Motorbikes in the Desert

Rachel and I took the train to Alexandria, which decided to stop for over an hour right outside Cairo. But we got there eventually, and asked a few guys about where to get the bus to Siwa. 30 minutes later, we had tickets to the 10pm bus and a few hours to kill, so we walked around the various bus station food stalls, testing the fruit and taamiya, and getting stared at by a creepy man while we brushed our teeth with bottled water behind a pile of dirt.

Siwa is an oasis near the Libyan border. People there speak a type of Berber, and the women (past girlhood) are generally only seen riding on the back of donkey carts, face and everything covered (not even eyes).

6am Siwa, at which point Rachel's cough had grown to full-out misery, we checked into the first hotel. At noon, Rachel made her intention to not leave the room very clear, so I went out into the town to arrange a desert safari for the next day. Several dudes offered me prices, but in one shop the guy said, "How would you like to go? 4by4, motorbike.." Holdup. Motorbike? Yes, motorbike. And its cheaper!

The next day we got on the back of the motorbikes and rode off into the Great Sand Sea. This is that part of the Sahara that's always on National Geographic: the undulating sand dunes, nothing but sky and sand. Motorbikes are mad fun on those dunes. I was behind Muhammad, and Rachel behind a guy named Yusef. Muhammad was fun, racing up and down the dunes, but Yusef was rather a bit timid. On the downslopes he would turn off the bikes and clumisly shuffle down, Rachel walking beside him. Muhammad and I were meanwhile racing off. Those dunes are high. We had to stop every couple minutes to wait for Yusef or turn back. Then Muhammad got a call from his friend the police officer. The cops were out patroling the desert and apparently its illegal or something to take tourists out on motorbikes (something about it being not safe). That morning before we left a rival tour guide had called me and told me not to go if it was on bikes. "Not safe," he said. Whatever.

Muhammad shouted to Yusef to follow us and took off - soon Rachel and Yusef were left in the dust. We raced to get out of the desert, to get on the road where no one would get in trouble. When we crossed over roads or rocks there was always a bump, but once that shit sent me flying, up over Muhammad, but luckily I landed back on the bike. We also saw a herd of camels. There were about 20, including babies. It took us a good close-to-an-hour to get out of the desert and to the hot spring at the edge of town. Muhammad dropped me off at a hot spring then went off the see what was up at the police station. 40 minutes later, Yusef and Rachel showed up (slow). 5 minutes later, Muhammad: all good.

After sandboarding and riding aroud on the roof of a 4by4, we camped out with a bunch of Koreans, though Muhammad and Osman, the guy running the camp, kept making fun of the Koreans by saying random syllables to imitate Korean. Motorbikes are mad fun though - and no one needs helmets!

Merry Christmas: Pyramids, Sushi, and Shisha

Christmas was very low-key in Cairo, probably explained by the lack of Christmas. Egyptian Christians are Coptics, and their Christmas is January 7, a time at which I will be back in Damascus. Oops, missed Christmas.

Christmas Eve we went to an American's apartment for Christmas dinner, which was a potluck notably including Jamaican food. It had been since Pakistan since I have tasted anything spicy, so I ate enough for three non-gluttonous people. Then, per tradition, we danced til early morning at Club Latex.

The next day Rachel and I went to the pyramids, which were surprisingly low-key. Yes, two men did try to hop into our taxi on the way and get us on camels, but I was also mistaken for Lebanese. Twice. I guess the pyramids aren't a big Christmas destination, but the tourists there were a nice mix: Europeans and Americans yes, but also sub-Saharan African, Turkish, and honeymooning Indian couples among them.

Dinner was sushi followed by shisha at Seqouia, the posh place to see and be seen, on the north side of Zumalek, on the banks of the Nile. Prices have gone up since last being here, but it was Christmas so we splurged. Plus, the closest sushi in Damascus is in Beirut. Apparently Cairo is in the midst of a sushi craze: even Latex the nightclub had sushi.

