the camel path. Supposedly a monk single-handedly built the staircase to atone for a sin; I find it hard to imagine what a monk could do that would be bad enough to warrant that severe a punishment. We opted to take the camel path up and the Stairs down.
We roused ourselves at 2 in the morning to begin our journey. I stuffed some gear - including 2 headlamps and my parka shell - into my backpack, slug it on my back, and then yanked on the shoulder strap to adjust the weight.
The buckle snapped in my hand.
Oh no, I thought, this is not a good start. I transfered the gear into my brother-in-law's backpack, and then we piled into the van that was taking us to the foot of the mountain.
When we arrived at the monastery it was astoundingly dark because there was no moon. This turned out to be one of the most pleasurable aspects of the trip. It's easy to forget, in our modern lives, what the sky is supposed to look like. That night we hiked under a canopy of stars so brilliant it stopped us in our tracks more than once. I don't think I could see a millimeter of sky that wasn't blazing with light, and the Milky Way was so pronounced I was astounded. Pausing for only a few seconds, the eye was immediately drawn to orbiting satellites. We had trouble picking out the familiar constellations among the phenomenal number of visible stars.
Our security guy picked out a pair of Beduin guides for us (my boss had decided not to scale the peak, since he's already done it 14 times) and we started up the camel path. I wish I could tell you that it was a moving spiritual journey, but the truth is we spent long stretches of the hike elbowing aside huge groups of tourists and ignoring the persistent cries of "Camel, lady? You want camel? Camel? Camel? Camel?"
No, we did not want camels. But the ever-present Beduin hawkers and their camels on the path were not deterred by our responses.
Our group ended up breaking into three parts. One of my colleagues decided to run up the mountain, so he dashed off with his flashlight. I had my flashlights - and interestingly, in a group of 8 university professors, we only had those 3 lights. I'm not quite sure what everyone else was thinking when they packed, but I had thought it would be reasonable to bring light to scale a mountain. In the dark. I gave one of my flashlights to our security guy, who ended up dropping back with one member of our group who was having trouble with the ascent. I walked up the mountain with 3 companions, a surly Beduin, and one flashlight.
FYI - when you're hiking in the dark, please remember that is both stupid and rude to shine your light directly into the eyes of your fellow hikers when they're passing you. Keep your light on the path a few paces ahead of your feet, especially if you're sharing the light. Stupid bloody tourist morons.
The ascent wasn't easy, but it was certainly doable. The worst parts came when the path was scattered with gravel that twisted underfoot. There's nothing like that feeling deep in your gut that you're walking along the edge of a vast precipice that you can't actually see. I'm beginning to think that the dark was actually an asset on the way up.
As we hiked higher and higher, the air became colder. About 2/3 of the way up I realized that I was both freezing and utterly drenched in sweat. Charming. I was dressed in layers, including a light jacket and my parka shell, and I was moving, so I was warm enough during the ascent.
All along the path we'd passed little huts - blazing with light, ruining our night vision - selling tea and snacks and such run by Beduin. Eventually we came to the point where the path joined the staircase for the final push to the summit. It was dark, and cold, but not especially crowded. We pushed on up the narrow, steep, gravel-covered stairs (I was grateful again for the dark) and reached the summit.
It was still pitch-dark, so we realized we had a wait ahead of us. The wind was strong and I pulled up my hood and huddled next to a low wall with my friends. We spent a peaceful time silently watching the stars, but eventually we got tired of idiots shining their flashlights into our eyes and we decided to move. We circled around the chapel at the summit and came to what looked like a set of large boulders. We hoisted ourselves up and found ourselves places on the forward ledge of the boulders - right in the teeth of the wind.
We waited in the dark. It got colder and colder. We were surrounded by cries of "Blanket? Mattress? Blanket? Mattress?" followed by absolutely outrageous prices. Two of my more lightly-clad friends were freezing, so I turned around and clambered blithely up a small ledge to join them, and the three of us huddled together. Eventually we broke down and rented one of the most repulsive blankets I've ever seen in my life - but it was warm and kept the wind off, so it was a good choice.
