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

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.

Back Blog : London Museum Crawl

What do three scientists do in a long weekend in London?

1 - Spend gobs of money on food.

2 - Hit as many museums in London as possible. Especially the free ones - which is almost all of them! Thank God for civilization - take note, America! They didn't even try any sneaky "donation" schemes like the Met or the Natural History Museum!

Wow. I really miss New York. Especially in spring, when it's so lovely ....

But I was talking about London, wasn't I?

I've already blogged a little about the first part of our London trip, including our misfire at the Petrie (stupid door signs) and the surprise of the Soane's museum. We did a few other museums, including the National Gallery, the British Museum, and the Natural History museum - not once but twice.

Our first trip to the Natural History museum was most notable, I think, for the sheer surprise of the splendid architecture of the museum. Those Victorians sure knew how to design a building! We spent hours and hours, looking at fossils, hominids, marine critters large and small, and two precious stone exhibits. I probably could've spent days there. I almost walked past archaeopteryx - who knew it was so small? I admit I was disappointed by how many of the fossils and indeed, models, were reproductions. I'm not sure why this mattered, precisely, but it did.










When we first walked into the museum, I noticed the sign for the Darwin exhibit tickets, but we marched on by, figuring that we could just pick up the tickets later. Wrong - we underestimated the popularity of the exhibit. When we returned, we found out we could only buy tickets for the next day, so we bought the first possible entry. Next morning we returned, bright and early, to be confronted with the massive line outside the gates of the museum. Fearing we'd miss our entry time (and we had other fish to fry, after all), we headed to the other entrance around the corner ... and breezed right in. The lesson? Never try the front door. There's always a faster way.

I was a bit disappointed by the Darwin exhibit. This always happens to me when I go to science exhibits - especially biology ones. I really want to learn something new, because I really love science. But inevitably I get almost nothing out of these exhibits, because I'm simply not the target audience. My students are. So unless there are unusual samples, or originals of something, I'm just not that thrilled. The Darwin exhibit had the same problems. I don't need to be convinced that evolution is fact - I'm on board. I'm on the front lines of that battle, for cryin' out loud. And I was embarrassed by all the references to the American resistance, and the American battles over evolution. Nothing to do about that, I suppose.

I don't need to see reproductions of Galapagos animals - I want to see the real ones! Ditto Darwin's letters - what do I need a copy of an illegible letter for? I was pretty moved by seeing Darwin's lab notebooks, and his sketch of a phylogenetic tree (I was similarly moved when I saw Mendel's notebooks in Brno). But other than that, a few hundred-and-fifty-years-dead stuffed birds on a velvet pillow don't do much for me.

Incidentally, I read this great article in the NYT about dissociating Darwin's name with evolution, and I couldn't agree more. Calling it "Darwinism" just gives fodder to the ignorant, and gives the impression that what we call evolution now is the same as what was thought 150 years ago. Don't get me started on evolution. Or rather, on anti-evolution. I just got out of that mess with my students. I mean, every damned semester there's one 17-year-old who thinks he's the one who's clever enough to overturn 150 years of science that he doesn't actually understand.

Ok. Rant mode off. I swear.

After finishing with Darwin, we headed for the British Museum, where we made a beeline for the Rosetta Stone. I found it very amusing that I'd been to Rosetta - how many people can say that? - but I'd never see the real Stone. If you don't know the story of how hieroglyphics were deciphered, do read up - it's a fascinating story. And I've just found this article claiming that an Arab scholar cracked the code 1000 years earlier - Western bias, or revisionist history?

I was intensely interested to resolve a rumor I'd heard from a few different sources; namely that the Rosetta Stone is actually made from pink granite (like from Aswan) and that the Stone turned black from the ink that was used to make rubbings of the inscriptions. If this were true, I figured, then only the inscribed side should be black; the other sides should still be pink.

I was the only idiot looking at the back and sides of the Stone. I found some British graffiti on the sides (which is always fun) - but all sides were a uniform basalt color. Furthermore, to my (admittedly inexpert) eyes, the stone exhibited the texture of basalt rather than granite, but I suppose if it hadn't been polished it would be hard to tell. I falsified my own hypothesis, but now I don't know what to think. Again. Scientific thinking strikes again.