Running Around Cairo

Rachel and I have been running around Cairo, which is not as cheap as I have remembered it. Part of this is coming from Syria, part is inflation here, which has made everything more guinee while the dollar has fallen against the guinee, from close to 7 when I was here last to 5.5 today. It's strange being a tourist in a place I used to live, and I keep feeling like I should go home to my apartment rather than our hostel. Not that much has changed, except the road outside the AUC dorms in Zamelek has changed direction, since that is more convenient for the president's son Gamal who lives near by. According to Hisham, the foreigners are also different: in our semester, there were about 110-120 or so. Now there are 450 and the university rents out entire former brothels to house them for the semester.

After eid al-groping, Rachel and I woke up the next noon to eat kushari (a uniquely Egyptian dish of rice, pasta, lentils, chickpeas, and spicy red sauce. I have fantasized about this dish since leaving Egypt. Rachel thought it was "okay") and chill in Downtown, much more sedate on the fourth day of Eid than usual. I called Karim, a classmate from back in the day, who picked us up and we went to Malibu in Mohandaseen to smoke shisha, then met some of his friends and went out to a film.

"kharig ala al-qanoon" (outside of the law) about drug running in Egypt, was hilarious. Every seen was punctuated by loud dramatic swells of music and ended with close-ups on the eyes of the characters. I understood quite a lot of it but my favorite part was that it starred an old actor who looks like Fred Thompson as the head of the drug cartel. Why is Fred Thompson Arab and running has in Egypt? Karim dropped us off not 20 meters from our hotel. Still, in that short walk, some 15 year old touched my ass. Seriously, never coming during Eid again.

Hoping for the best, I tried calling Hisham with the number off my old Egyptian simcard. Yes! He still has the same number!

The next day Rachel and I did some touristy crap: went to khan al-khalili where I had sticker shock. I tried to bargain near to prices I remember paying back in the day, but the vendors just refused to sell at that price, even when I walked away. I kept changing the price to Syrian lira in my head and thinking I could get this for so much cheaper in Damascus.

We visited Hussain's mosque and al-azhar, tipping a guy to let us climb the tallest minaret, which afforded a great view of the city. We left Islamic Cairo, walked through city of the dead, graveyards where people live alongside the dead because of the lack of housing in Cairo, and ended up at al-azhar park to watch the sun set over Cairo. Then Hisham called and I had what had been a typical night out back in my youth in Cairo: we got home at 5am.

Egypt Welcomes Me Back

In Damacus, Eid is a rather sedated affair. There are sheep slaughtered in the street, but nothing crazy goes on. Cairo appears to be different.

Rachel and I rolled up into Cairo last night, and it being her first time in the city, we decided to walk around a bit. The streets were full of people, being Eid, and for the most part we just got a few guys saying shit to us, nothing big. We walked over the Nile where tons of brides and grooms were taking pictures with the river and skyline in the background.

Then we were on Sharia Talat Harb in Downtown, not too far from the hotel, just looking for a little cafe to grab a shisha or a tea. The street was full of mostly men, but there were women too. I mean, crazy full of tons of men.

Packs of guys started following us and saying in Arabic "are you Egyptian or foreign? just say something so we know" and then switching to English. It's best to ignore, but then some guy (kid, really, like fucking 19 at the most) grabbed Rachel's ass as he ran by. Then her tit got grabbed, then my ass, all by different dudes. The last one I chased down the street yelling "'aml eh? Haram alek la tilmasni!" Where's a cop when you need one? I yelled at them to leave us alone in Arabic. They followed. It was really fucking frustrating and Rachel said "I don't see how you did this for 5 months." I swear, it really wasn't like this every day, it's just because of Eid.

So hey, welcome back to Cairo!

So Very Cold

In Cairo now, after another over-a-day of traveling, and the Damascus-Cairo route is starting to get a little routine (third time). Rachel and I left Damascus in a shared taxi at about 3:30 Thursday to Amman. In this trip, Jordan is always just something you want to get through before spending all your money.

From Amman, we caught the bus to Aqaba, arriving after 2am at the port. We bought tickets for the slow boat to Egypt as we were told this would leave at 7am, while the fast boat wouldn't leave til noon... or so. After a night spent huddling together for warmth and attempting to sleep on outside benches, all while eyeing the "High Quality Blankets" being sold (but who wants to carry it) the sun came up and we were told the slow boat wouldn't leave until 9am. All right, whatever, we just wished it wasn't so cold.