Finally, finally, the eastern sky began to lighten. As my surroundings came into view, I was astounded by the number of people who now crowded next to us on the boulders and all along the summit as far as I could see. I was also astounded by the thousand-foot drop approximately three inches from my hip, along which I'd so casually moved earlier. Gulp.
We snapped a few photos of each other in the growing light. I was posed on the edge of the boulder, smiling into the camera, when it happened.
Just like that, my camera stopped working. It didn't fall, it wasn't jostled, nothing. One minute it was taking pictures like it has for the last three or four years. The next - a nonretracting lens, a black screen, and an ominous error labeled E18. I'm sure you reached the same logical conclusion for my camera's death as I did, given my ... shall we say ... dramatic surroundings.
On the edge of a cliff surrounded by hundreds of tourists is not the place for camera repair, so I stuffed it in my parka as we scrambled down the ledge to beat the big rush down. Our reunited group descended the first set of stairs until we got down to the Grove of the Elders, where one of us picked out the sign for the Stairs of Repentance. Our guide and our security guide were marching back down the camel path, and when we stopped them and pointed, a big discussion with the guide ensued. The guide didn't want to go down the stairs, because it was "hard."
Tough, we said. And through the grove and down the stairs we went.
The Grove of the Elders is surpassingly lovely and surprisingly quiet given the vast hordes of tourists surrounding it. We lingered for awhile there, examining a tree that was supposedly visited by the prophet Elijah (amazing how all these things just happened to have occurred on the same mountain, isn't it?). In the Grove I noticed a fellow traveler who was none other than the bedraggled pilgrim I'd seen the day before in vespers - and he was still barefoot. Yikes. Finally we plucked up our courage and tackled the stairs.
(The above picture is one of David Roberts' lithographs from his trip to Sinai. The stairs I descended were not nearly this even.)
Physically speaking, going down the stairs isn't that bad. The worst part is the repeated impact on the joints, but it's not difficult. The tough part is keeping your eyes where you're putting your feet instead of enjoying the spectacular views as you plunge down the side of the mountain. We couldn't manage - we kept stopping and lingering in places that revealed especially stunning vistas. Fortunately the stairs were fairly empty, so there weren't many "traffic" problems.
Of course, I can't show you any of these stunning vistas, because my camera was struck down! This wikipedia page has a few photos, but I promise you they don't begin to hint at the overall effect.
Eventually we made it down to the foot of the mountain and the monastery, where we got a lift back to the hotel for showers and breakfast. My boss was waiting by the side of the road for our van at the hotel, and I immediately felt like I'd been caught doing something bad. Were we late? Was he worried?
He just seemed happy that we'd had a good time - and escaped without permanent injury.
My legs and back were a bit tight for the next few days, but nothing crippling. So if you're in for a bit of moderate adventure, don't forget to wake yourself up in the middle of the night for a cold precarious climb with a few thousand of your new best friends.
It's worth it.
Monday, June 8, 2009
La vie en oink
All hell has broken loose today, thanks to two university summer students who've come down with influenza A (H1N1).
The university, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to close until Sunday. I'd like to know whether those two students have actually been to the New Campus yet, and whether the university actually talked to any of those biologists they pay to think about, you know, biology.
One of the university dorms is locked down in quarantine, severely irritating two of my friends who are supposed to be heading for Dahab tomorrow. I'm going to gloss over the fact that I myself was in that building just a few days ago, along with my brother-in-law, who has since returned to the US.
That's right, I'm a biologist, and I'm saying that this quarantine is useless. It's alarmist and pointless, and cramming together a bunch of otherwise healthy people is not the way to ensure that everyone stays healthy. Physically or mentally. The university could be using this time to actually clean the building - as I understand it, influenza virus is quite fragile and can be destroyed by things like bleach and soap - but no, that would actually make sense.
