The Anxious Tour Guide

Finally guests! Some friends visited me this weekend; Jolianne, who was a roommate from Cairo in every way but actuality, and James, a friend of hers. They are both Americans living in Dubai, and thus had a great appreciation for the mild Shami weather and buildings older than 10 years.

It was a good time; I had an excuse to go out to restaurants and argileh, went back to Crac des Chevaliers for the first time since two years ago, and got to show off my Arabic (Joli remembers me well from our Arabic formative stages in Cairo: fi mushkila? ma feesh fuloos! mush iyeza haga! iyeza arouh liwusta balad - oh Cairo). But like anytime anyone visits me, I always feel an insane amount of pressure to really show off the place and especially communicate why I love it. This is no fault of my guests - all my friends are naturally superawesome, being my friends. But even in New York, I would freak out before a friend came through. What the hell am I going to do with them? I only go to school and work! How am I going to show them a good time in New York?

My father and brother came from Ireland to visit me for four days when I lived in Cairo. I tried desperately to convey why I loved Egypt. After all, my father didn't come to Egypt out of some burning desire to see the pyramids (or come to New York for the Statue of Liberty), but to see me and make sure I was alright. But I failed. We visited every tourist attraction in Cairo, which every Cairene transplant knows are the worst part about Cairo. All my dad seemed to get out of the trip was the arguments I had with taxi drivers, the noise, the dangerous abandon with which I ate street food, the garbage, the pushy postcard sellers at the Pyramids, the 4am call to prayer waking him every night, and the heart attack I gave him when I jokingly showed up at the airport in hijab (to his credit, we were a full 20 minutes in the taxi before he asked me about it). I failed to communicate how the rush of activity in Midan Tahrir swelled my heart.

I have been in Damascus much longer now than I had been in Cairo then; how on earth do I convey my passionate throbbing love for this city? While Joli and James are much chiller and less alarmed than my father (liking street food themselves) I still selfishly want to share the fruits of 8 months with them in 2 days. This led to my forcing sweets on them like a Syrian grandmother (you haven't eaten anything! This is the best place to get halowi ma jibneh! You can't be full, we haven't even gotten to the kinafeh!). I am in deep regret this morning as I realized I failed to feed them fetteh or the falafel and hummos from Falafel al-Masry, Jerimana's best. When eating a lackluster meal at Crac des Chavaliers yesterday, I was thinking, Oh God no! This isn't good Shami food! I have failed! We set out for the castle a little late yesterday, and on the two and a half hour bus rides to Homs and back I was thinking oh God, it's my fault the bus isn't faster! They are bored and this French movie about cops punching transvestites isn't helping!

Though they might have boarded the return plane a couple of pounds heavier, I think they managed to have a good time. But honestly, who wouldn't?