What was cool was, as we bought the tickets and went through Jordanian immigration, I was asked if I was Syrian (the accent must be getting better!). No. So who is Syrian, your mother or your father? Um, neither, sorry, no Arab here. At every step of the process it was the same thing, so that's fun right?

We were in the duty free store, trying to stay warm when the guy said, sit down, have some tea, the slow boat doesn't leave until 2pm. Information confirmed this and we got our tickets changed, with 7 more dinar each, for the fast boat, leaving at 12:30.

It left about on time, and there it was a short 8 or 9 hour bus ride to Cairo. A short, cold, bus ride. And I'm back!

Eid Mubarak!!

I'm leaving for Egypt tomorrow, as I have to be on the Jordan-Egypt ferry before it is swamped by returning Hajjis. Let's find out if I remember any masri! I wonder if the Christians in Cairo go all out with the lights like they do here in Damascus.

Cool Off, Dudes

Something very strange has been happening the past week: harrassment, on an unprecedented level.

When comparing Damascus and Cairo previously, I had always hit upon what to me, after traffic, was the most obvious difference: the fellas. I had had few problems with the men of Damascus, and they seemed to have no problem with me. Hell, I walked around in a skirt higher than knee length with only a few hungry-eyed stares as a response.

Then, last week, I had a man follow me off the the servees (micro) when I went to Jerimana. He walked a pace behind me, whispering in a low voice, "ansiya... instinni, bas su'al" (miss, wait, just a question). I ignored him and he went away quickly. The next day, in another servees, just as I was about to get off a man handed me his business card. "Sho hada?" I asked, confused, what is this? He just said for you, call me, and left. Okay, so that one's not so bad.

Then, Saturday, I was on my way to Sitt Zeinab to teach English at 10am. At the beginning of the trip, when I handed my change to the man next to me to pass up, his hand paused on mine for what seemed a bit more than necessary for the passing of change. No, I thought, I'm just being paranoid.

Once we were well on our way, he turned to talk to me in low, sweet tones. "sho ismik? mineen inti?" His intentions clear, I tried to ignore him but he kept trying to convince me to go to a restaurant or some shit. Then he put his hand on my leg. I jumped like it was made of fire and told him don't touch me! He said sorry and continued. The man next to him got off the servees and Romeo didn't move over, instead staying umcomfortably close. He talked and snapped his fingers to get my attention, touching my arm and leg. "La tilmasni! sho bedak?" He said sorry again, then leaned in close and asked "kum fuloos?" (How much money?). This is strange for several reasons, first amoung them that nobody ever says this in Syria. 'edeesh masari is the Syrian way to ask this. They say kum fuloos in Egypt and maybe other places. Second, I am obviously not a whore. It is winter, and I am wearing a large jacket over all my clothes, nothing provocative about it. It is also 10am - there's a reason the euphanism is "ladies of the night." Prostitutes generally also don't play hard to get. I yelled at him again not to touch me, and people in the servees turned to look. People turned to look, but it was my stop so I just got off.

What is the reason for this sudden upsurge in harrassment? Maybe, with the upcoming hajj, soon-to-be-hajjis are trying to get their sin in before the forgiveness. It's just strange that after 3 months with so little, dudes be hitting on me tons now. I swear I'm not any hotter than last week. At least I'm getting hit on in Arabic.

I Almost Burn Down My House

I had thus far avoided any strange situations - no wild dogs or near-kidnappings - so it was about time I did something like almost burn down my house.

I came home Wednesday and went up to my bedroom after grabbing a snack. I was immediately struck by the smell of something burning. Turning on the light, I was able to pinpoint the source of the smell quickly: the giant smoking hole in the middle of my bed. I had accidently left the electric blanket on when I ran out that morning. I opened the window to corrail some of the smoke from the smoke-filled room, which added a rush of oxygen to the mix, increasing the present flames. So I grabbed the burning sheets and threw them out the window onto the roof, then ran downstairs to grab some water.