I'm not even under quarantine and I feel like clawing the walls.
How does this affect me, you ask? Well, since the university announced the "problem" this morning, the university staff has been leaving campus in droves - and that's before the university decided to close officially.
Which means that people are not doing their jobs.
Which is driving me crazy. Tomorrow I'm supposed to have the two surveys of my flat, and they were both moved up by 8 hours, so I've spent my day today trying to do some pre-packing (hahaha) which is what I should've been doing tomorrow.
And no one's answering my emails or phone calls regarding the few remaining things I have to do before I get on that jet plane for California. And that's including picking up a $2500 check and closing my Egyptian bank account.
Guess what, guys?
When that plane leaves the morning of the 24th, I'm going to be on it. Whether or not my papers are signed, or my flat is packed, or my DSL has been cancelled.
My departure date is set. Period.
Reckon they're going to start culling the Americans?
The university, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to close until Sunday. I'd like to know whether those two students have actually been to the New Campus yet, and whether the university actually talked to any of those biologists they pay to think about, you know, biology.
One of the university dorms is locked down in quarantine, severely irritating two of my friends who are supposed to be heading for Dahab tomorrow. I'm going to gloss over the fact that I myself was in that building just a few days ago, along with my brother-in-law, who has since returned to the US.
That's right, I'm a biologist, and I'm saying that this quarantine is useless. It's alarmist and pointless, and cramming together a bunch of otherwise healthy people is not the way to ensure that everyone stays healthy. Physically or mentally. The university could be using this time to actually clean the building - as I understand it, influenza virus is quite fragile and can be destroyed by things like bleach and soap - but no, that would actually make sense.
I'm not even under quarantine and I feel like clawing the walls.
How does this affect me, you ask? Well, since the university announced the "problem" this morning, the university staff has been leaving campus in droves - and that's before the university decided to close officially.
Which means that people are not doing their jobs.
Which is driving me crazy. Tomorrow I'm supposed to have the two surveys of my flat, and they were both moved up by 8 hours, so I've spent my day today trying to do some pre-packing (hahaha) which is what I should've been doing tomorrow.
And no one's answering my emails or phone calls regarding the few remaining things I have to do before I get on that jet plane for California. And that's including picking up a $2500 check and closing my Egyptian bank account.
Guess what, guys?
When that plane leaves the morning of the 24th, I'm going to be on it. Whether or not my papers are signed, or my flat is packed, or my DSL has been cancelled.
My departure date is set. Period.
Reckon they're going to start culling the Americans?
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Back Blog : St Catherine's, Day One
I'm extremely fond of my boss here, not least because he's entirely susceptible to my whining demands for travel and adventure. A few weeks ago he caved in to my insistence on a trip to St Catherine's Monastery in Sinai. Around the same time I arranged for KC and me to go on our own from Dahab when he gets here, but I saw no reason to withdraw my demands for a (free) group trip out there.
St Catherine's is a remarkable place for a few different reasons. First, it's right smack in the middle of absolutely nowhere (very attractive to me, of course). The monastery is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It's located at the foot of Mt Moses, right on the spot where God appeared to Moses during the Burning Bush episode. Furthermore, Mt Moses is (supposedly) the place where God gave Moses the Ten Commandments.
Wait a minute! Weren't the stone tablets presented on the top of Mt Sinai?
Ah, indeed! The text is quite clear - or is it? What's the deal with Mt Horeb? And how exactly do we know which physical mountain corresponds to which name?
Once again, my historical adventures are muddied by the inherent uncertainties in Biblical history. I'm such a filthy empiricist - not imperialist, mind you - which was driven home to me on the beach last year when a nervous colleague asked if there were sharks in the water ... and I replied, "I don't see any." This was the source of much hilarity in the group.
But where was I? St Catherine's is also the site of an entirely unrelated miracle involving the martyrdom of an Alexandrian woman named Catherine whose body was discovered by a vision-ridden monk on a nearby mountain. Nearby to St Catherine's Monastery, that is (which used to be called the Monastery of the Transfiguration) - clearly not nearby to Alexandria which, I dare say, may have made a tad more sense.