I dragged my sister-in-law and KC through just about all the Egyptian exhibits in the museum. It was fun and eerie, reading descriptions of places I'd been, sometimes repeatedly. I was a bit perplexed as to why the Sphinx's beard was in London; maybe I'm coming around to Zahi's repatriation idea after all. But unlike in the Egyptian Museum, I felt enormously gratified to see these splendid pieces taken care of so lovingly. I wasn't blown away by the collection, but again, that's probably just from the bias of living here. I'm sure if I'd come here 5 years ago, I'd have been kicked out at closing time with my fingernails still stuck in the doorframe.

We also checked out the friezes from the Parthenon, the Elgin Marbles. I think we were pretty tired at that point; we were horsing around a bit, making up stories about the friezes and reenacting some of the scenes for pictures. KC got called an "art terrorist" by a fellow patron, which I suspect was the high point of his adult life. Also at some point, someone either puked or peed on the floor. I don't know what happened, but there was a smell and a lot of sawdust. Weird.

I'll end this post with one innocuous example of art terrorism, and a shot of us with our science grandaddy. Cheers.

Three-star food pix

Courtesy of KC's sister, here are some pictures from our Fat Duck extravaganza!

JELLY OF QUAIL, LANGOUSTINE CREAM, PARFAIT OF FOIE GRAS
OAK MOSS AND TRUFFLE TOAST
(Homage to Alain Chapel):


ROAST FOIE GRAS "BENZALDEHYDE"
Almond fluid gel, cherry, chamomile:


"SOUND OF THE SEA":


SALMON POACHED IN LIQUORICE GEL
Artichokes, vanilla mayonnaise and “Manni” olive oil:

MANGO AND DOUGLAS FIR PUREE
Bavarois of lychee and mango, blackcurrant sorbet,

blackcurrant and green peppercorn jelly :


The process for NITRO-SCRAMBLED EGG AND BACON ICE CREAM (2006)
Pain perdu, tea jelly:


Wow, my stomach is killing me. I get way worse indigestion from grading than from a restaurant that made 400 people sick ....

Fat Tiff

Back from London and I'm about 4 pounds heavier.

What's that, you say? Excellent food in London? Isn't it all boiled grey?

We had to do some leg work, but it was worth it. And of course, the whole trip was centered around our trek to Fat Duck for KC's 30th birthday dinner.

A couple of months ago we noticed that the pound sterling was very low and we managed to find some reasonable airfares for us to meet up. KC stayed up very late one night, and we perpetrated a two-prong Skype attack to get reservations. He managed to get through and got a table for us on his actual birthday night.

And then, a few weeks ago, the hammer dropped. Fat Duck closed for a food poisoning scare, and KC was livid. Seriously. I don't know that I've seen him this upset before. We tried to get a famous scientist on the case, but he never responded to KC's email. Ah, well. But fortunately, in the nick of time, the restaurant opened again, and our reservation was confirmed.

So why all the fuss?

Fat Duck is a three-Michelin-starred restaurant outside London. There are only three three-starred restaurants in England, and in 2005 there were only 50 in the whole world. I'd never been to any three-starred restaurants before; French Laundry laughed at us when we were in Napa a few summers ago, and needless to say we did not get El Bulli reservations in Barcelona two falls ago (although we did get to Adria's brother's restaurant).

In particular, Fat Duck is famous for using molecular gastronomy to dish up crazy foods. And at Fat Duck, it sure seems crazy. Here's the tasting menu that we had. I admit, when I first read it, I was not enthusiastic.

MENU SAMPLE FOR TASTING MENU ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY POUNDS NITRO-GREEN TEA AND LIME MOUSSE (2001), LAVENDER POMMERY GRAIN MUSTARD ICE CREAM, RED CABBAGE GAZPACHO JELLY OF QUAIL, LANGOUSTINE CREAM, PARFAIT OF FOIE GRAS OAK MOSS AND TRUFFLE TOAST (Homage to Alain Chapel) SNAIL PORRIDGE Joselito ham ROAST FOIE GRAS "BENZALDEHYDE" Almond fluid gel, cherry, chamomile "SOUND OF THE SEA" SALMON POACHED IN LIQUORICE GEL Artichokes, vanilla mayonnaise and “Manni” olive oil BALLOTINE OF ANJOU PIGEON Black pudding “made to order”, pickling brine and spiced juices HOT AND ICED TEA (2005) MRS MARSHALL’S MARGARET CORNET PINE SHERBET FOUNTAIN (PRE-HIT) MANGO AND DOUGLAS FIR PUREE Bavarois of lychee and mango, blackcurrant sorbet, blackcurrant and green peppercorn jelly PARSNIP CEREAL NITRO-SCRAMBLED EGG AND BACON ICE CREAM (2006) Pain perdu, tea jelly PETITS FOURS Mandarin aerated chocolate, Violet tartlet, Carrot and orange lolly

And yes, all this can be yours for the bargain price of 120 British pounds per person ... if you can get reservations, that is. We spent the money, and got one of the wine tastings for another 90 British pounds (the wines were all excellent).