I ran into Um Mazen downstairs. "How are you?" she asked. "Fine, fine," I replied, running back up to douse the smoking hole in the mattress with the waterbottle. On the roof, I attended to the burning sheets with a mixture of waterbottle and beating.

I surveyed the damage at this point: the charred electric blanket and sheets were obviously unsalvagable. The mattress did have a large black hole on one side, so I flipped it. Luckily I never make my bed, so the comforter had been pushed off to side, and only one corner was slightly darkened by the inferno. The another blanket had been sparred all damage by virtue of its being on the floor. I looked around the room to the scattered papers, books, clothes, and other flammables, thinking shit, if I had come home an hour later, this place would have been an inferno.

I haven't yet told the family. In the morning, I brought the remains of the sheets and electric blankets back inside and hid them under my bed. Having an "I almost burned down your house that you have so kindly offered to a foreigner" conversation would be awkward in English, let alone Arabic. But I guess it's better than the "I'm sorry I burned down your house" conversation. I'm trying to avoid either. I can sneak out the sheets and blankets easily and replace them, but I imagine it will be hard to sneak out a mattress. The family is pretty much always, always home, so I'm going to have to make sure they are really really asleep.

Last night Um Mazen asked if I wanted her to wash my sheets for me. I think my "NO! That's okay" response was a bit too forceful.

On a related note: did you know that electric blankets are not supposed to be running all night while you sleep? No one told me this.

Lebanon Might not be an Ideal New Years Destination

I was in class today when Ester, the Italian, got a text from her friend that said "the general of the Lebanese army died in an explosion". She shared, and we all immediately thought why? Michel Sulaiman is the one guy everyone agreed on for president - who gains from killing him? And immediately as well - shit, does this mean civil war? During the break our teacher checked it out and no, the general was not killed, but a vice-general (نائب القائد - what do we call this? One of the guys right below the general) was.

Still - who benefits? Those aligned with March 14 and Hizballah all have good relations with the army. Maybe it was the Islamist militants the army spent the summer fighting in Nahr al-Barid?

Micro Etiquette

The micro is my primary means of transportation. These friendly little vans seat usually seat 12, with enough room to squeeze in 2, or at times 3 more, who have to awkwardly squat. A ride anywhere in Damascus and the nearby environs is 5 lira or about 10 cents. They run on almost-always regular routes, with destinations written on the top. I take them just about any where at any time, except between 2 and 6 am they can be rather thin on the ground. They are a pretty awesome public transportation system.

Their use is quite simple:
As you see the micro you would like to take approaching, signal to the driver to stop. Stick your hand out and kind of wave it. Or something. Just indicate your desire for a ride. But not too much, cause then you'll look kind of spastic. Be cool, yo. The driver will either slow down, or put out his hand to indicate that the seats are full but you can squat if you'd like, or just wave a refusal based on the stuffed state of his micro. Then you wait more. At certain popular micro-stops, such as Bob Toma and Shariah Sawra, you will have to fight a bit to get on one. Women less so, as men will often step aside to let you on.

Once on the micro take any open seat. Usually women prefer to sit next to women, but often necessity dictates sitting next to man. Men will often shift seats to let women sit next to one another, but this is a luxury for times other than the morning, afternoon, or Thursday night rush, when you are to have caught a micro with a free seat. If you have gotten on a full micro, squat for about 5 seconds, at which point (if you a woman) a man will insist you take his seat. Take out your money and hand it to a man sitting in front of you. All change will be passed up to one of the men directly behind the driver, who will pay the driver and make sure every one gets correct change. If everyone occupying these seats are women, the money can be given to one of them to make change, but generally a man is preferred. In certain circumstances, even a random foreign chick with a weird hat can take on this duty.

When you are near your stop, tell the driver to go to the right (please) or that you would like to get down here. He will pull over to the right. Say thank you as you exit!

Who Wants Peace?

Obviously not these idiots. Or their government that turns a blind eye to these activities. Quick to demolish Palestinian homes in collateral punishment, but slow to evict illegal settlers (by Israeli definition!), if they are ever even evicted.