I need to take it easy with the editorial comments here. When I'm on-site I manage to restrain about 90% of my comments, but I'm afraid my eyebrows tend to have lives of their own.
St Catherine's also has an unparalleled collection of early Christian icons - unparalleled for the simple reason that the Iconoclasm never seems to have made it into the remote hinterlands of Sinai. The icons - along with some other artifacts from the monastery - are assembled in a small but exquisitely rich museum in the monastery which is open to tourists.
It occured to me that the 28 or so monks are facing a nearly impossible task. They've retreated to the monastery to lead lives of contemplation, and yet they're inundated by tourists (mostly from Sharm) and have been designated a world heritage site. The monks - who seemed to know my boss and welcomed us beyond our expectations - have tried to establish a delicate balancing act. Tourists are allowed into the monastery grounds between 9 am and noon (yet the public bus arrives at 1 pm!), and are restricted to a route that encompasses the interior of the church, the museum, the outside of the chapel of the Burning Bush (where the bush's descendent lives), and the ossuary.
We left Cairo early on a Friday morning and made alarmingly rapid progress out to Sinai. We got to the monastery around 3 pm, and my boss was frustrated after weeks of trying to obtain an invitation for us to vespers. The gate of the monastery opened and a monk emerged, to be greeted by name by my boss. This man, Brother Justin, seemed to me to be exactly what a monk is supposed to be - gently smiling, calm, serene, soft-spoken. Oh, and with a big bushy beard. Without any prompting, Brother Justin invited us to vespers - neatly scotching my boss' weeks of tragic effort - and then mentioned that perhaps we'd like to see the library afterward.
You could've knocked the eight of us over with a feather. The manuscript collection in the library of St Catherine's is also unparalleled, with pieces hundreds and thousands of years old, some of which are the only surviving copy in the entire world. With visions of the library dancing in my head, I walked into vespers, seated myself quietly - and promptly fell asleep.
What can I say? It was hot, I was tired, and the chanting was entirely in Greek. I managed to peel my eyes open whenever I heard movement, but honestly, the best I managed to do was stumble to my feet when the censer came by (fortunately Brother Justin had tipped us off to this). The most fervent praying seem to come from a filthy, bearded, barefooted man sitting behind me, who crossed himself so vehemently and frequently that his motions sounded like blows in the small church.
After vespers Brother Justin took us to the library, which - even more incredibly than the fact of its very existence - is in the process of being packed up and moved so the building can be renovated. About half of the manuscripts were individually wrapped and labeled, while the ancient spines of the other half winked tantalizingly from the shelves in the surprisingly modest room.
Brother Justin seemed to be feeling chatty. He told us all about the buildings and hassles of refurbishing - now that the UNESCO moniker has settled, the monks are forbidden by the Egyptian government from changing anything. Anything. And that goes double for repair work - it's forbidden in any area that can be seen by tourists. Brother Justin also described conservation efforts to get the library digitized, and the Herculean tasks of digitizing manuscripts that are ancient and in various states of decomposition. Not surprisingly, Google has taken an interest and has developed special cameras with multiple planes of focus and software designed to make the images flat again for easy deciphering. When we asked how many of the monks were working on the project, Brother Justin seemed gently taken aback. "How many? Just me," he responded, "when I've got the time."
Finally, Brother Justin seemed to sense our physical and mental exhaustion. He recommended the view from the roof at sunset and pointed out the way. So we continued our journey through the tourist-forbidden areas of the monastery and clambered up to the roof, which had a piercingly lovely view. That bush in the lower right of the left picture below is the Bush - or, that is, a descendent of the original bush, which perished from overplucking by souvenir-seeking pilgrims.
We dragged ourselves back to the bus to head for our hotel, a supposedly four-star joint that in my mind is filed under "adequate." We had an early dinner and then retired to our rooms extra-early to hit the sack, because we had a long night ahead of us.