Overall, I'd say the meal was outstanding. The location of the restaurant is very strange - it's in a suburb called Maidenhead, and you have to take a train outside the city to get to it. We didn't have any trouble, but it did seem odd to me. And if you didn't know which door it was, you'd walk right past the restaurant. Fortunately our cabbie knew exactly where to go.

This meal involved a lot of liquid nitrogen. The green tea and lemon mousse was "cooked" next to our tables, one puff at a time, and we had to stuff it in our mouths as soon as it came out of the nitrogen. The server sprinkled some green tea powder over the top of the puff, then spritzed the air with lime scent just before the mousse went into our mouths. It seems kind of silly, but it was very enjoyable, having the extra scent.

Lavendar pommery grain mustard ice cream came in a little well, with red cabbage gazpacho poured around. I've never seen food quite the brilliant purple of this gazpacho. It seemed like an odd combination, but it was suprisingly tasty; the flavors came in waves.

I thought the next dish was the best - jelly of quail (an absolutely explosive flavor), lobster cream, and brilliantly green pea smash came layered in a little pod, with a dollop of foie gras parfait on the top. It came with a teeny piece of buttered toast, spread with truffles and topped with the tiniest imaginable slices of radish. We were given little containers holding a single sheet of oak-flavored ... I don't know ... you know those breath-mint strips that come in the little plastic cases, and you melt them in your mouth? One of those. Our table was also given a dish of oak moss, and more liquid nitrogen was poured over the top of that, to make a mist of the oak and moss while were eating. The dish was incredibly tasty and a lot of fun to eat.

I was really looking forward to the snail porridge. There was an herb sauce on the bottom of the plate with a layer of delicate oats, and four snails on top. As garnish there was a whole mess of shredded fennel, and hair-thin shreds of ham. Tasty, but not terribly exciting. Same with the next dish, a foie gras that was perfectly cooked with fabulous presentation. Just not really my thing.

The "sound of the sea" was really entertaining, and if you're planning to go yourself, you might want to skip this part. I think they want it to be a surprise. First, the server brings out enormous sea shells with iPod shuffles hidden inside. Next, you get a two-layered glass dish. The bottom layer has sea sand, and the top has a lovely layout of fish slices, two types of seaweed, and "sand" that's made of tapioca and baby eels. (We were warned to only eat from the top of the dish - apparently crazy things happen at this place.) You listen to the shell while you eat, and afterward they ask you what it reminds you of. Funnily, all three of us were reminded of being at the beach as kids - but not warm sunny tropical beaches. We all felt cold, northern beaches - the Jersey shore for me. Very very cool.

Our two main courses came next. The practically raw salmon (the way I like it) had a layer of licorice gel on the top, and came with perfect artichokes and a powerful vanilla mayonnaise. Funnily, it was served on a plate that was dotted with precisely separated grapefruit pearls (you know how citrus fruit is made up of tiny packets that burst when you bite them?), olive oil, and some sort of brown gel. I thought the presentation was meant to be a bit of a joke, like the salmon had exploded on the plate. This was my least favorite dish - and the most normal. The pigeon was also "normal", although it was presented with a foam made from pickling brine - rather surprising when you bite into it. I was also not terribly thrilled with that dish, although it was cooked perfectly and beautifully presented.

At this point we'd turned the corner and headed into the long stretch of dessert. First we were presented with little cups of tea and instructed to drink them quickly. When KC and I did it, we were perplexed. "Hot tea?" I asked. KC's sister laughed, and told us to rotate our cups 90 degrees. When we did this, the result was staggering - somehow they'd poured the tea into an undivided cup so half the tea was hot and half was cold. The goal was to get both temperatures into your mouth simultaneously, and wow! What an effect!

Next we were given little cards that described a Victorian woman's contribution to ice cream making, and then we ate miniature ice cream cones that are apparently made to her recipe. These were immediately followed by little paper pots filled with pine dust. We scooped the pine dust out with little sticks of vanilla - KC's sister described these as "pixie sticks," and I think she wasn't far off.