Rock on!

I had a rock-filled weekend, going to not one but two "music parties" (literally concert in Arabic). The first was for my friend's friend's band "Fade 2 Black," or as the fans know them, F2B. Back together after one of their members had to go into the army, they rocked Jerimana Thursday night at a bar named Vitality. It had free pool, a bartender who could do cocktail-esque tricks (is it sad that my standard of "cool bartender" is a Tom Cruise movie from the 80s?), and a bar that was occaisonally lit on fire. F2B stayed true to their name and mostly did Metallica covers, until a girl with an awesome voice joined them and then they did some "I Will Survive", Evanescense, and "Zombie," that 90s song from the Cranberries about The Troubles in Northern Ireland. The last one twice. There was one original song from the band, which was half in Arabic and half the song "Summertime." Not exactly my bag, but everyone else had a head-banging good old time. Every one loves that Metallica.

Friday night I went to another show in an Armenian church in the old city. "B Flat" performed a mix of covers, plus a few originals, sadly (for me) all in English. Why to rock must it be in English? There's a whole untapped market of genres to be sung in Arabic, as right now the Arabic music scene generally consists of classic and disposal pop, the latter more famous for the Lebanese ladies who writhe in the video clips than their lyrics or musicality. Leena Shamamyan is at least singing in the Arabic but her stuff is very classical-ish. Where's the Arabic metal? The Arabic reggaeton? Arabic soft rock? Arabic electronica? Arabic reggae (oh, wait, I have heard this). Why mostly have acts like the Spice Girls been duplicated (The 4 Cats are getting a lot of play on Melody Arabic) or singers like Britney and Christina (Dana, Haifa, Ruba, just turn on the freakin music channels). Not to say I don't buy this music and memorize the words and have been to a Nancy concert, but c'mon, there's a good four or five video clip channels. Let's widen the range which right now is from Um Kulthum-Fairouz to Dana-Nancy. Fine, I'm just selfish and what I really want is The Smiths, but in Arabic, so I could listen to them over and over again like I do the Smiths, and then I will rock in Arabic. Or at least, in self-pitying and ironic Arabic.

At the end, B Flat did do a hilarious medly of Black Eyed Peas, Usher, and yes, Tupac's "California Love" with "Compton" changed to "Damascus". Of course, there was more Evanescense and even "Zombie." People fucking love Zombie but no one actually seems to knows it's about Northern Ireland specifically or against ongoing, seemingly intractable disputes generally. Hmm.

Suck on it, World Bank

There's a great article in the NYTimes today: Ending Famine, Simply by Ignoring the Experts that explains how Malawi has gone from begging for food aid to exporting food. How? The president finally told the World Bank to suck it. Malawi is one among many nations that the World Bank, IMF and rich donor countries pressure to open up to market forces and cut back on subsidies. It will hurt now, they say, but the payoff is down the road.

Wrong! So suck on some subsidies, World Bank!

Sneaky Meat

The family I live with has decided that I am unhealthy. Granted, this is a pretty apt description, as apparently my move to Syria has coincided with the breakdown of my body. I'm going to blame this on the Divine, who has punished me for bragging about my 6 months of Egypt without the slightest health complaint. Wait, I'm an athiest.

The family, especiallu Um Mazen, has decided that I what I need is meat. Lots of meat. "Look at us. We are not coughing and we eat meat everyday. We do not need to take vitamin pills for anemia. Meat is delicious."

Her argument failed to convince me. So instead she has become sneaky. "Eat the kibbeh," she'll command.
"Oh no thank you, I don't really like red meat."
"There's no meat. Just try it."
"It's kibbeh, there is meat. I know kibbeh." (kibbeh is a fried ball of meat)
"There's no meat. Just eat it. Try it, c'mon, try it."

The other day we had soup. I asked what kind of soup it was and was told vegetable. "Is there red meat?"
"No, there's none. Try it. It's good." I used my spoon and fished out a chunk of lamb.
"Um, this is meat."
"That's not meat. Eat it. It's delicious."

I have explained that red meat doesn't agree with me. My stomach is not a fan. Despite this, the sneaking continues.