At 2 am, we were headed to the top of Mt Moses.
Which, of course, was an adventure in itself.
St Catherine's is a remarkable place for a few different reasons. First, it's right smack in the middle of absolutely nowhere (very attractive to me, of course). The monastery is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It's located at the foot of Mt Moses, right on the spot where God appeared to Moses during the Burning Bush episode. Furthermore, Mt Moses is (supposedly) the place where God gave Moses the Ten Commandments.
Wait a minute! Weren't the stone tablets presented on the top of Mt Sinai?
Ah, indeed! The text is quite clear - or is it? What's the deal with Mt Horeb? And how exactly do we know which physical mountain corresponds to which name?
Once again, my historical adventures are muddied by the inherent uncertainties in Biblical history. I'm such a filthy empiricist - not imperialist, mind you - which was driven home to me on the beach last year when a nervous colleague asked if there were sharks in the water ... and I replied, "I don't see any." This was the source of much hilarity in the group.
But where was I? St Catherine's is also the site of an entirely unrelated miracle involving the martyrdom of an Alexandrian woman named Catherine whose body was discovered by a vision-ridden monk on a nearby mountain. Nearby to St Catherine's Monastery, that is (which used to be called the Monastery of the Transfiguration) - clearly not nearby to Alexandria which, I dare say, may have made a tad more sense.
I need to take it easy with the editorial comments here. When I'm on-site I manage to restrain about 90% of my comments, but I'm afraid my eyebrows tend to have lives of their own.
St Catherine's also has an unparalleled collection of early Christian icons - unparalleled for the simple reason that the Iconoclasm never seems to have made it into the remote hinterlands of Sinai. The icons - along with some other artifacts from the monastery - are assembled in a small but exquisitely rich museum in the monastery which is open to tourists.
It occured to me that the 28 or so monks are facing a nearly impossible task. They've retreated to the monastery to lead lives of contemplation, and yet they're inundated by tourists (mostly from Sharm) and have been designated a world heritage site. The monks - who seemed to know my boss and welcomed us beyond our expectations - have tried to establish a delicate balancing act. Tourists are allowed into the monastery grounds between 9 am and noon (yet the public bus arrives at 1 pm!), and are restricted to a route that encompasses the interior of the church, the museum, the outside of the chapel of the Burning Bush (where the bush's descendent lives), and the ossuary.
We left Cairo early on a Friday morning and made alarmingly rapid progress out to Sinai. We got to the monastery around 3 pm, and my boss was frustrated after weeks of trying to obtain an invitation for us to vespers. The gate of the monastery opened and a monk emerged, to be greeted by name by my boss. This man, Brother Justin, seemed to me to be exactly what a monk is supposed to be - gently smiling, calm, serene, soft-spoken. Oh, and with a big bushy beard. Without any prompting, Brother Justin invited us to vespers - neatly scotching my boss' weeks of tragic effort - and then mentioned that perhaps we'd like to see the library afterward.
You could've knocked the eight of us over with a feather. The manuscript collection in the library of St Catherine's is also unparalleled, with pieces hundreds and thousands of years old, some of which are the only surviving copy in the entire world. With visions of the library dancing in my head, I walked into vespers, seated myself quietly - and promptly fell asleep.
What can I say? It was hot, I was tired, and the chanting was entirely in Greek. I managed to peel my eyes open whenever I heard movement, but honestly, the best I managed to do was stumble to my feet when the censer came by (fortunately Brother Justin had tipped us off to this). The most fervent praying seem to come from a filthy, bearded, barefooted man sitting behind me, who crossed himself so vehemently and frequently that his motions sounded like blows in the small church.
After vespers Brother Justin took us to the library, which - even more incredibly than the fact of its very existence - is in the process of being packed up and moved so the building can be renovated. About half of the manuscripts were individually wrapped and labeled, while the ancient spines of the other half winked tantalizingly from the shelves in the surprisingly modest room.
