From the tail end of my India trip ... all's well. I'm in Ahmedabad right now, heading back to Mumbai tomorrow, then back to Cairo in the wee hours of the 22nd.
I've spent the whole trip hauling my laptop around, looking for a wireless network I can use. I found a few open ones, but for some reason was totally unable to join any of them and transmit data. Ironic that the IT capital of the world has no usable wireless networks (usable by me, anyway, and isn't that all that matters?).
On the "important things" front, I've bought massive amounts of clothing. Glad I bought the big suitcase. And we had a nice time in Rajasthan, although I definitely have to come back sometime and give it a good few weeks - we only made it as far as Ranakpur!
Many observations to come on this blog, insha'allah. When I'm back to Cairo and actual internet connectivity.
[shiver]
I can't BELIEVE I just typed that.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Tomorrow, hat trick
Late tomorrow night I'm going for my travel hat trick: I'm heading to India for 10 days.
With my parents.
[sigh]
Insha'allah everything will be splendid and I'll be grateful for this trip for the rest of my life. My parents are wonderful people and I love them very much.
We've already had the "I'm 30 years old and you guys both snore, I'm not sharing a room" talk. Didn't go smoothly, but I've got my own room waiting for me at the Marriott.
Tonight's conversation highlights:
"Be sure to bring some money." Nah, I thought I'd skip it this time.
"Do you think you can get to the hotel by yourself?" Yes, yes I do. I'm a big girl.
"We'll call you when we get in at midnight." Actually, don't. I intend to be sleeping.
For the past 3 weeks, my father has been giving me "travel tips," casting pearls before my swinish reluctance to paint myself as both inexperienced and an idiot. You know, things about toilet paper, and haggling, and taking taxis by myself. Things that I clearly have no experience doing on my own. Every day. In Egypt.
Keep your fingers crossed for me, dear readers, and send happy calming patient thoughts my way.
And gin. Lots of gin.
With my parents.
[sigh]
Insha'allah everything will be splendid and I'll be grateful for this trip for the rest of my life. My parents are wonderful people and I love them very much.
We've already had the "I'm 30 years old and you guys both snore, I'm not sharing a room" talk. Didn't go smoothly, but I've got my own room waiting for me at the Marriott.
Tonight's conversation highlights:
"Be sure to bring some money." Nah, I thought I'd skip it this time.
"Do you think you can get to the hotel by yourself?" Yes, yes I do. I'm a big girl.
"We'll call you when we get in at midnight." Actually, don't. I intend to be sleeping.
For the past 3 weeks, my father has been giving me "travel tips," casting pearls before my swinish reluctance to paint myself as both inexperienced and an idiot. You know, things about toilet paper, and haggling, and taking taxis by myself. Things that I clearly have no experience doing on my own. Every day. In Egypt.
Keep your fingers crossed for me, dear readers, and send happy calming patient thoughts my way.
And gin. Lots of gin.
Gaza and Giza
KC and I were entering the club in the Nairobi airport when I picked up a newspaper.
"Israel's bombing Gaza???" I heard my voice sliding upwards. I turned the page.
"Land invasion imminent???" KC glanced at me. I turned the page.
"Israel bombed the Egyptian border???" The women at the desk stopped talking. I turned the page.
"Egypt is shooting at fleeing Palestinians???" I slammed the newspaper down on the desk.
"What the hell is going on???" KC grabbed the newspaper and me, and hustled me into the club where I could shout all I wanted. I spent the next hour reading accounts in British and Emirati newspapers, trying to make sense of what was going on. The British papers buried article continuations deep in their pages. The Arabs were printing pictures of baby corpses.
In either case, not exactly the objective reporting I was hoping for. And when we got back to Cairo on New Year's Eve, we found out that all events had been canceled "in solidarity with our Palestinian brothers." Also not a rational response ... first, I don't see how canceling fireworks sends a powerful political message, or helps people find drinking water. Also, if you suggest to an Egyptian that he's an Arab (like his Palestinian "brothers") you'll find yourself in the middle of a fistfight.
I don't have a television, I'm not a political scientist. I've spent the last year and a half pulling myself out of the cocoon the American media spins around us, insulating us from any objective view of the way things actually are in other places. If anything, I've learned that no issue is as simple as it's portrayed by CNN, and the more I learn about Islam, and Israel, and the Middle East, the more I realize there are no good guys, and way fewer real "bad" guys than we're led to believe.
When I come across articles like this one in the NYT, I'm not sure what to think. This writer is clearly here in Cairo, because his articles are always timely. It can be eerie to read an explanation of something that was a heated dinner topic the week before. But I don't notice any of the "somber, dark, dejected" looks on the street. There are a few black-and-red-edged banners hanging in the streets near my house (which I can't read), but that's the only change I see.