The next plate had a lovely little custard-like fruity bavarois that came with dollops of different flavored creams - including mango and douglas fir. I didn't taste much tree, to be honest - the mango kind overwhelmed it. But it was lovely.

Then we started a breakfast game. Our servers came over and gave us cheery good mornings and gave us tiny boxes of cereal and a pitcher of milk. The cereal was made from parsnips, and the milk was parsnip-flavored as well. I made an embarrassing persimmon-parsnip gaffe, but we were so liquored up by this point that it didn't really matter. The overall effect was quite nice, very tasty, although slightly odd at the end of a meal.

Did I say end? Because next came the bacon and egg ice cream. The server wheeled out a gleaming copper saucepan apparatus, and told us all about the special eggs they get from the chickens in the garden. She even handed us one of the eggs, and then cracked another one into the skillet. Just before she poured in more liquid nitrogen to "cook" the eggs, I leaned forward and gazed into the skillet ... and saw no yolks. Our server looked dismayed - I think I'd broken a rule somewhere when I figured out these weren't real eggs. But whatever it was, it "cooked" up into perfectly fluffy egg simulacra, that tasted just like bacon and eggs and were served on tooth-achingly sweet french toast.

And finally, finally - it was 11:30, and I was about to slip into a food-and-wine-induced coma - the petits fours came out. Our plate was slightly different from the website's description. We had apple-pie toffies that came in edible wrappers; tartines made from violets; and the aerated mandarin chocolate.

And then it was time for the cold haul back to the city.

Ye Olde Londontown

All's well in London! We're having a good time so far and we've seen tons of stuff without spending a whole lot of money. Thank God for free museums!

Coming through the airport couldn't have been easier for me. I think I spent a total of 20 minutes in the airport - and 17 of those minutes were walking from the gate to customs. That's what happens when you don't check your bags, I guess. And no one checks you. I then took the Underground with absolutely no trouble to KC's friends' flat near Sloane Square.

Saturday night we just walked up the street and had a beer outside the Botanist. Drinking beer on the street? Weird but definitely two thumbs up. We then skipped our dinner reservation at the Botanist and headed to a French joint across the street. Mmmmm, burger and drinkable wine!

Sunday we went up to the Petrie Museum first thing, but then stupidly mistook the library door for the museum door and thought it was closed. Note to future travelers: the door labeled "Petrie Museum" is not really the Petrie Museum. It's a decoy to prevent people from actually seeing any of the objects. And if you've seen the Egyptian Museum, the Petrie is a bit underwhelming, although it may be as badly organized. Too bad about that. The glass collection, especially the faience from Amarna, was the highlight of the collection to me.

NB: I just Googled "Egyptian Museum Cairo" to link that last paragraph. The first hit in Google goes to what appears to be an official government URL ... which goes to a "Bad Request" page. Ahlan w'sahlan.

Since we fell for the Petrie Museum's clever ruse, we walked up to the Wellcome Collection first. I'd thought the Wellcome Collection was a "medical anomalies" (ie, freak) museum, but we didn't really see any medical anomalies. There was a bunch of art about science (which doesn't do much for me), but I did enjoy the exhibit of the Human Genome sequence written out in a series of books. All the ATCG, right there on book pages. There was a whole wall of these volumes labeled by chromosome. I can't imagine WHY anyone would do this. Yeesh. But the best part was the Medicine Man exhibit about Wellcome himself. He's one of these really rich guys who went around the world collecting stuff. That I liked. So we saw some Japanese sex toys, a sign made out of teeth, a kit from the British Antarctic expedition, Napoleon's toothbrush, and a whole Incan mummy. Cool.

We went to a pub called the Lamb for lunch; it would've been perfectly fine if the service hadn't been so wretched. My stomach felt like it was eating itself. Ugh.

Then at KC's suggestion we went to the Sir John Soane's museum down the street a bit. Here's another guy who liked to collect things - almost pathologically. The highlight of the collection for me, of course, was the sarcophagus of Seti I. The picture doesn't do it justice - the piece is exquisite. It's a solid block of alabaster (the lid is missing). The outside is carved with your usual after life writings, but the inside has a beautiful representation of Nut on the bottom of the sarcophagus, with hieroglyphs on the inside walls. Absolutely stunningly lovely. I found myself wondering why Zahi doesn't holler about this piece, shut away in some guy's basement in London.

Heading out now, back to the Natural History Museum for the Darwin exhibit, then on to the British Museum! Rosetta Stone! 