Brother Justin seemed to be feeling chatty. He told us all about the buildings and hassles of refurbishing - now that the UNESCO moniker has settled, the monks are forbidden by the Egyptian government from changing anything. Anything. And that goes double for repair work - it's forbidden in any area that can be seen by tourists. Brother Justin also described conservation efforts to get the library digitized, and the Herculean tasks of digitizing manuscripts that are ancient and in various states of decomposition. Not surprisingly, Google has taken an interest and has developed special cameras with multiple planes of focus and software designed to make the images flat again for easy deciphering. When we asked how many of the monks were working on the project, Brother Justin seemed gently taken aback. "How many? Just me," he responded, "when I've got the time."
Finally, Brother Justin seemed to sense our physical and mental exhaustion. He recommended the view from the roof at sunset and pointed out the way. So we continued our journey through the tourist-forbidden areas of the monastery and clambered up to the roof, which had a piercingly lovely view. That bush in the lower right of the left picture below is the Bush - or, that is, a descendent of the original bush, which perished from overplucking by souvenir-seeking pilgrims.
We dragged ourselves back to the bus to head for our hotel, a supposedly four-star joint that in my mind is filed under "adequate." We had an early dinner and then retired to our rooms extra-early to hit the sack, because we had a long night ahead of us.
At 2 am, we were headed to the top of Mt Moses.
Which, of course, was an adventure in itself.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Obama can't win
I've said it before, and I'll say it again - no matter what Obama does, he just can't win.
He can't live up to his own hype - who could? Here's an obviously intelligent man who's walked into one of the most difficult jobs in the world at one of the worst possible time in history. The world is still in love with Obama, but I cynically find myself wondering how long it can last, once everyone realizes that he's a plain old mortal.
Of course, everyone here is talking about Obama's speech yesterday. I managed to listen to the whole thing using the White House's streaming website, and I admit, I was impressed.
I was impressed by the strength of his language, if not always for the content. I thought his seven - was it seven? - speaking points were well-chosen, although I hadn't anticipated a discussion on women's education. And I was surprised to hear his forceful statements on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, because he had to know that no matter what he said, someone was going to get pissy.
And yet he did it anyway. Cheers. How did he put it?
But I am convinced that in order to move forward, we must say openly the things we hold in our hearts, and that too often are said only behind closed doors.
I had dinner last night with a senior university official who was present at the speech, and she described it as a love-fest, with people whistling, and cheering, and calling his name throughout the speech.
Watching the video, I didn't get that sense through the entire speech - in fact, there were several places where it seemed to me Obama paused, expecting applause, and none came. As I recall, those were in the portions of the speech pertaining to Iraq and to Israel.
I was also surprised to hear that Hillary was there! I haven't heard one single word about her in weeks!
The university official also said that Obama wasn't introduced, he just walked onto the stage and some people weren't ready for him. Which is odd, because I distinctly recall hearing "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States" come over my connection.
Awhile ago I blogged a plea to Obama to highlight similarities rather than differences in his speech, and to point out to the world that since we made this mess, we can fix it. I was very moved to hear:
So long as our relationship is defined by our differences, we will empower those who sow hatred rather than peace, and who promote conflict rather than the cooperation that can help all of our people achieve justice and prosperity. This cycle of suspicion and discord must end.
The New York Times has run a series of "Arab" student responses to Obama's speech. Imagine my shock to recognize the faces of three of my former students smiling back at me! The first three students are former pupils of mine. As I recall, one of them is Egyptian, one Jordanian, and one (the third) is Palestinian.
I'm still struck by the issue of "Arabness" in Egyptian identity. Call an Egyptian an Arab and you've got a fight on your hands. But as soon as the Palestinian issue comes up, it's "our brothers" this and "we Arabs" that. I'm constantly perplexed by this. You could stretch the point further by highlighting the fact that Iranians and Afghanis aren't Arabs either (I recall a moment at a dinner party in my former institution where one professor, with a merlot-red tongue, called my Persian adviser an "Ay-rab." It was a bit shocking). I suppose it has something to do with the perception of a foreign, evil "other" ....