Granted, I live in a bubble. I live in a wealthy neighborhood with quite a few expats. And like I said, I don't have a TV. I search out news items every day for an update, but if I didn't do that, my life would just sail on as normal - il'hamdu'illeh.
Gaza and Giza ... a world of difference in that one little vowel.
"Israel's bombing Gaza???" I heard my voice sliding upwards. I turned the page.
"Land invasion imminent???" KC glanced at me. I turned the page.
"Israel bombed the Egyptian border???" The women at the desk stopped talking. I turned the page.
"Egypt is shooting at fleeing Palestinians???" I slammed the newspaper down on the desk.
"What the hell is going on???" KC grabbed the newspaper and me, and hustled me into the club where I could shout all I wanted. I spent the next hour reading accounts in British and Emirati newspapers, trying to make sense of what was going on. The British papers buried article continuations deep in their pages. The Arabs were printing pictures of baby corpses.
In either case, not exactly the objective reporting I was hoping for. And when we got back to Cairo on New Year's Eve, we found out that all events had been canceled "in solidarity with our Palestinian brothers." Also not a rational response ... first, I don't see how canceling fireworks sends a powerful political message, or helps people find drinking water. Also, if you suggest to an Egyptian that he's an Arab (like his Palestinian "brothers") you'll find yourself in the middle of a fistfight.
I don't have a television, I'm not a political scientist. I've spent the last year and a half pulling myself out of the cocoon the American media spins around us, insulating us from any objective view of the way things actually are in other places. If anything, I've learned that no issue is as simple as it's portrayed by CNN, and the more I learn about Islam, and Israel, and the Middle East, the more I realize there are no good guys, and way fewer real "bad" guys than we're led to believe.
When I come across articles like this one in the NYT, I'm not sure what to think. This writer is clearly here in Cairo, because his articles are always timely. It can be eerie to read an explanation of something that was a heated dinner topic the week before. But I don't notice any of the "somber, dark, dejected" looks on the street. There are a few black-and-red-edged banners hanging in the streets near my house (which I can't read), but that's the only change I see.
Granted, I live in a bubble. I live in a wealthy neighborhood with quite a few expats. And like I said, I don't have a TV. I search out news items every day for an update, but if I didn't do that, my life would just sail on as normal - il'hamdu'illeh.
Gaza and Giza ... a world of difference in that one little vowel.
Friday, January 9, 2009
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.
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.
Fish out of water
You know what's a great change of pace? Attending a party full of people who are nothing like you.
Last night a friend and I attended a party across town. It was thrown by my dance teacher, who asked if we wanted to come hang out with the "salsa and dancing" crowd. I thought, sure - it's better than sitting around at home feeling sorry for myself because KC's gone.
I spent most of the night sitting quietly, watching. Partly this was sheer exhaustion, but it's also really hard to talk when the music is loud enough to properly dance to.
The best part for me, though, was watching the dancing. Men and women came in the door literally dancing, not even taking enough time to throw their bags down first. The music went back and forth between salsa and oriental, but it all added up to one thing : sex appeal.
I was struck by the contrast between this party and my usual social scene. My Indian buddies are the only ones I know who consistently bust a move at parties - hell, you can't hold the brown folks back! Everyone else drinks, laughs, jokes, argues, talks ... but dancing? Nope.
I found myself thinking, Wow, these people are dancers, and yet when they take a break, what do they do? Dance! I thought how lucky they are, to enjoy their jobs so much that when they play, they still do the same thing.
And then I thought really hard about most of the parties I go to, particularly with scientists. What happens when you put a bunch of scientists in a room? They talk about ... science. So it occurred to me that maybe the groups aren't that different after all. If you like what you do, you do it whenever you can.
I was also intrigued by the playful sexuality in the room. I suppose it was only pronounced to me by contrast - no one was dressed excessively (or minimally, for that matter). Most of the women wore flats or low heels, and everyone was dressed casually. And yet dancing is, by its nature, sexual - especially partner dancing like salsa. I watched a man untie his partner's scarf from her neck and retie it around her hips, to emphasize her movements. I tried to figure out an analogous move at an academic party, but drew a blank. Women scientists, in particular, aren't great ones for emphasizing their femininity, either deliberately or out of long years of immersion in the scientific culture.
A few years ago KC took me to the MIT alumni Christmas party in Princeton. It was a relatively small affair, full of luminous academics. I was going through one of my grad school "I hate everyone" phases where I particularly enjoyed behaving badly in public. So I put on a sleeveless, tight pink cashmere sweater, a short leather skirt, and my three-inch-heel leather hooker boots. Our hostess greeter us at the foyer, air-kissed my cheeks, and said, "What a lovely top! Did you get that at Ann Taylor?" I felt like I'd been hit right between the eyes - because, of course, I had bought it at Ann Taylor. Rebel, deflated.