Woohoo!

I'm going to London tomorrow! Woohoo!

I'm planning to eat until I pop and go to museums until my feet fall off.

Oh yes, and celebrate KC's 30th birthday!

More news later on what we actually end up doing, but as of right now we have reservations at Fat Duck (the whole reason for going to London, next to the plummeting pound), Wild Honey, Hereford Road, and Hakkasan.

I'm so excited!

Back blog : Mumbai

Another bus journey, another chance to back blog a “recent” trip. This time it’s just my near-daily trip out to the New Campus, so insha’allah nothing will happen that requires its own blog post!

The third trip of the Winter Trifecta was a 10-day trip with my parents to India in January. I’ve already given you a little taste of what it’s like for an adult to travel with her parents.

The background to this trip went something like this: my dad decided that he wanted to go to India before his health gets any worse, ie, he wanted to go one more time before he dies. I worry about my dad and his health, and the idea of him dragging suitcases all over India for three weeks really bothered me. He’s at the point where walking up stairs gives him chest pains, although he can do plenty of other things, like swimming, just fine. I figured as long as I’m here in Cairo, it’s a lot easier to get to India. And cheaper, And faster. So I suggested that I should join Dad in Cairo – but not for three weeks.

Then my mother started to realize that I wasn’t planning to come back to the US for Christmas, and she figured this would be a good chance to see me and to supervise every action of my father’s. It was shaping up to be a big happy family vacation (ahem).

A little while after these initial conversations, there were 21 bombs detonated in a single day in Ahmedabad. We were planning to go to Ahmedabad because most of the family is there; we planned to use the city as a base. I guess since these bombings happen all the time there, we dismissed this set as not being especially significant.

Then Thanksgiving came. I remember getting up early that morning to shop and cook, and as usual I glanced at the New York Times website over coffee. I saw a headline, something like, “Two shot in Mumbai,” and I thought, oh, that’s too bad. Probably just some stupid random crime … making the international newspapers, for some reason. Whatever. I had more pressing food-related issues to deal with.

Later that evening at Thanksgiving dinner, I off-handedly mentioned that two people had been killed in India. The room went completely still, and I thought, well, at least my friends have a sense of decency about random killings. But when the talk resumed it was my turn to be appalled – I’d had no idea what had been going on all day. My friends filled me in on the extent of the carnage, the state of the siege, and what seemed to be the incredibly well-planned details of a premeditated slaughter – targeting foreigners.

I remember feeling all the blood draining out of my face. A friend shoved a glass of wine into my hands, sat me down, and said, “You don’t have family there, do you?” I just looked at her, and she immediately offered to let me use the phone. I thought about doing just that, but then I realized that I didn’t know who to call. Instead I went online for a few minutes and tried to figure out what was going on. And when I finished, I came back to the party and life continued.

That evening I called my parents to discuss the advisability of traveling to Mumbai in January. The thrust of the conversation would have been comical if it hadn’t involved such dreadful circumstances. My father kept pointing out how difficult it had been for him to get the vacation time from work, and how much hassle he’d had, planning the trip. I was concerned that either a) the good-ol’ Hindu-Muslim riots would break out again, or b) the government would crack down on all movements of foreigners, a la Egypt (I don’t need to travel 6000 miles to be harassed by a government; I can do that right here, thank you). And in classic form, my mother could only talk about what would happen to my brother if the three of us were killed. No concerns over my death, mind you, or her own; only “what would happen” to my 27-year-old brother.

We deferred making a decision for a few weeks to see how things progressed. And when Indians declined to massacre each other in the streets, when war against Pakistan was not declared, and when there were no reports of ridiculous security measures – well done all around, India! – we decided to proceed. I washed my hands of all planning, which was excruciating. But I figured I’d already argued with my Dad enough about this trip – and that was prior to all the additional arguing I was confident would take place on the trip itself.

Fast-forward to January: I arrived without incident in Mumbai on EgyptAir. I got my bags (eventually), found myself a taxi (without a/c I saved a hundred rupees - $2! Woohoo!), and made my way to the JW Marriott in Juhu Beach (a major benefit of traveling with my Dad, whose generosity often manifests itself in mysterious ways). The hotel was lovely, although in the mostly-anonymous style of most western chain hotels. I ate a late lunch, then went up to my room to unpack and change. I’d originally planned to take the train from Juhu to Mumbai and do some sightseeing, but I was tired, so I figured I’d go for a swim and then walk around Juhu before dinner.