But what do I know? I'm just a lowly biologist.
I feel like just as I'm beginning to get a handle on the depth and complexity of my questions about the region, I'm leaving.
And I haven't even begun to get started on the answers.
He can't live up to his own hype - who could? Here's an obviously intelligent man who's walked into one of the most difficult jobs in the world at one of the worst possible time in history. The world is still in love with Obama, but I cynically find myself wondering how long it can last, once everyone realizes that he's a plain old mortal.
Of course, everyone here is talking about Obama's speech yesterday. I managed to listen to the whole thing using the White House's streaming website, and I admit, I was impressed.
I was impressed by the strength of his language, if not always for the content. I thought his seven - was it seven? - speaking points were well-chosen, although I hadn't anticipated a discussion on women's education. And I was surprised to hear his forceful statements on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, because he had to know that no matter what he said, someone was going to get pissy.
And yet he did it anyway. Cheers. How did he put it?
But I am convinced that in order to move forward, we must say openly the things we hold in our hearts, and that too often are said only behind closed doors.
I had dinner last night with a senior university official who was present at the speech, and she described it as a love-fest, with people whistling, and cheering, and calling his name throughout the speech.
Watching the video, I didn't get that sense through the entire speech - in fact, there were several places where it seemed to me Obama paused, expecting applause, and none came. As I recall, those were in the portions of the speech pertaining to Iraq and to Israel.
I was also surprised to hear that Hillary was there! I haven't heard one single word about her in weeks!
The university official also said that Obama wasn't introduced, he just walked onto the stage and some people weren't ready for him. Which is odd, because I distinctly recall hearing "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States" come over my connection.
Awhile ago I blogged a plea to Obama to highlight similarities rather than differences in his speech, and to point out to the world that since we made this mess, we can fix it. I was very moved to hear:
So long as our relationship is defined by our differences, we will empower those who sow hatred rather than peace, and who promote conflict rather than the cooperation that can help all of our people achieve justice and prosperity. This cycle of suspicion and discord must end.
The New York Times has run a series of "Arab" student responses to Obama's speech. Imagine my shock to recognize the faces of three of my former students smiling back at me! The first three students are former pupils of mine. As I recall, one of them is Egyptian, one Jordanian, and one (the third) is Palestinian.
I'm still struck by the issue of "Arabness" in Egyptian identity. Call an Egyptian an Arab and you've got a fight on your hands. But as soon as the Palestinian issue comes up, it's "our brothers" this and "we Arabs" that. I'm constantly perplexed by this. You could stretch the point further by highlighting the fact that Iranians and Afghanis aren't Arabs either (I recall a moment at a dinner party in my former institution where one professor, with a merlot-red tongue, called my Persian adviser an "Ay-rab." It was a bit shocking). I suppose it has something to do with the perception of a foreign, evil "other" ....
But what do I know? I'm just a lowly biologist.
I feel like just as I'm beginning to get a handle on the depth and complexity of my questions about the region, I'm leaving.
And I haven't even begun to get started on the answers.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Five, not three
It's five helicopters, not three!
They just went over the house again (slightly to the east this time), heading toward Heliopolis. I'm assuming Obama has finished his tour of the pyramids and is headed back to the airport?
Wow. Five giant grey military helicopters. I wonder who's in the other four?
I can't believe my camera is broken!!!
They just went over the house again (slightly to the east this time), heading toward Heliopolis. I'm assuming Obama has finished his tour of the pyramids and is headed back to the airport?
Wow. Five giant grey military helicopters. I wonder who's in the other four?
I can't believe my camera is broken!!!
Cairo's big day
I've been sitting here in my study watching and listening to the White House's streaming broadcast of Obama's speech here in Cairo.