I spent most of last night's party lounging on the couch with a glass of wine, chatting with people who came near, and watching the dancing. I danced for about 30 seconds myself, but I was so horribly self-conscious that I just couldn't enjoy myself. I don't know how to salsa dance at all, and when I found out who some of the guests were, I really didn't want to use any of my new belly moves.
Not that anyone even looked at me ... they were all too busy having fun. But this fish was certainly out of water.
Last night a friend and I attended a party across town. It was thrown by my dance teacher, who asked if we wanted to come hang out with the "salsa and dancing" crowd. I thought, sure - it's better than sitting around at home feeling sorry for myself because KC's gone.
I spent most of the night sitting quietly, watching. Partly this was sheer exhaustion, but it's also really hard to talk when the music is loud enough to properly dance to.
The best part for me, though, was watching the dancing. Men and women came in the door literally dancing, not even taking enough time to throw their bags down first. The music went back and forth between salsa and oriental, but it all added up to one thing : sex appeal.
I was struck by the contrast between this party and my usual social scene. My Indian buddies are the only ones I know who consistently bust a move at parties - hell, you can't hold the brown folks back! Everyone else drinks, laughs, jokes, argues, talks ... but dancing? Nope.
I found myself thinking, Wow, these people are dancers, and yet when they take a break, what do they do? Dance! I thought how lucky they are, to enjoy their jobs so much that when they play, they still do the same thing.
And then I thought really hard about most of the parties I go to, particularly with scientists. What happens when you put a bunch of scientists in a room? They talk about ... science. So it occurred to me that maybe the groups aren't that different after all. If you like what you do, you do it whenever you can.
I was also intrigued by the playful sexuality in the room. I suppose it was only pronounced to me by contrast - no one was dressed excessively (or minimally, for that matter). Most of the women wore flats or low heels, and everyone was dressed casually. And yet dancing is, by its nature, sexual - especially partner dancing like salsa. I watched a man untie his partner's scarf from her neck and retie it around her hips, to emphasize her movements. I tried to figure out an analogous move at an academic party, but drew a blank. Women scientists, in particular, aren't great ones for emphasizing their femininity, either deliberately or out of long years of immersion in the scientific culture.
A few years ago KC took me to the MIT alumni Christmas party in Princeton. It was a relatively small affair, full of luminous academics. I was going through one of my grad school "I hate everyone" phases where I particularly enjoyed behaving badly in public. So I put on a sleeveless, tight pink cashmere sweater, a short leather skirt, and my three-inch-heel leather hooker boots. Our hostess greeter us at the foyer, air-kissed my cheeks, and said, "What a lovely top! Did you get that at Ann Taylor?" I felt like I'd been hit right between the eyes - because, of course, I had bought it at Ann Taylor. Rebel, deflated.
I spent most of last night's party lounging on the couch with a glass of wine, chatting with people who came near, and watching the dancing. I danced for about 30 seconds myself, but I was so horribly self-conscious that I just couldn't enjoy myself. I don't know how to salsa dance at all, and when I found out who some of the guests were, I really didn't want to use any of my new belly moves.
Not that anyone even looked at me ... they were all too busy having fun. But this fish was certainly out of water.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
On my own again
I'm on my own again ... KC left for the US this morning. Despite a colossal cock-up by the university (namely, no car), I think he managed to make it to the airport.
At least, his plane has left, and my cell phone hasn't rung. So I'm making a massive assumption, really.
While he was here we went to Kenya and Siwa, he finally got to see the Nilometer, we tried the steak and sushi buffet at the Four Seasons with some friends, and we managed to get a table at Sequoiya last night.
Not bad, really. Not bad at all.
At least, his plane has left, and my cell phone hasn't rung. So I'm making a massive assumption, really.
While he was here we went to Kenya and Siwa, he finally got to see the Nilometer, we tried the steak and sushi buffet at the Four Seasons with some friends, and we managed to get a table at Sequoiya last night.
Not bad, really. Not bad at all.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
On the roof in Siwa
All's well ... we had a smashing time in Kenya, although I'm not sure we actually learned anything about Kenyan culture, history, food, or its people. But the animals were awesome. A few highlights: KC got stung by a bee; we got charged by a buffalo; we had several very close encounters with lions; we petted a rhino; we kissed giraffes.
Then we returned to Cairo, and 36 hours later we were on a bus to Siwa. We're in Siwa right now, just finishing our first full day here (yesterday was all travel).
Today's highlights involve a 20 km bike ride, an oracle, a possible millionaire, and a dwarf tok-tok driver.
I can't make this stuff up.
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