About an hour and a half later I woke up on a chaise lounge. I’d made it down to the pool, but no further. Clearly sightseeing was out of the picture for the day. So I went to the fitness center, took advantage of the spa facilities, then had an enormous (and enormously expensive) Thai dinner in the hotel. I left a note for my parents (who were checking in late at night), watched some TV, and tried to enjoy my last few minutes of peaceful solitude.

The next day the madness started. I met up with my parents, reminded them of some dinner reservations I’d made at Trishna, a famous Mumbai restaurant, and we headed into Mumbai for some sightseeing. Incidentally, this was the tail end of an enormous email argument with my family about what we’d be doing in Mumbai. My father had no intention of leaving Juhu (north of the city) for the city itself. I had no intention of flying 6000 miles and seeing nothing. Our heated email exchange finally ended when I dropped the A-bomb of arguments: “Fine! I’ll go by myself!”

Hah. That got his attention. My father was absolutely aghast that his independent, self-sufficient, adult daughter – who lives in a developing nation – would even consider such a thing. I used this tactic a few more times to get my way over the course of the trip, although dragging my parents around, listening to their complaints, soured my victories.

I admit, I also wanted to see how the area looked after the attacks. A few Indian friends had specifically charged me to look around and take pictures. And let me tell you, I was wholly impressed. Except for the security around the Oberoi hotel (which was like Egyptian security, except the metal detectors were actually plugged in and the guards weren’t drinking tea), it was almost impossible to tell that anything had happened. There was a small plaque in the lobby with the names of those killed, and a sculpture. But that was it. Remember those awful pictures of the Oberoi dome in flames? Here’s what it looked like in January.









We walked past the Leopold Café, and my father actually stopped me and pointed it out. I never, never would have guessed that this place had been sprayed with bullets – the joint was hopping, and I imagine just as full of foreigners as ever.

So a mere month and a half after these horrendous attacks, Mumbai was back on its feet. Meanwhile, the World Trade Center is still a gaping hole in the ground, while people squabble over how many fountains the memorial should have. For shame, America.

I wasn’t blown away by Mumbai, but that’s probably because I was with my family. I hear there are lots of great things to see and do. I saw a lot of traffic (constant Cairo comparisons), a few shopping malls, and my “uncle’s” flat. We had two big family get-togethers, which I enjoyed a lot more than I’d anticipated. My cousins who are my age are nice, interesting people with active minds. My Mumbai experience was probably a lot closer to real life than tourism, but not exactly romantic adventure.

Ah, well. Next time, insha’allah.

Kenyan kissing

Doesn't have as nice a ring as "French kissing," does it? But let me tell you, Kenyan kissing involves a lot more tongue.


A lot.

On our last day in Kenya back in December, we made shockingly good time between Masai Mara and Nairobi. No idea why - I'm pretty sure the government hadn't suddenly decided to pave the roads. But suddenly we were in Nairobi with plenty of time before lunch and the trip to the airport, so on the advice of our driver (and a friend) we headed over to the Langata Giraffe Center.

The giraffe center seemed a bit kidsy at first glance, but the information center was filled with surprisingly detailed biological and ecological information about Rothschild giraffes. And best of all, the information center was elevated - putting us right at eye level with the family of giraffes living at the center.

By the way, if you're looking to spend some money, the center also houses the Giraffe Manor, an old manor house on the property where - and get ready for this - the giraffes come and stick their heads in your window to see what you're doing. And to give you kisses.

Yes, kisses. It turns out you can actually trick these giraffes into slobbering on your face. I wasn't especially pleased by this idea, but KC got into the spirit of things and went first:

Even after seeing KC's gleeful face, I was still doubtful. Our center guide told me, helpfully, that giraffes have antiseptic tongues. I transfixed him with my most baleful glare and announced that I have a Ph.D. in molecular biology and there's no way I'm believing that nonsense. But KC kept insisting, so I finally placed the feed pellet between my teeth and leaned forward. Here's the series of photos KC took of the kiss. Pay special attention to my face ....

Eeeeewwww! Seriously! Really, really gross.

And here's what it looks like from the receiving end ...

Think of that next time I come over to your house and you come to greet me at the door! Hah!

Worst outcome

The next time you’re out with a group of companions (preferably of diverse ages, cultures, or socioeconomic backgrounds), play this game I invented during my trip to India with my parents.