From 11 am onward I've been sitting back here, trying to find a site that was broadcasting the speech. I don't have a TV, so I couldn't just flip on CNN.
Eventually I discovered the White House site, and to my pleasure my atrocious internet connection held up all the way through to the end - although the picture froze every few seconds, the audio came through just fine.
I found myself impressed with Obama's powerful language - I guess we're committed to a two-state solution now. I admit I don't know quite what our stance was before, since I feel too ignorant and biased to have any reliable insight into the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.
The speech ended, the stream shut off, and I was wandering about the apartment, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my afternoon.
And then ... my brain finally registered a sound that I think I'd been half-listening for all day ....
Helicopters!
I flung open the doors to my balcony, scaring a few lives out of my cats, and I darted out onto my balcony - burning my bare feet on the blistering-hot tiles that have been baking all day in the Cairo sun.
Three (or maybe four) enormous gray military helicopters came into Garden City on a low approach. I ran back into the flat, cursed my broken camera (from Mt Moses, more on that later), and snatched up my cell phone and my field glasses. I took two pictures but forgot to save the second photo in my excitement.
Two of the helicopters continued their low approach over the Nile, but the third helicopter made a series of low circles over the American embassy up the street, swinging alarmingly close to my building in the process. I certainly didn't need a sniper taking potshots at the lunatic in the red tank top hopping up and down on the patio!
Finally the third helicopter pulled up into a high approach and dropped out of sight over the Novotel in Zamalek. I have no clue where they were heading (why Zamalek?) but I immediately called a buddy in Zamalek and gabbled at her to go out on her balcony.
Since I was here during the election I don't have much of an emotional investment in Obama - and I feel like the only human being on Earth who says that. But there's just something about knowing that the leader of the free world, America's darling, is only a few hundred meters away in your backyard!
I'm hoping the helicopters will swing back this way to take him to the airport in Heliopolis. I'm keeping my cell phone, my field glasses, and my sandals right next to the door to the balcony, just in case.
Boy my feet hurt!
From 11 am onward I've been sitting back here, trying to find a site that was broadcasting the speech. I don't have a TV, so I couldn't just flip on CNN.
Eventually I discovered the White House site, and to my pleasure my atrocious internet connection held up all the way through to the end - although the picture froze every few seconds, the audio came through just fine.
I found myself impressed with Obama's powerful language - I guess we're committed to a two-state solution now. I admit I don't know quite what our stance was before, since I feel too ignorant and biased to have any reliable insight into the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.
The speech ended, the stream shut off, and I was wandering about the apartment, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my afternoon.
And then ... my brain finally registered a sound that I think I'd been half-listening for all day ....
Helicopters!
I flung open the doors to my balcony, scaring a few lives out of my cats, and I darted out onto my balcony - burning my bare feet on the blistering-hot tiles that have been baking all day in the Cairo sun.
Three (or maybe four) enormous gray military helicopters came into Garden City on a low approach. I ran back into the flat, cursed my broken camera (from Mt Moses, more on that later), and snatched up my cell phone and my field glasses. I took two pictures but forgot to save the second photo in my excitement.
Two of the helicopters continued their low approach over the Nile, but the third helicopter made a series of low circles over the American embassy up the street, swinging alarmingly close to my building in the process. I certainly didn't need a sniper taking potshots at the lunatic in the red tank top hopping up and down on the patio!
Finally the third helicopter pulled up into a high approach and dropped out of sight over the Novotel in Zamalek. I have no clue where they were heading (why Zamalek?) but I immediately called a buddy in Zamalek and gabbled at her to go out on her balcony.
Since I was here during the election I don't have much of an emotional investment in Obama - and I feel like the only human being on Earth who says that. But there's just something about knowing that the leader of the free world, America's darling, is only a few hundred meters away in your backyard!
I'm hoping the helicopters will swing back this way to take him to the airport in Heliopolis. I'm keeping my cell phone, my field glasses, and my sandals right next to the door to the balcony, just in case.
Boy my feet hurt!
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