Here’s how the game works:
1. Find a time when a group decision has to be made on how to proceed next, when there are multiple choices at hand.
2. Make a rapid mental calculation and come up with every permutation of future action.
3. Identify the worst possible choice. Use whatever rational metric you use every day to figure out what to do – rationality, time, expense, effort, etc. This is your “worst outcome.”
4. Sit back, listen to the group discussion, and wait for a decision.
5. Score yourself based on the match between your group’s choice and your “worst outcome.”
6. Argue for your rational choice – or just give up.

I am awesome at this game. Almost every time I was able to predict what my parents and relatives wanted to do based on my analysis of the worst outcome. Apparently my view of how the world works is in no way coincident with whatever view they have.

Example 1: I wanted to get some blouses made from the tailor next door before leaving the next morning for Mumbai. Admittedly, this was poor planning on my part – if I’d known that the tailor lived in the next house, I would’ve commissioned the clothes a few days earlier, when I first came to Ahmedabad. But I didn’t know, and my auntie told me it would be no trouble, as long as we got the materials to the tailor as quickly as possible. So my mom, my auntie and I needed to get to the fabric store, make our choices, then head straight for the tailor first thing in the morning (in Ahmedabad, this is around 11 am) so I could pick up the clothes in the evening. My father and his best friend wanted to take a walk around the campus of the local university they attended during the last Ice Age. However, the family’s cook was supposed to come by and make the meals for the day, and she wouldn’t come into the house if no one was there. So who should stay in the house and wait for the 20 minutes until the cook came?

[Take your time now to complete steps 2 and 3 above.]

Needless to say, the men decided that what we wanted to do wasn’t important, and they had to leave straight away for their stroll down memory lane. When we protested – pointing out the time sensitivity of our chores – a huge discussion ensued, with hand waving, multilingual yelling, and the men insisting on telling the cook (who has no mobile, and can’t read) just not to come. Because the men, naturally, were totally willing to pick up the cooking slack and make sure everything would be fine for the rest of the day.

Ahem. That last bit was sarcasm. Of course we women greeted their ridiculous proposition with mental asides on whether the men actually knew where the kitchen was.

My auntie finally resolved the impasse by wordlessly loading my mother and me into the car and driving away. Problem solved. We got the fabric to the tailor, the cook came on time, my dad and his friend took their walk, and I got my blouses. So what the hell was the BFD??

Example 2: My mom had forgotten her cell phone in the hotel in Mumbai, so I called, found the phone, and arranged to pick up the phone on the way back from the airport to my uncle’s flat, which is 5 minutes from the hotel. When I announced this to the group, well of course a huge discussion ensued.

[Take your time now to complete steps 2 and 3 above.]

My father decided to leave the airport, load all the luggage into the taxi, drive to my uncle’s flat, unload all the luggage and take it upstairs, relax in the flat, then find a second taxi, drive to the hotel and pick up the phone, find a third taxi, then return to the flat.

My solution? Stop at the hotel on the way to the flat, pick up the phone, and continue to my uncle’s place. One taxi, one fare, one trip, one 10-minute detour.

This time, I did step 6 by arguing. I managed to get an “agreement” – but then when it took the hotel awhile to bring the phone, my dad decided to leave my mom and me at the hotel and come back later because – and I’m not joking – the chocolate in his bag was melting. I endured a long discourse on my mental incompetency - and then, of course, 2 minutes after my dad left, the phone showed up. So my mom and I stood around on the street in Mumbai in 90 degree heat for half and hour while my uncle moved all the bags and came back for us. To add insult to injury, if I’d been 2 cm windward on the sidewalk, I would’ve been shat on by at least one pigeon.

I totally don’t understand how I came to this point. When did this break occur? Am I completely insane? Or is everyone else thoroughly nuts?

Back Blog: Things I learned about Primates

So I said earlier that I don't think I actually learned much about Kenya while we were on safari.

Fortunately, though, I am trained to be a keen scientific observer of nature (blah blah blah) ... so I'll share a few thoughts about primates. We saw 3 types, smallest to largest: vervet monkeys, baboons, and chimpanzees.

Thought 1 - Baby monkeys are stupid:



Thought 2 : Baby monkeys are fussy.


Thought 3 : For some reason, mommy monkeys still love them.


Thought 4 : Primate teenagers are punks.


Thought 5 : Chimpanzees like somersaults.


Thought 6 : Baboons like nice cars too.


Thought 7 : Primates and humans are way more than 99% identical.

Back blog: Lebanon

I've realized that I'll never have the time I need to get everything done. So I'm going to make time and finally blog about a trip I took to Lebanon about a month ago, during Eid El Fitr. This is the "small" Eid that celebrates the end of Ramadan - and I had a few days off. For a couple weeks before, some friends and I had tried to come up with a plan to get out of Cairo. Nothing was coming to fruition - until YK suggested Lebanon.

Make it happen, I said, and I'll be there. Truly I'm a paragon of laziness. But he did make it happen - and four of us went to Lebanon for 4 nights.

On the recommendation of a Beiruti friend we stayed at the Mayflower hotel in Hamra. The hotel was perfectly serviceable - just fine for a base for a few days.

Beirut is wonderful - cosmopolitan, culturally rich, and simply teeming with good food and good wine. What a blessed change from Cairo! We had a spectacular Armenian dinner at Mayrig, which served to banish the experience a few hours earlier of avocado ice cream. What can I say? I thought it was a good idea - and I was wrong.

We spent a few days outside the city too. One of my students had urged me to go to the Jeita Grotto, so at my instigation we stopped there on our way to Byblos. The grotto is beautiful - upper and lower enormous galleries, filled with lovely stone formations. There was even an underground river - site of our bizarre encounter with the Lebanese McCain supporter. The whole experience was a little too Disneyland for my taste, but I had to admire the effort that went into developing the site.


Our next stop was Byblos, just up the coast from Beirut. We had a lovely fish lunch and a nice ramble through the ruins. More than once during our trip I found myself wondering what the hell Lebanese women were thinking when they got dressed in the morning. For example: ah, I know I'm going to the ruins of a Crusader fortress today, so why don't I get dressed from head to toe in scarlet, and don my huge red heeled mules? Can't imagine what this woman was thinking except for that:


On the other hand, I did manage to startle some other tourists. At Byblos there are very deep burial shafts with sarcophagi secreted in the bottom. I found an easier entrance to one of the chambers and scaled down the last few feet of the shaft to inspect the sarcophagus. I heard some very loud exclamations when I walked back into the sunlight in the shaft - followed by a shouted injunction to watch out for snakes. Not helpful.

That same night we took a cable car up the mountain behind the city to meet some friends for dinner at their house. Everything was lovely (except the cable car ride - I'm not a fan of dangling coffins) - the view, the food, the wine. Our host took a few of us (and our glasses of wine) for a late night tour of the Christian town. We hung out the sunroof of his SUV, picking cedar cones and pink peppercorns and carob pods from the trees on the cliffside. Their home smelled of basil and lamb and gardenia. It was absolutely magical.

Next day was spent in and around Beirut. NS and I made a special trip to the Beirut National Museum, a small but well-tended collection downtown. The most moving part of the experience was watching the movie about how the museum was both protected and damaged during the civil war.



















Next day it was off to the Roman ruins of Baalbeck in the northwest of Lebanon, near the border with Syria. This is Hezbollah territory, but other than a mildly alarming incident at a roadblock involving the "purchase" of propaganda, we had no trouble. I tell you, nothing says "people's choice" like a flag with the name of God and an automatic weapon.


I've seen a lot of ancient ruins in the last year or so - but Baalbeck blew me away. The sheer size of the place is overwhelming, and that's after seeing Karnak. These columns are famous for their size ... that's me, teeny-tiny at the base of the pediment. It never ceases to amaze me that cultures do the effort/money/reward cost/benefit analysis and come up with things like Baalbeck, and Maccu Pichu, and Masada. Of course, we've got the Iraq war, I suppose.


We stopped at the Ksara winery on the way back to Beirut for a tasting. To be fair, our first day in Beirut we'd gone to a grocery store and pre-emptively bought Lebanese wine (cheap and drinkable!!!), but we were glad to be in the wine country proper. I was impressed by the vineyard - not fantastic, but well-run, the tasting was free, and it was a hell of a lot better than anything I can get in Egypt.

The wine was our second run-in with Bekaa grapes that day - on our way up to Baalbeck, we'd pulled over by the side of the road and bought grapes from a woman for about a dollar a kilo. We bought three different kinds and spent the whole day with sticky mouths and fingers. It was wonderful. In fact, the last day kind of summed up Lebanon for me. Wonderful people, beautiful land, rich culture, outstanding food ... and a dumb-shit political climate. You reckon that's what people say about us? Well, maybe they don't talk about the food too much.